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raccoonfallsharder · 21 days

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rocket says take a fuckin' study break ✩࿐࿔

in honor of it being finals season for many of you, i'm resharing the take a fuckin' study break drabble/minific from ✩࿐࿔ take what you need here, in full. ao3 version here.

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabbles | word count: 1,020.

“Ow!” you yelp, rocking back on your stool and scrubbing a hand at your forehead. “Did you just flick me?”

“I been talking at you for like two minutes,” Rocket grouses. “It’s like talking to a frickin’ wall.”

You glower. “I told you. I’m studying. And writing. And studying. Leave me alone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he jeers. “Terran finals. Whatever. Sounds like a waste of time. Haven’t the humies on that backward mudball realized yet that tests don’t actually measure learning? It’s like using a yardstick to measure time.”

You sigh and lean back. “Yeah, they know. Doesn’t matter though. If I want to pass these classes and get this stupid degree, I need to–” You scrub at your forehead again and sigh. “You know what? Never mind. I cannot have you un-motivating me right now. What did you want?”

He leaps neatly onto the stool across from you and sets two glass bottles on the tabletop, then leans his forearms on the little table between you, smirking smugly. “To pay you back, cupcake.” The mockery in his voice does not bode well for you. “Remember what you told me last week when Adam was whining about how I was making him study the Bowie’s schematics for too many hours?”

You feel your stomach drop. “No,” you lie, big-eyed.

His smirk only grows. “Lemme refresh your terrible frickin’ memory, then.” Now his teeth are sharp and he heightens his voice into a whiny falsetto. “But Rocket. Maximum productivity is only five-to-seven hours a day. You can overload the crappy baldbody brain if you go longer than that–”

“Pretty sure I did not say ‘crappy baldbody brain,’” you interject dryly.

“–and he could lose everything you’ve taught him already. Plus, he needs fifteen-to-twenty minute breaks every fifty-to-ninety minutes.”

You stare at him flatly, unwilling to dignify his bad mimicry with a response. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to care. He’s snickering openly at this point.

“Time to take your fuckin’ break,” he tells you. “It’s for your own damn good.”

You feel your brain fluttering in your skull like a trapped bird, and your heart is already starting to pick up the pace too. “Rocket,” you plead, all that old academic anxiety spiking high. “Unlike Adam, I’m actually on a time table. I need to finish all this by–”

“And if what you told me was true, I’m not gonna let you overdo it and lose it,” he tells you, his voice dropping for just a moment into something serious and intent. “Now get up. You’ve been at this for at least an hour-and-a-half.”

You hesitate, staring reluctantly at your laptop screen.

“Do I gotta give you a direct order, kid?”

You glower at him and drag yourself off the barstool. He turns sideways on his own, leaning against the table lazily and taking a mouthful of his ale. “Five deep breaths,” he orders lazily. “Your eyes aren’t laser cannons, and your angry looks aren’t gonna shut me up, cupcake.”

“God, I hate you,” you tell him, and then close your eyes and plant your feet and take your five stupid deep breaths.

“Roll your shoulders. Three times in each direction.”

You start and he cuts you off with a barked, “Slower. Start over.”

You scowl at him and do it.

“Touch your toes.”

“Geezus, I hate you,” you repeat. He just raises a brow and waits till you follow his instructions.

When you rise back up, he’s nudging the second glass bottle in your direction. “Drink half a’ that.”

You glare but lift it to your mouth anyway. It’s just water – but it’s the perfect temperature, and you suddenly realize you haven’t had anything but caffeine all day, and even that had been hours ago. You end up drinking more than half, easily.

Rocket sighs and shakes his head when you put it down. “Okay, ready for your next mission?”

“Rocket, I don’t have time–”

“It’ll take less time if you shut up and do what I frickin’ say.”

“You are the worst.”

He grins and his tail flicks. “So I’ve been told,” he concedes with mock humility, like you’ve just given him a compliment. He raises a clawed finger. “You need some fresh air, and you need to eat. You’re gonna go down to that street food stall in the Zygomatic Arch and get yourself a roasted yaro root wrap. Then you’re gonna come back and Kraglin’s gonna meet you across the street from here with a data pad. As long as you’re eating that wrap, he’s gonna let you scroll through those Terran holovid transmissions–”

“It’s goddamn Tiktok, Rocket.”

“–for exactly five minutes. No more an’ no less. And then you’re gonna come back in here and drink the rest of your water and I’ll leave you alone.” His grin widens. “At least for the next ninety minutes.”

You stare at him witheringly. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that, cupcake, but I don’t think it’s true.”

You sigh, and feel your shoulders drop in defeat, and you head toward the open tambour door that leads into the streets. It’ll be nice, you grudgingly suppose: to breathe some fresh air and get some of the artificial Knowhere sunlight on your skin. To stretch your legs out and grab a snack and see some people, even if just in passing.

And it’s good that Kraglin’s gonna be in charge of the datapad because he’s such a fucking simp for his captain that he’s not gonna let you go over the five minutes Rocket has rationed for you on Tiktok.

“Kid.”

You pause in your steps and glance back over your shoulder at Rocket. His smirk is just a little softer, and you abruptly remember that this jackass actually cares about you – like, really cares about you. He just tries to hide it under layers of being fucking annoying.

“You’re gonna win your finals.”

You blink, and a laugh startles its way out of your chest, softly puffing out of your mouth. “That’s not–” you start to say, and then you laugh again and shrug. “Sure will,” you tell him affectionately. “For you, Captain. Thanks.”

please remember to take 15-20 minute breaks every 50-90 minutes! (set alarms on your phone to help.) use that time to open your window or go for a walk (even if it's cold). take some deep breaths. stretch. drink water. unclench your jaw. talk to someone who won't let you stay distracted for too long. and grab something to eat (even if it's just a granola bar). brains don't retain jackshit without sleep, nutrients, and moments of rest.

you got this. you're gonna win your finals.

check the ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist for more self-care reminders, including eat somethin, drink some goddamn water, and go to frickin bed already (yeah that means you).

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hinnymicrofic · 11 months

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Hiya lovely people!

Yes, I've been a crappy mod (again 😭) and I have just gone on a fast-reblog spree to catch up 😪

Last week I got diagnosed with ASD. Anyone who has been through the whole assesmant process will know how difficult it is - especially at an age where you've spent an awful long time having no clue that you were autistic, and it was just that everything you did was wrong! These next few days, I'm probably still going to be a seriously bad mod - but hopefully everything should be back on track soon 😊

Big thank you to you all still writing/reading Hinny Microfic - even when I'm not here being my usually snazzy self 😆 particularly big thank you to @ravenclawrockchick @hinny-canons and @diana-bookfairchild who have written for most (if not all!) prompts over the last few days! I always love reading your work 😄 And sending love to anyone and everyone who has written something - whether it be something for Hinny Microfic, or your own random works! Well done for being fabulous!

Love on ya (as the late and very great Bowie said!) Lynne 💖

#hinny #hinny microfic

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littleskittles325 · 1 year

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About me/what I write

About me: I absolutely love 60-90’s music, I live to write and draw, I love all David Bowie songs and movies.

Message me if you have a request! 📱

Right now I’m writing smut/fluff/angst(try) with

Avatar

Guns’n roses

Queen

Joe Quinn

Jamie campbell bower

Stranger things

(smut:only 18+)

The 100

David Bowie

If you have any others I can try to do those too!

Accepting any requests for them!

I only write with female main character

I will see all requests from 9am-10pm

Updates:

5/26-working on 6 posts at the moment! Get ready🌸

7/9- working on pt.3 of something new and two more posts.🌟

8/14- I’m sorry for not posting,everything has been real crappy this past month. I have 4 stories upcoming.

12/23-New story posted, part 2 for sweet words, dirty thought coming soon!

Thanks

- Luv,littleskittles325

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lovemesomesurveys · 2 months

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Did you know that all the fish are dying out? I haven't heard that.

Would you ever wear a white tuxedo? No.

Do you judge a book by its cover? In a literal sense, yes. Some just catch my eye or make me curious so I have to pick up and check it out.

Do you like chips and dips? Yes, anything that comes with a dip I'd be all over. <<<

Last time you went on a rollercoaster: I don't do rollercoasters.

Ever been to a pottery class? No.

Does your milkshake bring all the boys to the yard? Ha, no.

Who was the last person to stay over at your house? One of my aunts.

Do you like red lipstick? Yeah.

Can you recall your country’s national anthem? Yes.

Do you believe in ghosts? i believe in demons and spirits. Not like Casper ghosts.

Which sweets/candy would you put into your dream pic'n'mix? Reese's and the cookie crunch M&Ms.

If you had a boat, where would you sail in your boat? I have no idea.

Can you rap? Ha, I'm definitely not a rapper, but I like rap and can "rap" along.

Are you a light sleeper? Sometimes.

When you were young, did you ever pretend to “marry” somebody? No.

What is your favourite Disney film? Toy Story, Alice in Wonderland, Winnie the Pooh, A Goofy Movie.

Do you prefer brown or white bread? I'll eat either one.

Have you ever spent an entire day in bed? That's how I spend most of my time.

Don’t you just find it annoying when people get too much plastic surgery? I wouldn't say it's "annoying", but I wonder why they do it.

How high’s your pain threshold? Low, hence the need for my pain meds.

What would you wear to a red carpet event? I see myself declining the invitation, lol. <<<

Whose birthday is next, out of all the people you know? My cousin's is today.

What kind of coat are you going to wear in the winter? I wear my puffy coat most of the time.

Did you ever go through a Goth phase? I had my emo phase, but let's be real it's not just a phase even if I dress and look differently.

Do you find architecture interesting? Not really.

When on the computer do you ever think about how it all works? It's probably crossed my mind.

How many songs are there in your iTunes library? I haven't used iTunes in over a decade.

Describe the worst date you’ve ever been on: I've hardly been on any dates, but the few I had weren't bad.

When did you last go to the park? Uhhhhh.

Which two animals would you breed together to make a hybrid? Nah.

Do you ever forget how to walk? I can't walk, soooo.

Do you own a Jesus bracelet? I own a cross bracelet.

How far out can you stick your tongue? Not far at all.

Do you like David Bowie? I like some songs. Nothing against him, I just wasn't like a stan or anything.

Would you eat a live cockroach if it made you a millionaire? fskdfjkjffjdkfkdj no.

Does it annoy you when you feel like people aren’t really listening? I hate when I'm trying to talk to someone and they're all deep into something on their phone and they're clearly not really listening.

Are you the type who usually plays it safe? Yeah.

Do you want what you can’t have? Don't we all.

Ever been copied by somebody, clothing or style-wise? Ha, no,

Is there a point to clear nail varnish? A nice shine, I guess? *shrug*

What is the latest time you’ve ever woken up? Like almost 5pm.

Ever gotten into trouble over something you didn’t really do? I don't think so.

Are you currently ill? In a way cause of health stuff I generally crappy.

Don’t you just hate being corrected? If it's done in either a condescending or a really harsh reprimanding tone, then yeah. <<<

Are there any really beautiful buildings close to where you live? Sure.

Who do you think about most? My mind feels like such a jumbled mess.

Do you have embarrasing parents? No.

How often do you use the word “poltent”? Never?

How’s your grandmother? My paternal grandma is doing okay. My maternal grandmother passed away 15 years ago.

What in your opinion is the most annoying noise in the world? Kids. "<<< Hahaha. I'd say also excessive beeping.

Are you any good at writing? Probably not now.

Can you speak any Spanish? A little bit.

What’s your favourite type of cloud? I don't have one.

What’s something that really matters to you? My family.

Did that pass some time? A little.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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dukeoftheblackstar · 1 year

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mun-x-muse kinks?

I'm assuming this is related to yesterday's headcanons I imply on the Duke that also applies to me as opposed to my own kink on the Thin White Duke himself, David Bowie.

