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rockhoochie · 4 years

Text

Title: Anything and Everything

Link: On AO3

Square Filled: Tongue Fucking

Pairing: Dean Winchester/YN

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Fingering, Oral Sex (M/F), Tongue Fucking, Squirting, Unprotected Sex (seriously, just be safe), Marijuana, mention of prescription narcotic.

WC: 8,290

Created For @spnkinkbingo

A/N: Well...this escalated quickly! The story is told in alternating POV between Dean and Reader - Reader’s is regular text, Dean’s is italicized. I debated on splitting this into parts due to the word length, but...well, I’m impatient, and I’m really excited to share this with all of you! Plus, I think it flows better if it’s read all in one sitting 😉

This fic is dedicated to @fangirlxwritesx67 - remember that drabble prompt you sent me like, two months ago, that was Dean and reader laying on a comfortable floor, listening to music, and he starts playing with her hair, and they have a first kiss? Well, here’s your drabble 😄 Thank you for the inspiration!

And thank you everyone for reading! Drop me a line, let me know what you think - I love hearing from you ❤ ~Sarah

(’Lay Lady Lay’ music and lyrics © Bob Dylan, 1969)

I set a kettle on the stove to boil.

Thank god Donna has this place, and thank god that we were so close. We’ve been here for days now, nursing our wounds: Sam had a bruised rib and a nasty gash on his torso. Dean had a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. I'd been flung against a wall - I don’t remember much because I'd been knocked out hard, unconscious for hours - but by some miracle managed to come out of it with only a few ugly bruises and a migraine. Not our worst injuries by a longshot, but we’d figured since we had a home base, we may as well take advantage of it. We’d packed up yesterday, planning on heading out this morning, but an incoming snowstorm kept us from venturing out - it was half a day's drive, and even Dean couldn’t deny that the Impala doesn’t handle best on icy roads.

I like it here. It’s so quiet. And dark. No sirens or traffic, no various and questionable motel noises. No glare of city lights marring the night sky. The only light outside is coming from the moon, the only sounds are the ones I make. I look out the window, wondering when the storm will move in - the moon is full, its brightness gleaming off acres of driven snow that glints and glimmers against an indigo sky. Normally, a stillness like this is a warning, a silence this pure a screaming harbinger - but I don’t feel any threat here. No forebodings, no gut-nettling intuitions.

It’s peaceful. I’m peaceful. If I ever leave this life behind me, if I’m lucky enough to dodge all the bullets and claws and teeth and blades, I’ll settle somewhere up here, find a small house on a lake that’s tucked away from the rest of the world. He’d love that. And we could just be, live out our days and years together, work stupid pedestrian jobs to pay stupid everyday bills. I’ll plant a garden and he can restore classic cars while we raise a family and just...live...

The kettle sings and hisses, and outside, snow begins to fall in fat, feathery clusters. I pour the boiling water into a handmade, slightly lopsided clay mug that proudly proclaims “I Love Auntie Donna” in a childish script, dip and drown my tea bag, and shuffle back to my spot in the living room - my little nest in a gorgeous, hand-crafted rocking chair next to the fireplace. Donna told me her grandfather had made it, and every time I look at it, it astounds me that another human being created something so beautiful with his bare hands. Every nitch, nock, and spindle carefully considered and meticulously carved. Some of the stain has faded, and patches of lacquer have dulled, but that only adds to its beauty - you can tell this chair was loved.

The fire I’d built earlier is down to embers. I sit and stare into the blazing coals, sipping chamomile and scrying for answers to questions I don’t know. The room is warm, but I need something over my shoulders, need the weight of something wrapped around me. There’s a flannel draped over the back of the rocking chair...one of Dean’s flannels. And it’s my favorite of his, the dark red one that brings out his freckles and the deep jade of his eyes. I take it and slip my arms through the sleeves. It smells like him...like whiskey and wintergreen, leather and cotton, copper and cordite...

I catch myself before I start to fall too far. I need to pack up these thoughts and put them away where they belong before they start making me hopeful again.

I used to let myself get lost in them, let myself wander through giddy daydreams and float among sultry fantasies...I’d close my eyes at night and pretend Dean was by my side, just an arms reach away. I’d imagine it was his fingers pumping inside of me instead of mine, hear his voice in my head as I made myself come. Or I’d simply think about spending a day with him - walking through a park in autumn, stargazing on a summer night, cuddling and kissing on a rainy spring day. But after a while, when I’d accidentally found myself in love with him, I’d put all those dreams on the shelf; I'd only take them down when I was at my lowest and loneliest, grasping for a reason to keep going. There were a few times I’d thought about telling him, making a move...but Dean Winchester doesn’t need another complication. None of us do.

~*~

The shitty thing about being used to four hours of sleep is that when I actually get the chance for more, my brain doesn’t get on board. I came up here a couple of hours ago and I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed. Just keep staring at the ceiling and thinking about things I shouldn’t...

I love this place. It’s cold outside and the wind’s howlin’, but it’s damn cozy in here. If Hell ever gets a blast of Minnesota weather - and I can pack it in, leave the life - I’m getting a place like this. Hell, I’d build it myself, make it just the way we want it. We could move out here, where it’s almost backcountry, leave all the bad times behind us. It’s gonna be on a lake though - I’ll get a boat and go fishing all the time, teach our kids all the tricks to hooking the big ones...

Jesus, knock it off, Winchester. Like she’d let you screw up her life more than you already have.

YN's moving around downstairs. I should see what she’s up to, see if she’s feelin’ okay or wants any company...nah, I should just leave her alone. She got her bell rung bad the other day and it scared the shit outta me...I kinda lost it and yelled at her like a total asshole. I don’t get why I do that. Gun to my head, I guess it’s cause it seems simpler that way - rather piss her off and keep her from getting too close, instead of admitting out loud how I feel about her and watch her run for the hills.

She was in and out of it for almost two days, and I’d stayed with her as much as I could, at least till Sam would bark at me to eat or sleep. She’d used herself as bait - again- and I fucking hate it when she puts herself in the line of fire like that. I can’t stand it when she gets hurt, and this last time was...pretty bad. But she’s stubborn as hell, can’t be talked out of anything she’s already set her mind to. Actually thought she was gonna punch me when I got in her face, but I escaped with only a “fuck off, Dean”.

And I suppose those are some of the reasons my dumb ass went and fell ass over tea kettle for her - her grit and her style, the way she can dish it as good she takes it, how she handles either a gun or a blade with this almost unnatural grace... one day, I watched her make salt rounds for an hour and it was one of the most spectacular things I’d ever seen - she was in this total zone, her forehead creased in concentration, and lips mouthing the words to a song I can't hear, growling out the cutest “fuck” or “son of a bitch” if she messed up.

She’s the best part of my day - whether it’s seein’ her all cranky and bleary-eyed in the morning, passed out over a pile of books in the library, or bent over a pool table while she hustles townies - I can’t think of a better sight. And her laugh is goddamn music to ears. Her eyes, her smile...her anything and everything keeps me going. I can be two seconds away from checkin’ out, but one look at her reminds me that it's all worth it, worth every drop of blood, sweat, and tears.

Christ, just thinking about her like this is making my dick twitch. Doesn’t help that she laid in this bed the last few days because I can still smell her. Her perfume or soap or whatever she uses is fucking delicious, a mix of spice and spring flowers and brown sugar that sticks to her skin and practically makes my mouth water, makes me wanna taste her…

Fuck, now I’m hard. I think about jerking off for a minute, but instead I think about that time Cas showed up in my car naked and covered with bees and swing my legs off the bed. No sense in just layin’ here, thinkin’ about things that’ll never happen. I grab my duffel and pull out my flask (not much left in there, maybe two or three shots) and some clothes. Gonna check out the room down the hall that’s got one of those old school record players. Maybe some good tunes will calm me down, get my mind off things. Off of her. I turn to leave but then I remember- there’s a little something in my bag I’ve been hangin' on to. I dig through all my crap and find it in the inside pocket. Awesome. Screw consciousness, I’m gettin’ high.

~*~

I hear footfalls against the ceiling - one of them’s awake. It could be Sam, but I know it’s Dean - I know his stride, his tread. And I also know Sam conceded to the pain and downed an extra dose of Percocet, so he’s all but dead to the world for the next six hours.

We all have problems sleeping, each have our lion’s share of blood-and- gore-laden nightmares, but Dean’s always seem worse. They take a bigger toll on him. He wakes up screaming more often, drenched in a cold sweat with his sheets flung from the bed. Sometimes I hear him shouting in the middle of the night and it breaks my fucking heart.

Maybe I’ll go see if he’s alright, if there’s anything I can do for him... I hope he’s not still pissed at me for what happened on the hunt. Sam told me it was just because I’d scared him, because he cares about me, that it’s just easier for Dean to blow up instead of break down. But dammit I wish he’d open up, just a little. There were a couple of nights he and I had spent just hanging out together, nights where whiskey was flowing and secrets were shared...but right when it seemed like he was going to let me in on what was really going on in his head, he’d stopped himself, drained his glass, and said goodnight.

I know what he’s been through. Or rather, I know of what he's been through. It would be sacrilege for me to even try to begin to empathize. I know about things he’s done, his devils and deeds that are unforgivable in most circles but necessary in ours.

Dean is a good man. Everything he’s done has been a labor of love, a sacrifice. I know he doubts himself constantly and I know he hurts, vehemently and deeply. But if he’d just let me in, if I could love him the way he deserves, I’d do anything and everything I could to take all that pain and somehow dull it. Sometimes I can actually get a smile out of him and it’s one of the most marvelous things I’ve ever seen - when the corners of his green eyes crinkle and his teeth peek out from behind those ridiculously perfect lips...god, it’s beautiful. He is beautiful, inside and out and I wish he could see that.

Now I’m wide awake. My tea’s gone cold, and I’ve spent too much time wallowing in these thoughts that shouldn’t be wallowed in, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I glance out a window and watch the now steadily falling snow, listen to the wind whip and whistle through the frigid night air. Sitting here in the dark alone with all of these thoughts has become too lonely. There’s a room upstairs, a little den with a couple of chairs and one of those huge console record players...I’ll grab that book I’ve been meaning to read and hang out in there, let some music fill the quiet and the story busy my brain.

I take my mug to the kitchen, place it in the sink, and pull Dean’s flannel around me tighter. Hopefully, he won’t mind if I borrow it for the night. This way, I can be close to him without ruining things.

Music echoes down the staircase and I recognize the tune as I get closer to its source. Bob Dylan. Nashville Skyline, I think. Dim, golden light beckons me to follow and leads me to a doorway. I look down and find him lying on the floor, with his ankles crossed, and one arm bent behind his head, blowing a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Hey,” I whisper, and he turns his face toward me, looking up at me with mellow eyes and an easygoing smile.

“Hey yourself. Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. “Thought I’d come in here and check out Donna’s music collection. But I see you had the same idea, so -”

“So? Come on in, stay awhile.” He pats the floor beside him, then holds up the joint fastened between his fingers. “It’d be a lot cooler if you did.”

I should really go, leave him to his own devices, avoid torturing myself. But before reason has any chance to intervene, I find myself lying next to him. He’s more of a drug to me than the smoke I’m sucking through my lips. I want to stay away, I should stay away, but I can’t fucking help myself. So like a good little junkie I give in, tell myself this is no big deal, that I can go back to not thinking about him tomorrow.

~*~

I’m so glad she decided to stay.

I don’t know if it’s the weed or the cold, dark night or what it is, but when I saw her standing there, all I wanted was to just have her near me. Even if all I get to do is hear her voice or just feel her presence next to me...well, I’ll take it. It’s not like this anything new, we’ve hung out like this plenty of times...though it’s times like this when I get so comfortable around her, that I really gotta reign it in and make sure I keep my damn mouth shut. And it never seems to get easier - like right now. She’s humming along to the music, making up her own words here and there and playing air guitar and it’s friggin’ adorable. She really is one in a million and if things were different, I’d hold on to her and never let go.

Somethin’ Sam said a while back pops into my head - somethin’ about finding someone who knows the life - and for a second I think maybe things don’t need to be different. Maybe we could make it work. But then I remember I’m toxic. Even for a hunter I drink too much, have too many fucked up thoughts, done way too many fucked up things. No, she deserves someone good, someone better than me. I can’t even believe she’s stuck around for this long. Sometimes I just look at her and wanna scream, “run”, before she gets hurt. I’ve accepted that I’ll never get the happily ever after but she shouldn’t. She can still get out, have a real life, meet someone who’ll give her everything and make her happy. Never in my life will I be able to give that to anyone - it just ain’t in the cards for me.

Then she looks at me, passes me the joint with this sweet smile, and all those thoughts just fade away. And I wonder - like I wonder almost every night - how her lips would feel against mine.

Sam keeps tellin’ me that I’m an idiot, that she really likes me, that I should go for it. And for a minute, I actually think about it, cause the way she’s lookin’ at me right now is downright incredible - she actually looks happy to be here, with me.

Is she?

Truth is I'm selfish. And a bit of a coward. I'm too afraid to love anyone because I'm too afraid to lose them. Everyone I've ever lost took a piece of me with them and I ain't got much left. If anything ever happened to YN, I’d be done. She’d take the last of me.

I’m feelin’ a little goofy. Not stoned or anything, but definitely running out of fucks to give. Then I glance at her and notice she’s wiggling out of her button-down.. .my button-down. She rolls it up, tucks it beneath her head, and stretches back out on the floor. Her tank top is creeping up over her stomach a little bit, and it’s stretched tight over her tits and she’s got nothin’ on underneath…

I swallow hard and bite down on my lip cause I’m this close to just flat-out telling her I love her.

~*~

Part of me wants to tell Donna she desperately needs to redecorate this room...but the other, the part of me that's stretched out on the floor, listening to classic 33s and getting high with Dean, is perfectly content with the old-school kitsch. The shag carpeting we’re laying on is surprisingly comfortable; The color (what is this, ocher? Chartreuse?) - shouldn’t be allowed to exist, but the long polyester threads sprawling beneath us are soothing in a way. The light is low, flickering from two vintage oil lamps that stand on each end of the console, and casts shadows beneath its warm glow.

Dean looks like he’s about to say something, but the last song has ended and skipped into a static scratch. He hoists himself up to flip the record, and I perch on my elbows and just...admire him. He’s different here. I’ve seen him lounge around the bunker during downtime but tonight he actually seems powered-down, carefree. There's something almost magical about what the calm does to him, how it lifts the weight he carries. His shoulders are relaxed, his movements languid, unhurried and uncalculated, eyes bright and serene. And he looks so fucking good, wearing a well-worn and well-fitting Zeppelin t-shirt that he must've had since before he’d built up his muscle. Softened and faded jeans cover his bowed legs and hang low on his hips, and I don’t think he’s got anything on underneath because I get a glimpse at the cut of his abs and...

I wish I could tell him how amazing he is, how much he makes me smile, how much I love him; I wish I could show him, hold him, kiss him and just love him with everything I have...

The music starts back up and oh my god… he’s dancing. It’s really more of a slow-motion Elvis maneuver, but it’s the closest thing to dancing I’ve ever seen Dean do. Every tick of his hips pulls the fabric of his jeans perfectly across his ass, and I shouldn't be thinking about him this way but he’s just so mesmerizing…

And then he turns and faces me with his best impression of his best Bob Dylan.

Lay lady lay,

Lay across my big brass bed

Lay lady lay,

Lay across my big brass bed...

I throw my head back and laugh, not because he’s being ridiculous, but because he’s being so goddamn perfect. And the joy I thought I’d lost the day I cocked my first shotgun is bubbling up and making me giddy. Or it’s him. Or it could just be the pot. This is a side of him that no one gets to see, not even his brother. I can give him this, a place to let go of it all and just be Dean Winchester for a little while. He’s easy here, content, and he actually seems happy that I decided to stay.

Is he?

He claims his spot beside me again, settling in just a little closer. He's still singing to me and I'm still giggling…

Whatever colors you have in your mind

I show them to you and you see them shine

Lay lady lay

Lay across my big brass bed

Somehow his hand found mine, and he's tracing my knuckles with one calloused fingertip. I take it in mine and glance down at the connection, marveling at how small my hand is in his but how perfectly it fits. His hand is so gentle, warm and solid...it’s hard to believe how often his palm has bled, how many triggers his fingers have pulled, how many bones his fist has shattered.

He shifts, rolls to his side, and gazes down at me while he keeps up his serenade.

Stay lady stay

Stay with your man a while

Until the break of day

Let me see you make him smile

I grin as he brushes my hair from my face, tucks a few strands behind my ear, winds a section around his fingers. Then I see something in his face that’s never been there before - a shade of color reflecting from his eyes that's deep and rich and vibrant…

His clothes are dirty but his, his hands are clean

And you are the best thing that he's ever seen

Stay lady stay

Stay with your man a while

The way he's muttering the lyrics...it’s so sincere, like he means every single word. The warmth of his body is just out of my reach, and the low timbre of his voice begins to resonate through my veins, nestling into a locked corner of my soul.

