#me. so like u r not slick. whatever. it was so fucking stressful at the time. which i feel bad abt bc it wasn't really his fault

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#thats me in the corner. thats me in thr spotlight. rocking from side to side and not contributing to the conversation #which is to say. i made it to thr lab get together with an old lab mate. i really truely did not think i would #i was like 20min late bc of the crying and hyperventilating over a 6min drive down the road #i sorta freaked out while driving too. and almost turned around. its just that i kno i havent been sleeping enough and got overwhelmed #but i made it there. and i dont think i looked like id been crying but i probably looked a bit blank faced and miserable #as i rocked from side to side for like 2hrs listening to ppl talk. i enjoyed it exactly as much as i expected. it was good to see the guy #again but i just dont connect in group gatherings idk. im glad its done. also fucking we were sitting there and a group comes in and whos #in that group?? someone i have avoided seeing for like a loooong time. the guy who tried to be in a relationship with me back when i 1st #started as a grad student. i say relationship. i was explaining to him why i couldnt do any sort of romantic e tanglement and he was very #firm abt not wanting a relationship. and im like bro im explaining u why no romanticly adjacent thing is gonna work. u literally asked me #to physically hold ur hand thru this. u r somehow more emotionally invested in this than me and also are telling me that u just wanna fuck #me. so like u r not slick. whatever. it was so fucking stressful at the time. which i feel bad abt bc it wasn't really his fault #i was just less self aware so i didnt kno i have bad awareness in the moment. like i dont kno a lines been crossed until a week later when #im laying on thr floor falling apart. so like i wish him the best. didnt kno he was still around. hopefully this doesnt trigger stress #dreams. all this to say i was very fucking tense. and when i got back in my car i was like shaky and panting lol #idk looking back its just such a weird situation with that dude. if i was anyone else it woudlnt have been a big deal but #my brain just doesn't process physical touch right. so now ive got these horrible touch memories that like on paper r literally nothing #but for me they were so unfathomablly awful when i 1st aquired them. i literally could not deal with any romantic stuff for like a month #bc it would like trigger me. now thst its been like 3 years its not bad tho. just like gives me thr ick but i dont get #stuck in the memories too much. its so dumb. whatever. point is im all sore now from sitting all tense haha #unrelated

[obeisnce]

@gunfckd​. / ft. B U C K Y.​​

he should be more careful with her.  if everything goes according to plan, she has to be seen unharmed by her father so he can get to him  —  his real target  —  and finish this goddamn mission.  but he is stressed out and craves a warm wet mouth around his cock and she’s making it so damn difficult to enjoy himself when she can’t do it right.  however, her pathetic whines and crying do make his cock pulse with need and spread arousal like wildfire over his body.   ‘     it’s daddy now?  you’re learning fast, doll.  i wonder what your dad would have to say about that, though’     he chuckles but the sound is quickly interrupted by a low groan when he feels the slick warmth of her throat envelop him.  the soldier’s eyes are fixed on her, on the delicate hand around her neck that is bulging with his thick cock.  god, he’s never been patient.  his fingers cradle the back of her head, holding her in place before he takes matters into his own hands and starts fucking her face with quick hard thrusts.   ‘    keep that throat nice and open for me     ’

           𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑵𝑨 𝑾𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑶𝑶. she wonders how her dad might react to learning his precious daughter is currently being defiled by the very same man who intends to KILL him. how he might react to the image of her captor looming over her: cold metal fingers clamping her head in place as he MERCILESSLY fucks her pretty face, taking out all his pent-up aggression on her poor little throat. just the s t r e t c h to fit his girth causes her jaw to ache, but bless her heart she’s still trying. working frantically to keep the unforgiving pace he sets. corded muscles strain with each rough thrust, hand squeezing at her bulging throat, but the way he ruts in her mouth with such frenzied abandon has the girl struggling to follow commands. it’s all too much. before long her grip begins to weaken again as her throat cries out for relief, watery eyes blinking up at him helplessly. muffled whimpers growing panicked the longer she spends choked for breath and realizing she’s fully at his MERCY. at his mercy like she’s some tiny creature dangling above the gaping maw of an apex predator, knowing the only thing keeping her from a gnashing set of teeth is her willingness to do whatever it takes to PLEASE him.