Daddy Kink.

I think this stems from the fact that my love for anything father/dad related is pretty fucked up.

I love the fluff of being a daddy and overall protector, spoil you cause your mom said no, carry and toss you in the air, teach you to play sports, dad jokes, take and pick you up from school in a vintage car trying desperately to remain that 'dad's so cool' vibe, to the take you down the aisle/be your best man at your wedding (someone needs to adopt me as their dad in rp because this is something of a dream come true?), or beat the shit out of your crappy ex-partner... Oh goodness, I can go all day so I'll stop here.

If you've been around me for a time, you'd know I'm a sucker for angst. The painful, the better. With society's demand of fathers being these stoic, emotionless beings who do nothing but serve and protect, the restraint of emotions and being deprived of right to be emotional is a kink (not necessarily sexual, but I use the word kink loosely).

And of course, daddy in that sense. I'm power-starved with my muses. I love making them take control, be authoritative, spoil and set them lose with everything they'd want and more and slowly yank the chain back and make daddy feel good.

Poetry Kink.

I shouldn't really be sharing this but if you'd read to David, you'd have his heart. If you'd write poetry about him/to him, you'll send him to the moon as you would me.

Put on a show for him? Be as dramatic as you would in a play in silly medieval garments or even your pj's? It's the cuddle monster for you. But surely, he'd be proper about it.

Recite an excerpt from a book, you can get him to stop just about doing anything and lay with you.

Faff over new book/story/poem interests and he'd indulge. Lovingly listen to you like you're the only one who matters.

Just two for today, I think.

#I'm now tempted to an alphabet entry on the duke #should I?#daddy and poetry

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ryukoishida · 3 years

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QianQiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: In which gang leader!YWS and school teacher!SQ falls in love.

Title: You’re a Problem I Encounter Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW eventually Chapter: 1/? Summary: Yan Wushi was the proud leader of Huan Yue Group, one of the most influential syndicates in the underground world, who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. His accidental encounter with the pure-hearted school teacher Shen Qiao was a problem he didn’t expect to get entangled in. A/N: A syndicate!AU that literally nobody asks for. It’s also been awhile since I last wrote a fic, so please excuse awkward/bad writing. Sobs. List of Chapters: [1] [2] [3]

i. First Encounter

“Tie the pretty boy up nice and tight,” Sang Jingxing ordered his subordinates in a lazy drawl, his face half hidden in the shadow of the poorly lit room, but even the darkness couldn’t conceal the cruel smile crawling along the lips of the deputy leader of He Huan Group. As he stepped away from the wall and began walking towards his captive, his grin widening when he saw how much of a mess his men had made of the young man, his foot crushed the discarded glasses that’d been knocked off the man’s face during the brief but vicious fight.

There were no windows, just a lone, bare lightbulb swinging back and forth from the ceiling casting a meager glow of light in the underground chamber.

Glancing down at the half-conscious man bound at the wrists behind his back, Sang Jingxing grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his neck to crane back.

“We don’t want you running back to your daddy so soon again, do we?”

The only response he received was a pained groan. A sound that sent trills of excitement down Sang Jingxing’s back.

It had taken four trained men to finally take Shen Qiao down. By the time the scuffle ended, Xiao Se had an impressive bruise on his right cheek, Yan Shou had bloodied scratches along one of his arms, Huo Xijing had been elbowed directly in the solar plexus and was still recovering on the ground, and Bai Rong was smart enough to retreat just after receiving a blow that barely missed her eyes.

After a valiant attempt at escaping, Shen Qiao was no match for the sheer number of guards Sang Jingxing had assigned to keep him under surveillance in the end.

“At least not before we get what we want, isn’t that right, my dear?” Sang Jingxing turned towards the woman with an overly saccharine smile.

Yuan Xiuxiu rolled her eyes at her partner’s theatrics, but after working and managing He Huan Group together for so many years, she was used to his antics by now, so she merely ran a hand through her wavy hair and replied, “I don’t care what you do with the boy – torture him, fuck him – do whatever you want. Just don’t go overboard. We still need him alive if we were to negotiate with Qi Fengge.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” Sang Jingxing said to Yuan Xiuxiu’s retreating back as the leader of He Huan Group slammed the cell door shut behind her without another word.

There were no windows, just a lone, bare lightbulb swinging back and forth from the ceiling casting a meager glow of light in the underground chamber.

“Ah… Shen Qiao. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it was to steal you away under Qing Fengge’s nose?” he’d released his grip on Shen Qiao’s hair, and his head lolled forward like a broken, ragged doll. Blood streaks on his face made his complexion more pallid, and the only sign that he was still breathing was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Sang Jingxing continued, circling his captured prey like a hawk. “I get that you’re his adopted son, but you aren’t even meant to be his successor, so why does he spent so much of his resources on protecting you?”

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he wanted to have fun with the boy first before he dived straight into business. With a leering, animalistic gleam in his eye, Sang Jingxing reached out towards Shen Qiao’s bruised face, thumb roughly brushing against the man’s lower lip as he tried to force his finger past the seam of his lips.

Though Shen Qiao was in no shape to fight back, he was not a man who surrendered as long as a drop of strength still remained inside him. He twisted away from his captor’s hand and swiftly angled his head to bite Sang Jingxing’s finger with a snarl, hazel eyes bloodshot from what little adrenaline still lingered in his system during the fight.

Sang Jingxing hissed in pain, fury flashing across his eyes as he yanked his hand back, and Shen Qiao felt a sharp blow across his cheek just a short second later. Taste of iron flooded in his mouth.

“Playing hard-to-get is cute the first time around,” Sang Jingxing muttered while inspecting the teeth marks Shen Qiao had inflicted on him, before he put his hand on Shen Qiao once more, “but I don’t have that much patience, even for a beauty like you.”

He wrapped his fingers around Shen Qiao’s neck and started to squeeze with real intent to hurt.

“Yan Wushi, how did you—!” Yuan Xiuxiu’s muffled high-pitched exclaim transmitted through the thin walls of the basement and was interrupted by a distressed scream.

Before Sang Jingxing could react or shout for backup, he heard the men who were stationed outside the cell yelped in surprise and agony, and two successive bodily thuds later, the cell door was busted open.

Two men strode in with confident steps. The one leading had a cold, lethal look to his maroon eyes, the streak of star-silver locks a stark contrast to his otherwise dark, slicked back hair. In between his index and middle fingers was a small silver blade, still dripping with fresh blood of his latest victims; he wiped the blood off with a clean handkerchief that the younger man standing just half a step behind him handed him with the kind of easy elegance that one couldn’t simply mimic.

“Sang Jingxing, has He Huan Group lost so much money these days that you can’t even afford decent guards anymore?” the older man sneered.

“Leader Yan,” the utter of the respectful title was pleasant enough, but they’d been rivals long enough to know that there was no amiability in this exchange, “what’s the meaning of this?”

“I heard you got yourself a new plaything,” Yan Wushi said, glancing over at the barely conscious Shen Qiao with one of his eyebrows raised, “is that him?”

“What is it to you?” Sang Jingxing asked, narrowing his eyes. His flexed his fingers instinctively, his muscles taut and itching to reach for the revolver tucked inside his suit jacket. If anything, at least he was certain that the bullet would find its target faster than Yan Wushi could cause any real damage with his infamous silver blade. It had been awhile since they last confronted each other face to face like this, but Sang Jingxing could never forget the scars and humiliation of defeat from their last meeting.

“Oh, calm down,” Yan Wushi chuckled, the other man’s subtle signs to initiate the first attack all too obvious under his trained observation, “I’m not here to pick a fight, unless you’ve already forgotten what that was like the last time that happened.”

Sang Jingxing pressed his lips tight, silent anger threatening to boil over in the form of whipping out his revolver and pulling the trigger, but he didn’t dare — not when he knew he’d already lost. The fear of losing once again to this man – this monster – was simmering at the back of his mind, and he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to get away with just a long, ugly cut along his back this time.

“That’s what I thought,” the corner of Yan Wushi’s lips curved up slightly into a cold smile, “let’s not waste any time here. I’ll take what I want, and then we’ll each go our separate ways, hmm?”

“Yu Shengyan,” the leader of Huan Yue Group commanded his assistant with a nod towards the bloodied man still tied up in the chair a few steps away from them. Without further instructions, Yu Shengyan quickly ran over to Shen Qiao and started to cut the ropes loose. With practiced swipes of his switchblade, it took him only a short moment before he freed Shen Qiao.

At this point, Shen Qiao had already completely fainted, and when released from his restraints, he fell forward limply into Yu Shengyan’s arms.

“What do you want with Qi Fengge’s kid anyway?” Sang Jingxing asked. Though he’d given up on trying to keep Shen Qiao in his possession, curiosity still got the best of him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Yan Wushi only said with a laugh.

Carrying Shen Qiao on his back, Yu Shengyan followed his master out of the dank basement cell, thrilled that he got to witness Yan Wushi scaring the shit out of Sang Jingxing and his minions, but mostly confused about the purpose of this confrontation. He didn’t know what to expect when Yan Wushi had suddenly ordered him to come to He Huan Group’s headquarters. To be honest, the young assistant had been half-expecting the gang leader to start a bloodshed for one reason or another — after all, it wouldn’t have been the first time Yan Wushi went off the rails due to the most miniscule of reasons — but he’d never thought they’d be rescuing a stranger.

They were rescuing him, right? Yu Shengyan was hesitant as he carefully placed the unconscious man into the back of the car before slipping into the driver’s seat. Glancing over at his master out of the corner of his eye, the young man almost felt sorry for Shen Qiao, for he recognized that particular look on Yan Wushi’s face.

It probably would not bode well for the man still unaware of what he’d gotten himself into by getting accidentally entangled into Yan Wushi’s life.

#qian qiu #thousand autumns #shan he jian xin #yanshen #yan wushi #shen qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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lavendersewingcircle · 2 years

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3 & 27! and/or 30 if u don't really drink

3. three songs you were recently obsessed with

Androgynous by Joan Jett & The Black Hearts - it is a gender mood, and very catchy, everyone should listen to it. I actually like the version Joan Jett recorded for Spotify recently more than the original; her more mature, gravelly voice adds a lot to the texture of it.

Forbidden Colours by Ryuichi Sakamoto & David Sylvain - the MELODY of this song. God. Don't look at me I have this song in my playlist right next to 3 other very slightly different versions of it, it's such a beautiful piece of music. I'm undecided if I like the more acoustic or the synth version better tho! It's all good, just hit me with that meldoic hook and David Sylvain's low, understated vocals and I'm closing my eyes and going to a better place.

Up The Hill Backwards by David Bowie - why is this such an underrated song in the Bowie catalogue? Catchy hook, interesting guitar breaks, lyrics that I REALLY want to pick apart one of these days and write an essay on. But then that could be said about a lot of Bowie songs lol, this one just grabs me in particular. I love the fact it's more so sung by a chorus than Bowie's individual voice, can read a lot into why that is.

I don't get drunk sO

30. three songs you really want your followers to know (for reasons other than all those above)

Gone Tomorrow by Jobriath - This is such a beautiful and tragic song, especially considering Jobriath's real life story, but it has an optimisim to it, and anyone who knows me knows that optimisim in the face of tragedy GETS me. More people should know about Jobriath.

It's Okay To Cry by SOPHIE - The production on this is everything. The break in the very very last part of the song, my crappy headphones don't do it justice and crackle all through it BUT if you have a decent pair lol, then it's amazing.

Shame by Eurythmics - Annie Lennox's voice on this, the way her accent comes through in the second verse aH! Like most Eurythmics songs it's underrated, but especially so this one. So underrated the official Eurythmics youtube channel doesn't have the official video uploaded on it ghjkhsdrfj someone please give Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart their rights.

#ask #obeetlebeetle

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tiesandtea · 3 years

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An in-depth & really interesting review of Head Music’s various - often forgotten but actually brilliant - b-sides. Originally posted on The Vapour Trail London blog on 20 November 2019.