Why wait any longer for the world to begin

You can have your cake and eat it too

Why wait any longer for the one you love

When he's standing in front of you

He’s still playing with my hair, pushing any stray strands from my face…my eyes flutter closed and his touch becomes something warmer, softer. Delicate, intentional kisses pepper my cheekbones, my temples, my forehead...

Lay lady lay

Lay across my big brass bed

Stay lady stay

Stay while the night is still ahead

I feel his thumb and forefinger catch and tilt my chin, and I open my eyes. He’s so close now, close enough that if I rolled on my side I’d roll into him, that if I lifted my head just an inch...

I long to see you in the morning light

I long to reach for you in the night

Stay lady stay

Stay while the night is still ahead

The silent formation of the last few lyrics are the first thing I feel and then his lips are fully on mine, barely grasped between his and I've never felt something so tender and genuine carry itself with so much force. He's cradling my cheek and his kiss feels tentative, uncertain - but at the same time teeming with need, as though he’s waiting for my approval while praying with everything he’s got that I’ll grant it. So I lean into him, slide my fingers along the short hairs on the back of his neck, and pull him closer.

~*~

Maybe it was the weed, the music, the way the light reflected off her… whatever it was, it just took over. She looked too soft and too damn perfect, layin’ there and smiling that smile. And I thought about the other day when she was lying unconscious on that blood-stained, concrete floor, and the way my guts twisted at the thought of losing her…

I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I couldn't go one more night without telling her exactly how much she means to me. And it was a cheesy way to do it, singing to her like that, but Bob knew all the right things to say.

I actually can't even believe she's kissing me right now, that she pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me. Part of me thinks she's nuts - she's gotta know I got nothing to offer her, that she deserves so much better- better than me, better than this life. I can’t promise her anything - can’t promise a future or comfort... but if she lets me, I can promise to love her, to kiss her with everything I’ve got every chance I get, to hold her close and protect her... even if it’s just for tonight.

She makes a little sound and arches her body into mine. I don’t know how far this is gonna go, but I’ll take my time getting there. This may just be a fluke, a one-time thing. Or maybe it’s not, maybe I’m the luckiest bastard on the fucking planet...either way, I want to savor every second.

I keep the kisses slow, open-mouthed and gentle. But then I feel her tongue slide along my lower lip and I can’t help but slip mine against hers. This feels so good, just kissing her like this, tasting her and feeling her beneath me. She’s running her fingers through my hair, rolling her hips every now and then, sliding her hand down my side and across my back. I kiss her harder, deeper. She’s moving more, breathing faster, making these quiet little whimpers. I break away and look at her, smoothing some of her hair away from her beautiful face. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are half-closed and right at this moment she could ask me to shoot the moon and I’d kill it dead.

Her hand brushes my cheek and she pushes into me, silently begging me to keep going.

“You sure?” I whisper in her ear, kissing the space just behind it.

She nods and mutters “please,” and I move my lips down her neck. Her body trembles when I land on the spot where her neck curves into her shoulder - I give her skin there a little nip and she gasps... fuck, I need to hear that sound over and over. I’m gonna map her entire body, figure out just the right way to touch her. Run my hands over every point, plane and curve, find every spot that makes her moan and quiver and sigh. I wanna drown, lose myself in her. I want her to know that I know how special she is, that I get how lucky I am to be with her tonight, that I understand what she’s giving me. I kneel between her legs, take hold of her wrists, and slowly push her arms above her head.

I need to see and feel and taste every single inch of her and I’m not gonna be quick about it.

~*~

First kisses are usually awkward. Heads bump, teeth collide, hands float and fumble while they try to find a comfortable place to land.

So I don’t know if it’s dumb luck, or just that I’ve practiced this so many times in my mind, but we find a rhythm instantly and we fit, like we’ve known all along exactly how to kiss each other. It’s so perfect that I almost laugh out loud, dumbfounded that I ever thought that we shouldn’t do this. Our kiss is absolute, passionate and all-consuming, and sending every neuron in my brain firing into a tailspin.

I never want to stop kissing him.

My arms are above my head and he's teasing me, softly kneading my breasts over my top, flicking at the stiff peaks of my nipples. I lower my hands to pull at our shirts, to let him know I need to feel his touch on my bare skin, but he gently curls his fingers around my wrists again and guides them back up.

"Let me," he murmurs, sliding his palm down my breastbone, over my stomach and finally beneath my top. “Just... let me…”

Right as he cups my breast and traps my nipple between his fingers he’s kissing me again, swallowing every sound he’s pulling from me. I melt into him, into his kiss, into his touch. He pushes my tank top over my head and then his lips are on my neck, my collarbone, my shoulders. My forearms and fingers are dotted with kisses, along with my hips and navel, and then he’s peeling off my leggings, never once taking his eyes off of me. I’m completely bare beneath him and he’s biting his lower lip, running his hands from each of my ankles to my calves, my knees, my thighs...he looks as though he can’t decide if he wants to ravish me or revere me.

He settles for a smooth, easy assault, touching and kissing me everywhere, lingering whenever I cry out or sigh. I’ve never felt like this, never felt so...worshipped. His fingers and lips glide along my body as though I’m a delicate thing - carefully, thoroughly, and completely. My skin feels taut, chilled and tingling, but my blood is pumping hot and fast beneath. And when his tongue swirls around my nipple, and he takes it between his teeth, I swear to god I’d come right now if he told me to.

I know I’m wet, I can feel it, hot and dripping and my cunt is clenching, clit throbbing with a deep, insistent ache that almost hurts. Dean is everywhere, exploring and marking and claiming, until I hear myself begging, pleading...I need to feel him inside of me. I need him to unravel me, to make me come undone.

~*~

The way she looks right now is so goddamn glorious, she doesn’t seem real. She’s ruddy and glowing, twisting beneath me, chanting my name and begging with kiss-swollen lips. I let my hand slide between her legs, run a finger between her folds and christ - she is so fucking wet. She lifts her knees and spreads wide open for me and I dip just the tip of one finger inside. She ruts forward and I push two fingers all the way into her tight, hot pussy and fucking hell, she feels smoother than silk. I keep it slow, steady, loving the way her eyes roll back when I flick my thumb over her clit, and the way her tongue darts between her parted lips as I twist my fingers inside her cunt, searching for that spot...

Her eyes go wide when I find it, and her neck arches back and her hands fist the carpet. She’s quietly moaning and cursing and pushing herself down, fucking herself on my fingers. I catch her scent and some animal urge takes over me; I pull my fingers from her, bring them to my mouth and suck them clean. She's like fucking nectar and I’ve never tasted anything so good and all I want is more…

I pull my shirt over my head, push my jeans off, press her thighs as far open as she can spread them - god, her pussy is perfect, so pink and slick - and take a long, slow taste. She moans, low and long, breathing out a desperate “fuck, yes…” as she cards her fingers through my hair. And I growl, I fucking growl like a goddamn dog, and drive my tongue into her dripping hole. She hooks one leg over my shoulder and tilts her hips and I grab on to her ass and hold her up. I lick her deep, thrusting and flicking and swirling my tongue, filling my mouth with the flavor of her, then I peer up at her and...My. Fucking. God, she’s a vision. She’s shaking, twitching and gasping when my nose bumps her clit...

I slip my tongue from her cunt, ease her down and spread her open with my fingers, lapping at her folds, her entrance, her clit. Then I take that sensitive little bud between my lips and suck and holy shit, the fucking sound she makes...I gotta make her come. I need to see it, feel it, hear it.

But first I drag my mouth up her body, stopping to nip at her neck before landing on her lips. She licks into my mouth instantly, sucks at my lower lip, pushes her tongue against mine and I can tell she’s about to lose her mind.

~*~

I'd been in more than one motel room next to Dean's. And I'd always rolled my eyes, convinced that whatever girl he'd brought back with him was just putting on a show, playing porn star with their over-the-top wailing.

They weren't screaming loud enough.

“Can you taste yourself, baby?” he purrs between kisses, "You taste how fuckin' delectable your pussy is? So hot and sweet...” and I moan into his mouth. He slips his fingers back inside and curls them, nudging my sweet spot. “Want you come, YN…wanna make you fall apart..."

I'm biting my lip to keep from crying out too loudly, stifling the urge to scream because the pleasure he's giving me is so complete and consuming. I swear he knows my body better than I do. He's found places on me and inside of me that feel like they've never been touched until tonight. I'd thought maybe I was hypersensitive, so eager and thrilled that this was finally happening, but no - everything he does is deliberate. He finds a spot and knows whether to bite or kiss, push or pull, grind or slide, when to do it all at once or not at all. Every touch, every stroke sparks my nerves and ignites my cells and I'm down to my last fragments of control. I am utterly at his mercy, reduced to a writhing, wanton mess as his fingers slide inside of me, hitting my g-spot with incredible marksmanship. Then his lips land on my clit again, and...oh God. Oh my fucking god…

It starts in my belly, a molten heat simmering in my core, wavering a scant wavelength away from a fever pitch. It’s hot and thrumming and growing in speed and intensity until it can't be contained anymore. It bolts through me, hot and hard like an electric current and I go rigid as I come, the torrents of bliss saturating every molecule of my body. And then Dean is up on his knees, three fingers deep in my sodden cunt, his other hand laying flat on my lower stomach and muttering "Come on baby,...let go…let go for me…" Either I'm still coming or I'm coming again, hard and completely, and a quiet pull snaps from someplace deep inside... I completely shatter, so stunned with the sensation that I open my mouth in a silent scream as my cum splashes against his hand.

~*~

I tuck back down between her legs and softly lap at the stray drops sticking to her thighs. I’m about to go crazy - I’m hungry, starving for her, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking hard in my life.

I lay beside her, trace shapes on her collarbone, and watch her as she comes down - the way her tits rise and fall with every breath, the way her throat flexes when she swallows, the way the lamplight dances off her sweat-sheened skin. Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly opened, and her tongue sneaks out every now and then across her lips. Of all the ways I’ve ever seen YN, this has to be the absolute, bar-none best. She’s like a living statue or a painting, some kind of work of art. A goddamn masterpiece.

I don’t want to stop touching her. Right now, I don’t even think I could. She shudders and opens her eyes when I gently trace a wet finger along her cheek. Then she grabs my wrist, pulls my hand to her mouth, and wraps her lips around the fingers I used to fuck her. She sucks and licks, and all I can do is groan as my fingers slide along her tongue. I gotta distract myself or I’m gonna shoot off right now like a teenager…

I take my fingers back and move to hover over her, and catch her lips in mine again. Kissing her is so...it just feels right. Like hers are the only lips I ever need to kiss again. If this is all we do for the rest of the night - hell, for the rest of our lives, I’d be one hundred percent happy. But as we kiss, she starts to whimper, moan...and then I feel her fingertips skitter down my torso and brush against my cock. And I can’t help it, I grunt out a “fuck, YN” and chase her touch. She drags her thumb, then her palm against the tip of my dick, smears precome around my shaft then wraps me in her fingers. I bite my lip and rock into her fist while she strokes me, trying like hell not to lose it any time she gives the slightest squeeze. I can feel her breath on my face and I’m starting to fall into the rhythm, getting lost in her touch and the heat of her body beneath me…

Then in the flash of a second, she hooks a leg around my waist, shifts her weight and turns, and has me on my back. She's straddling me, and I watch her slick pussy drag along my cock while my hands slide up her thighs and grip her hips. My eyes wander, slowly, up her body, marveling at her shape and color and just the mere sight of her swaying over me. My eyes meet hers and then...I'm trapped. Hypnotized. Being here with this woman is like nothing I've ever seen or felt before, and there's some part of me that knows I'll never feel this way about anyone ever again.

~*~

My gaze meets his and I'm struck...with exactly what, I don't know. It's thrilling and terrifying at the same time but most of all it's certain; This is exactly where I'm meant to be, astride this beautiful man who’s lying beneath me, stripped of all his layers, and I can feel the moment he surrenders. His mind and his body, his control and his chaos, his pleasure and his pain, all together unfettered and unfurled.

Potent and fervent primal desire sets in and overtakes me; I want to claim him, feel his skin between my teeth, taste the salt of his sweat.

I shift to my knees, slot myself between his open legs and lean forward, pressing myself against the solid heat of his bare chest, and catch his lips in a quick but ravenous kiss. He tries to chase it but I pull away, letting one hand slide up his sternum, splaying my fingers over his throat. I fist his hard, dripping cock in my free hand and stroke. He breathes out my name with a curse and his head hits the floor as my mouth latches on to his neck.

Releasing my hold on him, my lips move from his neck to his collarbone, down and across his chest, following the blueprint of bruises, scratches, and scars until my nose brushes against the thatch of dark hair between his legs.

I flatten my tongue and lick his thick cock from base to tip, then take just the crown between my lips and gently suck. The taste of his precome fills my mouth and he moans and trembles, exhaling a long, deeply held breath as he laces his fingers in my hair. I take him all the way then, as far as I can, until I feel him hit the back of my throat. I hold him there and swallow, let him feel the soft flex around his shaft. I slide up and down slowly, stroking the inches that can’t slide down my throat with one hand, and cup his balls in the other. He whimpers, high-pitched and desperate, and the mere sound of that sends drops of arousal trickling down my thighs while my cunt clenches and quivers. His grip on my head tightens and I keep steady, caressing and taking him deep, and let the tip of one finger press against his perineum.

His body tenses and I peer up at him - the muscles of his abs are twitching, his neck is arched back, the tendons there strained and taut, jaw clenched, and teeth bared...he’s holding back, trying not to come. He hisses out a breath and gently tugs my hair, urging me to let him slip from my mouth. “Fuck, YN”, he breathes, and I walk my hands alongside of him, gliding my body against his and brush his lips with a gossamer kiss.

We both breathe hard, panting, fingers tangling in each other’s hair, hips rolling, hearts racing. His hard, thick length is sliding against the soaked lips of my pussy, the head of his cock nudging my throbbing clit. I look into the dark forest of his eyes, he places his hand on my cheek and suddenly there’s a surge - a swift and commanding energy that surrounds us, tangible and unconditional.

Our gaze locks as I raise my hips. He grips his cock, lines up at my entrance, and I sink down slowly, relishing every inch that stretches me open, my moan echoing his until I’m completely filled with him.

~*~

It’s almost too much.

She’s so warm, so wet, and so fucking tight...I swear I blackout for a second. It’s taking everything I got to hold on, and every ounce of control I can muster when she starts to move.

She’s groaning and sighing, and the way she’s breathing my name is like a siren’s song. I let her set the pace, tilt my hips to push into her as she rides me, find her hand and lace my fingers through hers. She fucks me slow, lets her head fall back and lays her free hand on my chest. Reaching up, I slide my hand between her tits, pinch and tug one nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she lets out the most beautiful cry I’ve ever heard. And that sound wakes up the damn animal in me and I thrust into her, as deep as I can. I want her to fucking explode, feel her cunt throbbing tight around my dick and soaking me with her cum.

She pulls her hand from mine and moves it between her legs. I pinch her nipple again and she gasps as her body trembles, and I know she’s getting close. “Gonna come for me, YN?” I snarl, and she stills - her head falls back again and her fingers work faster, and I’m so caught up in her that I just start babbling. “Fuck yeah, YN, fucking come all over my cock…that’s my girl...” I pound into her faster as she gets tighter and wetter and then I feel it, her walls clenching and her cum dripping, her body finally going rigid as her orgasm tears through her.

I slow down and ease her through it, trace my fingertips over the curves of her glowing body and take in how absolutely stunning she is right now - her hair all mussed and tangled, her skin flushed pink, her lips bright red and swollen. Her eyes open and she grins down at me, the lazy roll of her hips picking up speed and I just...fucking...can't anymore.

I throw my arms around her and pull her against me, kissing her sweet lips as I roll us over. She arches into me, takes my face in her hands and purrs "...want it all inside me...I wanna feel your cum dripping from my cunt…" and holy goddamn shit, I'm gonna give her everything she wants.

She raises her knees and hooks her legs around mine, digs her heels into the back of my thighs, squeezes the walls of her pussy around me and I’m gone - all I feel is her silky wet heat, and all I can smell and taste is her sex and I drive in, fast and steady until I can’t hang on anymore. I let go and my world stops, every living fiber of my being at a standstill as I come with a shout. I thrust hard and deep and spill every drop inside of her, pumping her full as she fingers herself to another climax.

I rest my forehead against hers as we both catch our breath. She curls one hand around my waist and the other around the back of my shoulder, raking her fingernails gently along the base of my scalp. I kiss her, soft and quick, and pull out of her, rolling on to my back while I gather her in my arms.