#* v i e n n a s t e r l i n g. 𑁋 t h r e a d s. #* v i e n n a s t e r l i n g. 𑁋 t h r e a d s. ( B U C K Y. ) #gunfckd #kidnapping cw #noncon cw #the gif icon i used tho lmaooo #probs the only time its applicable tbh #but ayy throwback to the first time he chokes her out

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains And: Period Sex

oh that is the perfect gif I totally forgot all about it but oh boy. thanks billy for your service to this blog.

Warnings: Obviously, menstruation, blood, and smut. I’m dealing with a particularly uncomfortable period (for me at least) and just want some e m p a t h y about it.

~~~

Who LOVES it:

Freddy Krueger: ABSO-MOTHER FUCKING-LUTELY. It’s a struggle to keep his hands off you (on a normal day) during your period. He can smell it.

Kieran Wilcox: yes please mommy, he’s waiting.

Luda Mae Hewitt: This is her secret kink.

Michael Myers: B l o o d  p l a y? Any kind of bloodplay, Michael is into it. If you weren’t already bleeding, he would probably make you bleed, with his (Actual) knife.

Mickey Altieri: Bring it. Jesus christ, Mickey thinks its so hot. Getting his cock or his fingers coated in your slick and your blood (Seeing the string consistency between his fingers), seeing you in a total mess from your period and being fucked to oblivion? Oh yes.

Midnight Man: He just likes it. I dunno. I don’t have a logical reason, extension or explanation of my vibes here but I am getting them from him.

Patrick Bateman: Oh my god it is his favourite kind of sex. Yes yes yes. Please please please. He marks your cycle in his calendar, with special notes about flow and mood. Soon enough he’s figured out your whole period every week and knows exactly when the iron is hot enough to strike. Any w h e r e, any t i m e .

Both Pennywise’: Ooooh, watch their eyes glow and their hair get more luscious when you tell them. Their teeth get sharper and the whites of their eyes get whiter- they’re horny as fuck now. Be a good sport and give them a lil taste, won’t you? A smell at least? That, or have them trailing you like lost puppies for the rest of the week, and curling up to/around you as tightly as possible when you’re sleeping.

The Clown / Jeffrey Hawk / Kenneth Chase: Where else could he possibly go on this post, honestly.

The Man (Hush): Yep.  He’s favourite time of month.

Who is like ‘a b s o l u t e l y  n o t’:

Jerry Dandridge: Do I really need to comment? I mean, he can control himself being around you on your period, but you cannot let that blood smell hit the open air. Your controlled, classy vampire bf will disappear in an instant and will be replaced with… well, Evil.

Yeah no thanks:

Debbie Loomis: She’s not vehemently against it, but still… nah? Thanks for the offer tho. And it won’t happen when she’s on her period either, c e r t a I n l y not. Don’t even touch her when she’s on her period, jesus christ.

Jennifer Check: Yeah she just got a new manicure. Over her dead body will you stain her new French tips with your coochie blood. And if she puts her mouth down there, it might excited t o o much if you get what I mean and you will become a real snack.  

Is indifferent towards it:

Bo Sinclair: You’re sure into him durin’ this time o’ month, aren’t you? Eh… whatever. Hop on. He’s happy to help his partner, especially if its in such a gratifying way! I mean he won’t buy you any fucking pads but he will do this and there’s Bo as a boyfriend for you.

Chucky / Charles Lee Ray: I mean sure? Blood doesn’t scare him and it is, in fact, a turn on for him of course so sure. Plus, you’re less likely to get pregnant at this time, which is great! Doesn’t see what the big deal is, here. (Although, weirdly, I see past Chucky from Curse to be very much in the next category)

Inkubus: It’s not even a big d e a l, man, its cool. He likes all kinds of sex. Go wild.