The folklore of early Suede and the B-sides compilation ‘Sci Fi Lullabies’ would lead the casual observer to believe that the band had peaked creatively to the point that post-1997 B-sides would not be worth investigating, however I believe differently and now, thanks to the reissues of ‘Head Music’, these can now be easily accessed for wider reappraisal.

Full article under the cut.

Coincidentally coinciding with the recent release of Brett Anderson’s second memoir ‘Afternoons with the Blinds Drawn’, Suede have issued the 20 year deluxe edition of their fourth album, ‘Head Music’. Their final number one album to date was issued in May of 1999 to much fanfare, following in the footsteps of their classic ‘Coming up’ in 1996, a record that spawned no less than five top ten singles and saw them achieve astronomical fame across Europe and Asia (indeed, Anderson remains a genuine celebrity in parts of Scandinavia as a direct result). Whilst ‘Head Music’ was a hit, its making has gone down in the annals of history as being even more fraught and littered with personal scandal than even that of their second album, ‘Dog Man Star’, the record that infamously served as original guitarist Bernard Butler’s swan song. The chief reason was Anderson’s spiralling addictions to heroin and crack, which in the eyes of the singer served to influence what he and many others deem the patchiness of the record. Indeed, when Suede first reissued their heyday albums back in 2011, Brett would include within the sleeve notes his own rewritten track listings in each, citing Suede’s fervent devotion to ensuring that their B-sides were up to the same quality as their singles and album tracks, thus costing the associated albums some potential improvements. Songs from the album that often raise debate amongst its makers and listeners include ‘Asbestos’, ‘Elephant Man’, and the almost universally-derided title track, a scrappy, crappy exercise in suggestiveness that even producer Steve Osborne initially refused to have anything to do with.

Perhaps due to all of this, the resultant B-sides of the album’s singles have been lost in time somewhat. Whereas the B-sides associated with the first three albums reached legendary status in such a short space of time that the band issued a compilation double album of nearly all of them in 1997, ‘Sci Fi Lullabies’, their 1999 counterparts are rarely spoken of within the same reverent breath. I would argue that this is vastly remiss to the point of sacrilege as, taken in one listenable chunk, they serve to create what on its own would be an incredible record.

But before we investigate further, it’s worth exploring the genesis of Suede’s musical direction at this point. As Brett and the band have noted many times over the years, Suede sought to follow each album with a record almost diametrically opposed to its predecessor stylistically. The kitchen sink gutter glam of their groundbreaking debut was consciously followed by an ambitious, widescreen and darker ‘Dog Man Star’, the pretension and bluster of which was then followed by a strict album of ‘ten singles’ in ‘Coming Up’. Each time, at least one B-side would serve as a blueprint for what would follow; 1993’s ‘High Rising’ and ‘The Big Time’ served very much of signposts for what would follow in 1994, and then again in 1995, Richard Oakes’ sexy glam pop of ‘Together’ would point the band towards ‘Coming Up’ in 1996. Here, they would seek to expand upon the sonic direction of Mat Osman-penned ‘Europe is Our Playground’, a song they so loved they reworked its arrangement live and subsequently re-recorded for the aforementioned B-Sides compilation of 1997. Caked in icy synths and led by a dub-inspired bass line, it signified something cold and electronic, the desolate melancholy of ‘Dog Man Star’ reimagined by Kraftwerk or Berlin-era Bowie. The band promised this new direction in interviews and the public’s appetite was whetted.

Early in 1998, as part of a Pet Shop Boys-curated tribute to Noel Coward’, the band released one of their prime hidden gems, a suitably synthetic and clinical version of the great writer’s ‘Poor Little Rich Girl’. Unfortunately this was shown to the masses on television via a mimed performance that saw an utterly wasted Anderson grinning inanely with zoned out eyes whilst trying not to fall off a chair. This performance distracted from the impressive song (also featuring the highly talented Raissa, who had supported Suede on their Coming Up tour, on vocals) and seemingly left no impression on anybody.

And so to fast forward to the album. The making of the record has been documented extensively not only in Anderson’s second autobiography but also in David Barnett’s authorised biography ‘Love and Poison’ and Mike Christie’s recent documentary set ‘The Insatiable Ones’. If you’re not familiar with the story, it is a jaw dropping tale of decadence, debauchery and depression, the likes of which have seemingly and thankfully been removed from the culture of music making today. Indeed, there’s not a lot of money around now for bands to blow on endless recording sessions fuelled by endless drug abuse. But what emerged was a flawed but often brilliant record that has stood the test of time well and honestly sounds as fresh as the day it was released. The album’s track list can and will continue to be debated but ultimately, had they shaved off two of the more superfluous numbers (I would argue that the title track serves no purpose as does the turgid closing track ‘Crack in the Union Jack’), it would likely be held in the same high regard as the vast portion of their other records. But we won’t dwell on that here.

First single ‘Electricity’ was accompanied by no fewer than five b-sides, all of which carry some merit. ‘Popstar’, a concise lyrical study of the relationship between fan and band, contains the kind of crystalline synths and dubby bass that the band had sought to highlight with their two musical blueprints prior to the album. Richard Oakes’ guitar parts are sparser than ever before but serve the song well, and the chorus is cold and epic in a way that takes the song from good to great. ‘Killer’, complete with a lyric that seems to expand upon the ficitonlised femme fatale of ‘Coming Up’s ‘She’, is more impressive still; a dark, brooding slice of electro-noir that slinks and stalks in the manner suggested by the song’s lyric. It builds and builds to a desperate crescendo and brings to mind the best of Depeche Mode at their ‘Violator’ zenith. ‘See That Girl’, complete with yearning Anderson vocals lamenting ‘this dog shit world’, is less impressive but still good. A real undersung high point of the time is the Neil Codling-written and sang ‘Waterloo’, an electronic folk classic that sees some beautifully melodic guitar lines almost acting as choruses, and a tenderness rarely reached by the band. The fifth and final b-side (it was on the minidisc – yes, minidisc – version of the single), is ‘Implement Yeah!’, an old co-write with Justine Frischmann where Brett parodies Mark E Smith to amusing effect over a gutter-punk thrash that the band premiered with Justine at the 1997 Reading Festival.

‘She’s in Fashion’ followed in 1999 and quickly became one of the band’s better known songs via endless radio play that perhaps contributed to it being their first single since ‘New Generation’ in 1995 not to reach the top ten. Looking back, I imagine the fact that you could walk into any shop at any time during that Summer and be exposed to it as one reason why fewer people bought it than they might otherwise. The B-sides rank among the band’s very best. ‘Bored’ continues where ‘Implement Yeah’ left off with a Stooges-like guitar thrash adorned by sweet synths and a classically anthem Suede chorus. During an interview at the end of 1999, Mat Osman threatened a harder, rockier direction for the next album which never did come to fruition and it’s possible that this would have been one of its blueprints. ‘Pieces Of My Mind’ is better still, and a rehearsal recording of it sounding very different can be found on the new reissue. Taking its cue from ‘Europe is Our Playground’, it is a dreamlike wander through almost psychedelic electronica and its lilting chorus imprints itself on your mind immediately. ‘Jubilee’, a Codling creation, is one of the best of the era and would probably have made for a better first single than ‘Electricity’, a romantic epic that chugs along like ‘Trash’ and bears a dramatic and addictive chorus that would surely have been incredible live. Perhaps the lyric was somewhat off-putting to the band, a blank retread of other songs including the ‘run with me’ hook of the ubiquitous ‘Europe’. If so, this is a shame as if we are to be honest (and Brett has said so numerous times himself), the entire era was marred by some seriously autopilot lyricism that was charming in places in its framing of the Suede lyrical lexicon of language, and just plain boring in others. The single is rounded off by the gorgeous ‘God’s Gift’, a simplistic piano piece aided and abetted by swirling synths and understated bass that had been written by Brett about Justine many years before. As with a few of Suede’s records (most notably the first album), the spectre and influence of Ms Frischmann lurks around the songs of this era but in perhaps a much more positive way; the two had rekindled their friendship prior to the making of the album and it was Justine’s love of new wave that inspired some of the music.

‘Everything Will Flow’, the great lost ballad of the era in the same way as ‘The Wild Ones’ had been five years prior, saw an interesting bag of B-sides attached that differed in style in a far more pronounced way than the two earlier singles. ‘Leaving’, which Brett sees as the ultimate casualty of this period, is prime Suede in its romantic portrait of a girl departing relationship for a new life, although the underlying sentiment is entirely opposite of that of ‘Another No One’ in 1996. Although still featuring synthesised textures, its abundance of gentle guitar and piano is much more organic and not only serves as an appropriate backing to the not dissimilar ‘Flow’ but also as a subtle nod to where the band would go next. ‘Weight of the World’ is entirely a Neil Codling construction as with the earlier ‘Digging a Hole’ on the ‘Lazy’ single of 1997, however here he is eschews piano in favour of nylon strung guitar. Ruminating on the idea of his own demise, the song finds Neil in introspective form and perhaps shows a window into how he must have been feeling at the time, his health suffering significantly during the making of the record resulting in a chronic bout of ME of which he would never fully recover. It is sad and beautiful and at the time I wondered whether he would one day make a solo record. To date, he never has. ‘Seascape’ is up next, an ambient instrumental piece at odds with the majority of Suede’s output (indeed I believe this is Suede’s sole instrumental within their canon). Pleasing and dreamy in a subtly Eno-esque way, it lures you into a false sense of security for what would follow. The final song of the ensemble is the shocking and brilliant ‘Crackhead’. Noted by Q at the time for its outlandish appeal, it remains one of the most captivating songs in Suede’s history. Built around a staccato electronic motif, it lurches and grinds in a manner the band never achieved before or since, as a hoarse Anderson vocal tears apart his own addiction to the ice with suitable ice. At the time, Brett was in recovery, however this sounds like an isolated howl from the depths of dependence. It roars and builds to a final shrieking chorus of ‘you can’t give it up’ which says all that really needed to be said.

The final single of the era, ‘Can’t Get Enough’, another candidate for what should have previewed the album in place of ‘Electricity’, limped to number 24 in the charts but boasted perhaps the greatest array of B-sides of all the singles. In archetypal Suede fashion, ‘Let Go’ cut an honest precursor to the musical way forward, which would culminate in the predominantly folky ‘A New Morning’. Three-layered harmonies and melodic acoustic strum back one of Richard Oakes’ finest guitar performances, chiming and chugging riffery that would be revisited on later single ‘Obsessions’. Brett’s lyrics convey an all-pervaying positivity minus the bland triteness of the single of the same name, capping off an irrestible euphoria that would be deemed suitable for release as an A-side in their commercial home from home that was Sweden. It’s a shame that they were unable to replicate the feeling of the song across the subsequent ‘A New Morning’ album, however upon reflection the fault may lie in the fact that said album would be over-produced to the point of clean-cut nothingness by the otherwise accomplished Stephen Street. Next song ‘Since You Went Away’ is folkier still and retains much of the same charm, with Brett lamenting the feeling of loss felt in the aftermath of a realtionship break-up. Again, this is truly lovely stuff and acts as a further blueprint for album number five that would never quite be capitalised on. Heading over to CD2, ‘Situations’ is powered by a synthesised Eastern motif and ponders the ‘lonely minds’ and ‘vacant stares’ typical of Anderson’s lyrics of the time. While slightly over long, it would have worked on ‘Head Music’ had it been the more darker record the band initially promised, and even to these ears sounds somewhat influential on final Suede single (at the time), 2003’s ‘Attitude’. The very final B-side of this era is the brilliant and biting ‘Read My Mind’. As with ‘Crackhead’, it reveals a starker, harsher sound complimented by the blank words defining a phase of depression, most likely revealing the way the writer was feeling at the time. The chorus harmonies add to the relentlessness of the piece and once it’s over, you’re honestly left wanting more.