I glance out the window. The snow’s still falling and the sun’ll start rising soon. The record is long over and skipping, and YN grips me tighter and shivers. “Hey, sweetheart...let me up,” I say, kissing her forehead. She groans but lets me go and I sit up, lean down to kiss her again and hop to my feet. I lift the needle off the record and find a quilt that’s tossed over one of the chairs. YN's curled on her side, and I can hardly wait to get back to her. I cover us both, pull her close, and I stare at her until I just can't keep my eyes open anymore. We drift off in each other’s arms and the last thought I think is a little prayer - that this is how I’ll fall asleep every night for the rest of my life.

~*~

I can’t remember who said it first. All I know is that it was suddenly there, as though it always had been, free falling from our lips as we moved and moaned and came together.

We’d awoken several times, one of us roused by a kiss or touch from the other, neither of us willing nor able to let it end without making love one more time.

The storm has finally passed. Sunshine beams across an azure sky and reflects with blinding brilliance off acres of freshly fallen snow. I peek out the kitchen window and catch a glimpse of Sam standing near the garage, up to his knees in icy white powder.

I set a kettle on the stove to boil.

“Look like we ain’t goin' anywhere any time soon,” Dean says, coming up behind me and circling his arms around me. He moves my hair away from my neck and nips at the exposed skin.

I lean against him and cover his clasped hands with mine. “Can’t say I’m all that disappointed.”

He hums and kisses my cheek, then moves his hands to rest on the swell of my belly.

“Your old man's gonna teach you how to make the best snowballs, kid. Knock your Uncle Sammy right off his ass.”

I giggle and spin around, draping my arms over Dean’s shoulders. “Big talk coming from the man who got a black eye during last year’s snowball fight.”

“That was a fluke. She had an unfair advantage.”

"She's less than half your size!”

“Exactly.”

The door opens and Sam trudges in, shaking and stomping the snow from his legs, laughing as he's nearly knocked over by a whirling, bright pink dervish of weatherproof polyester.

Our daughter runs over to us, cheeks rosy and nose runny from the cold, her apple-green eyes as big as sledding saucers.

“Mommy, Daddy, guess what?! We had a snowball fight and I won!”

“Ho ho! That’s my awesome little girl!” Dean cheers, scooping her up in his arms and swinging her through the air. He rests her on his hip, and they trade an Eskimo kiss. “Let’s go tell your Auntie Eileen and your baby cousin all about how you kicked your Uncle Sammy’s a - uh, butt.”

He sets her down and helps her unlace her boots while she tosses her hat and mittens to the floor. “Yeah, I kicked his ass!” she beams, and the three supposed adults in the room have to bite back their laughter.

“Yep,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Definitely a Winchester. No two ways...”

Once she's out of her boots and winter overall, she runs to Sam, grabs his thumb with her small hand and pulls him through the kitchen. Her tiny footsteps pelt up the stairs, layered with gleeful giggles. Then, with all the vivacity of her five years, she shrieks in triumph, “I beat you again, Uncle Sammy! I win again!”

Dean grins wide, pulls me back into his arms, and catches my lips in a kiss that teems with the same intense passion as the first one he ever gave me. And in seconds I’m melting, into his kiss, into him... into memories of a snowstorm and shag carpeting, the smoke of purple kush and the flicker of oil lamp flames, the pedal steel guitar riff of Lay Lady Lay and Dean’s hip-swaying serenade...

He breaks away, brushes a section of my hair away from my brow and tucks it behind my ear. Then he looks into my eyes with unwavering conviction and repeats the promise he’s made me every day since he took my hand in his - a promise that's as simple as it is complex, selfish yet altruistic, sometimes dubious but always definite, and anything and everything in between:

“I love you, YN.”

~Fin

Rock Hoochie’s Master List

Tags Are Open

Hoochie Groupies/SPN Tag Sheet:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @alangel1895 @amandamdiehl @amaranthinecastiel @andkatiethings @anime-music-is-life @apeshit7x @atc74 @babypieandwhiskey @backbackbackagaynbitch @beachy2014 @becs-bunker @blackcherrywhiskey @canadianjelly @charliesbackbitches @chrisatplay @claitynroberts @curliesallovertheplace @dean-winchesters-bacon @deandoesthingstome @deans2nd-baby @deansbabygirl01@deerlululucy @emoryhemsworth @evilskank-inthemegacoven @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @ezauraemmaline @faegal04 @faith-in-dean @feelmyroarrrr @ferferelli @for-the-love-of-dean @gadreelsforbiddenfruit @growleytria-blog @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave @hunterpuff @impossible-box @iridianuniverse @itsemmyb @ivvitm1109 @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @jencharlan @jotink78 @just-another-busy-fangirl @kathaswings @kittenofdoomage @kreborn17 @leyshabunny @Lilyoflothlorien @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @maddiepants @mannls @meganwinchester1999 @meganywinchester @melissasalvatoremikaelson @milo-winchester-4ever @mogaruke @mrs-meghan-winchester @MrsJohnSmith @mrswhozeewhatsis @myfanficlibrarium @mylovelydame21 @nobody-is-here-bye @notnaturalanahi @ohmychuckitssamanddean @olitzisbae @oriona75 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @pinknerdpanda @pisces-cutie @plaidstiel-wormstache @prompt-and-circumstances @saltandburn67 @samanddeanwinchester67 @samtomydeanwinchester @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @saving-things-hunting-family @seductivewifey @SinceriouslyAmellPadalecki @sis-tafics @skybinx-blog @speakinvain @spence-rreid @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @squirrel-moose-winchester @sunriserose1023 @sunshineandwings86 @supermoonpanda @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @the-morning-star-falls @there-must-be-a-lock @thewinchestielboys @thinkwritexpress-official @thoughtslikeaminefield @tia58 @trenchcoats-and-bees @vintagevalentinexx @walkingencyclopediaoffandom @waywardbaby @weepingwillowphoenix @were-not-the-losechesters @whatareyousearchingfordean @wi-deangirl77 @winchesterfiesta @winchestersmolder @zanthiasplace

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#dean x reader #dean x reader smut #dean winchester fanfiction #spn kink bingo 2020 #spn fan fic #spn fanfiction #18+ only

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baldewanstopplsilytho · 3 years

Text

AWWW THANKS FOR TAGGING ME @theonlyprincessoftheworld ILY <33

rules: answer all thirty questions and tag as many people, as you can. let's get to know each other a little better!

name/nickname: my name is Leyla and ppl sometimes call me Ley, reyla,rey (rey from Star Wars stole it from me 😭),Clown, Salak & Gerizekali

gender: female

star sign: Taurus

height: 1.62cm

time: 4pm

favourite bands: TNBH, AM, Beatles, Queen , ABBA, The Beach Boys, nirvana, *NSYNC, Sex Pistols,Simon& Garfunkel, Chase Atlantic, Muse, Tame Impala, Blondie& Mother mother

birthday: 27.04.

favourite solo artists: Lana del Rey, Mitski, ilyTOMMY, Kate Bush, Doja Cat, Harry styles, Britney Spears, Tyler the creator, David Bowie and Bob Dylan , Elton John& Lady Gaga

song stuck in my head right now: Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA ISTG ITS SO GOOD Oh deAr dIarY I mEt A bOy

last movie: I watched kick ass with a friend and she liked it AHSJSISOWOSOSLS

last show: I started rewatching clone wars 🥰🥰🎶🥰

when did i create this blog: idk it isn’t old tho

what i post: mainly ATJ and sometimes Star Wars my posts are trash tho

other blogs: @pietromaximoffrecs

why i chose my url: idk I was a Beatles blog before and then I wanted to change it to something random and I was really sleepy and came up with this idk I hope no one irl ever finds it 😭

do i get asks: no 😭😭😭👋🏻

last thing i googled: was für eine dramagattunft ist andorra (it was for school)

i follow: 34

following: 131

average hours of sleep: Normally over 10 hours 🤡 but bc I write exams this week 5

lucky number: 2,4,22,27

instruments: nothing I wish I could play the guitar tho😙🤌🏼

what i'm wearing: x-men shirt and black jeans

dream trip: I would love to travel to Scotland, Italy, Greece (bc of mamma Mia slslwoslwl ), Sweden and Australia

favourite food: kinda basic but pizza

nationality: German

favourite song: agh I have a lot but Michelle from the Beatles& she’s my collar from the gorillaz are bops BUT I really love every Beatles song.

last book read: The phantom of the opera

top three fictional universes i wanna be a part of: STAR WARS!!! X-men and AGHHH this is so hard ehhhh Harry Potter but only if I get into a relationship with a marauder ( NOT PETER!) if I won’t get with one of them I wanna be in kick ass to date Dave😙✌🏻

favourite color: yellow!

taglist: @angelicwasp @iluvharrypotter172 @wolffes-wap

// u guys don’t have to do it tho! I just don’t have anyone else to tag OSPWOWOWWO

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cynic-spirit · 3 years

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The Poem Series (23) Night, Street, Lamp, Drugstore– John Wick

Previous Parts!!!

After the wonderful weekend, the college reopens. Skylar and Diana are sitting together in the cafeteria sipping their coffees. Skylar notices the changed mood of Diana.

“You seem extra happy”

“I am.. “ Diana said smiling.

“Care to elaborate..?”

“I moved in with John..”

“WHAT?? For REAL???”

“Yes.”

“Havent you known him for like only a week?”

“Yes”

“So… that’s fast even by my standards”

“The situation we have is different.”

“Details please”

“I cannot tell much”

“all right.. So how is he in bed”

“SKY!!!”

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question”

“We haven’t done IT yet”

“WHATTT?? What do you do then?”

“We did…. Have done……..other stuff” Diana said with reddened cheeks, hiding behind her coffee.

“…and…?”

“Skylar, not a college appropriate topic of discussion”

“No ones around”

“I am not talking about this here.”

“Okay lets go to the club today. Its been two weeks, we haven’t been there”

“You know what, yes. Its been a while. Lets go to the club”

“Will you sing?”

“I am not doing that again, sky!!”

“Oh come on, you have such a wonderful voice”

“Lets See. See you after class here?”

“Done!” Skylar and Diana part ways to their respective classes.

John, in his house is sitting with Dog. He has made some calls about Borgov. New information has merged and John is not happy about it. He will need to go again, but this time he is more confident. He has trained Diana over the past week in self-defense, come combat skills. He will also teach her to fire a gun, not a big one, a pocket one. He has some models in mind, like Bond Arms Backup, Ruger LC9 or Smith & Wesson Bodyguard. Diana will never have to worry or look over her shoulder again. As he gently rubs Dog’s back his phone chimes. It’s a message from Diana.

“Hey John, don’t come to pick me up today”

John furrows his brows and messages back.

“Why? Is everything okay Diana?”

Yeah, everything’s fine.Just going out to the Nightimes Funtimes with my girls”

“When will you be back?”

“I am not sure. 😉”

“I will come to pick you up at the club, just call me.”

“Stop worrying so much John, I am not a baby”

“You are my baby, love”

“John, I promise I will be safe. I’ll send you pics”

“Love you”

“Love you too John <3 <3”

John turns to dog and speaks. Looks like Persephone is not coming soon tonight boy, wanna come with me to bind some books, Dog barks. John realizes how his life has changed in a span of a couple of weeks. Before, he was not sure of living at all, now he had started to imagine his life with a woman. She was not just any woman, she was tremendously talented, well-read, and was not afraid to call on John for his wrongdoings. He liked her assertion and honesty and the fact that she was not even in the slightest bit afraid of his work. She had accepted his love with open arms and heart and that made John feel humane, a feeling that decades of being an assassin and killing people had taken away from him. He had a couple of hours to go to the club and pick her up. He also had to finish the book binding of the book tonight. Only little work was left, then the glue and binding would take a few days to dry. Diana’s birthday was in two weeks and he wanted to gift it to her. He almost felt jealous of her being out with her friends. He wanted nothing more than to keep her to himself without any interference, but he knows that Diana is an independent woman and he would not like to change that. John also had got her something special. He was not sure but he had known that women loved jewelry. He had got Diana a two carat pink diamond stud in a white gold chain. The rare pink diamond was for the unique and rare woman that Diana was.

John also opened a smaller velvet box, and held it open. He hazed at the five carat princess cut diamond that he had planned to give her when the time was right. He vowed, it will be soon. With that, John kept the two boxes in the top drawer of his work table . He switched on the lamp and began to put final touches on the book.

“To Diana beating us all in the game of love” A drunk Skylar yells on the club table.

“Hear Hear!!!” joined Jennifer and Anna.

“Good God!”

“Come on Diana, live a little”

“She is drunk on looooooove” stutters Anna

“We should send John a video”

“No that’s a bad idea”

“Lets make him jealous!!!

“NO! please”

“oh no one is asking you D”

John is working in his basement on Diana’s book. He is lowly humming one of the Schumann’s symphonies. He is lost n work when his phone chimes again, its from Diana. From the notification of it, it appears it’s a video. John plays it and to his restlessness its Skylar, sending a video from her phone. There are two other girls, whom John does not recognize but they were there when John had first heard Diana sing. The video goes on to see a very drunk Skylar speaking.

“Hey Mr. Wick, guess whooooo…its meeee… Sky!!! We have kidnapped your guuuurl frind … and if you don’t come, we will send her to…….that guy” Skylar turns the phone camera towards a random guy at the bar. “……that’s where you also met her……didn’t ya!!! Mr wick!!! Skylar giggles” The video ends.

John first smiles. Diana’s friends are nice and good. She needs this. The last few weeks must have been exhausting, the attack, the sudden change in living conditions. But then it strikes John, he didn’t see Diana in the video, he sees it a few times. Wait, was she going to the man at the bar? John’s posture changes. Diana loves him, she isn’t going to flirt with a random man just like that. Will She? But that man is normal. He can give Diana a normal life. And just like that John is over powered by some feeling of jealousy over an imaginary man. He picks up his keys and goes off to the club.

Diana comes back from the washroom and sees Skylar and her other friends laughing and giggling. She sits down with them. It feels right to let go some times.

“Sing something for us Diana”

“Oh my God! NO”

“Yeah, you have such a great voice”

“No No No…”

“Oh come on Di, its such a dull night, its all Night, street, lamp, drugstore, A dull and meaningless light. Sing for us.”

“What do I Sing?”

Skylar suddenly notices, that John is standing on the entryway, he is probably looking for Diana and she knows if Diana sees him, she wont sing. SO immediately she says.

“Something Bob Dylan”

Diana takes a long sip of her whiskey and then goes up on the stage. “I hate you all” She murmurs.

John has reached the club. He also feels stupid coming here like this. But then his possessive and jealous side overtook his thinking, when it comes to Diana, it happens most often. So he decided he will sit in the corner, without disturbing the girls and drink. When Diana calls he will show up to pick her up. He wont embarrass her in front of her girl friends. When he entered, he looks around, and he sees Diana walking up on the stage. He smiles, the things that started it all. Her voice. Will she sing the same song? Maybe not, maybe, John cannot resist. He is almost thankful he came.

Diana takes the stage. And she sings.

The song (Please Listen, its awesome)

Diana finishes the song. The people are mesmerized. Diana feels shy, she wanted to sing blowin’ in the wind and then she thought of John and the song just came out. When she looks up from the stage, she sees John. Pupils Dilated, absolutely predatory gaze, looking taller and broader than he usually is, John was walking with some certainty towards her. Before she could say something, John picks her up from the stage, bridal style, and walks out, without caring who is looking.

John cannot control now. So sexy, so tempting, that sultry voice, that song, those words. She was calling him. It was for him that she sang. But this time, John is not going to let her vanish after the song. Of all the things, why did she have to sing this song. Then the people, the people at the club, they all were looking at her. She is mine stop looking at her he thought. At that instant, John wanted to kill each and everyone in the club. He wont, Diana is his and he will make sure that she knows it too. So without any inhibition, he walks towards the stage, without any thought, he picks her up and takes her out of the club. He doesn’t care of her friends are looking. Yeah, Diana is his. Diana is totally wrecked in embarrassment, she almost shrieks

“John!! What…What are you doing?”

No answer. John keeps walking.

“People are looking, put me down”

No answer. They have reached his car.

“JOHN!!!”

No answer. John bends his knee and opens the door of the car without putting Diana down. He then puts her on the car seat and secures the seat belt. He closes the car door almost runs to the other side and before Diana can even guess, he drives off in full speed.

“JOHN!!! What the HELL!!!

John turns his face slightly. He doesn’t say anything but his gaze leaves Diana in shivers and creates a wet pool between her legs. She almost whispers now,

“John, what are you doing?”

“I’ll make you my baby tonight, love”

Diana gasps.