Jason Voorhees: Jason is basically ace in the way he conducts himself on a general basis but if it tuned out that he was interested in sex and/or was willing to do it with you, then some blood leaking out of your private parts because of some natural causes is not going to change his mind. Is this not normal??

Jedidiah Sawyer: ???Alright??? He wears a mask made of skin, your natural bodily functions are not going to scare him away. Besides, the knowledge that it could lessen menstrual pain for you is a nice bonus. He’s gotta take care of his family.

Roman Bridger: It’s really not a big deal to him. We’ll just put down a darker sheet, or some plastic. You both need this sometimes (Him for emotional support when he’s stressed, and you of course cuz you’re on your damn period) and a bit of blood is certainly not a deal breaker. Besides, he finds the easy thrusting to be nice and comfortable. Preferred sometimes, actually. Just some nice, lazy, relieving sex with your director boyfriend.

Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt: A little bit a’ blood aint gonna turn me off, sugar. Don’t you worry bout that.

The Djinn: See Inkubus. Except, our dear Wishmaster is so much more of a tease about this.

Is enthusiastic when they learn that orgasms lessen period pain:

Bubba Sawyer: He doesn’t care about exposure to blood, obviously, and he doesn’t see it as gross at all but he was still concerned about whether that was safe during your… monthly thing… but once he found out that it could help you with cramps he got on board immediately! ^^

Lester Sinclair: Oh boy, well okay then, let’s give this a go then!!

Mayor Buckman: He knows the drill; Boone gets terrible cramps. Don’t worry, he’s got you.

Pamela Voorhees: Oh of course she’ll help you out when you’re hurting ^^

Stuart Lloyd: Well… don’t get him wrong, for sure there is the part where it helps you in a seriously uncomfortable time… but then there is also the fact that he is a lil bit of a secret freak and menstrual care is a good excuse for him. (So he also belongs in the first category ^^)

The Deathslinger / Caleb Quinn: Blood doesn’t bother him, and if it’ll give you a hand with yer monthly problem then you just need to ask him. You’ll be on the bench in the saloon with your thighs spread without a second thought, like asking for a glass of water. (Except of course Caleb’s a lot more hands on about the whole thing of course (; ) He’s happy to help.

The Huntress / Anna: Oh!! Really?? It’ll help? Okay, then, sunflower. Remove your pants. Let’s go !!

Vincent Sinclair: He’s just very supportive and helpful through all areas of your period. He doesn’t understand, but he can still be sympathetic and help the way you say would be good ^^

Is curious and will try:

Billy Loomis: Is really curious and excited to try it. I mean, he likes blood? He likes sex? And this is both those things?? Fun lubricant, yay.

Chop Top Sawyer: And when I say that he’ll try and I REALLY MEAN IT, MAN. Like, go big or go home. He’s going to eat you out at this time and he’ll end up really enjoying it. Buckle up babes, you’ve awoken something buried pretty damn s h a l l o w l y inside him.

Granny Boone: Similar to Chop Top except with him, you had to tell him you were on your period and all so it would be different and all, while with Boone she was the one sniffing it out and *cough* hunting you approaching you about trying it.

Jill Roberts: For the same reasons as Billy. Plus, she wants to be able to say ‘well I did it for you- you have to do it for me.’

Leslie Vernon: I mean, he’ll give anything a shot once. What’s the harm?

Piper Shaw: Same as Jill.

Stu Macher: Super enthusiastic to try!! XDD Just, like, dyed lube- right?

Is c a u t i o u s:

Carrie White: … periods have always been difficult for her… But she’s willing to give it a try as long as you’re willing to return the favour! ^^

Thomas Hewitt: Tell him, if whatever he does hurts you. He is very serious about this. He wants you to feel better, but he doesn’t really know this works and does not want you hurting in his vein attempt at making you feel better. So, please. Tell him how you’re feeling. He’ll get really good at making your cramps and discomfort go away.