So these B-sides make up the lost record of 1999 whilst also pointing towards Suede’s final record of their first run. The rockier record that Osman hinted at was surely influenced by the likes of ‘Bored’, ‘Crackhead’ and ‘Read My Mind’, whilst the likes of ‘Let Go’, ‘Leaving’ and ‘Since You Went Away’ were very definitely influences on what eventually did surface. The folklore of early Suede and the B-sides compilation ‘Sci Fi Lullabies’ would lead the casual observer to believe that the band had peaked creatively to the point that post-1997 B-sides would not be worth investigating, however I believe differently and now, thanks to the reissues of ‘Head Music’, these can now be easily accessed for wider reappraisal.

#suede #head music #happy HM anniversary!#head music review

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tardis-stowaway · 5 years

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Ten years after the Not-pocalypse, Adam Young, age 21 and recently graduated from university:

-Works in a crappy retail job and lives in a tiny, crappy flat in London

-The crappy flat has no sound insulation, so he’s always hearing the absurd amount of movement from the people in the flat above and the really loud but not quite intelligible conversations from the people in the flat next door. It’s a long way to the nearest public park, and he misses the green of home.

-Is not all that good at his customer service job, with the exception that if a customer is irrationally angry about something, he says he wants to make sure he understands the problem and repeats their complaint back to them with this look in his eyes, and they universally back down and often apologize. His coworkers love him for it. Everything else is just drudgery.

-Single, despite his best efforts. Okay, maybe not his best efforts, but some efforts.

-Knows that his childhood was uncommonly idyllic at least partly due to his powers. He’s not entirely sure how his life went quite so off the rails lately.

-Maybe his powers have faded gradually since he rejected his destiny, or maybe it’s just that on some level he absorbed the expectation that being in one’s early 20’s means being broke and a little lost, and the expectation made it happen whether he wanted it or not.

-Or maybe he just should’ve chosen a more employable course of study at uni instead of comparative religion. In his defense, it seemed relevant to his life.

-Spends much of his free time on climate crisis activism. He’ll be damned (ha) if he stood against the forces of Heaven and Hell, the Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse, and his own birthright to preserve the continuing existence of humanity on the Earth only for humans to blunder into destroying themselves unintentionally through greed and shortsighted decisions.

-He’s been doing this since he was twelve, when Brian sent the Them’s group text an article about the group Extinction Rebellion with the caption “named for us?? :)” Adam had laughed, then actually read the article. Within a week he’d convinced the Them and a dozen of their classmates to show up at the next town council meeting with a list of sustainability demands.

-No matter how many civil disobedience events he takes part in, he never seems to get arrested. Adam suspects it’s his supernatural entity privilege. Pepper says it’s probably mostly that he’s white and great at charming his way out of trouble.

-He’s still friends with all of the Them, but they don’t live especially close together. He does have a flatmate, an American who Adam met at uni.

-At this point you, a genre-savvy reader of much Good Omens fic and meta, are probably seeing the word “American” and thinking that Adam is flatmates with Warlock Dowling. For once, you are wrong.

-Adam’s flatmate is Jesus.

-Not Jesus Christ, but a young man named Jesus Dominguez, pronounced the Spanish way (like hay-soos).

-Jesus is from Southern California, and he talks more than a little bit like a surfer stereotype. He’s got warm brown skin, shoulder-length dark hair in perpetually-mussed waves, and a little beard. He’s kinda leaning into the look to mess with people, but it’s also the same style found on at least a third of the other male-presenting hipsters in London.

-When he learned that he was going to share a flat with someone named Jesus, Adam called Crowley and Aziraphale. He’s never been gladder that he stayed in touch with them, because he NEEDED someone who understood how the Antichrist and Jesus sharing a flat sounded like the setup for a joke or a sitcom. Crowley did indeed laugh out loud, then told Adam that as a fellow lapsed member of the forces of Hell, he could personally recommend sharing quarters with a heavenly adversary. Aziraphale just muttered “oh, stop” at Crowley.

-Adam moved to London because it was easier to get to the important protests there, and because he was curious. He spent the first six months desperately homesick for Tadfield. The city was so crowded but somehow he still felt so alone, other than Jesus.

-Then a midnight fire-alarm in their building sent him and Jesus into the streets along with dozens of their neighbors. Adam finally met the people in the flat above theirs who made all that moving around noise. They were an older couple who took ballroom dancing lessons at the senior center and liked to practice at home. Mrs. Kapoor tried to teach Adam how to foxtrot right there on the pavement in the middle of the night. He stepped on her feet, but since he was in bare feet and she’d actually taken the time to find shoes it wasn’t a big deal.

-Meanwhile Jesus was finally talking to the loud young men from next door. By the time Adam wandered over, Jesus had learned their names (Leon, Seamus, and Nazim) and secured an invitation for the two of them to come over to watch Saturday’s football match, and to join their next D&D campaign (“just no more paladins,” said Nazim). Adam looked forward to finding out whether it was the D&D or the football that was the cause of more yelling.

-As the evacuation stretched on with no hint of either actual fire or clearance to go back inside, the building’s children began to get fussy. Adam found a coin on the ground (successfully picking it up, because Crowley didn’t make it to this neighborhood very often) and proceeded to distract them with stage magic.

-He initially learned stage magic from Aziraphale, but he’s better at it than the angel ever was. He hardly cheats physical reality at all. The kids love it.

-When the fire department finally gives them the clearance to go back inside, Adam’s stomach rumbles. “Is anyone else hungry?,” he asks, to a chorus of agreement. It’s too late for any nearby takeout, but Jesus chats with their neighbors about options.

-Jesus enlists Adam’s help in going from flat to flat gathering ingredients from everyone, and before long they’re serving fish tacos and grilled cheese sandwiches to a small crowd of pajama-clad people. It’s 2 am, but everyone is smiling, or at least has contentment at the edge of their yawns.

-The next day, Mrs. Kapoor brings Adam and Jesus a spider plant cutting, because she thought their flat looked too bare. Adam texts a picture of it to Crowley and receives back lengthy instructions on watering, pot size, soil, and the most effective threats for the species.

-Five months later, the local planning council has an intense debate about why crime rates in one neighborhood have dropped by 75% since their last meeting. They each try to claim credit for their pet civic projects. Actually, it’s because Adam Young has started to love London, or at least his nook of it.

-Buskers soon realize that certain tube stops are generating far more tips than they ever have before, with no obvious demographic shift accounting for the change. The common ground is that these are the stops on Adam’s commutes to work and his activist meetings. He can only occasionally spare a tip himself, but his enjoyment of the music is contagious.

-Even after the breakthrough, not every day is good. On a late summer day that just happens to be the anniversary of the day the world didn’t end, Adam comes home from a protest fuming.

-“Dude, you okay?” asks Jesus, looking up from his guitar. (Jesus sometimes goes to protests with Adam, but not usually the ones where they’re planning on breaking laws. “I’m a brown-skinned foreigner, man. Do you think I’ll get away with what you get away with? I’m not ready for that yet,” he says, and Adam can’t argue.)

-“The media barely showed up at our event, probably because it was about a million degrees and even though that’s exactly what we’re protesting, nobody wants to be out in it. Six of our people passed out from the heat and three got arrested. They still didn’t arrest me, but I got pushed over and cracked my phone screen. On my way home, some drunk on the tube vomited on my shoes. Our green jobs bill still doesn’t have the votes in Parliament, and have you seen the latest news on the Antarctic ice sheets?” Adam kicks off his shoes, then collapses dramatically onto the futon and groans.

-“Sounds rough,” says Jesus.

-“I should’ve just ended the damn world when I was eleven and I had the chance. Would’ve been quicker,” Adam mutters.

-Jesus gets up and goes to the kitchen. He brings Adam a beer. “You don’t mean that, bro,” he says.

-Adam sighs, accepting the beer. “I suppose not.”

-He drinks his beer. Dog, now grey-muzzled and slow, shuffles over to curl up at his feet. Adam pulls out his phone, which is cracked but still seems functional. He’s got a text from Aziraphale.

-“Dear Adam,” the text begins, because Aziraphale might have finally deigned to learn to text but he steadfastly refused to adopt its stylistic conventions, “I hope that you have returned safely from today’s protest. I’m very proud of your continuing efforts, and though he won’t admit it I know that Crowley feels the same. Please write back at your earliest convenience. Fondly, Aziraphale”

-Adam texts back to reassure the angel, who will doubtless pass it on to Crowley, then he texts similar reassurances to his parents and to Mrs. Kapoor upstairs. He’s still figuring out this adulthood thing, but he’s got a lot of parental figures looking out for him. His Infernal Bio-Dad isn’t one of them, and that’s the way Adam likes it.

-Through the open window comes the sound of music blasting from a car stuck in traffic below. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie are singing:

And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night, And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.

-He turned down the chance to rule the world, and he’d make the same choice again, but he still feels a certain proprietary responsibility towards the planet and its inhabitants. His father—his real, earthly father—didn’t raise him to shirk responsibility, and he’s not one to cave under pressure.

-Life is hard, people are mostly idiots, and the world is coming apart at the seams, but it’s his messed up life and his idiotic people and his beautiful, half-broken world.

#good omens #adam young #good omens headcanons #fanfic #post-canon #please excuse any errors and americanisms #long post #tardis-stowaway's writing & stuff

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raccoonfallsharder · 5 months

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✩࿐࿔ take a fuckin study break [new 12/5]

a surprise/unexpected update

smut-free | no use of y/n | gn reader | drabbles | word count: 1,020.

✩࿐࿔ take what you need. ࿔ eat somethin. at least grab a frickin’ snack. (wc: 576) ࿔ go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737) ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done. & stop doomscrolling (wc: 925) ࿔ take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375) ࿔ leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579) ࿔ take a fuckin study break. (wc: 1,020) for like 80% of you probably ♡ ࿔ drink some goddamn water. [est 12/9] ࿔ stop destroying your frickin clothes. [est 12/19] ࿔ did you take your meds today?

so many of you are either already into finals or heading into them?? so like remember. rocket says to take 15-20 minute breaks every 50-90 minutes. use that time to open your window or go for a walk (even if it's cold). take some deep breaths. stretch. drink water. unclench your jaw. talk to someone who won't let you stay distracted for too long. and grab something to eat (even if it's just a granola bar). brains don't retain jackshit without sleep, nutrients, and moments of rest.

seriously i feel like so many of you are going through some form of finals right now and so i felt like i kinda had to write this last-minute (minimal editing tbh) so just. be kind to you. don't be too hard on yourself.