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achillestiel · 3 years

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Thank you for tagging me @smiledean and @a-profoundbond

If you choose to partake, here are the rules: Answer 30 questions about yourself and tag others you wanna know more about :)

answers under the cut

1. Name/Nickname: Sam/Sammy

2. Gender: she/her

3. Star Sign: Gemini (I know)

4. Height: 5′2 (I always thought I was 5′4...I am not)

5. Time: is a trivial concept

6. Birthday: 10th June

7. Favorite bands/groups: Bastille, PVRIS, Paramore, You Me At Six, Fleetwood Mac

8. Favorite solo artist: Halsey, Banks, Bon Iver, Otis Redding, Bob Dylan

9. Song stuck in my head: Mr Brightside - The Killers (my fiance has been scream singing it for past three hours while he paints our kitchen ceiling)

10. Last Movie: Winter Solider (BUCKYYYY)

11. Last Show: Parks and Rec

12. When did I create this blog: 2012 I think? I left in 2017 but came back this year.

13. What do I post: Namely SPN but also Marvel, TSOA and Harry Potter.

14. Last thing I Googled: Where is The Bay of Pigs (it’s family quiz night tonight)

15. Other blogs: just my work blog

16. Do I get asks: rarely

17. Why I chose my URL: I am both Cas trash and The Song of Achilles trash

18. Following: 270?? I think

19. Followers: [REDACTED]

20. Average hours of sleep: 6ish. I’m not a great sleeper

21. Lucky number: 23

22. Instruments: does the recorder in year 2 count?

23. What am I wearing: the same Baby Yoda pyjamas I’ve been wearing for three days. No shame here guys.

24. Dream job: Author/screenwriter but I love my current job

25. Dream trip: I’ve done two (Canada and Rome to see the Sistine Chapel) but the next one is Maui for my honeymoon

26. Favorite food: Peanut butter and banana sandwiches

27. Nationality: Pip pip tally ho!....British.

28. Favorite song: Try A Little Tenderness - Otis Redding (it’s going to be our first dance song at our wedding)

29. Last book I read: Ghosts - Dolly Alderton

30. Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: Harry Potter (and save my first love Cedric), MCU (just so I can feed Bucky soup and tell him he’s a good boy), SPN (again the soup thing with both Cas and Dean) and LotR (I’d feel like a giant next to the hobbits)

No pressure tags (sorry if you’ve already been tagged!): @castielsbeeslippers @kara-merlin

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alpaca-writes · 3 years

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Mystics, Chapter 27

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-26 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: Drugs and drug mentions, manhandling, swearing, violence, and gore mention

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: TEENAGE WASTELAND

Arthur remembered well how to find Benji’s house. He had to pick up Arch from the narrow condo a few times in the past. They would always emerge from there a little bleary eyed and tipsy. He never said anything to Charlotte. Not once. To him, it was just a normal part of the teenage experience. He’d try to sober them up and send them home with a good enough excuse that their little bender would be over-looked as an innocent sleepover- without the sleep.

Persephone had used all of her remaining strength to launch him back into the mortal world, and Charlotte would have to remain behind for now- until they were able to open a door to the Labyrinth from the Underworld.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about his sister. She would be safe with the gods.

At least Persephone dropped him in the middle of the city this time. His first visit plunked him in the middle of abandoned farmland and it took too much time to steal a truck into the city to kill Lyrem. He ended up finding Arch in the back alley instead. It felt like it was only yesterday he was stabbed in the leg while trying to rescue them.

The creaking of a window shutter opening nearby filled the courtyard with a familiar Bob Dylan song and the poor mimic of a kid trying to sing along to it. Ballad of a Thin Man, and it was definitely Benji.

Arthur walked up to the window, feeling like there was nothing that would stop him from getting to Arch and he rapped on the open shutter.

“Benji!”

The drifting smoke and strong skunk smell made Arthur back off from the window again. Benji didn’t hear him.

“And somebody points to you and says, ‘It's his’”

“Benji!!”

“And you say, "What's mine?" and somebody else says, "Well, what is?"”

“BENJI!”

“And you say, "Oh my God! Am I here all alone?!"

At this point, Arthur stuck his head through the window, and watched him in the corner high as a kite with a tall bong sitting on a table in front of him. The boy continued singing and acting out the lyrics with impeccable quality of a stage performer.

“But something is happening and you don't know what it is

Do you… Mr. Jones?”

At the last line, Benji turned toward the window to see Arthur’s scraggly face, impatient and red as a brick with the anger of not being heard. Benji jumped back, eyes wide.

“Benji, finally! I’ve been calling you from outside!”

“Dude,” Benji swallowed, growing pale and looking sickly. “Not again man, I don’t know what drug you forced into me, but I do not want anymore.”

Arthur scrunched his face, “what are you talking about?”

Benji shut off the music from his phone, and approached the window wearily.

“Look man, I know you and Arch are close so I’m not gonna play this game with you. I don’t have any, and I don’t deal opiates. I’m not telling you who does, either. You gotta get clean.”

Arthur hopped up, and popped himself up through the window. Jumping down, he landed in a pile of dirty laundry.

“I’m not here to deal,” he explained, “I need your help with something.”

“I said I don’t wanna be the guinea pig for your shitty mushrooms, dude! Get out!” Benji opened his bedroom door. If he needed to make a break for it from the crazy man, he would.

“I’m not trying to give you drugs!” Arthur reached out, and pulled Benji in by the arm. “Last night at prom you were sent to a different world. I need you to help me get there.”

Benji was plopped down on his old bed, and he didn’t try to move any further. He rubbed his arm where Arthur had held him and massaged the bruises that he had started forming. This man was crazy; he was insane and his timing was WAY off.

“Prom… was like, a week ago, dude,” he said meekly. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got super high that night and I saw some really crazy shit, and I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

Arthur sighed and scratched the top of his head, only then realizing how disgusting his hair had become. He probably didn’t smell too great either.

“Look, kiddo, I’m really sorry that you’ve been dragged into this- but right now, I need you to listen to me.

Arch was taken by that creature that I lit on fire. That wasn’t a bad trip, it really happened. And now I need to get to where Arch is. The only place I can think of that they were sent is the same place that you went that night at prom. That’s the working theory, anyway. I’m not giving up on it.”

Benji interrupted. “But I don’t… I don’t understand… I know that there was a point in time I got really muddy… or I fell into a puddle of oil or crude or something sick like that, but…”

His nails lifted toward his teeth, and he started biting between words. His breaths shortened.

“Nah, nah man. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Arthur nodded. He couldn’t expect Benji to understand or believe him, so he gave up. Instead, he focused his energies toward creating the portal. Whether Benji had believed him or not, shouldn’t matter. The kid was still sent to that realm whether he chose to remember it or not.

“Dude?”

Arthur’s eyes were closed, and he was holding out his hand to hopefully create the portal as Benji watched on.

“Dude! I told you to get out”-

Nothing was happening yet, but Arthur continued to concentrate the best he could with Benji’s distracting shouts. He grabbed Benji’s arm, hoping that it would be enough.

“DAD HELP! There’s a crazy junkie in my room!”

Shit. Arthur didn’t have any more time. He broke his concentration and wrapped a hand over Benji’s mouth to stop his yelling, but it was too late. Footsteps that were loud and heavy started pounding down the hall from the kitchen.

“Fuck!” he shouted out. He released Benji reluctantly, and his face was splattered with regret. He turned back toward the window. Instead of seeing the trees and the grass and the cars lining the street, he saw black. A void into the next realm that was just large enough for him, and it was shrinking.

“Benji? Everything okay bud?”

Benji froze. As he had turned to show his father the man who had tormented him, he saw the pitch-black void that had erupted in his room and the man standing before it, hesitant to step into it. The wide shouldered man who was Benji’s father pulled his son away and stepped back. Neither of them, completely able to comprehend what was in front of them.

Arthur stood still in front of it, fearing the way forward. Then one hand emerged along with another. Grabbing Arthur by the shoulders, they pulled him in, and he was finally consumed by yet another void.

He fell, crashed into the dark glass that carpeted the expansive land of rolling hills and flatlands. Arthur only hoped he had ended up where he needed to be, and that the hands that pulled him through were at least, friendly ones.

Supporting himself with his arms, he looked up from the ground and saw a familiar set of legs standing in front of him. Then one of them kicked out, landing into his side and he fell again, this time, laying on the ground completely. After wincing through the sudden blow, he blinked, seeing the last of the void turn to nothing and a deep orange sky took its place. He groaned, clutching his ribs.

“That, was for stabbing me,” Lyrem’s face came closer into view as stood over Arthur.

Arthur wasn’t really in the mood to argue with the dead man, but he didn’t seem to care terribly.

“Worth it,” he mustered, and rolled back to where he was before.

“And you can finish that sentence by thanking me for saving you from the Depths of Despair,” Lyrem sniffed. He looked around, mildly paranoid that Paimon wouldn’t be far behind.

“I’ll thank you when I’m good and dead,” Arthur stood, brushing himself off, and pulled some of the glass from his calloused fingers. “For now, I need to find Arch and bring them home.”

“Not so simple a deed-” Lyrem said simply. He turned, heading towards the mouth of an open cave. But Arthur had different ideas, and pulled the old man up close, by the collar of his shirt until they were nearly nose to nose. He growled into his face, but Lyrem was hardly put off by the close contact.

“Don’t fuck around with me, because I am not in the mood!” Arthur studied the man’s face as it was still inscrutably unfazed.

“Listen very carefully, Arthur. Arch trusts Paimon now- quite possibly more than they trust me or you. I’ve been here long enough to see that their bond has strengthened. We need to play this wisely or else Arch will become Paimon’s next plaything. He is too strong for either of us to defeat on our own,” Lyrem spoke calmly, lowering his voice until it was just a little more than a whisper. “We need Apollo.”

Arthur pushed him away and pulled out the jar of holy water from one of his cargo pockets.

“Arch wouldn’t trust a demon more than me,” he said with confidence.

“Ah- Paimon isn’t a demon.” Lyrem countered. He straightened his shirt collar and pointed toward the jar in Arthur’s hand. “He’s a god. And you would be wise to put away the jar of lynx urine before you spill it on yourself.”

Arthur looked down at the jar. It was a tinge yellow. He scoffed, exhausted though he was of talking. He unlatched the top, popping the rubber seal and sniffed. He grimaced, and held it far from his nose.

“A god? And hold on- this is lynx piss?” Arthur questioned. He latched it again. Lyrem didn’t seem to be lying. He seemed to be quite sure of himself, in fact. “Why… Why did you have a jar of lynx piss in your back room?”

Lyrem waved him off.

“I needed it to summon a Goddess”

“Why were you summoning a Goddess with lynx piss?”

“Because my wife had cancer”

Arthur stared at him blankly until Lyrem decided to explain himself in slightly more detail.

“The urine is solidified into a crystal under several moon phases and then engraved with- you know what”-

Lyrem hushed him at this point, wondering if it would be easier to just put him asleep and drag him to Paimon himself. He thought better of that and ushered the man nearer to the mouth of the cave. Arthur placed the bottle inside his pocket again.

“If you want Arch to come out of this alive, then you must follow my lead. Paimon is powerful here and if we want to avoid suspicion, then we must play the parts convincingly. Starting,” he said, poising himself, “with this.”

“What? With wha”-

Arthur received a blow to the side of his head. One strong enough that it forced him to keel over onto his side, and before he had any time to recover, Lyrem’s knee connected with the front of his face, knocking him flat on his back. He wheezed out.

“You… asshole!”

“Nice and bloody just how Paimon likes,” Lyrem winced a bit as he walked around his backside and rounded him. Finding the jeweled knife on his belt, Lyrem took it away from him. “I know you would do anything for Arch- that is the one redeeming quality of yours.”

Next, he pulled up to Arthur’s right side as he was busy nursing his nose. Lyrem licked his lips and then pressed a foot down into his thigh. Loud, agonizing howls filled the air, and Lyrem relished in it. He didn’t let up until his was certain his leg had fallen back into disrepair.

“But the question, I think that is on everyone’s mind, Arthur,” Lyrem picked him up, and dragged him forward. “-is whether or not Arch would do anything for you.”

Lyrem lifted up his eyes to the opening. Seeing the figure of Paimon stepping through the threshold, he grinned wickedly.

“I believe I’ve found a little gift from your uncle, and Arch’s next carving project.”

Paimon tilted his head, hiding his excitement with a smirk of mild amusement and crouched down. In his left hand he presented Arthur’s strained looks with his own bowie knife.

Arthur shook as the knife approached his face, threatening to make the first cut deeply against his cheekbone- but Paimon pulled it away just in time. Arthur let out a relieved, heavy breath and stared down at the obsidian carpet as the sweat dripped off his temples. He heard the gritty voice of Paimon above him.

“I think we’ll have to place a little bet.”

“Oh? What are you thinking?” Lyrem asked, adjusting his collared shirt around the nape of his neck.

“I bet you that Arch can carve out his heart in five minutes or less,” Paimon proposed, “blindfolded.”

Arthur’s head snapped up in alarm, eyes wide and blinking through blood.

Lyrem raised an eyebrow, “and if they fail? If they take longer than five minutes?”

Paimon considered all of the things in the world that Lyrem could want. He wanted the bet to be interesting, after all. Taking a tour of Mount Olympus, giving him a vial of water from the fountain of youth, or bringing him Phillip as a fun little reward would be all great and wonderful ideas but-

“Let Arch go…” Arthur interjected, “If they can’t do what you say in five minutes or less, then let them go- Back to Earth and back to their real life.”

Lyrem hesitated- not something that he often did. His eyes darted to the man and up to Paimon, gauging his reaction. Would Paimon take it?

It wouldn’t be so easy, would it?

Paimon held a finger to his lips in contemplation, then swiftly brought a hoof down on Arthur’s back, forcing him into the jagged slices of volcanic glass. He grunted and seethed into the ground.

“I accept the bet, although it will take me some time to decide what I want when I win; when Arch succeeds well beyond my expectations and rips your heart from your chest,” Paimon smiled. “Oh, you would have been so proud, Arty. I do wish I had taken a picture for you of what they did to young Marcus… For now, I’ll have you locked in a cell until I make up my mind about what I want.”

Paimon lifted his hoof off of Arthur’s back. He let out a sigh of relief in that there was at least some hope for Arch after all.

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livingdeadinsideyourhead · 3 years

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Free Music in a Capitalist Society - Iggy Pop's Keynote Speech Transcript

Hi, I'm Iggy Pop. I've held a steady job at BBC 6 Music now for almost a year, which is a long time in my game. I always hated radio and the jerks who pushed that shit music into my tender mind, with rare exceptions. When I was a boy, I used to sit for hours suffering through the entire US radio top 40 waiting for that one song by The Beatles and the other one by The Kinks. Had there been anything like John Peel available in my Midwestern town I would have been thrilled. So it's an honor to be here. I understand that. I appreciate it.

Some months ago when the idea of this talk came up I thought it might be okay to talk about free music in a Capitalist society. So that's what I'm gonna try to talk about. A society in which the Capitalist system dominates all the others, and seeks their destruction when they get in its way. Since then, the shit has really hit the fan on the subject, thanks to U2 and Apple. I worked half of my life for free. I didn't really think about that one way or the other, until the masters of the record industry kept complaining that I wasn't making them any money. To tell you the truth, when it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge one unimportant detail. But, a good LP is a being, it's not a product. It has a life-force, a personality, and a history, just like you and me. It can be your friend. Try explaining that to a weasel.

As I learned when I hit 30 +, and realized I was penniless, and almost unable to get my music released, music had become an industrial art and it was the people who excelled at the industry who got to make the art. I had to sell most of my future rights to keep making records to keep going. And now, thanks to digital advances, we have a very large industry, which is laughably maybe almost entirely pirate so nobody can collect shit. Well, it was to be expected. Everybody made a lot of money reselling all of recorded musical history in CD form back in the 90s, but now the cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices which estrange people from their morals also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it. So there's gonna be a correction.

When I started The Stooges we were organized as a group of Utopian communists. All the money was held communally and we lived together while we shared the pursuit of a radical ideal. We shared all song writing, publishing and royalty credits equally – didn’t matter who wrote it - because we'd seen it on the back of a Doors album and thought it was cool, at least I did. Yeah. I thought songwriting was about the glory, I didn't know you'd get paid for it. We practiced a total immersion to try to forge a new approach which would be something of our own. Something of lasting value. Something that was going to be revealed and created and was not yet known.

We are now in the age of the schemer and the plan is always big, big, big, but it's the nature of the technology created in the service of the various schemes that the pond, while wide, is very shallow. Nobody cares about anything too deeply expect money. Running out of it, getting it. I never sincerely wanted to be rich. There is a, in the US, we have this guy “Do you sincerely wanna be rich? You can do it!” I didn’t sincerely want to be rich. I never sincerely felt like making anyone else that way. That made me a kind of a wild card in the 60's and 70's. I got into the game because it felt good to play and it felt like being free. I'm still hearing today about how my early works with The Stooges were flops. But they're still in print and they sell 45 years later, they sell. Okay, it took 20 or 25 years for the first royalties to roll in. So sue me.