They may take some convincing:

Drayton Sawyer: I mean, he’s of course not afraid of some blood but… uh… Well, I mean, he doesn’t really have a big, or even moderate sex drive in the first place so any sex of any kind takes some warming up to. Maybe if the stars aline and you catch him on a good day. Otherwise, he tells you to just suck it up.

#tw: blood #tw: periods #Slashers x Reader #Horror Villains x Reader #Horror Villains and Period Sex #Smut #Drayton Sawyer #Thomas Hewitt #Carrie White #Stu Macher #Piper Shaw #Leslie Vernon #Jill Roberts #Granny Boone #Chop Top Sawyer #Billy Loomis #Vincent Sinclair #Bo Sinclair #Lester Sinclair #Bubba Sawyer #Sheriff Hoyt #Charlie Hewitt #Luda Mae Hewitt #Chucky #Charles Lee Ray #Kieran Wilcox #Roman Bridger #Debbie Loomis #Mickey Altieri #Michael Myers

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

#efa writes! #im on my bathroom floor LOSING IT #its 3 am & the more i read it the more i hate it #yuta #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta #nct #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #yuta imagines #yuta timestamp #yuta drabble #yuta blub #nct imagine #nct drabble #nct blurb #nct 127 blurb #nct timestamp #nct 127 drabble #nct 127 timestamp #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct angst #nct 127 angst #badboy!yuta

[purge-that-urge-rhackathon]

Okay a clearly perverted promt , Omega!Rhys as Alpha!Angels' ex-college-boyfriend currently one of her best friends, secretly fooling around with Alpha!Daddy!Jack behind her back , they r not dating just having benefits from each other when Rhys is on heat or when Jack is horny .Angel should definitely catch them in her dads' car and be mad as hell , maybe even kick Rhys in the balls.If you would make Jack as big of an asshole as possible that 'd be the cherry on the top! Thx i owe u one

This labeled as Crossing the Line. Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

–

“Rhysie… Mmm, I can’t wait to get inside.”

The omega snickered under the older man, pressing a kiss to his jaw as Jack rutted against him from the driver’s side of the front seat of his car. “You mean in the house, oooor…?”

Jack barked a laugh as he was tugging the younger man’s shirt from his pants, undoing Rhys’ zipper and mumbling about wanting an after-dinner treat as the car sat parked in Jack’s driveway. It always made the omega snicker at how impatient Jack was, telling the younger man how good he smelled and that he had a knot the size of his fist waiting for the omega. As far as dirty talk went, it got Rhys going. Nothing like Jack pawing at him to get his pants down quicker.

“Jack, weren’t you bitching about the upholstery?” Rhys whined as the older man was tugging his underwear down to bunch at his knees with his pants. The omega’s proud little cock sprung up, and the alpha growled in pleasure at how slick the younger man smelled.

“Yeah, classic car like this,” Jack started as he maneuvered the omega against the passenger’s seat, “I’d hate to be the one who didn’t fuck in it, kitten.”

Rhys’ laugh turned into a moan as the alpha’s hot breath washed over his cock. He buried his hands in Jack’s hair, ruining the older man’s carefully crafted ‘do in his eagerness for the alpha’s mouth on him. Jack chuckled about how needy he was, a thumb edging near his slick hole. As the older man swallowed him down, blowing him like it was his livelihood and working a digit easily in and out of him, Rhys was squirming and moaning Jack’s name in pleasure.

Rhys was about to come– warned the alpha- only for Jack to pull off before he could hit his peak. His whines went ignored by the alpha, trying to shove the older man’s head back into his lap as Jack laughed gruffly, pulling the omega under him.

“Don’t want you going off too soon, cupcake. I’ve been waiting way too long to bury myself in that sweet ass.”