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based, meant to take place post-volume 3, but headcanon however you want ♡

“Ow!” you yelp, rocking back on your stool and scrubbing a hand at your forehead. “Did you just flick me?” “I been talking at you for like two minutes,” Rocket grouses. “It’s like talking to a frickin’ wall.” You glower. “I told you. I’m studying. And writing. And studying. Leave me alone.” “Yeah, yeah,” he jeers. “Terran finals. Whatever. Sounds like a waste of time. Haven’t the humies on that backward mudball realized yet that tests don’t actually measure learning? It’s like using a yardstick to measure time.” You sigh and lean back. “Yeah, they know. Doesn’t matter though. If I want to pass these classes and get this stupid degree, I need to–” You scrub at your forehead again and sigh. “You know what? Never mind. I cannot have you un-motivating me right now. What did you want?” He leaps neatly onto the stool across from you and sets two glass bottles on the tabletop, then leans his forearms on the little table between you, smirking smugly. “To pay you back, cupcake.” The mockery in his voice does not bode well for you. “Remember what you told me last week when Adam was whining about how I was making him study the Bowie’s schematics for too many hours?” You feel your stomach drop. “No,” you lie, big-eyed. His smirk only grows. “Lemme refresh your terrible frickin’ memory, then.” Now his teeth are sharp and he heightens his voice into a whiny falsetto. “But Rocket. Maximum productivity is only five-to-seven hours a day. You can overload the crappy baldbody brain if you go longer than that–” “Pretty sure I did not say ‘crappy baldbody brain,’” you interject dryly. “–and he could lose everything you’ve taught him already. Plus, he needs fifteen-to-twenty minute breaks every fifty-to-ninety minutes.” You stare at him flatly, unwilling to dignify his bad mimicry with a response. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to care. He’s snickering openly at this point. “Time to take your fuckin’ break,” he tells you. “It’s for your own damn good.”

read more on ao3

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best

if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

@suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips (total word count: 5,192)

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umbral1s · 3 years

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Tagged by @thebittervampire. Thanks 💜 you got me into the mood for doing tags now too

rules: answer the questions and tag people you’d like to get to know better

when is your birthday: 26th November

where do you live: Germany

three things you are doing right now: Lying in bed, listening to music and doing the tag

four fandoms that have piqued your interest: hmmm that would be The Witcher, Dishonored, Fire Emblem and Dragon Age, I'd say

how has the pandemic been treating you: found ot pretty hard at first, still do. I really do miss having a normal uni day and some appointments I had are constantly pushed back. But I got used to it too. I feel like there were some advantages, like having time to think

a song you can’t stop listening to right now: not a song, but I really like having In the Green in the background while preparing presentations. It's somewhat soothing. If I had to name a song, I'd say Starman by David Bowie. Could always listen to that song

recommend a movie: I really loved The Breadwinner. Such a beautifully made movie and creative storytelling 💜

how old are you: 22

school, university, occupation, other: still studying art history and classical archaeology

do you prefer heat or cold: I cant stand heat. So cold for sure. You can always add clothes and also wear turtlenecks and nice coats

name one fact others may not know about you: I used to help my grandpa, who's a vet. So I sometimes would assist with surgeries, but I did nothing big. It was pretty cool tho, because I saw a lot of cats

are you shy: depends. Sometimes yes, sometimes no

pronouns: she/her

biggest pet peeves: museum websites not having a proper archive with good photos and scans

what’s your favourite “dere” type: not my thing

rate your life from 1 to 10 (1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be): I feel like I can't really answer that question, so I'll pass on that. There's too much to take into consideration here to really pass a good answer

what’s your main blog: the one you're reading that very tag on

list your sideblogs and what they’re used for: they are mainly for me or inactive, so don't want yo put them on here

is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends: the same as @thebittervampire wrote also applies to me. Writing back is just pretty hard, because I forget, don't notice how much time passes or simply are not in the right mindset. Especially now with so much uni workload I don't notice how much time passes and it also makes me really tired

I tag @swingxilly. Have fun!

#tag

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juhele · 3 years

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i was tagged by @aziz-the-fangirl, thank you!! :))

rules: answer the questions and tag people you’d like to get to know better

when is your birthday: 25.02.

where do you live: Czech Republic

three things you are doing right now: writing this, watching tiktok, convincing myself to go to bed

four fandoms that have piqued your interest: tbh i don’t really know i haven’t been watching anything lately

how has the pandemic been treating you: yeeet. idk, there are people who definitely have it worse so i shouldn’t complain. let’s just say that i’m not doing great but i wasn’t doing that great before either. i’m grateful for what i have you know and i don’t really want to talk about anything else.

a song you can’t stop listening to right now: ehh, I’ve been listening to Hogwarts March a lot lmao (the song at the end of the triwizard tournament when cedric dies lol), which is kinda random i guess. Also I listen to All The Young Dudes by David Bowie at least once a day since last February. I think both of these say a lot about where I am mentally lol.

recommend a movie: if you haven’t watched Swiss Army Man, you’re missing out a lot.

how old are you: 23

school, university, occupation, other: univeristy

do you prefer heat or cold: cold so i can hide my body in layers

name one fact others may not know about you: i was an extra for one day on Sex Education, you can see my blurry head with blue hair in the background of one of the scenes. it was pretty fun day, got paid, stood next to gilian anderson for a bit. (i have a friend who even has lines in that show)

are you shy: it depends, but probably

pronouns: she/her (but don’t be talking about me behind my back)

biggest pet peeves: hmmm when people are pretentious i guess (i study theatre so i see that a lot), also in terms of habits i guess i really hate when the furniture in our house is not aligned how i like it

what’s your favourite “dere” type: omg i had to google this and i do watch anime you know. but i seriously don’t know

rate your life from 1 to 10 (1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be): eh i mean i have a pretty good life compared to the rest of the world so let’s give it a 7

what’s your main blog: i only have this one

list your sideblogs and what theyre used for: i don’t have any, i barely go on this one

is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends: i’ll try really hard to make you laugh but i also won’t stop with the depressive jokes

okie, i’m sorry but i suck at tagging so anyone who wants to do this, please feel free. Seriously. If you want to, consider yourself tagged and tag me so I can see :)

thanks again for tagging me :)

#tag game

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thenightling · 4 years

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Just read The Dreaming issue 20

I feel like I just wasted two years of my life reading this and I want my money and time back...

Where do I begin? The first four or five pages are just a rambling Cabalic rant just narrowly avoiding copyright infringement on the song Station to Station by David Bowie.

It felt cold, it felt without heart. Ironic since it repeated over and over again “The point is to feel.” I felt nothing. Daniel uncreating Wan was the only interesting thing in the whole story.

Speaking of which... Daniel was able to uncreate Wan? But Wan isn’t a dream entity or Nightmare. Wan is a man-made A. I. You can’t uncreate something you didn’t create to begin with, Danny. That’s just murder. Be it murder of an obnoxious character that should never have existed but still murder. And if Wan is technically related to Rose (because he was The Dream King...) doesn’t that mean you just spilt family blood, by that same idiotic logic / non-logic? Shouldn’t The Kindly Ones be on your ass now? Please... Kill him... It’s unfair this bastard gets to live. Someone invoke The Kindly Ones! You claim Wan is family blood enough to take in the vortex, that means Daniel “uncreating” him (which was actually killing) should be enough to mark his doom. Daniel, spilt family blood. And... no one will mourn this time... at least not among the fans...

Daniel was very nonchalant about possibly having to kill Rose until the Good side of Wane offered up himself. Why is Daniel so pro-homicide?! Morpheus was very reluctant to kill her, apologetic, and kept stalling. Daniel, on the other hand was like “Oh, well. Gonna have to kill my great niece now.” Only the mother of his intended wife...

So the fact that we never literally see Death (But she’s in at least three scenes) or half of Desire’s face is never addressed or acknowledged. Ivy is lost ...in another universe Daniel created and can’t find her way back?! ...Okay...

That created universe felt like a potentially big plot and now it may just get abandoned.

The only good part is Cain killing Abel after Abel says he loves him and Cain saying “I love you too.”

Daniel is more of an asshole than Morpheus ever was. What the fuck is wrong with this Dream Lord? Can someone please kill him already? Where are the Kindly Ones when you need them? I never despised Morpheus. I. want. Daniel. Dead.

Also the dreamkin are happy because they realize they aren’t just slaves to a cold king? But YOU MADE him a cold king, Simon! YOU decided that valuing their company, their very presence- that them being able to relieve his loneliness was somehow a bad reason to exist but to be TOOLS to summon him back, THAT is “Not slaves to a cold king.”YOU- YOU- YOOOOOOOUU Simon, you, you fucking moron, YOU made them slaves to a cold king when you decided loneliness was a bad reason to have friends around! What the fuck is wrong with you?!

If someone has the means to absolve your loneliness it’s because you value them and their company. Why is yours a good reason for them to exist but not loneliness? What. the. fuck?

Someone, please, politely convey this to him.

It felt rushed. It felt heartless. And I’m pretty sure David Bowie’s very ghost cna sue you for slander at this point.

“Life lingers where it is most despised.” - Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, KILL OFF DANIEL! HE IS DAMAGED GOODS!

Twice now Daniel has been written with improbable assholary in two different versions of The Dreaming. Stop trying to salvage this dumpster fire of a character already. It’s clear the writers hate him, even if it’s on a subconscious level. And I can’t keep telling myself “Oh, that never happened. That’s not canon anymore.” every time someone writes him like the incompetent brother of Marvel’s Nightmare. Look back on this twenty issue train wreck and Morpheus (even now) is still more likable. The writers don’t hate him!

What a waste of potential. What was the point of bringing back the ruby dreamstone? To tease us? Or just for that crappy Sailor Moon-esque scene? why do Dreaming Sandman spin-off writers seem obsessed with 90s anime? Caitlin R. Kiernan made Goldie into Cubone and Simon Spurrier had to have a Sailor Moon moment with Dreamstones. No, it was like Captain planet. “Water! Fire! Earth! Wind! Ruby! ...I mean heart!” “By your powers combined I am Captain Douche Dream!”

Plot holes:

1. if Wan is family blood enough to take Rose’s vortex into himself than he’s also blood of The Endless. That means Daniel just spilt family blood. This SHOULD (in theory) be a problem.

2. if Wan counts as Rose’s blood because he was Dream King does that mean he counts as an aspect of Dream? And if so do traditional rules apply? By that I mean are we getting a “Buffy” thing here? (the way the show got two slayers co-existing.) When one dies another comes to take his place. A new aspect replaces the old. Will this lead into two aspects of Dream co-existing since one comes to replace Wan? The Dream King that comes to take the pace of the destroyed Wan Dream King could easily be an old aspect of Dream. Daniel stil existed when Wan ruled so he doesn’t count. They existed at the same time as each other. By technicality another aspect of Dream should have manifested the moment Wan died.

This could have / should have opened the door for two Dreams co-existing.

So many loose ends... Some parts are boring and drawn out and then other parts are rushed and then you get rambling, pseudo-intellectual “Look at me, I know the form of occultism and Cabalistic mysticism Bowie was into when he was out-of-his-mind on cocaine! Aren’t I clever? I’m name dropping from mysticism and 1976 song lyrics all at once!” (Are you trying to make me no longer be a David Bowie fan? You dared taint him with this awful writing!)

Who liked this?! Why was this allowed!? Why did you do this to us?! What did the fans do to deserve this?

...Why?

Did we offend you in some way? Why did you subject us to this stupidity? Is there ANYONE who actually LIKED this?!

This was so bad, it left such a bad taste in my mouth / mind that I’m not sure I even want to read The Dreaming: The Waking Hours. Two, that’s TWO incarnations of The Dreaming (1996 to 2002 version and 2018 to 2020 version) that felt like something left in an unflushed toilet after too much spicy food. And you want me to trust a third version?

I wish I could bleach my brain...

#Simon Spurrier #The Dreaming #The Sandman Universe #David Bowie #Neil Gaiman's The Sandman Universe #Daniel Hall #Dream of The Endless

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cailann · 5 years

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About Me Tag

I was tagged by: @stephdaninja @lulidrafts and @lordbunshin thank you~

I will be tagging: ..i saw it everywhere so I feel kinda stupid to tag others, but.. @datemasamunemaiwaifu @unstoppablelinda @yanumii @crazyfreckledginger @djcarrieanne @classy-mc @nakakakilig @wizardwolf16 @thetacticianmitsunari

How tall are you?

172 cm which is like .. 5'8?

What color and style is your hair?

Dark brown and stupidly long so always in a bun. .. bun!

What kind of student are/were you?

Elementary and highschool ..I was trying to be one of the best, now in college.. I’m like an invisible student. Everyone can see me on the first lecture and then three months later when exams begins. I can’t be bothered anymore. I’m tired. I prefer spending my time with Kenshin, thank you~

What color are your eyes?

Dark brown.

When were you born?

4th of July.

What’s your fashion sense?

I’m feeling good when I try to look fashionable? So.. my “trademark” are heels, skinny jeans, baggy sweater and short faux leather jacket.