Some of us who couldn't get anywhere for years kept beating our heads against the same wall to no avail. No one did that better than my friends The Ramones. They kept putting out album after album, frustrated that they weren't getting the hit. They even tried Phil Spector and his handgun. After the first couple of records, which made a big impact, they couldn't sustain the quality, but I noticed that every album had at least one great song and I thought, wow if these guys would just stop and give it a rest, society would for sure catch up to them. And that's what's happening now, but they're not around to enjoy it. I used to run into Johnny at a little rehearsal joint in New York and he'd be in a big room all alone with a Marshall stack just going "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum" all my himself. I asked him why and he said if he didn't practice doing that exactly the way he did it live he'd lose it. He was devoted and obsessive, so were Joey and Deedee. I like that. Johnny asked me one day - Iggy don't you hate Offspring and the way they're so popular with that crap they play. That should be us, they stole it from us. I told him look, some guys are born and raised to be the captain of the football team and some guys are just gonna be James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and that's the way it is. Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.

I only ever wanted the money because it was symbolic of love and the best thing I ever did was to make a lifetime commitment to continue playing music no matter what, which is what I resolved to do at the age of 18. If who you are is who you are that is really hard to steal, and it can lead you in all sorts of useful directions when the road ahead of you is blocked and it will get blocked. Now I'm older and I need all the dough I can get. So I too am concerned about losing those lovely royalties, now that they've finally arrived, in the maze of the Internet. But I'm also diversifying my income, because a stream will dry up. I'm not here to complain about that, I'm here to survive it.

When I was starting out as a full time musician I was walking down the street one bright afternoon in the seedier part of my Midwestern college town. I passed a dive bar and from it emerged a portly balding pallid middle aged musician in a white tux with a drink in one hand and a guitar in the other. He was blinking in the daylight. I had a strong intuition that this was a fate to be avoided. He seemed cut off from society and resigned to an oblivious obscurity. A bar fly. An accessory to booze. So how do you engage society as an artist and get them to pay you? Well, that's a matter of art. And endurance.

To start with, I cannot stress enough the importance of study. I was lucky to work in a discount record store in Ann Arbor Michigan as a stock boy where I was exposed to a little bit of every form of music imaginable on record at the time. I listened to it all whether I liked it or not. Be curious. And I played in my high school orchestra and I learned the joy of the warm organic instruments working together in the service of a classical piece. That sticks with you forever. If anyone out there can get a chance to put an instrument and some knowledge in some kids hand, you've done a great, great thing.

Comparative information is a key to freedom. I found other people who were smarter than me. To teach me. My first pro band was a blues band called The Prime Movers and the leader Michael Erlewine was a very bright hippy beatnik with a beautifully organized record collection in library form of The Blues. I'd never really heard the Blues. That part of our American heritage was kept off the major media. It was system up, people down. No Big Bill Broonzy on BBC for us. Boy I wish! No money in it. But everything I learned from Michael's beautiful library became the building blocks for anything good I've done since. Guys like this are priceless. If you find one, follow him, or her. Get the knowledge.

Once in secondary school in the 60's some class clowns dressed up the tallest guy in school in a trench coat, shades and a fedora and rushed him in to a school dance with great hubbub proclaiming "Del Shannon is here, Del Shannon is here." And until they got to the stage we all believed them, because nobody knew what Del Shannon looked like. He was just a voice on some great records. He had no social ID. By the early 60's that had really changed with the invasion of The Beatles and The Stones. This time TV was added to the mix and print media too. So you knew who they were, or so you thought anyway. I'm mentioning this because the best way to survive the death or change of an industry is to transcend its form. You're better off with an identity of your own or maybe a few of them. Something special.

It is my own personal view having lived through it that in America The Beatles replaced our assassinated president Kennedy, who represented our hopes for a certain kind of society. Didn’t get there. And The Stones replaced our assassinated folk music which our own leaders suppressed for cultural, racial, and financial reasons. It wasn't okay with everybody to be Kennedy or Muddy Waters, but those messages could be accepted if they came through white entertainers from the parent culture. That's why they’re still around.

Years later I had the impression that Apple, the corporation, had successfully co-opted the good feelings that the average American felt about the culture of the Beatles, by kind of stealing the name of their company so I bought a little stock. Good move. 1992. Woo! But look, everybody is subject to the rip off and has to change affiliations from time to time. Even Superman and Barbie were German before America tempted them to come over. Tough luck, Nietzche.

So who owns what anyway. Or as Bob Dylan said "The relationships of ownership." That’s gates of Eden. Nobody knows for long, especially these days. Apparently when BBC radio was founded, the record companies in England wouldn't allow the BBC to play their master recordings because they thought no one would buy them for their personal use if they could hear them free on the radio. So they were really confused about what they had. They didn’t get it. And how people feel about music. ‘Cause it’s a feel thing, and it resists logic. It’s not binary code. Later when CD's came in, the retail merchants in American all panicked because they were just too damn tiny and they thought that Americans want something that looks big, like a vinyl record. Well they had a point but their solution was a kind of Frankenstein called "The Long Box." It didn't fool anybody because half of it was empty. It had a little CD in the bottom. You’d open it up and it was empty. Now we have people in the Sahara using GPS to bury huge wads of Euros under sand dunes for safe keeping. But GPS was created for military spying from the high ground, not radical banking so any sophisticated system, along with the bounty it brings, is subject to primitive hijacking.

I wanna talk about a type of entrepreneur who functions as a kind of popular music patron of the arts. It’s good to know a patron. I call him El Padron because his relationship to the artist is essentially feudal, though benign. He or she (La Padrona) if you will, is someone, usually the product of successful, enlightened parents, who owns a record company, but has had benefit of a very good education, and can see a bigger picture than a petty business person. If they like an artists’ style and it suits them, they'll support you even if you’re not a big money spinner. I can tell you, some of these powerful guys get so bored that if you are fun in the office, you’ll go places. Their ancestors, the old time record crooks just made it their business to make great, great records, but also to rip off the artist 100%, copyright, publishing, royalty splits, agency fees, you name it. If anyone complained the line was "Pay you? We worship you!" God bless Bo Diddley.

By the time I came along, there was a new brand of Padron. People like this are still around and some can help you. One was named Jack Holzman. Jack had a beautiful label called Elektra Records, they put out Judy Collins, Tim Buckley, the Doors and Love. He'd started working in his family record store, like Brian Epstein. He dressed mod and he treated us very gently. He was a civilized man. He obviously loved the arts, but what he really wanted to do was build his business - and he did. He had his own concerns, and style, and you had to serve them, and of course when he sold out, as all indies do, you were stranded culturally in the hands of a cold clumsy conglomerate. But he put us in the right studios with the right producers and he tried to get us seen in the right venues and it really helped. This is a good example of the industry.

Another good guy I met is Sir Richard Branson. I ended up serving my full term at Virgin Records having been removed from every other label. And he created a superior culture there. People were happier and nicer than the weasels at some other places. The first time he tried to sign me it didn't work out, because I had my sights set on A&M, a company I thought would help make me respectable. After all they had Sting! Richard was secretly starting his own company at the time in the US and he phoned me in my tiny flat with no furniture. He said he'd give me a longer term deal with more dough than the other guys and he was very, very polite and soft spoken. But I had just smoked a joint that day and I couldn't make a decision. So I went with the other guys who soon got sick of me. Virgin picked me up again later on the rebound. And on the cheap. Damn. My own fault.

Another kind of indie legend who is slightly more contemporary is Long Gone John of the label Sympathy for the Record Industry. Good name. John is famous with some artists for his disinterest in paying royalties. He has a very interesting music themed folk art collection – its visible online - which includes my leather jacket. I wish he'd give it back. There are lots of indie people with a gift for organization who just kind of collect freaks and throw them up at the wall to see who sticks. You gotta watch 'em.

When you go a step down creatively from the Padrons who are actually entrepreneurs you get to the executives. You don't wanna know these guys. They usually came over from legal or accounting. They have protégés usually called A&R men to do their dirty work. You can become a favorite with them if your fame or image might reflect limelight on their career. They tend to have no personalities to speak of, which is their strength. Strangely they're never really thinking about the good of their parent company as much as old number one. Avoid them. If you’re an artist, they’ll make you sick or suicidal. The only good thing the conglomerate can do for you – and they’ve done it recently for me - is make you really, really ubiquitous. They do that well. But, when the company is your banker, then you are basically gonna be the Beverly Hill Billies. So it's best not to take their money. Especially when you’re young. These are very tough people, and they can hurt you.

So who are the good guys?! They asked me when they read this thing at BBC 6 Music. Well there are lots of them. If fact, today there are more than ever and they are just about all indies, but first I want to mention Peter Gabriel and WOMAD for everything they've done for what seems like forever to help the greatest musicians in the world, the so called world musicians to gain a foothold and make a living in the modern screwed up cash and carry world. Traditional music was never a for profit enterprise, all the best forms were developed as a kind of you’re job in the community. It was pretty good, it was “Yeah, I’m a musician, I’m gonna skip like doing the dishes or taking the trash out.” It's not surprising that all the greatest singers and players come from parts of the world where everybody is broke and the old ways are getting paved over. So it's crucial for everyone that these treasures not be lost. There are other people of means and intelligence who help others in this way like Philip Glass through Tibet House, David Burn with Luaka Bop, Damon Albarn through Honest John Records. Shout out to Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Almost all the best music is coming out on indies today like XL Matador, Burger, Anti, Epitaph, Mute, Rough Trade, 4 A D, Sub Pop, etc. etc.

But now YouTube is trying to put the squeeze on these people because it's just easier for a power nerd to negotiate with a couple big labels who own the kind of music that people listen to when they're really not that into music, which of course is most people. So they've got the numbers. But the indies kind of have the guns. I've noticed that indies are showing strength at some of the established streaming services like Spotify and Rhapsody – people are choosing that music. And it's also great that some people are starting their own outlets, like Pledge Music, Band Camp or Drip. As the commercial trade swings more into general show biz the indies will be the only place to go for new talent, outside the Mickey Mouse Club, so I think they were right to band together and sign the Fair Digital Deals Declaration.

There are just so many ways to screw an artist that it's unbelievable. In the old vinyl days they would deduct 10% "breakage fees" for records supposedly broken in shipping, whether that happened or not, and now they have unattributed digital revenue, whatever the **** that means. It means money for some guy’s triple bypass. I actually think that what Thom Yorke has done with Bit Torrent is very good. I was gonna say here: “Sure the guy is a pirate at Bit Torrent” but I was warned legally, so I’ll say: “Sure the guy a Bit Torrent is a pirate’s friend” But all pirates want to go legit, just like I wanted to be respectable. It’s normal. After a while people feel like you’re a crook, it’s too hard to do business. So it’s good in this case that Thom Yorke is encouraging a positive change. The music is good. It’s being offered at a low price direct to people who care.

I want to try to define what I am talking about when I say free. For me in the arts or in the media, there are two kinds of free. One kind of free is when the process is something that people just feel for you. You feel a sense of possibility. You feel a lack of constraint. This leads to powerful, energetic, sometimes kind of loony situations.

Vice Media is an interesting case of this because they started as a free handout, using public funds, and they had open, free-wheeling minds. Originally a free handout was called Voice and these kids were like “Just get rid of the old! I don’t wanna be Vice, yeah!” Okay. By taking an immersive approach with no particular preconceptions to their reporting, they've become a huge success, also through corporate advertising, at attracting big, big money investment hundreds of millions of dollars now pumped into Fox Media and a couple of others bigger than that in the US. And they get it because they attract lots of little boy eyeballs. So they brought us Dennis Rodman in North Korea. And it’s kind of a travesty, but it’s kind of spunky. It's interesting that capital investment, for all its posturing, never really leads, it always follows. They follow the action. So if it's money you're after, be the yourself in a consistent way and you might get it. You’ll at least end up getting what you are worth and feel better. Just follow your nose.

The second kind of freedom to me that is important in the media is the idea of giving freely. When you feel or sense that someone that someone is giving you something not out of profit, but out of self-respect, Christian charity, whatever it is. That has a very powerful energy. The Guardian, in my understanding, was founded by an endowment by a successful man with a social conscience who wanted to help create a voice for what I would call the little guy. So they have a kind of moral mission or imperative. This has given them the latitude to try to be interesting, thoughtful, helpful. And they bring Edward Snowden to the world stage. Something that is not pleasant for a lot of people to hear about, but we need to know.

These two approaches couldn't be more different. To justify their new mega bucks Vice will have to expand and expand in capital terms. Presumably they'll have to titillate a dumb, but energetic audience. Of course all capitalist expansions are subject to the big bang – balloon, bust, poof, and you’re gone. As for the Guardian I would imagine that the task involves gaining the trust and support of a more discerning, less definable reader, without spending the principal. There is usually an antipathy between cultural poles, but these two actually have a lot in common in terms of the energy and nuisance to power that they are willing to generate. I wish red and blue could come together somehow.

Sometimes I'd rather read than listen to music. One of my favourite odd books is Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry by Clinton Heylin. I bought the book in the 90's because a couple of my bootlegs were mentioned. I loved my bootlegs. They did a lot for me. I never really thought about the dough much. I liked the titles, like Suck on This, Stow Away DOA or Metalic KO. The packaging was always way more creative and edgy than most of my official stuff. So I just liked being seen and heard, like anybody else. These bootleggers were creative. Here are two quotes from the dust jacket by veteran industry stalwarts on the subject of bootlegs in 1994.

"Bootleg is the thoroughly researched and highly entertaining tale of those colorful brigands, hapless amateurs, and true believers who have done wonders for my record collection. Rock and roll doesn't get more underground than this." – that was David Fricke, the music editor of Rolling Stone "I think that bootlegs keep the flame of the music alive by keeping it out of not only the industry's conception of the artist, but also the artist's conception of the artist." – that was Lenny Kaye from the Patti Smith group, musician, critic and my friend.

Wow!! Sounds heroic and vital!

I wonder what these guys feel about all of this now, because things have changed, haven't they? We are now talking about Megaupload, Kim Dot Com, big money, political power, and varying definitions of theft that are legally way over my head. But I know a con man when I see one. I want to include a rant from an early bootlegger in this discussion because it's so passionate and I just think it's funny.

This is Lou Cohan "If anybody thinks that if I have purchased every single Rolling Stones album in existence, and I have bought all the Rolling Stones albums that have been released in England, France, Japan, Italy, and Brazil that if I have an extra $100 in my pocket instead of buying a Rolling Stones bootleg I am going to buy a John Denver album or a Sinead O'Conner album, they are retarded."

So the guy is trying to say don't try to force me. And don't steal my choice. And the people who don't want the free U2 download are trying to say, don't try to force me. And they've got a point. Part of the process when you buy something from an artist. It’s a kind of anointing, you are giving people love. It’s your choice to give or withhold. You are giving a lot of yourself, besides the money. But in this particular case, without the convention, maybe some people felt like they were robbed of that chance and they have a point. It’s not the only point. These are not bad guys. But now, everybody's a bootlegger, but not as cute, and there are people out there just stealing the stuff and saying don't try to force me to pay. And that act of thieving will become a habit and that’s bad for everything. So we are exchanging the corporate rip off for the public one. Aided by power nerds. Kind of computer Putins. They just wanna get rich and powerful. And now the biggest bands are charging insane ticket prices or giving away music before it can flop, in an effort to stay huge. And there's something in this huge thing that kind of sucks.

Which brings us to Punk. The most punk thing I ever saw in my life was Malcolm McLaren's cardboard box full of dirty old winkle pinkers. It was the first thing I saw walking in the door of Let It Rock in 1972 which was his shop at Worlds End on the Kings Road. It was a huge ugly cardboard bin full of mismatched unpolished dried out winkle pickers without laces at some crazy price like maybe five pounds each. Another 200 yards up the street was Granny Takes a Trip, where they sold proper Rockstar clothes like scarves, velvet jackets, and snake skin platform boy boots. Malcolm's obviously worthless box of shit was like a fire bomb against the status quo because it was saying that these violent shoes have the right idea and they are worth more than your fashion, which serves a false value. This is right out of the French enlightenment.

So is the thieving that big a deal? Ethically, yes, and it destroys people because it's a bad road you take. But I don't think that's the biggest problem for the music biz. I think people are just a little bit bored, and more than a little bit broke. No money. Especially simple working people who have been totally left out, screwed and abandoned. If I had to depend on what I actually get from sales I’d be tending bars between sets. I mean honestly it’s become a patronage system. There’s a lot of corps involved and I don’t fault any of them but it’s not as much fun as playing at the Music Machine in Camden Town in 1977. There is a general atmosphere of resentment, pressure, kind of strange perpetual war, dripping on all the time. And I think that prosecuting some college kid because she shared a file is a lot like sending somebody to Australia 200 years ago for poaching his lordship's rabbit. That's how it must seem to poor people who just want to watch a crappy movie for free after they’ve been working themselves to death all day at Tesco or whatever, you know.