Rhys whimpered as Jack finally removed himself from his underwear, pulling his pants just low enough to pull his throbbing cock out and tease at the omega’s entrance with it. The younger man hated how much he loved when Jack teased him this way. Even as he was whining the older man’s name, begging, and trying to get him inside already as the alpha teased his tip around the slickness below his balls.

He wanted nothing more than the feeling of Jack’s cock stretching him out, rubbing him in all the right places and at all the right angles, coming inside him, and leaving bites on his body. And then he suddenly wanted none of it, wishing the older man wasn’t about to thrust inside his throbbing hole, and that he was instead a million miles away.

The worst possible thing that he never wanted to happen, happened: Angel must’ve decided to pay her dad a rare visit that evening, and it just so happened that the windows on Jack’s classic car weren’t tinted, and the younger alpha got a good enough look inside to shriek out in recognition.

“Rhys! Dad! Goddammit just–!! Goddammit!” Angel yelled as she whirled from the car to avert her eyes, voice a rising cacophony of denial and shock.

Rhys was only gratified by the fact that, since Jack was currently on top of him, they must have been shielded from her sight, and she wouldn’t have seen her dad just about to fuck into him.

Not that it wouldn’t have been obvious anyway with what they were doing– apart from the state of them, they both reeked of arousal, and worse, it was a scent Angel had once been intimately aware of when they were dating. The omega wished a black hole would open up and swallow him as the younger alpha’s sounds of ire reached them through the car windows as the pair broke apart.

Rhys was scrambling out from under Jack as quickly as possible while the older man just groaned in annoyance at the situation, much less hurried than the omega in climbing out of the car.

Angel was pacing and gesticulating wildly, looking about the driveway as if for answer between shooting them contemptful looks of disgust. The omega was all jitters, clothes rumpled, face red, and eyes wide at the culmination of everything he was trying to avoid right there in Jack’s driveway. The older alpha had an unreadable look on his face while the younger one was at the edge of exasperation and in distress.

“I-I-I w-w-we were uh… We uh, I-”

“I can’t believe you!” She walked quickly down the driveway, and Rhys jumped to quickly grab her and stop her from leaving; try to explain.

She snapped at him with teeth at his attempt to keep her there and explain himself– with words he frankly didn’t have at the moment- but he immediately let go of the alpha lest he get bit.

“I just– I– Oh my god!” she stuttered through disgust and outrage, turning back to stare with indignation. “Are you dating?”

“N-no! I just- we– It didn’t-”

Rhys couldn’t get his damn mouth to work. Jack was remaining uncharacteristically silent– maybe the one tell that he recognized what they were doing for how fucked it was- and Angel turned her ire from the red-faced omega to him.

“Dad you just–! How– GOD!”

“Angel, honey, just calm d–”

“Don’t even tell me to calm down!” She was walking aggravated-semi-circles in the driveway as her brain was replaying everything it didn’t want to process.

“Angel I’m so sorry I didn’t mean–”

“Rhys! Just– shut up!” she said through clenched teeth, trying to block the present from her mind as all attempts to process were failing. The omega made himself small– looking properly ashamed- and knowing he’d fucked up as the younger alpha struggled and stuttered for words to articulate her feelings. She stuck with wild pacing and the clenching and unclenching of her fists instead. “I just can’t even believe– How you could even– This is– Oh my god I don’t even have words to describe how fucked up this is!”

She marched back down the driveway again, ignoring as Rhys called out to her and Jack tried to reason with her. “I can’t even talk to you– either of you!- right now!” She got in the car she’d pulled up in, and the young alpha drove off as the omega watched with a slack jaw of shame.

Jack huffed out, the older alpha running his hands through his previously-styled hair to stand behind the younger man.

“Aaaaand the shit hits the fan,” Jack announced with a hand at the back of Rhys’ neck. The younger man just whimpered in helplessness at the situation. The alpha gave him a squeeze in the delicate area, irking the omega at the same time it made him feel better. “This day had to come, kiddo. Sooner than I’d hoped, but hey.”

Rhys scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ooooh my god this is so fucked.” Jack just snorted. “You are aware of just how fucked up this is, right?