Do you like school?

Nope, nope, nopity nope.

Where were you born & where do you live now?

Born in Czech, living in Czech, probably will die here too. It’s nice and peaceful in this little shithole most of you don’t even know that exist.

What school do/did you go to?

I studied extremely useless high school and now I’m at extremely useless art program at our university. Can’t wait for my future.

Full Name:

That’s .. only for those who are somehow close to me, sorry.

Do you wear braces?

Used to.. for .. way too long.

Do you have any regrets?

Yes and no. Without them I wouldn’t be where I am right now. And I’m quite happy with who and where I am. ...lol that was a lie

Favorite book?

TERRY GOODKING - SWORD OF TRUTH! It’s very long but I have never read anything better. Everything about it is just so epic. You like fantasy that is brutal? Give it a try. These books changed me in a way I can’t describe.

Favorite Movie?

Just one? Come on.. I guess Labyrinth with David Bowie. I loved Jareth.

Favorite TV Show?

Supernatural. Bones. Game of Thrones. South Park and xx others.

Do you wear glasses?

No.

Favorite past time?

Just.. daydreaming while listening to music.. and reading, drawing, watching my favorite TV shows.. Yes, I’m lazy.

Dream job?

Anything with animals. (In a way of protecting them, helping them..)

What countries have you visited?

Austria, Poland, Serbia, Hungary, Slovakia, Macedonia, Italy, Greece.

Scariest Nightmare?

I like my nightmares. There is no “scariest”. I don’t remember having nice dreams. I’m always dying, fighting or being haunted/haunting others. I wish I could write a book about them, because.. they mostly makes sense and are a good stories.

Any enemies?

Yes, but I’m not around them anymore so I let all my anger go. I hope they did too.

Any significant other?

One Uesugi husband~~~ and since yesterday I ..guess I have a wife too.

Do you believe in miracles?

Eh.. maybe.

How are you?

Crappy, thanks for asking! You read this far? O.o Then I hope your day is better than mine~

#other

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missionimmortal · 4 years

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Tagged by: @why-am-i-pluto

Name/Alias: Julie/Jewels

Hair Color: Dark brown with a few white strands. They aren’t really in noticeable streaks or patches yet.

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn.

Height: 5′4″.

Hobbies: Writing, movies, making jewelry and felt dolls. I occasionally draw but I’m kind of stiff-handed.

Favorite Color: Red, green, purple, silver, and black. It’s a pretty goth palette, but I don’t always dress that way.

Favorite Books: Life of Pi, Interview With the Vampire. Tales from the Gas Station is really a set of short stories that interconnect and could be a book. It is a hell of a first-person narrative.

Last Song I Listened To: Cat People (Putting Out Fire), Let’s Dance album version, David Bowie.

Last Film that I Watched: The Ghoul, with Peter Cushing and John Hurt. Despite them being there, it was crappy. The last DECENT movie I saw was Deathwatch, a horror film set in WWI.

Things I Love: Family, friends, my cat, Chinese food, oracle cards, movies (especially fantasy and monster movies), Tom Cruise, rock music.

What Brings Me Peace: My cat, my friends, doing magic, making things.

Meaning Behind My URL: Mission Impossible, but vampires are often characterized as being immortal, so . . .

Tagging: You excellent entities out there.

#memes #about me #about the mun #out of jackass stunts

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ryukoishida · 3 years

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Qian Qiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: In which YWS experiences qi-deviation and SQ helps out.

Title: Down for You Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW Chapter: 1/1 Summary: [Post Canon] While experimenting with further improving Fundamental Records of Phoenix-Qilin, Yan Wushi suffered from sexually-driven qi deviation, which he tried to hide from Shen Qiao. When Shen Qiao finally realized what was wrong and offered to help, Yan Wushi felt conflicted. A/N: Another qi deviation fic? Yes. Let me join in the fun too please and thank.

---

Yan Wushi hated asking for help.

He viewed dependence on someone else as a weakness – a weakness that he as one of the strongest martial arts masters under the heavens had no need for. Even since he was young, he thrived on being on his own: with no other pupils to distract him, and no overbearing teacher to instruct him point-by-point, he was able to concentrate on his training and meditation in his own pace and direction that had taken him higher on the path to greatness and strength in the martial arts realm.

To Yan Wushi, other people were either nuisances for him to flick off like pestering flies or rivals worthy of challenging; friends were merely an unnecessary burden.

Taking on two disciples during the last few decades had not changed his perspective on this. He took on Bian Yanmei and Yu Shengyan knowing that their independent personalities would work well with his hands-off teaching method. And thankfully, both of his disciples turned out to be more than capable to handle themselves and sect affairs when he wasn’t around.

In short, Yan Wushi hated asking for help. He never saw the need, and so perhaps had forgotten how.

Subsequently, when Shen Qiao asked him what was wrong with the slightest hint of worry between his brows, out of pure habit, Yan Wushi smiled and replied lightly, if not a little breathlessly from the itching heat that was very slowly inching from his solar plexus to the rest of his body through his bloodstreams, “nothing, my beloved.”

Even speaking such few words proved to be challenging; his throat protested with a parched, sweet burn that could only be satiated with the touch of one person, and one person only.

But Yan Wushi didn’t dare ask. He’d already asked too much of Shen Qiao by being here with him, standing beside him as if they were equals.

Shen Qiao’s frown deepened a little, barely noticeable. The answer clearly didn’t satisfy the sect leader of Xuan Du, yet Shen Qiao was a patient man and was not one to force answers out of Yan Wushi until he knew his husband was ready to divulge. Heaving a soft sigh and aiming a knowing look at the other man, Shen Qiao only pressed his lips into a tight line and lowered his gaze back to the scroll he’d been reading.

It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced qi deviation. During the years in his training to reach the higher levels of the Fundamental Records of Phoenix-Qilin, Yan Wushi had suffered countless instances and variations of his qi running erratic in his meridian network – icy needles prickling his bones, bursting flames scorching his flesh, paralysis rendering him completely vulnerable – and he’d overcame each and every single one of them without anyone’s interference or assistance.

The slow-burning heat like molten lava crawling slowly up and down his limbs and prickling just beneath his skin was nothing he’d ever experienced before, but Yan Wushi was certain he could get through this troublesome phase with a few more days of meditation and rewiring of his meridian network.

“You will tell me if there is something wrong, will you not?” Shen Qiao’s gaze didn’t move away from the text on his scroll, but his voice was quiet and genuine with concern.

“Of course, Ah-Qiao.”

Three more days of silently suffering the gradually increasing discomfort of feverish sensitivity and the progressively difficulty of ignoring the pulsing desire running wild within his body that no meditation nor long soaks in cold water could suppress, Yan Wushi was desperate.

He wouldn’t allow his disciples or other servants near him for the last few days, and to Shen Qiao’s surprise, he’d even turned his own husband away, muttering something along the lines of not wishing to pass whatever illness he had to his beloved partner. Given any other day, Shen Qiao would have left him be, but Yan Wushi’s behavior had been too uncharacteristic even for the man’s eccentric personality, and that was the moment when the sect leader of Xuan Du couldn’t pretend to be oblivious anymore.

“Yan-zongzhu…”

After knocking on the door of their shared bedchamber in Yuxu Pavilion and receiving no reply, Shen Qiao gingerly opened the door and stepped in. Night had already fallen hours ago and the candles were burning low, the orange glow of the flames flickering when the evening breeze slipped in through the gap of the open door before stilling again.

“Yan-zongzhu?” Shen Qiao tried again, tone soft, making his way to the side of the bed, where Yan Wushi was lying on his back, blankets kicked messily to the side and clothing haphazardly loosened in a state of disarray. His breathing was shallow and harsh, skin flushed and streaked with sweat, exposed chest rising and falling in an abnormal rate that made Shen Qiao rushed the last few steps to the bed and reached out for his companion’s wrist.

He rested two fingers against Yan Wushi’s pulse point, attempting to get a reading, but before he could accurately diagnose the man’s condition, Yan Wushi pulled his arm away with a groan.

“Ah-Qiao…” Yan Wushi croaked out, his voice much hoarser and lower than usual from how dry the inside of his mouth was, and he cleared his throat, eyes fluttering open and head turning slightly to look at Shen Qiao. His pupils were dilated so that only a thin ring of red-brown could be seen. “As much as I appreciate your concern, there really is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Yan Wushi!” Shen Qiao’s patience was running thin, and Yan Wushi could tell because he was calling him by his full name. With quick reflexes, Shen Qiao caught his husband’s wrist again, this time using a bit more force to keep him in place as he tried to read his pulse once more. The palpitation was strangely rapid and inconsistent, with a rhythm that he wasn’t familiar with from any medical books he’d read.

Brows gathering into a deeper frown and lips tightening into a straight line, Shen Qiao placed his palm on the other man’s forehead, and was shocked at the burning temperature of his skin there. He continued his examination, gently feeling his cheek with the back of his hand, and then slender fingers were on the side of his neck – a man’s most vulnerable point, easily grasped and snapped into pieces – but Yan Wushi only craved more, Shen Qiao’s cool fingertips and innocent touches merely serving to ignite whatever was flaring wildly inside his body.

Shen Qiao detected a change in Yan Wushi’s breathing, and simply deduced that as being his condition worsening. He quickened his examination, his hand briefly resting on Yan Wushi’s sternum before sliding lower to his solar plexus, all the while focusing his own qi to the center of his palm to see if he could at least alleviate some of the discomfort and ease the stranded qi into flowing again.

“Hah…!” Yan Wushi jerked as the qi from Shen Qiao’s palm entered through his skin and into his meridian network. It had felt… good. Too good, in fact, that he was afraid he might lose control of himself if he didn’t stop what his dear husband was doing right now.

In his current weakened state, Yan Wushi had no real strength to push back, and so he resorted to his infamous verbal skills. Lifting up his shuddering arm, he covered the back of Shen Qiao’s hand, which was still laying lightly across his husband’s stomach, with his own, interlaced their fingers together and pulled that pale jade hand towards his lips, murmuring against his warm skin in a low voice.

“Ah-Qiao… my good Ah-Qiao… do not be angry with me,” Yan Wushi was using his best impression of an overly-affectionate cat. His saccharine tone shouldn’t be so effective on Shen Qiao, but when it was paired with the teary-eyed gaze, flushed cheeks, and strands of star-white hair stuck to his temple, Shen Qiao felt the initial heat of his frustration simmered away until nothing but a soft smoldering tenderness was left.

Shen Qiao sighed but allowed Yan Wushi to keep holding his hand.

“Yan-lang, I am not angry, but I wish you would tell me right away when something like this happen. If you were to…” Shen Qiao’s mind flashed to the memory of Yan Wushi’s lifeless body lying on the cold, hard ground after his last fight with Hulugu, and he squeezed his eyes close, shaking his head viciously to tear himself away from that nightmarish image. “No, you cannot do that to me again. Promise me that you will not hide yourself like this next time you experience another instance of qi-deviation, or anything else.”

“Call me that again, and I will promise you anything you want.”

“Call you…?” Shen Qiao realized belatedly that he’d been addressing Yan Wushi with the pet name he only used sparingly during their most intimate moments, and he felt his face heating up from embarrassment. “Yan Wushi, this is a serious issue. If you continue to jest around as if your life is a joke —”

“How could I treat my own life as a joke when there is someone who care so deeply for me?” Yan Wushi lightly kissed the back of Shen Qiao’s hand before smiling up at him, the expression so indulgent and gentle – so unlike the usual bold and wolfish grin – that it took all of Shen Qiao’s self-control to not combust on the spot.

“Y-Yan-lang, that is beside the point.”

Despite his cold words, Shen Qiao conceded but quickly continued as if that little scene didn’t happen, “it seems like the flow of your qi is stuck somewhere along the Conception Vessel, probably between the Huiyin point and Qihai point, but it is better if we have a physician take a look—”

“Absolutely not,” Yan Wushi was adamant about this.