If I wanna make music, at this point in my life I'd rather do what I want, and do it for free, which I do, or cheap, if I can afford to. I can. And fund through alternative means, like a film budget, or a fashion website, both of which I've done. Those seem to be turning out better for me than the official rock n roll company albums I struggle through. Sorry. If I wanna make money, well how about selling car insurance? At least I'm honest. It's an ad and that's all it is. Every free media platform I've ever known has been a front for advertising or propaganda or both. And it always colors the content. In other words, you hear crap on the commercial radio. The licensing of music by films, corps, and TV has become a flood, because these people know they're not a hell of a lot of fun so they throw in some music that is. I'm all for that, because that's the way the door opened for me. I got heard on tv before radio would take a chance. But then I was ok. Good. And others too. I notice there are a lot of people, younger and younger, getting their exposure that way. But it's a personal choice. I think it’s an aesthetic one, not an ethical one.

Now with the Internet people can choose to hear stuff and investigate it in their own way. If they want to see me jump around the Manchester Apollo with a horse tail instead of trying to be a proper Rockstar, they can look. Good. Personally I don't worry too much about how much I get paid for any given thing, because I never expected much in the first place and the whole industry has become bloated in its expectations. Look, Howling Wolf would work for a sandwich. This whole thing started in Honky Tonk bars. It's more important to do something important or just make people feel something and then just trust in God. If you're an entertainer your God is the public. They'll take care of you somehow. I want them to hear my music any old which way. Period. There is an unseen hand that turns the pages of existence in ways no one can predict. But while you’re waiting for God to show up and try to find a good entertainment lawyer.

It's good to remember that this is a dream job, whether you're performing or working in broadcasting, or writing or the biz. So dream. Dream. Be generous, don’t be stingy. Please. I can't help but note that it always seems to be the pursuit of the money that coincides with the great art, but not its arrival. It's just kind of a death agent. It kills everything that fails to reflect its own image, so your home turns into money, your friends turn into money, and your music turns into money. No fun, binary code – zero one, zero one - no risk, no nothing. What you gotta do you gotta do, life's a hurly-burly, so I would say try hard to diversify your skills and interests. Stay away from drugs and talent judges. Get organized. Big or little, that helps a lot.

I'd like you to do better than I did. Keep your dreams out of the stinky business, or you'll go crazy, and the money won't help you. Be careful to maintain a spiritual EXIT. Don't live by this game because it's not worth dying for. Hang onto your hopes. You know what they are. They’re private. Because that's who you really are and if you can hang around long enough you should get paid. I hope it makes you happy. It's the ending that counts, and the best things in life really are free.

#iggy pop #idk if anyone posted it here already #I'm just too lazy to look up so #here it is!

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bubblegumnebulaa · 3 years

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tagging game

thank you to @wolffes-wap for the tag! <3

rules: answer all thirty questions and tag as many people, as you can. let's get to know each other a little better!

name/nickname: kristina/kris or krissy (first one is more common)

gender: female

star sign: leo

height: 5′1″

time: 8:22 pm

favourite bands: mumford & sons, florence + the machine, les friction, wardruna, matthew and the atlas, of monsters and men, VAST, bastille, coldplay, x ambassadors, evanescence, five finger death punch, imagine dragons, sleeping at last, the civil wars, muse, digital daggers (the list goes on and on LOL)

birthday: august 14th

favourite solo artists: hozier, lana del rey, woodkid, koda, lady gaga, johnny cash, grandson, fleurie, phildel, george ezra, elvis presley, bob dylan, barns courtney, hiroyuki sawano (hnngggg), ramin djawadi, trevor morris (last three are composers but still)

song stuck in my head right now: the other side by woodkid (literally fixated on it right now LOL please give it a listen)

last movie: a series of unfortunate events (was time for yet another rewatch)

last show: attack on titan (given)

when did i create this blog: 2017 but i was just lurking on tumblr without an account up until that point LOL

what i post: my hyperfixations, politics, music i like ... a little of everything basically. it’s an absolute mess

other blogs: i had two side ones but i haven’t used them in like years lol

why i chose my url: it’s a slap on titan reference (naturally) that i found hilarious back in 2015 so i ran with it. i have an emotional attachment to this url now LOL

do i get asks: sometimes if i post/comment/rb with a hot take or something inflammatory LOL. also occasionally if i do one of those ask game things, but i stress “occasionally” LOL

last thing i googled: "planet in greek” i was doing something for my philosophy course LOL

i follow: 1640 (way too many people and a huge chunk of them are art blogs that haven’t been active in more than like 4 years LMAOOO)

following: 336 (rip)

average hours of sleep: i’m lucky if i get more than four hours a night

lucky number: 14

instruments: piano but i’m so rusty as i haven’t been practicing as regularly as i used to

what i'm wearing: green sweater with black leggings

dream trip: norway, japan, iceland, greece & scotland (i want to see pretty landscapes and old ruins pls)

favourite food: chicken strips and french fries because i’m a picky eater

nationality: american (ethnically i am italian and bahamian)

favourite song: arsonist’s lullabye by hozier (subject to change at any moment)

last book read: i literally don’t remember, i haven’t picked up a book in ages LOL

top three fictional universes i wanna be a part of: as i said before... my hero academia, star wars and attack on titan but i would die instantly

favourite color: turquoise

tagging: @rose-of-orlais @monty-marten @rinavasqwibqwib @luna-drinker @xxsakuragirlxx @captainlavellan @astarionswhore @pop-culturereference @gaymingbinosaur @nightwingshero and anyone else who wants to!

#tag game #misc

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the-naboo-sith · 3 years

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30 Questions

Tagged by: @vaderiisms (Thank you sm)

1. Name/Nickname: Stormberry, nicknames: Stormy, Storm, Berry or Ber.

3. Star sign: Sagittarius

4. Height: 4′11 1/4

5. Time: 7:13 am

6. Birthday: November 27th

7. Favorite bands: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Journey, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, Creedence Clearwater Revival and Blondie.

8. Favorite solo artists: Bob Dylan, Madonna, Taylor Swift, Kelly Clarkson, Justin Timberlake, Adele and Eurtan.

9. Song stuck in your head: Willow Maid, by Eurtan

10. Last Movie: Cult of Chucky.

11. Last Show: Little House on the Prairie.

12. When did I create this blog: November 24th, 2017

13. What I post: I post RP threads, RP memes and Commentary on my Muse and occasionally Dash comments.

14. Last thing I googled: Hawaiian word for Hibiscus

15. Other blogs:

A Multi-Muse blog of a collection of Canon Horror Muses, and some non-Horror ones, and an OC. @ask-the-camp-of-chaos

I have a Personal Art/Wrting blog as well. @stormberrys-den

16. Do I get asks: Yes I do.

17. Why I chose my URL: I think that’s pretty self explanatory, lol.

18. Following: 534

19. Followers: 211

20. Average hours of sleep: About 7-8 hours depending on sleeping ability and the day of the week.

21. Lucky number: Unsure.

22. Instruments: Piano

23. What I’m wearing: Not saying, sorry.

24. Dream job: Artist/Writer.

25. Dream trip: Russia or England.

26. Favorite food: Chinese and Yaki Soba.

27. Nationality: I can’t remember them all so I’m not saying.

28: Favorite song: Willow Maid by Eurtan.

29. Last book: Psychology, a self teaching book I’m actually still reading.

30. Top 3 fictional universes I wanna live in: Star Wars is all I want.

Tagging: Anyone that wants.

#vaderiisms #the berry that thrives in the storm {mun meme answered}#lets play a game {dash game}

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unproduciblesmackdown · 4 years

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let's get those Multiples Of Four for the lihn asks

Thank Yoy here i gooo

4) Favorite exchange(s)?

i like the conversation when sheila stays behind with susannah while the latter gets changed into the uniform skirt or whichever costume piece lol and susannah is clearly like trying to Fit In as she would with the girls as a whole group re: just sheila but that's not really what sheila herself is about so it's not going anywhere at first. it was very funny when judith just smacks susannah's lunch tray straight down onto the floor rip. and of course i love kitty Addressing susannah leading into masochist

8) Favorite costume(s)?

hmm not great at noticing these details (especially the first time around and in non-hq footage lol) but i Did notice (and appreciate) how all the characters were costumed quite differently in a very Personal Style sort of way, v helpful to characterize them each and help distinguish them earlier on. i did like susannah's costumes a lot with the yellow / purple and patterns and vests and carefully styled hair and her post-timeskip look was fantastic as well

12) Favorite background moment(s)?

again i was pretty focused on the foreground stuff really lol and i don't really remember anything where i was noticing something happening only in the background. but a more Literal background moment, i too really enjoyed the silhouettes of the girls striking poses being projected onto the bg behind susannah at the beginning of the show, very effective and Dramatic

16) Underrated moment(s) in the show?

i don't think i have a real answer re: what's Underrated mostly b/c i've already seen so much good analysis & appreciation from people about pretty much everything........so a vaguely tangential answer is about wishing it was just a Little more evident that Kitty And Dorothy Have Their Own Thing Going On, which like, yeah maybe it's easier to tell in person watching the show, but......and i Do like that kitty's connection to susannah is so clearly more general than their Relationships (or potential ones / wanting one) b/c of course susannah's dilemma around goes beyond Just the particular forbidden romance with this particular person

i also found judith's character like, nonzero engaging, which is just like i hadn't heard much about her prior i don't think. not as though she's at all Likeable in the sense of like if you were in the show you would not like this character who is both a bully and a narc but it's still like, good for her eventually realizing the error of her ways even if it'd've been good to realize it Before miss asp made it clear she was only ever intending to use judith, and like, maybe if your snitching on a girl had indirectly led to her death you'd stop narcing on everyone instead of just setting up the same situation again. but at least she comes around and threatens francis and even her awfulness can be funnier than the awfulness of other characters who are being awful

20) Headcanon(s) for what happens before the show?

oof that's tricky since so much stuff in the show is unveiling ppl's Backstory / what's happened prior.....idk i was gonna say i wonder how kitty got makeup kits into nation but maybe they're allowed / it's allowed for her b/c her parents are paying so much. not very exciting

24) The Other One or Oh Well?

did have to confirm which one The Other One is but i guess that one lmfao i just have a great time with sheila going off on those verses and it's fun how it's this playful song about them bonding over being rejected.....the "and i guess i don't know how to feel about it" delivery is v funny. much respect and appreciation for Oh Well though of course

28) Something you like/have noticed about the show that you haven’t seen anyone else mention yet?

i'm not sure there Was much that i noticed that i hadn't heard about prior......tbh i think there were just a few Plot Points i hadn't already heard discussed but they weren't exactly Fun ones so i was like hm yeah i can see why ppl wouldn't necessarily specifically address this for kicks

32) If only one could happen, would you prefer a cast recording or an Off-Broadway run?

i agree w/ p much everyone, gotta love the increased availability of a cast recording.....will be around for more than a few weeks, will cost less to obtain the experience, and around here Who Knows what cast recordings will spark. love how plausible it is that lihn Will get a cast recording, here's hoping

36) Favorite song(s) off the Hits of Nation/character playlists?

seeing as i forgot these playlists exist, f, and i have never heard music i just checked for which songs i know i know off the top of my head lol. s/o to each of the girls having iko iko by the dixie cups on their playlists, guess that's some required listening

[susannah: l.e.s. artistes by santigold], [rat: one way or another by blondie, i got a rocket in my pocket by jimmie lloyd (which i've only partially heard b/c it plays in the bg of a The Iron Giant scene lmao so this only counts like 1/3 of the way)] [kitty: diamonds are a girl's best friend by marilyn monroe, la vie en rose by edith piaf, anthems for a seventeen year old girl by broken social scene] [ya-ya: sugar sugar by the archies] [miss asp: i THINK i've heard "straighten up and fly right" and "if i knew you were comin i'd've baked a cake" but i don't especially wanna look them up and confirm lmao. know "i'm proud to be an american" and "god bless the usa" lol ew. "comfortably numb" by pink floyd and "whatever will be will be" by doris day et al and "my heart will go on" by celine dion] [first of all interesting that francis and buzz share a playlist but i guess really all of the roles by The Guy are pretty functionally similar lol. accentuate the positive by perry cuomo, blowin in the wind by bob dylan, i Think i've heard hang on to your ego by the beach boys but i think i forget how it goes]

40) What does LIHN mean to you?

hmm well classic iconis content around here with the shows celebrating misfit weirdos and him always trying to write a show about people who usually wouldn't get a show written about them and creating this material for an all-girl show with only one token The Guy and the Lead specifically being a black girl and there being a specifically trans role as well.....love how much people have been enjoying it even as it took me ages to get around to Consuming it myself, and it's been v cool for it to be so like, here's Totally New Material. even prior to me having actually seen it, it was also definitely nice to have This in the wake of august to interrupt the [lying facedown], and again it was fun to even secondhand have ppl having a great time w/ the show and getting to appreciate the Content and Analysis happening hell yea

44) Favorite non show/cabaret performance of a song?

oop i might've only seen the non-show video for "oh well" so guess it wins! fine by me

48) Favorite time Francis was wrong?

it's pretty classic / all-encompassing when he very strongly implies that susannah has no choice but to marry him / no Hope for her Future otherwise

#lihn #nothingunrealistic1

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makotomichi · 5 years

Photo

So, I’ve been kid of ignoring all the tag games in the last month so I’m gonna answer then all in one post!!!!

So the describe your life with pictures was a request by @tinylevisackerstan. They also asked for the next one (just like @l-leonhardt I think...? Sorry dear, I’m not sure anymore, if not forgive me)

The next one...

I WANNA SLAP MYSELF BECAUSE I TOTALLY REMEMBER REACTING TO THE ORIGINAL POST AND I CAN’T FIND IT, I WENT DOWN BOTH MY NOTES AND FAVOURITES, I’M SO SORRY AAAAAAAH. Precious person that tagged me, I hope that somehow you find this ^.^’’’’’’’’

Next, again by @tinylevisackerstan:

Name: Joana (please still call me Makoto xD)

Birthday: 15th July

Zodiac sign: Cancer

Height: Around 1.63m

Hobbies: Writting, watching anime, studying languages, drawing....

Favourite colour: Green

Favourite books: The Name of the Wind, and the next volumes

Last song I listened to: Ah... probably somthing from Bob Dylan, I was with one of my bf’s besties and he was the DJ, I dunno...

Last film I watched: Ah... it’s been too long since I watched something...? It was an anime movie, that’s for sure.

Dream job: what I’m already doing, things related to education and music, meaning music classes, singing, playing in orchestras and small emsembles...

Meaning behind URL: It was the original name of a character I created for the book I’m writing, although their name now is Gen Senju. Also, Makoto suits me well (since I’m the bluntest person ever) and it’s a name I’ve been called in dreams before.

Finally, by @fangirlisawayoflife the last one I got tagged in (I think, sorry if I missed some!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Rules: Bold everything that applies to you and tag 10 people you’d like to get to know better.

I’m over 5’5” // I wear glasses/contacts // I have blonde hair // I prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // I have one or more piercings // I have at least one tattoo // I have blue eyes // I have dyed or highlighted my hair // I have gotten plastic surgery // I haveor had braces // I sunburn easily // I have freckles // I paint my nails // I typically wear makeup // I don’t often smile // I am pleased with how I look // I prefer Nike to Adidas // I wear baseball hats backwards

Hobbies and Talents:

I play a sport // I can play an instrument // I am artistic // I know more than one language // I have won a trophy in some sort of competition // I can cook or bake without a recipe // I know how to swim // I enjoy writing // I can do origami // I prefer movies to TV shows // I can execute a perfect somersault // I enjoy singing // I could survive in the wild on my own // I have read a new book series this year // I enjoy spending time with friends // I travel during school or work breaks // I can do a handstand

Relationship:

I am in a relationship // I have been single for my entire life// I have a crush// I have a best friend I have known for ten years // My parents are together // I have dated my best friend // I am adopted // My crush has confessed to me // I have a long-distance relationship (kind of) // I am an only child // I give advice to my friends // I have made an online friend // I met up with someone I have met online

Aesthetics:

I have heard the ocean in a conch shell // I have watched the sunrise // I enjoy rainy days (only if I’m inside the house) // I have slept under the stars // I meditate outside // The sound of chirping calms me // I enjoy the smell of the beach // I know what snow tastes like // I listen to music to fall asleep // I enjoy thunderstorms // I enjoy cloud watching // I have attended a bonfire // I pay close attention to colours // I find mystery in the ocean // I enjoy hiking on nature paths (LIKE A LOT!!!!!!) // autumn is my favourite season

Miscellaneous:

I can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // I am the mom friend // I live by a certain quote // I like the smell of sharpies // I am involved in extracurricular activities (I was this year, jst finished college tho) // I enjoy Mexican food // I can drive a stick-shift // I believe in true love (not in a romantic/traditional way) // I make up scenarios to fall asleep // I sing in the shower (and professionally)// I wish I lived in a video game // I have a canopy above my bed // I am multiracial // I am a redhead // I own at least three dogs

So I’m not tagging anyone (forgive me) becase I can’t even keep up with what you guys ask me and it’d be at least rude to tag you and then not checking everything out. Thank you so mch for tagging me and I hope you enjoy it!!