“I thought we both got off on the kink of it,” Jack said sarcastically. “You dirty thing.”

“Jesus Christ, Jack! She’s my best friend and your daughter and my freakin’ ex-girlfriend and what in the hell have we been doing?”

“Having the dirtiest sex of your young life?” the alpha proposed.

Rhys looked at Jack as if he wanted him to self-combust. “She is never going to forgive me.”

“You are really killing my hardon here, kiddo.” Rhys’ eyes swore death, and the alpha rolled his. Jack was aware he was trying the omega’s patience, and huffed with annoyance. “She’ll come around. It’s probably me she’s pissed at more anyways, sweetpea.” He scented the side of Rhys’ face, the omega all stressed out and full of shame and self-loathing. “You wanna come inside and work some of this problem out?”

The words were right, but it was the squeeze of his ass by one of Jack’s large, warm hands that got the omega huffing in indignation. Jack wasn’t interested in devising a battle strategy, so to speak. “You are such an asshole, you know that?! This is serious!”

“Hey, that’s your mind in the gutter, baby. But whatever you say. Come on, get back in the car.”

Rhys gave him a blank look. “Are you serious?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you back home instead, idiot. Jesus.”

The older man walked towards the open doors, leaving the omega gaping. “How are you not freaking out about this, Jack?” Rhys shouted at him. Jack threw a look over his shoulder, and the younger man finally got into the car at the silent command.

“It was always an eventuality, kitten.” Jack started the car up with a shudder, readjusting himself in his seat as the car was still flooded with the scent of their arousal. Rhys ignored it as best he could as the older man took him back home. It was a hell of a situation, and his hormones could go get fucked– or wait, not, they could not get fucked- since this was how they’d gotten into this situation in the first place.

Rhys just whined, and Jack huffed with some note of disappointment to his voice. “She’ll come around.”

–

It took a solid three days before Angel finally answered Rhys’ texts, and another two before she agreed to meet him for coffee to ‘talk’.

They sat awkwardly across one another with hot mugs for five solid minutes before Rhys dared to break it by apologizing yet again. It was hard to meet her eyes, and he kept staring at the steam from their cups instead.

“This isn’t something that just saying ‘sorry’ can fix, Rhys.”

“I know,” the omega whined. “I didn’t mean for it to even happen. This wasn’t something I wanted to happen to you… to our friendship.”

“Rhys… It’s just… It’s fucking weird! What do you want me to say?” Angel snapped at the omega sitting across from her.

He ducked his head a bit, a hand to his temple as embarrassed eyes shot around the coffee shop. “Could you please keep your voice down?” he winced.

She snorted humorlessly, glaring into her coffee like it had mortally offended her. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just– I didn’t want to keep it a secret but it’s, it’s just, well–”

“It’s weird,” she succinctly supplied. He pulled a face at that, but there really was nothing else for it.

“…yeah,” he admitted. “That sums everything up pretty well I think.”

She huffed dismissively, adding spoonful after spoonful of sugar to her coffee. “How did this even happen, Rhys?”

He squirmed in his seat with a remorseful look. “Remember when your toilet was getting fixed and you stayed at your dad’s? When you got called to sub-in for that presentation and had to make that flight the next day?” he began sheepishly, avoiding her eyes and watching her spoon instead. “Well my phone died, I didn’t get your message that you were gonna be out of state that week, and I– Look, my heat ended up hitting me like a train and I was… I was gonna… I hoped you’d help me through it on such short notice, but I didn’t know you weren’t there, and Jack was home instead, and… Well, I mean, you know how I get…” he trailed off weakly.

She sighed in aggravation. “Yeah, I know how you get.” She growled again, dumping the rest of the milk between them into her coffee. “Just gonna spring a heat on me, huh? After all these years? Somehow I don’t fully believe that.”