“Yan-lang, now is not the time to be headstrong,” Shen Qiao tried to persuade his partner. “Who knows what will happen if we do not act quickly to resolve the qi deviation?”

“This venerable one will not let anyone else touch me other than you.”

“I do not know how to help you…” Shen Qiao said, powerless against the demonic sovereign when he was acting so childishly, “perhaps with acupuncture…?”

“I do,” Yan Wushi said quickly, “and it definitely does not involve needles.”

He internally shuddered at the thought of those sharp, silver, pointy metal bits entering his acupressure points.

“All right,” Shen Qiao acquiesced with a resigned sigh, “will you at least tell me how, then?”

“It is quite simple, really,” one corner of Yan Wushi’s lips curved up into a slight grin, and Shen Qiao suddenly had a bad feeling about this, “I just need Ah-Qiao to enter me and climax inside me while at the same time stimulate a few specific acupressure points on my body with your qi.”

“… pardon me?”

It was solely thanks to Shen Qiao’s strict upbringing that he didn’t instantly slap Yan Wushi across the face and leave.

Rather than repeating himself – because he was sure that Shen Qiao had heard exactly what he’d said – Yan Wushi guided his husband’s hand from his mouth and southward, past his chest and stomach, and finally let it rest on his crotch, which, despite the layers of clothing, was quite obviously stirring in interest, as it had been for the past few days no matter how many times Yan Wushi had tried to resolve this problem by himself.

“Please, Ah-Qiao, will you not help your poor husband out? You know I do not beg easily, but for you…” Yan Wushi grinded up against Shen Qiao’s palm, and even though that slight friction was not nearly enough to quench his yearning, knowing that it was Shen Qiao who was touching him down there was sufficient to make the demonic sovereign bite his lower lip to dampen the whimper that was slipping out prettily. His body trembled with want, aching to be touched; he had to internally force his own frame to remain in place instead of springing up like a predator to trap Shen Qiao within his arms.

“Yan-lang, you know you never have to plead with me if you truly need help, right?” Shen Qiao was not used to seeing this side of Yan Wushi. Even as young as Xie Ling and as mellow as Ah-Yan were, none of his split personalities had ever acted like this. From Yan Wushi’s own perspective, this kind of behavior was unbecoming, a display of weakness, a sign of disgrace, and so he would never have allowed himself to fall into this pathetic state.

Shen Qiao’s fingers were twitching from the heat emanating from Yan Wushi’s erection, so it was a wonder he was able to inquire in a calm tone, “but are you certain that this is the only way to redirect your qi?”

“My good Ah-Qiao, please… I… I need you to touch me or I am literally going to die.”

Now Yan Wushi was being rather dramatic, and they both knew it. Even Shen Qiao was trying hard not to crack a smile at that as Yan Wushi continued his lament.

“Is that what you want? Do you want your husband to die from something as ridiculous as sexually-driven qi deviation?”

“For someone who is supposedly suffering, Yan-zongzhu sure runs his mouth too much,” Shen Qiao’s inhibition had melted away, and his worry seemed to have alleviated somewhat as well, after seeing that Yan Wushi was still capable of his melodramatic antics. “Shall I put your mouth to better use?”

Shen Qiao allowed himself to be pulled forward and down until their noses were nuzzling against each other’s, their breaths mingling hotly while the sect leader of Xuan Du ran his fingers back up to his exposed chest, splaying his hand against the patch of warm skin there. Feeling his husband’s heart thrumming beneath his fingertips, Shen Qiao’s own chest felt full of emotions that were impossible to put into words, so he didn’t try – not when he could communicate those feelings through his actions.

“And what does Shen-zhangjiao suggest?” Yan Wushi whispered, each word branding against the other man’s lips like the sweetest poison.

Shen Qiao wordlessly closed the distance between them, first with a chaste kiss of lips gently touching, and then almost instantly flared into a wet, messy clashing of mouths, teeth, and tongues initiated by Yan Wushi. Before long, however, even the demonic sovereign was feeling the radiating waves of heat and languor struck his muscles once more, and Shen Qiao was able to regain control by trapping Yan Wushi’s wrists to his sides while he counterattacked with biting kisses and soothing licks along the side of his neck.

Red and violet bruises bloomed like sweet fragrant alyssum blossoms where Shen Qiao’s mouth roamed, and the mere thought of the pure and virtuous Shen-zhangjiao of Xuan Du Sect marking him thus was making Yan Wushi harder than ever, and he made sure to let Shen Qiao know by releasing needy, broken moans of “Ah-Qiao” and “hurry”.

Soon enough, Shen Qiao had Yan Wushi’s robes removed and pants halfway tangled down his muscular legs, and while Shen Qiao had been imbued with an intoxicating sense of new-found confidence that had allowed him to initiate the kiss, yet as soon as he had laid bare Yan Wushi, his eyes roaming along the expanse of tanned skin and taut muscles aching to be touched and marred, the Daoist found himself hesitating once more.

He’d been kissing his way down his husband’s hipbone and the junction between his hip and thigh, and Shen Qiao could smell the musk of Yan Wushi’s arousal, which only served to make his cheeks heat up more. He froze at the sight of his husband’s swollen and dripping cock.

“You know…” Shen Qiao started, gaze downcast, “I have never done this before, so let me know if you feel any discomfort or pain…”

As if Yan Wushi needed that reminder.

He’d been trying so hard to maintain the last thread of self-control he had, too, and one innocent comment from his dear husband had completely shattered what sanity remained inside of him.

“My good Ah-Qiao,” Yan Wushi breathed out, reaching for the other man’s hands, and their fingers interlaced as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “no matter what you do to me, I am certain that I will have nothing but praises for you.”

Shen Qiao shook his head once and laughed softly, the sound and his expression so tender that Yan Wushi couldn’t help but squeeze his fingers tighter before guiding those same calloused hands to where Yan Wushi needed him to touch.

His cock was slick and hot – almost abnormally so, which Shen Qiao supposed made sense since this was a symptom of qi deviation – but it didn’t diminish the fact that it was big, the shine of pre-cum drooling from the tip simultaneously tempting and intimidating.

Shen Qiao swallowed at the sight despite Yan Wushi’s generous words, and tentatively, he licked the tip and contemplated the responsive shudder that ran up Yan Wushi’s spine.

A good sign, Shen Qiao mused quietly to himself, and then he did it again – small, experimental flicks of his tongue against the velvety skin of the head as if he was tasting a new flavor of candy. Shen Qiao decided he rather liked it, especially the interesting reactions his gesture seemed to be kindling in Yan Wushi, the way he hissed impatiently and tangling his fingers into Shen Qiao’s hair, tugging to beg wordlessly.

Encouraged by his husband’s response, Shen Qiao took it a step further, and envelope the entire head into the moist cavern of his mouth, first delicately wrapping his lips around the tip and taking care to not let his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there, then slowly swallowing Yan Wushi centimeter by centimeter until he found it hard to breath and his jaw began to ach.

“Gods, Ah-Qiao, you are going to be the death of me…” Yan Wushi murmured shakily, his hand cradling the back of Shen Qiao’s head gently while fingers idly played with his frost green hair ribbon. The cold silk felt like cooling water in the springtime against his fingertips, and it reminded Yan Wushi of that one night when he used that exact hair ribbon to tie Shen Qiao’s wrists while he had his way with him.

The memories didn’t serve him well, for a stream of unfathomable heat and prickling desire blazed down his meridian network and made his cock twitch in Shen Qiao’s mouth.

Shen Qiao’s eyes flickered up to check on his husband, and noticed that Yan Wushi had one arm thrown across his face in an attempt to muffle his moans. His hazel eyes darkened, and he resumed to sucking; where his mouth couldn’t reach, Shen Qiao made use of his hand at the base, pumping in time with the movement of his mouth and tongue and sliding wetly up and down Yan Wushi’s length.

Feeling his thighs beginning to shake at the anticipation of release, Shen Qiao pulled up but his hand didn’t let up its pace. He peppered contrastingly soft kisses along the inside of Yan Wushi’s thigh while his hand tugged in a tempo that was verging on brutal, but that was exactly what Yan Wushi needed.

It didn’t take long for him to climax into Shen Qiao’s hand with a choked groan, and strands of white landed on his own abdomen as well as on his husband’s still clean and meticulous robes.

“W-was that all right?” Shen Qiao asked, uncertainty tinting his hoarse whisper as he climbed back up to look at Yan Wushi properly. He was about to measure the man’s pulse again when he saw tear streaks down Yan Wushi’s cheeks. Heart seized up in a panic, he quickly dabbed the wetness away with his sleeve, a trail of apologies ready on his tongue.

Yan Wushi caught his forearm and planted a small kiss on the inside of his wrist.

“It was more than all right,” Yan Wushi assured him with a languid smile, releasing Shen Qiao’s hand and raising his arm up to brush his thumb against the other man’s red and abused lower lip, the colour so mesmerizing that he couldn’t help but pull Shen Qiao down for a brief but dirty, open-mouthed kiss before murmuring against his ear once they both ran out of air, “in fact, I think I am already starting to feel better, but you know this husband needs more, right?”

Shen Qiao nodded, biting his lip. After easing off of Yan Wushi’s body, he shrugged off his soiled outer robe and moved to retrieve the ceramic vial that he knew his husband kept inside a hidden compartment by the side of their bed. He fumbled with the stopper until it popped out, and he shakily poured out a significant amount of carrageenan extract into his hand.

The texture of it was a little off-putting – a sticky gel-like consistency that reminded him of… another kind of bodily fluid – but he wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt Yan Wushi in the process. After all, Shen Qiao himself wasn’t very experienced, and though this whole ordeal was nothing but a medical treatment, the sect leader of Xuan Du still needed to ensure that Yan Wushi would not be wounded further.

“You will tell me if I am hurting you, will you not?”

The concern in his eyes was genuine. Everything about Shen Qiao was genuine, and Yan Wushi used to think this kind of naturally honest nature was the trait of an absolute fool, yet here he was, in love with a so-called fool.

Maybe he was the one who’d become a fool after all this time.

He didn’t have enough time to contemplate any further than that, because Shen Qiao was kissing him on the mouth when he didn’t answer.

“Yan-lang?”

Yan Wushi couldn’t find it in himself to tease his husband this time, so with equal sincerity, he said, “I will, Ah-Qiao.”

“Good,” Shen Qiao nodded with a small satisfied smile.

With his fingers slicked up with lubricant, Shen Qiao once again returned his attention to his present task. He knelt between Yan Wushi’s legs, which he had opened up slightly wider to more easily accommodate his partner, and carefully slipped the tip of his middle finger into Yan Wushi’s puckered hole.

Unaccustomed to the strange sensation down there, Yan Wushi instinctively wanted to escape from the touch by closing his legs together, but Shen Qiao steadied him with his other hand by firmly pushing against his thigh while pushing his finger further in until the entire digit was swallowed up by the warm tightness.

“Nnng… Ah-Qiao… it feels odd…” Yan Wushi exhaled with a tremulous murmur.

“Odd in a good way or in a bad way?” Shen Qiao asked, stilling his motion and lifting his gaze back up to Yan Wushi’s face to observe his expression.

“Undetermined,” Yan Wushi decided, letting his eyes fall close and breathing out to try to relax his body. The unyielding roiling waves of gnawing desire had subsided a little after he’d climaxed earlier, but with his qi still stuck, that unwelcoming stream of energy was beginning to gather at the pit of his stomach all too soon, causing his cock to stir again even though he hadn’t been touched there yet.

“Hm,” Shen Qiao only hummed thoughtfully. He opted to continue for now.

He pumped his finger in and out a few times to allow Yan Wushi to get used to the sensation before he increased the pace and added a second finger, crooking them in a shallow angle to find the correct acupressure points. To Shen Qiao’s delight, the gesture caused Yan Wushi’s breathing to quicken, his chest rising and falling in tormented groans. His cock lengthened and swelled with blood, and was soon back to its full strength.