#tag game #sorry for the wait #i'm the worst #personal #me #i'll try to answer faster next time

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hangeladavis · 5 years

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A Gift For You On My 30th Birthday

IT’S MY 30TH BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

This is an accurate portrayal of how I felt this morning when I woke up! 30!!!! WOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!! I have lots of feels so I made a playlist. Naturally. So here are 30 songs (+1 for good luck) that I love and a little bit about them.

Knockin on Heaven’s Door by Bob Dylan - My mom says that this is the first song that came on the radio when we left the hospital. Imagining that it’s the first song I heard is nice.

I Love Your Smile by Shanice - When I was a baby child, this was my song! Every night when my dad got home from work and walked into our apartment in Queens I would run to him and ask him to play my song and I would sing it. HARD! Mind you I was like 2 or 3 but it didn’t matter.

Fly Like An Eagle by Seal - Can we talk about the Space Jam soundtrack!? It was vibe to my 6 or 7 year old self and it still goes! I feel like this album was the first time I really heard music. And felt it.

I Wanna Be Down by Brandy - Ok so my dad got those Columbia House cds for 1c or whatever and the first one he gave me was Brandy’s self titled album. You couldn’t tell me nothing!!! Hairbrush karaoke on a million!

Bills, Bills, Bills by Destiny’s Child - When “Writings on the Wall” came out, I really tried to convince my friends to do a backyard performance with choreography and everything. They said no but it was then at 9 that I knew I wanted to be an artist, a director specifically.

We Can’t Be Friends by Deborah Cox - Another in the Columbia House cd collection, I played this album out and knew every word. I played it last summer after not listening to it for at least 15 years and still knew every word and every riff.

My All by Mariah Carey - “I’d give my all/ To have/ Just one more night with you” I had no real context for what I was singing but I used to sing this song so hard! I miss classic Mariah.

Kick Your Game by TLC - That Crazy, Sexy, Cool album was so classic and it was hard to pick one song but this was my jam!

I’ll Be There by The Jackson 5 - Now that I am older I question if I really want someone to be there with that much fervor after a breakup but when baby MJ sings “just look over your shoulders honey, oooh!” I feel it in my soul!

Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson - This song sends me. From the very beginning, to the beat drop. And when she grabs the phone from him and tells his baby “He’s not coming back/because he’s sleeping with me!” thats a moment. No one wants to be on the receiving end of that call but Diana gets what she wants.

That’s The Way Love Goes - JANET! Queen of the Whisper Sing! Duchess of Tight Choreo! I was way too young to be singing this song but I blame my dad. It’s a sexy jam and I don’t regret it.

Are You That Somebody by Aaliyah - When I was 10, some friends and I danced to this song at our elementary school. My mom choreographed it, we got matching outfits and we performed it. Another group of girls (who were admittedly more popular) danced to “Maria, Maria” and they wore matching cowboy hats. Naturally, there was a showdown on the playground over who was better. Naturally.

Just a Friend 2002 by Mario - Westbury Middle School! It was the best of times and the worst of times. Mainly the worst of times cuz middle school is hellish and there is nothing you could do to make me want to relive those years. But one of the sweet moments was getting a mixed cd from this boy that had a crush on me and this was the first song. Swoon It worked. We dated for a while. It was cute.

My Life, My Love, My All by Kirk Franklin - This is the first song I ever choreographed and it changed my life. I was 10 years old. I showed my mother the choreo and she said teach me. It was in that moment that she validated my artistry. That’s why can’t nobody tell me nothing. I have been doing this for 20 years!

Healing by Richard Smallwood - My mother choreographed this piece for the church dance ministry, Choresis, at Memorial Presbyterian Church in Roosevelt, NY. It was one of their most popular pieces and it gave my mother the outlet she needed to dive headfirst into her artistry. I learned how to lead, facilitate and hold healing arts-centered space from my mother and the women she danced with. Their labor made me possible.

Air Force Ones by Nelly - Back to Westbury Middle School, this song is to honor the Air Force 1s wearing preteen I was. Ooh girl…

Ready For Love by India.Arie - When this song came out I thought I knew what it meant and sang it as such. Girl. Girl Girl Girl Girl Girl Girl… 15+ years later and the only thing I know is that I don’t know very much at all. Also this song is very hetero and I am indeed very queer. lol

I’ll Write A Song For You by Earth, Wind & Fire - Family road trips were not complete without this song. We still sing this song like it’s our job. I knew we were getting older when my brother Jordan couldn't hit the high notes.

As by Stevie Wonder - This song. Whew. When I was 10, my mother and I were asked to dance to this song at the funeral of a baby that died. We did and afterwards I was tore up. I kept thinking about my baby brother, Aaron, who has just been born and how I would feel if he died. I didn’t listen to this song for years. Until I really listened to the words and thought about a love that transcends space and time. This song inspired me to write a musical based on Stevie Wonder’s music. And it is my favorite song by my favorite singer.

Breathe from In The Heights Musical - Fast forward, my senior year of college my parents gave me tickets for In The Heights for Christmas. My best friend Lana and I sat in the second to last row in this Broadway house and when this song started I wept. I mean completely lost it. Because she was singing my story. I was flunking out of college my senior year and hadn’t told my parents. I had been a top student in high school and graduated #5 in my class. But I didn’t have words to name my anxiety, depression and fear that I had no idea what to do with my life after school. “And what will my parent say?/Can I go in there and say/"I know that I'm letting you down” This song still makes me cry.

I’m Here from The Color Purple Musical - I’ll let the song speak for itself. “I believe I have inside of me /Everything that I need to live a bountiful life/And all the love alive in me/I'll stand as tall as the tallest tree/And I'm thankful for every day that I'm given/Both the easy and hard ones I'm livin'/But most of all, I'm thankful for/Lovin' who I really am

Back That Azz Up - Ha! This is my favorite transition. This song is for my undergrad club days at A&T and the Blu&White fam.

Boogie Oogie Oogie by A Taste of Honey - But I don’t actually club for real because I am a grandma that missed my era. I could dance to disco all night actually.

Seasons of Love from RENT Musical - What can I say? I’m a theatre kid. This is for A&T’s theatre department that taught me so much and made me so much of who and how I am as an artist. And Rest in Peace to the mother of our theatre department, Frankie Day.

Screens by Zoocrü featuring Al Strong - In 2016, I met a woman named Margaret A. Brunson who changed my life. (She has that effect on everyone) The first time we hung out she took me to an Kickstarter kickoff party for a band named Zoocrü. I had never heard of them before but as soon as they started playing I was like Who are these boys? I offered my administrative assistance for their campaign and it turned into more than I ever imagined. That offer is what pushed me into consulting and it’s been a joy to work with artists and creatives. I am grateful that our paths crossed.

Sunday Candy by Donnie Trumpet - My grandmother, my Nanny, Evelyne Marie Laisure Marshall passed away on September 29, 2017. Her living made me possible and her passing changed my life. I talk about grandmas so much because I dont know who I would be without her love. I miss her so much but I find her everywhere; in my red fingernail polish, in my card shuffling, in my baking, in my political analysis, in my care. And yes, in the candy dish in my living room.

F.U.B.U. by Solange - Last year I created a show called “Buy My Soul And Call It Art”. I had no idea what I was doing but my Nanny had passed and my cousin Michael had passed and the Universe was telling me to “do it scared”. This song was featured in the piece because I never wanted anyone to forget who this is for, who this is centering. “All my niggas in the whole wide world…”

I Want You by Erykah Badu - The second show in the trilogy is “Buy My Body And Call It A Ticket” and that show almost killed me. I had to go somewhere deep inside myself and that place is dark and scary and I wasn’t sure that I was gonna make it out. But I did. And what brought me back was this. “I want you.” I want my body. I want my life. I want my love. I want myself.

I Need You To Survive by Hezekiah Walker - Show number 3 (which will be rebooted) is “Buy My Art And Call It Holy”. Though I don’t consider myself a Christian, I cannot separate myself from my Christian upbringing and this is one of my favorite songs. When I sing it I am singing it out to my people. I am singing to you. “I need you/ You need me/We’re all apart of one body”

Never Would Have Made It by Marvin Sapp - Yall there have been times when I wasnt sure if I was gonna make it to 30. Seriously. Depression and anxiety is real. Sometimes it zaps the desire to be right out of me. But I am here. And I am so grateful. Here’s to another day, another week, month, year, decade!

Crazy, Classic, Life by Janelle Monae - Did ya’ll think there wouldnt be some Janelle Monae on here!?! This is my theme song! Let’s ride this thing til the wheels fall off!

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bourbonboredom · 6 years

Text

Shelter From The Storm

I’ve been dragged into the Clyde Logan fan club. Writing fan fiction seemed to be the natural course to take. So here’s a ClydexReader fic, indulging some classic tropes.

Word Count: 5,478 (oops)

Warnings: Cursing, Drinking, NSFW

Slow Saturdays were few and far between at Duck Tape. The bar, usually packed with patrons drinking away their weekday worries, was unusually empty on account of a freak thunderstorm. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the lightning was so bright it could light up the entire night sky. Rightfully, people were staying out of dodge that evening, preferring to drink in the safety of their own homes. Clyde didn’t mind much though, an empty bar was welcome every once in a while as it gave him time to himself.

The music from the jukebox competed with the sound of rain hitting the roof and thunder rumbling low. He sat at the bar with a book. He kept one under the counter just for nights like this. He was so engrossed in his chapter that he almost missed the sound of the front door opening. The door slammed shut with a bang, causing his new patron to let out a squeak.

“Sorry about that, the wind caught it,” a voice came.

He looked up to see a girl standing in his doorway, sopping wet. Her jacket was completely soaked, with her jeans not too far behind. She was struggling to remove the material of the former from her body, dripping all over the floor. She managed to remove her jacket and hung it up by the door. She walked up to the bar, trying to look like she didn't just run through the storm of the decade to get indoors. Clyde put his book down and circled behind the bar.

“What can I get the only person brave enough to be out in this weather?” he asked.

“It’s not intentional, I’m just passing through and didn’t realize the storm would be this bad. You were the first place off the exit that looked open,” she smiled, looking a little embarrassed.

“Well you can wait it out in here, maybe it’ll go faster with a drink?” he inwardly kicked himself, he didn’t want this girl to think he was trying to get rid of her.

“Only if you make one for yourself,” she pointed at him, “Something that’ll warm me up, please. Bartender’s choice,”

“Somethin’ warm, coming right up,” he grabbed an old go-to and got to work.

Fireball Whiskey could warm just about anyone up. He took that and combined it with vanilla vodka and apple juice in a shaker. He was acutely aware of how his patron was watching him work one-handed. If she wanted to ask him about his prosthetic, she seemed to think better of it. He poured the cocktail in to two glasses, pushing one her way. She took a sip and her face instantly lit up.

“This is great! What is this?”

“An Apple Pie, they’re popular ‘round here in the fall,” he took a sip of his own, relishing the pleasantly warm sensation it left in his throat.

“It’s definitely warming me up, so thank you,” she reached in to her pocket to pay him but he put his hand up to stop her.

“It’s on the bar tonight,”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,”

“Well could you tell me your name so I can properly thank you?”

“It’s Clyde. And you?”

She told him her name, raising her glass for a cheers. They clinked and drank.

“If anything, you’re doing me a favor being here. You’ve been my only customer all night,” he confided.

“Well that sounds lonely,”

“It’s not too bad. I got the jukebox goin’,”

“I noticed,” she smiled and stopped to listen to the music for a moment. “Shelter From The Storm is a little on the nose don’t you think?”

“You like Bob Dylan?” he asked.

“Does anyone not like Bob Dylan?” she took another sip of her drink. “What else you got on that jukebox?”

———————————

Another round of Apples Pies and an hour later, the two of them had managed to create a satisfactory playlist that would last the evening. The storm still raged outside, but neither of them seemed to mind. Her clothes were almost dry now, and was feeling plenty warmed-up by the drinks.

“Don’t let me have another one of these, I’m gonna need to be able to drive when the storm lets up,” she tried to be serious, but her cheeks were pink and she kept fighting a smile. It was adorable, not the Clyde would say it out loud.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, still working on his own glass. He secretly hoped the storm would last a little longer so she could stick around, he was enjoying her company.

“You’ve got nice eyes, you know that?” she said suddenly. A blush crept down his neck, making him thankful that he chose to wear a collared shirt.

“I—um,”

“You don’t take compliments well, huh?” she teased.

“I suppose not. I don’t usually get them unless someone’s trying to sweeten me up so they don’t have to pay their tab,”

“Well you already said this was on you, right?” her eyes shone. “I’m not saying it for the tab then,”

“Well, thank you,” he managed to stutter out. He could feel his whole face heat up. He turned around and acted like he was looking for something, but really he was just hoping to hide the very apparent blush on his face from a very pretty girl complimenting him.

A huge flash of lightning streaked across the sky at that exact moment, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. Blinding light was followed by a pop and the power going down in the bar.

Well, fuck. That’s one way to hide it.

The jukebox cut off in the middle of an Eagles song, and it was completely dark. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted and he saw her looking at him from across the counter.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just a little startled. You?”

“I’m okay, it looks like that last bolt took out the power though,”

“Yeah, is your bar okay? Do you need to do anything?”

“I got a generator out back, I might be able to get some lights back on,” he remembered. He walked out from behind the bar, coat in hand. “You stay here, I’m gonna try to fix this,”

“Hold on, is it outside?” she grabbed his sleeve as he walked by her.

“Yeah?”

“It’s still storming out. Mixing lightning and generators isn't a good idea, I don’t want your bar catching on fire,” she reasoned. She slowly realized she had been holding on to him, and quickly dropped her hold.

“You’re probably right,” he noted, skin tingling where she had touched him. “I think I have some candles in the back, that should help until I can get the generator going,”

“I’ll help bring them up front,” she said, hopping off her barstool to trail behind him.

He began heading for the back of the bar, using his phone to light the way. He knew Duck Tape like the back of his hand, so walking around in the dark wasn’t much of an issue. His new friend, on the other hand, bumped in to a chair, sending her hurling towards the ground. Clyde managed to catch her before she could hurt herself, holding her by the waist as she regained her balance.

“You alright?” he asked.

“All good, thanks,” she replied, patting his chest to assure him that he could let go. He did, slower than he probably should have.

They retrieved an armful of candles each, heading back to the front of the bar, to rearrange them around the counter. He took his lighter from his pocket, going around and lighting the wicks. The room slowly regained a little of its lost light.

“I have some blankets in my car, I don’t know how long we’re gonna be here but it might help to have the extra warmth,” she appealed.

“I think I have one in my car too,” he noted. “Wanna race to get ‘em?”

“You’re on,” her face curled in to a smile.

The two stood on the covered porch of Duck Tape a few moment later. Coats pulled on, zipped up, and hoods thrown over their heads. Clyde’s coat sleeve was pulled down around his prosthetic to present the machinery from getting wet. Their cars were parked right by the railing, it would have been an easy trip if it wasn’t for the rain was coming down.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” he responded, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“Go!” she shouted, giving him a light push back as she ran ahead.

“Hey!” he yelled, trying to catch up, loving how she sounded as she laughed.

Wearing a coat was basically pointless, as Clyde was soaked within a few moments it took to reach the trunk of his car. He opened the trunk, grabbing the spare blanket sitting in the back, and closed it with a slam. She had just gotten her trunk open. She had dropped her keys earlier and was slowed down. He came over to help, gathering a few blankets in his arms when she managed to open her car. She held a few of her own, slamming the trunk shut as they raced back inside.

“Fuck! I’m soaked!” she exclaimed, throwing the blankets down on the floor. They had managed to keep them relatively dry but their clothes, on the other hand, were goners.

“Me too, but it’s worth it cuz I won,” he teased, peeling his jacket off.

“Says you!” she scoffed, throwing her own jacket at him. He smiled and hung it up to dry with his own.

“God, wet jeans are literally the most uncomfortable thing on earth. And this is the second time today!” she grumbled. She brought the blankets to behind the bar, walking with wide steps to prevent the denim from rubbing against her skin.