Rhys had the decency to hide his face in both his hands in shame. “I’d just broken up with Mark not even a week before. I was desperate, and you’re my best friend and you’ve been there for me before and… I wasn’t thinking straight.” He chanced a glance at her through his fingers. “I wasn’t thinking. At all”

“That much is clear.” The alpha scrubbed her hands over her own face in frustration. She made a sound to go with it. “God Rhys this is just so… I wish I never freaking knew. There are some things you never want to think about, you know?”

“I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry, Angel.” The omega made eye contact with her, gripping the table with his hands for emotional support. “It just happened that time and I felt so damn guilty after my heat was over, and you know I love you– and I know it’s fucking weird and just not right- but I didn’t know how to tell you or even if I should because I swear I never planned on it happening, and Jack took good care of me and I thought it was just a one-time thing I could pretend never happened.” He took a breath and swallowed over the growing lump in his throat as he tried to keep eye-contact with the alpha. “And it just happened again– I-! Not like there was any planning or anything- and I didn’t want things to ever be weird between us— And now it is and I’ve fucked up so bad and I don’t know how to fix it and I am just so sorry Angel, please.”

She huffed at that, and they sat in silence a few moments with that hanging between them. Rhys nursed his coffee as he lost the courage to meet her gaze, wishing it was something stronger, and just wallowed in shame before the alpha across from him.

“I don’t think we can fix this, Rhys.”

He felt his heart sink as he sat up straight. “If it’s between our friendship and your dad, I choose our friendship, one-hundred percent,” he told her desperately, eyes beginning to water at the prospect of losing one of his best friends; someone he felt platonically bonded to.

Jack had made it very clear that this wasn’t a thing between them, and if Rhys was being completely honest, he wasn’t necessarily interested in a proper relationship with the man… Which was also why he was having so much trouble being forthcoming to Angel about things. ‘Gee sorry, I know your dad is fucking me but don’t worry it’s purely physical’.

Jack was an asshole; he wasn’t any of the things Rhys wanted even close to resembling a partner, let alone someone he’d want to date.  But he couldn’t deny that there was a primal attraction between them. The man was a very inventive, very good lay. And he’d been convenient for a couple heats– which Rhys had to admit to himself would be some of his hottest memories for the rest of his life- but aside from heats and booty calls, they really didn’t see each other in any other way. Jack either kicked him out of bed after they were done or Rhys left of his own volition to get back to whatever he’d been doing before needing a little stress relief.

He’d had one-night stands with more rapport than what he had with Jack.

He didn’t see how admitting any of this to Angel would do him a single lick of good, though. He wondered how fucked up it made him to have dated with Angel in college only to turn around to be fucked by her father. Granted, college was years ago, and the time they’d spent actually dating seemed even impossibly further back as they’d been friends for way longer now.

He supposed he had a certain taste in alphas.

That wasn’t doing him any favors now.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he felt his heart sink into his stomach as she processed his words. His heart was going to either stop or burst right out of his chest if the alpha wouldn’t acknowledge him soon. He almost choked on his tongue when she did speak.

“Rhys, it’s not like it’s any of my business who you’re getting fucked by nowadays,” she began carefully, “and I don’t want it to be my business right now, frankly.” Her eyes bored into him resentfully, and he looked at his lap in shame. She reached her hand across the small table, palm up, and he looked at her with hope before placing his own hand in hers. “Look, can we just not talk about my dad. At all. Maybe even ever again at this point…”

The omega squeezed her hand, hoping this was some small form of forgiveness being dealt his way for what was really a major transgression. “I really am just so, so sorry–”

“Stop apologizing Rhys, okay?” She huffed in aggravation, but gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I get it. I’m not unreasonable, I get it. But just… Just stop.”

They sat in silence a while as the remnants of their coffee got cold, each ruminating on their own thoughts concerning the status of their friendship.

Regardless of how she was handling things, Rhys couldn’t just accept that he was forgiven. He wished she’d hug him or cuddle him or any number of things that might reassure him that she wasn’t going to break their friendship off. “Can… Can I come home with you?” he pleaded, still vying for forgiveness. “I still… I’d like to talk… Or just sit together. Please.”