“Haaah… Ah-Qiao, keep going…”

The fingering had felt good – so damn good – even though Shen Qiao claimed that he was inexperienced. He must have picked up some skills from Yan Wushi during their previous intimate nights, for after the early moment of embarrassment and hesitation, the way he manipulated Yan Wushi’s body with his slender and calloused fingers had become proficient and deadly.

“I am going to start transferring my qi through your acupoints starting from the Qugu point,” Shen Qiao said, trying to tear his eyes away from Yan Wushi’s debauched expression – silvery-white and ink-black hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin, eyes squeezed close, head craned back to expose the strong line of his throat, and the occasional moans slipping past his throat – but as he shifted his gaze back to where his fingers were, still buried deep within Yan Wushi’s hole, which had turned dusty pink and glistening from the extract around the ridge, Shen Qiao was starting to question his ability to carry on this operation.

“W-what?”

The feverish desire had reached its new height so that Yan Wushi was unable to think clearly. He was only vaguely aware that Shen Qiao said something and that he needed something much bigger and thicker to fill the void that was verging on swallowing his whole being.

“Never mind,” Shen Qiao said and took a deep breath to regain focus. With attentive eyes and precise execution, Shen Qiao directed the qi inside of his own body so that it flowed in a gradual stream towards the tips of his middle and ring fingers; when he grazed upwards, he aimed the flow of qi to the Qugu point, which was physically the closest to where his fingertips were.

From there, Shen Qiao pushed his qi forward, testing the give of the entire trail of Conception Vessel before forcing it through to the next acupoint, up Zhongji and pierced through to Guanyuan.

“Yan-lang, how do you feel?”

Yan Wushi had been chillingly quiet since Shen Qiao had started transferring his own qi into his husband’s body, and his abnormal silence made the Daoist thought that maybe the demonic sovereign was rejecting his qi due to their different martial arts origins.

“Ah-Qiao…” he gasped, eyes hooded and the blood-red of his irises just a thin ring from his fully dilated pupils, “too… too much…”

Shen Qiao’s heart thudded against his ribcage at how wrecked Yan Wushi sounded. He’d never seen the man like this, even when he was lost in the deepest end of pleasure, and somewhere buried, hidden, and shaped by years of Daoist teachings and morals was an instinctive part of Shen Qiao that had woken up from seeing this vulnerable, intimate side of the usually self-assured and strong Yan Wushi, the cold, ruthless, selfish leader of Huan Yue Sect.

“Yan-lang,” Shen Qiao caressed his husband’s cheek in comfort, wiping away a stray tear that’d escaped his eyes, “we are almost there, just hold on for Ah-Qiao’s sake. Will you do that for me?”

Yan Wushi closed his eyes and shook his head, and his body seemed to suddenly stop being pliant as well.

Shen Qiao’s qi couldn’t advance further; if he kept forcing it, he might risk injuring the rest of Yan Wushi’s meridian system, and that was the last thing Shen Qiao wanted.

“All right, all right,” Shen Qiao cooed, gently taking his fingers out.

Yan Wushi sighed out with a shuddering breath, half in relief and half in lament at the dizzying empty feeling.

If this method didn’t work, he might need to find another way. Shen Qiao was nothing if not resourceful.

“Ah-Qiao, I want you…” Yan Wushi grasped Shen Qiao’s right hand and placed it pointedly against his husband’s clothed arousal, the fabric of which had already been darkened from spots of precum.

“!”

Shen Qiao shuddered when Yan Wushi weakly squeezed his cock through his trousers.

Well, Yan Wushi never had been one to beat around the bush, so Shen Qiao didn’t know what he’d been expecting.

“I —” Shen Qiao paused. Verbally expressing his affection for his husband still didn’t come easily to him, but there were rare moments like this that he found it to be the simplest, most natural thing to do. “I want you, too, Yan-lang.”

The candles were burning dangerously low, and a few had already extinguished, casting the room deeper into the night.

After removing the rest of his clothing, Shen Qiao folded the blanket into a make-shift cushion and placed it under his partner’s lower back before settling back between Yan Wushi’s legs. With one hand wrapped around Yan Wushi’s waist to steady him and the other gently parting the two mounds of firm muscles to reveal the slightly swollen hole, Shen Qiao lined himself up.

All this time, he’d been so focused on mending Yan Wushi’s meridian network that he’d been neglecting his own desire, and now that it’d been freed from the restraint of his undergarment, it was clear that Shen Qiao had been holding back.

He started slow – for both Yan Wushi and his own sanity.

The tip went in easily enough from the ample preparation and Shen Qiao’s own precum lubricating the first part of the entry. The velvet heat that instantly surrounded him was intoxicating, and if Shen Qiao had less self-control, he’d have immediately slammed himself in as deep and hard as he could, but in the end, he managed to reign in that flaring craving that was slowly but surely burning his logic and patience into ashes.

Resisting the urge to thrust all the way in took all of Shen Qiao’s willpower; his knuckles turned white from how hard he was grasping onto Yan Wushi’s hips, which would surely leave bruises that the demonic sovereign would later smugly show his embarrassed husband.

Little by little, Shen Qiao pushed himself into that addictive and delicious heat, all the time still observing for any ailing changes in Yan Wushi’s body. If anything, it seemed having Shen Qiao slowly fucking himself into him only made him more vocal.

“D-do not stop, please… feels good…” Yan Wushi wasn’t helping a bit as he wrapped his legs tightly around Shen Qiao’s waist, imploring for him to go deeper.

Seeing that he wasn’t causing his partner any discomfort, Shen Qiao steeled himself and plunged all the way in until he was fully sheathed. He panted harshly into Yan Wushi’s mouth, who slipped his tongue sloppily into the offered mouth and teased Shen Qiao with filthy kisses that had them both breathing hard.

Shen Qiao finally lost that last strand of calm composure. Foreheads touching, eyes clouded by ravenous hunger, and forearms caging Yan Wushi’s yearning body between his arms, Shen Qiao pulled out slightly and thrusted back in, with enough force to make Yan Wushi gasp and scrambling for purchase.

He did it again and again, skin slapping against skin, the sound seeming to resonate within the walls of their sacred bedchamber, each time more urgent and more fervent than the last.

“Mnnn…. Fuck, Ah-Qiao feels so good inside me…”

“Haah… ah… do you feel no shame, Yan-zongzhu?” Shen Qiao nuzzled the side of Yan Wushi’s neck and kissed him roughly there, leaving more small bruises and teeth marks that wouldn’t fade for days.

“Aww… what happened to calling me ‘Yan-lang’?” Yan Wushi chuckled, placing one hand against the back of Shen Qiao’s head. A soft tug on the ribbon loosened the elegant twist of hair that cascaded over Shen Qiao’s pale shoulders like ink splashing on canvas. “Did I perhaps unknowingly anger Ah-Qiao?”

Shen Qiao paused, leaving only the tip of his cock inside his partner, which instantly drove Yan Wushi to buckle his hips upward in a sorry endeavor to tempt Shen Qiao into moving. He gave Yan Wushi a pointed glare, though the intended effect was dampened by the blush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck and chest and the fact that he was, in fact, fucking Yan Wushi into their bed.

“You know what you did,” Shen Qiao mumbled, finding himself impossible to be truly mad at him in this current situation.

“Hmm…” Yan Wushi scattered soft kisses on the other man’s forehead, eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and finally licking the shell of his ear, he continued with a grin, “can it be that Ah-Qiao is flustered by what I said?”

“There is no need for you to be using such foul and explicit language,” Shen Qiao argued, turning his head away, but it only gave Yan Wushi the perfect angle to kiss down his neck and nibble his collarbone.

“Oh, but there is a need,” Yan Wushi countered, tightening his legs around Shen Qiao’s waist so that he was dragged back into where Yan Wushi needed him to be. The fullness that had at first felt overwhelming was now a welcoming sensation, and he could feel the few acupoints that Shen Qiao had sent his qi through had been cleared, but there were still two spots that he knew needed to be unclogged before his own torrent of qi could flow smoothly and safely. “I need to tell Ah-Qiao how well he had been treating this husband, do I not? And I cannot find the adequate language unless I am using those exact words. Is there something wrong with that? Does Ah-Qiao not like it when I give you compliments?”

“I-It is not like that!”

There was no use having a proper discussion with Yan Wushi’s twisted sense of logic, so Shen Qiao didn’t try to. Instead, he returned to his previous act, except this time he was thrusting in with more force and fire, almost like he was wordlessly taking his own personal vengeance against Yan Wushi’s body.

“Haaah… Ah-Qiao!” Yan Wushi groaned, casting a half-hearted accusatory glare at the other man when Shen Qiao hit the spot that made him see stars and his hole contract around his husband’s length. “… just because… just because you cannot see yourself winning the argument against this venerable one does not mean you should stoop to such low m— nnnng!” Distracted by the sudden onslaught of flickering flames licking down his back and in the pit of his stomach, Yan Wushi hadn’t noticed the fingers placed strategically across his abdomen until he felt a hot stream of foreign qi invaded his meridian network – just as Shen Qiao’s cock was sweetly, torturously invading his inside.

The pleasure that bloomed and erupted from the coil seated deep within him was blinding; it was wonderful and terrifying, devastating yet cherished. Yan Wushi hardly noticed Shen Qiao’s climax when he was still convulsing and quivering from his own release; thick ropes of milky white cum landed and splattered messily on his own chest and tainted Shen Qiao’s unmarred skin.

His mind was blissfully blank for a brief moment while he waited for Shen Qiao to come down from his high. He sensed more than knew that he was filled to the brim with his husband’s seed, and that the last acupoints had been broached to allow his qi to flow effortlessly again.

The last candle burned out, and the room sank into complete darkness except for the hint of watery light from the crescent moon outside.

“Yan-lang?” Shen Qiao wanted to pull out but an arm thrown carelessly around his lower back stopped him from doing so. He heaved a soft sigh but remained in Yan Wushi’s embrace, laying his head against his husband’s chest despite the sticky, sweaty mess they’d made of each other.

“Hmm?” his voice rumbled in the dark, like the earth trembling beneath Shen Qiao’s feet, the sound irritatingly lackadaisical yet strangely kept his heart and mind at peace.

“Your meridian network…?”

“Thanks to Ah-Qiao’s magnificent medical skills, I believe my qi deviation has been treated and my meridian network perfectly restored,” Yan Wushi said, playing with a strand of Shen Qiao’s hair.

Shen Qiao exhaled in relief.

“Though to be certain that it is entirely healed, we might need to have the same treatment performed again, under Shen-zhangjiao’s skillful practice, of course.”

“Yan Wushi!”

Shen Qiao slapped him on the bicep, which only made Yan Wushi snicker harder.

When his laughter finally died down, and he could hear Shen Qiao’s breathing mellowing, Yan Wushi combed his fingers soothingly through his husband’s slightly tangled locks and murmured against the crown of his head.

“Shen Qiao.”

“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Ah-Qiao.”

Shen Qiao opened his eyes blearily and pushed himself up just enough to look at Yan Wushi, who was gazing at him with bright eyes and a tender smile.

“Yes?”

A bit of his lucidity returned at the sight of Yan Wushi’s expression.

“I promise you,” Yan Wushi held onto Shen Qiao’s hand and placed a kiss on the back of it, “from this day on, I promise that no matter what kind of problems I may encounter, Ah-Qiao will be the first to know. In return, will you promise to stay by this venerable one’s side no matter what may become of me?”

“Silly Yan-lang,” Shen Qiao pecked him lightly on the forehead before making himself comfortable on Yan Wushi’s chest again, “always.”

#thousand autumns #qian qiu #yanshen #shan he jian xin #yan wushi #shen qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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