“I hear ya,” he grabbed a clean cloth from the bar to wipe down his arm. It had gotten wet outside, and it needed to be dried off before any damage could come to it.

“Hey Clyde,” she called. “Would you mind if I—um. Would you mind if I hung my clothes by the window? I think they’ll dry faster if they’re not on me,”

The blush was back. His body felt so hot, he figured maybe his clothes would dry up then and there.

“Uhm—”

“Oh god, forget I even asked,” her voice was filled with embarrassment. “It’s the alcohol I think, sorry, I’m being stupid. I barely even know you,”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he started, trying to find the words he was looking for. “It’s alright if you wanna, um— dry your clothes,”

Clyde prided himself on being a Southern Gentleman. His mama raised him to respect women, and he knew better than to do anything to make a lady uncomfortable. He turned around as she pulled her shirt over her head. He could see the faintest outline of her figure in the reflection of the window, but instead turned his interest to the wood grain of the floor. He felt a hand on his shoulder a few minutes later. He turned around to see her standing behind him. She had wrapped herself in a blanket, holding her wet clothes in her arms.

“Do you wanna dry yours out too? I can get you a blanket,” she asked, not able to fully meet his gaze.

“I—uh—I think it would be the quicker option,” he mumbled.

“Would it be less weird if we both took a shot before? For nerves?” after a moment, he nodded, not being able to actually say anything out loud.

She laid out her clothes by the door, and went back to the bar and grabbed a random bottle from the shelf. She unscrewed the top and took a deep swig, hissing as she brought the bottle away from her lips.

“Christ, that’s a strong one, what did I even grab?”

“It looks like you grabbed my best Kentucky Bourbon, darlin’” he said as he took the bottle from her. It was one of the top-shelf liquors he offered.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I can put it back and grab something else,”

“No, it’s fine. It don’t get much use. People usually go for the lower-quality whiskeys around here,” he took a swig of his own, savoring the way the liquid burned in his chest.

“Besides,” he said as he handed the bottle back to her. “It’s best to drink the good stuff when you got good company,”

She smiled at that, turning back to grab him a blanket. He stripped away his shirt, followed by his jeans and, well, everything else. He felt a little self-conscious but fuck it, this storm and this alcohol was making him a lot braver than he usually felt. He thought he felt a pair of eyes staring at him as he lost his boxers.

“Heads up!” she called.

Something soft hit his back. He looked down to see a blanket at his feet. He laid his clothes to dry next to hers and bundled himself in the blanket. Upon looking over to the bar, he found she was nowhere to be seen. Clyde called out her name, wondering where she could have gone to.

“Down here!” she called back. Her hand waved, peaking just over the counter. He leaned over to see the set-up she had created in the middle of the bar area.

The candles were set on the counter, creating a soft glow for the area. The blankets had been spread out across the floor, with her resting her back on the wall. She smiled up at him, holding the bottle of whiskey.

“Wanna join me?” she lifted the bottle in his direction.

He circled around to the entrance and sat down next to her, making sure his blanket was covering all of his body. He took the bottle from her hand and took a generous swig.

“So, you do this often?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Come to people’s bars, strip out all’ve your clothes, and drink their best booze?”

“Mmmmm, not usually, I’d say this is a first” she laughed, taking the bottle back. “Do you usually let strange women come in to your bar, strip and drink your booze?”

“Can’t say I do,”

“Well, here’s to firsts,” she rose the bottle to her lips and drank.

“To firsts,” he took it as it was passed to him. He was starting to feel the consequences of swigging whiskey from the bottle. His body felt pleasantly warm,and he was on his way to getting tipsy. She seemed to be right there with him.

“So,” she said, looking at him.

“So,” he parroted.

“Since our jukebox playlist was so rudely interrupted, how about I try to guess something about you and if I get it wrong, I have to drink. But if I’m right, you drink. Same goes for you,”

“Alright. Shoot,”

She studied him for a bit, looking over his long, wild hair, his large frame, his prosthetic hand. It made him feel a little shy to be watched so closely.

“You grew up here,” she concluded. He took a drink.

“That’s just cheatin’,” he said, passing her the bottle. “You’re not from around here,”

“Did the accent give it away?” she teased, taking her drink. “Okay, let’s make it a little harder. I’m gonna guess that your favorite cocktail is a whiskey sour,”

“Sorry darlin’,” he said, passing the bottle her way. “It’s a negroni,”

“Very traditional choice. What do you think mine is?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say you’re a Paloma kinda lady,”

“A what? I don’t even know what that is,” she laughed, passing the bottle his way.

“It’s tequila, grapefruit, lime, sugar, and club soda,”

“That actually sounds pretty good,”

“I’ll make you one sometime. Preferably when the lights are on,”

“I’ll have to take you up on that offer. My favorite is a good mojito,”

“I guarantee your bartenders hate you, those take some effort,”

“I know! I don’t ask for them often,” she hid her face in her hands, “I knew one day one of you would finally accost me for it,”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, we’re nicer to customers we like,” the words came out of his mouth before he could think. This whiskey was really not his friend tonight.

“Well, thank you, I’ll try to keep using it to my advantage,” she said, cupping her hand under his chin. It was a playful move, but the touch all but burned his skin.

Sure, it was dark. And they were lit by candlelight. But this mystery girl was radiant. Her smile, her laugh, the way she moved, it was as if she could light up a room just by entering it. Clyde had put romance on the back-burner for quite some time, but he was thinking he could indulge for one night.

“I got one. I think you were peekin’ when you threw me that blanket,” he held his gaze steady on her, eyebrow raised. She stared back with a neutral expression, as if challenging him to change his opinion. She finally took the bottle from his hand.

“Only for a second,” she took her drink, keeping eye contact. “Can you blame me?”

“I suppose you could blame the bourbon,”

“Let’s blame it on that. We’re you checking me out too?”

“No ma’am,”

“Really?” she challenged.

“Cross my heart,”

“Such a gentleman,” she laughed, taking another drink. She set the bottle down on the floor and turned her body towards her new companion. “I think you wanted to though,”

“Doesn’t matter if I wanted to, it wouldn’t be respectful,”

“I wasn’t very respectful, I think it’d be okay to even the field,” her eyes seemed to darken as she spoke.

“I suppose it would,” Clyde could barely hear his own voice over his heart beating in his ears. She shuffled in front of him, holding her blanket closed at her chest.

Slowly, she let the heavy fabric fall from her shoulders. She brought her hands down to her sides, taking the rest of the fabric with them. Her body came fully in to view, every curve, every freckle was on display for him.

He reached out with his hand, unsure of whether he was allowed to touch. He came in contact with the blanket and grabbed hold, tugging to pull her closer. She obliged, bringing her knees to either side of his hips. Neither of them were really breathing, as if taking that breath would make the moment disappear. She dropped her hold on the blanket, letting it fall away. She looked resplendent, skin almost glowing in the candlelight.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered.

She cupped his face in her hands and seated herself in his lap. She brought her face to his, slowly, as if she was unsure whether or not to really do this. He took the blanket that was draped around her body and dragged it to the floor, leaving her no room to hide. Her face was hovering a few inches away from his when he brought his hand to her cheek. He ghosted the tips of his finger along her jaw, then her neck, before finally settling on her shoulder. He pulled her to him, closing the gap.

Her lips landed on his softly, and he returned the kiss with a little more fervor. Their tongues slowly circled each other and dipped into the other’s mouth as they grew needier. His hand trailed up and down her body, touching as much of her as he could with one hand. His left hand, his prosthetic hand, remained at his side. He wasn’t sure if she would like being touched with it. As if she could hear his thoughts, she dropped one hand from his face and grabbed his forearm, resting the metal of his fingers on her hip.

“It’s okay,” she said in between kisses.

With this new permission, he explored her body. He brought his hands up to her breasts, tweaking her nipples in a way that made her moan into his mouth. He was growing harder, his cock straining against the blanket wrapped around him. He could feel a damp spot growing where she was straddling him. She began working the blanket off his shoulders, dragging it down to his waist, where it was being held closed by her body. She broke the kiss with a soft bite to his lower lip, and began working her way down his body. Clyde let out a groan as she started kissing his neck. She planted slow pecks down his collarbone, his chest and finally his torso. She made sure to kiss every freckle she encountered. Her hands held the heavy fabric as she looked up at him.

“Can I?” she asked

“Go on, darlin’,” he encouraged.

She smiled up at him before turning her gaze to his covered body. She had worked her way further down his body, resting by hiss ankles, giving her plenty of room to unfurl the blanket covering him. She watched with hungry eyes as her hands drew the fabric from his form. His cock bobbed as it was released. He was fully hard, with precum beading at the tip. She sat back in her straddled position at his hips, her mound rubbing against his cock. She put her hands around his neck and pulled him into another heated kiss.

“Do you have a condom somewhere?” she asked as she broke away.

“I should in my wallet over there,” he motioned to his coat by the door.

“Not the best place to be storing condoms,” she teased.

She got up, fully naked, and walked out from behind the bar to get his wallet. She came back a few moments later, handing it to him and sitting back down. Clyde found the condom he had stowed away, and threw the rest of the wallet to the side. He held it up so she could see before pulling her closer to him by her hips. He ripped open the packet, rolling the latex on. She positioned her hips over him, hands resting on his broad shoulders.

“Are y’sure about this?” he asked.

“Clyde, c’mon, I need you inside me,” she moaned, lowering herself on to him. She got as far as the tip before he caught her in his hands. She looked surprised that he had stopped her, letting out a desperate whimper. He looked at her, eyes clouded with lust.

“Say that again,” he groaned. He was aching, wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside her. He could feel her cunt dripping on him.

“Please, Clyde, I need you inside of me,” she whined in frustration, trying to force her hips down further.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he growled, pushing her hips down on him. He moaned as he bottomed out. Her hands were gripping his shoulders, head lulling back and eyes closed with her lips parted in a perfect o.

“You doin’ okay?” he breathed out, pressing kisses to her exposed neck.

“You feel perfect,” she answered after a moment. She brought her head forward and kissed him deeply.

Their moans were smothered by the kiss as she rode him, their bodies trying to find a rhythm at a frantic pace. He couldn't get enough of her. His hands tangled in her hair one moment, and dropped to her breasts at the next. One hand finally rested at her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as she bounced on his cock.

“Oh fuck keep doing that,” she mewled. She fisted a hand in his dampened hair.

She tried to keep her rhythm as he stroked her but the closer she came to orgasming, the harder it was to keep up. He took over, thrusting in to her as hard as she would let him. Her head dropped to his shoulder, nipping at his neck as he fucked her. Her cunt began to flutter around his cock, squeezing him impossibly tight.

“I’m—I’m gonna,” she managed to stutter out, eyes squeezing shut.

“Cum for me darlin,” he growled. He wanted nothing more than to feel her cum on his cock, to hear her moan his name as he brought her to climax. His fingers rubbed her clit faster and harder, cock drawing almost all the way out before slamming in to her again.

She came with a whimper, biting her bottom lip as his name left her lips. One hand fisted in his hair as the other’s fingernails bit into his bicep. Her walls clenched around him, drawing him closer to his own release. The coil in his core drawing tighter and tighter as she came down from her high and began to ride him again. She looked him in the eye as he was on the edge of climax, coaxing him as he moaned her name and went tumbling over. He emptied himself inside the condom, hips stuttering before ceasing to thrust.

His curls fell in his face as he tried to catch his breath. They were moved off his face with care by her fingers, tucking the strands behind his ear. He brought his head back up to get a good look at her. She looked as tired as him, but had a grin across her face. She kissed his nose, and then his lips.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Better than okay,” he replied, giving a quick kiss back. He tapped her hips to signal he needed to get up. She sat to the side, bringing her blanket up over her shoulders. He threw the condom away before sitting back down next to her.

“Do you usually fuck strange women at your bar?” she offered him half of the blanket. He draped it over his shoulders, letting her lean into him.

“I can’t say I do,” he replied. “I think we can blame that on the bourbon. And the storm. And maybe even the woman,”

“Oh, this is on me?” she laughed.

“I’d say it’s on both of us,”

“Hmm, that’s fair,” she ran her fingers through his hair, absentmindedly massaging his scalp. It was a change from her tugging at his locks just moments ago, but it felt just as nice.

“You tired me out,” he said, feeling his eyelids begin to grow heavy.

“Good, it’s not just me then,” she yawned. “ Is it okay to sleep here tonight? It doesn’t look like the storm let up,”

“Fine by me,”

They worked together to pile the blankets on the floor to make a thin mattress, with the biggest blanket on top to cover them. She went around the bar blowing out the candles as he put away the bourbon. They got under the covers and began to drift off soon after.

She drifted off before he did, giving him time to look at the strange woman sleeping next to him on the floor of his bar. This wasn’t like him, this whole situation wasn’t like him, but he was glad it happened. Maybe if the storm let up enough by morning he’d take her out for coffee. Anything to spend a little more time with her. He fell asleep to the sound of rain pattering against the roof.

———————————

Clyde awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in to his eyes. He was groggy, with a baby hangover from all the bourbon. He reached out next to him to discover her side was empty. He sat up and looked around. She wasn’t anywhere to be found. He gathered the blanket around him as he stood. The storm had ended, and her clothes were gone from the window, along with her jacket by the door. He noticed his own clothes had dried out in the morning sun. He pulled his pants on and started walking to the back, thinking she might have wandered off somewhere.

A piece of paper caught his eye on the counter as he walked by. He stopped and picked it up, noticing it was a note from her.

Thanks for last night, I won’t be forgetting it any time soon! I.O.U. one bottle of top-shelf bourbon!

She signed her name with an X next to it. A kiss.

His chest felt a little heavy at the thought of her leaving without saying goodbye. In the back of his mind he figured it would be a one night stand, but he truly enjoyed her companionship. He sighed as he put the rest of his clothes on and circled back around the bar to pick up the blankets and go on with his day. She had left hers, so she would have to come back at some point.

Right?

———————————

A week passed without hearing any word from her. Clyde kind of figured he’d never see her again. Despite this, his head perked up every time he heard the door to Duck Tape open.

In that week he fixed up any electrical problems, and got his bar back in order after the storm of the decade. He’d smile to himself every time someone played Bob Dylan on the jukebox, his brother even caught him humming along a few times. Over time, that night felt more like a dream than a memory.

Another week passed by and he’d fully given up at that point. No way was anyone going to wait that long just to pick up a few blankets. No way was anyone going to wait that long to see him again. He knew it was too good to be true, that any connection he felt with her was just the alcohol talking. He’d get over it eventually, he thought as he pulled in to the parking lot of Duck Tape for the opening shift.

It didn’t take him long to realize there was another car in the lot. A familiar-looking car. He pulled in to his usual spot, making eye contact with the strange woman sitting on his porch. Her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him, and she waved as he opened his car door.

“Hey,” she called.

“Hey,” he closed his car door and walked over to her apprehensively.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner, I had some family stuff to deal with,”

“It’s fine,” he said, trying to downplay every feeling of doubt he’d had in the last two weeks.

“I got you a replacement bottle for that bourbon,” she brought the bottle out from behind her back, holding it out for him.

“You didn’t have to,” he knew how expensive that particular brand was.

“I mean, it’s the least I can do. You saved me from that storm, you drank with me, you let me sleep there. And, you know, other stuff. Think of it as a ‘thank you’ gift,”

“Well, thank you. I was gonna open up the bar, you wanna come in? I can make you that Paloma while I set up for the night,”

“Not right now,” She replied quickly.

His chest fell again. He really needed to stop getting his hopes up.

“Well, I’ll see you around I guess,” He put the bottle down on the porch and began unlocking the front door, turning his body away from her before she could see his disappointment.

“Clyde wait,” she put her arm on his shoulder. He took a breath before he had the courage to turn around to face her. When he did, she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking down at her feet, with a noticeably pink tinge to her ears.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—I was just gonna ask,” she took a deep breath of her own before looking up at him. “Would you like to go get some coffee? With me?”

He felt a little stunned. He stood there as she kept talking to fill the awkward silence.

“I mean, I really enjoyed out time together that night and I wanna get to know you better. But if now’s not a good time that cool, we can do it later. Or not at all. I think I'm just embarrassing myself, I’m gonna leave now—“ she started inching away, looking flustered.

“I’d like that a lot,” Clyde finally blurted out. He caught her hand before she could go any further. “The coffee I mean. And now is good,”

She looked down at his hand holding hers. She laced her fingers with his.

“There’s a diner down the street I think,” she smiled, “Can’t go wrong with diner coffee,”

“I think you’re right darlin’,” he squeezed her hand.

“And we’ve got no bourbon to blame this time, only ourselves,” she led him off the porch towards her car.

“I don’t think thats a bad thing,” he smiled, realizing he’d follow this strange girl anywhere just to be in her glow.

#logan lucky #loganlucky #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x oc #clyde logan/reader #happy friday #masterlist

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