Angel gave him a thoughtful look, offering the omega’s hand another squeeze. “Anything to get that scent out of my nose,” she told him. She looked at him earnestly, her blue eyes kind despite everything else. “I get how sorry you are, okay? So stop it.”

He must reek, he realized. If the shame wasn’t rolling off him in figurative waves, it might’ve been literally if she’d picked up on his changes in scent.

He was grateful when she pulled him up from the table, and they left together arm in arm to her car where she drove them back to her apartment; the truce between them felt shaky and raw.

Rhys cuddled up to her on the couch like a scolded puppy after they’d settled in, needing the reassurance that they were okay, that they were still friends. She let him cuddle practically into her lap, petting him– still mad but trying to temper it- as he nuzzled her and attempted to cover himself in her alpha scent to appeal to her good nature.

It worked, more or less. Angel hated to admit that all the little submissive omega behaviors he was pulling out– subconsciously or not- were having an affect on her ability to be mad at the man. Also talking some more and swearing up and down that she was going to be actively suppressing all of this, and didn’t want to bring it up ever again. Their friendship was stable.

That was something Rhys could live with. And it helped them very slowly repair their shaken relationship. He did his best to stay in her good graces, and things felt back to normal about two weeks later, hanging out together and still trying to get the easy rhythm of their friendship back.

Rhys hadn’t heard from Jack in that entire time.

It wasn’t going to be forever though. Rhys had some stuff he’d left at Jack’s that he needed to pick up for work; nothing important, but he didn’t like keeping his things with the alpha for what it might imply.

Jack had no problem with the younger man stopping by to get them. No problem at all.

Rhys knocked on the door, and Jack opened it with that ever-confident smile.

“I just came to get my shit I left before when– uh… Yeah.”

“When we were caught out?” Jack supplied with an appreciative look over the younger man’s body, stepping aside so Rhys could come in.

“Way to sound remorseful, Jack.”

“My baby will come around,” the alpha said confidently, though his tone was a bit more acknowledging of the seriousness of the situation. He scented Rhys as the omega passed him, following into the living room. “You smell like her,” Jack noted. Rhys only huffed in response. “You make up then? She still won’t return my calls.”

“More or less,” Rhys informed stiffly.

“Well I’m glad, then,” the older man genuinely told him. “Angel always was crazy about you. But I guess it’s best you and her worked out the way you did.” The alpha winked at him conspiratorially, shocking Rhys at his sheer brass.

“Oh my god, Jack. Really?” Rhys asked him, the omega utterly exasperated. “After the shitstorm this caused and actually getting her to forgive me?”

The older man stepped into his space with a smirk, Rhys’ nostrils flaring as the alpha’s scent entered his nose. The omega hated how good the older man smelled; how cocky his voice was. He’d thought he’d learned from three weeks prior, but his body was reacting to Jack like it normally did.

“Did she tell you not to do it again?”

“I– Well, no, but–”

“Okay then, no promises broken,” the alpha told him with a grin, wrapping arms loosely around Rhys’ waist and scenting lightly up his throat.

Rhys couldn’t help the shiver that went through him. Even now, especially with the worst of the taboo secret out, and here he was tempting fate. Everything about Jack appealed to every last molecule of his omega biology– big, confident, successful man; intoxicatingly strong alpha musk that he wanted to submit to every time; the way Jack growled his name or nipped at his throat as he thrust into him. And that cocky, smug smirk that he was aiming at him right now. Rhys hated how attractive the older man was, or moreover how weak he was.

“Jack, this isn’t–”

“Angel’s smarter than you give her credit for, buttercup. If she didn’t tell you not to let this happen again, that was on purpose.” The older man smirked like the cat that got the cream, pulling the younger man against his body.

“Unless she’s saving that chat for you,” Rhys muttered, hating himself even as he rubbed up against the alpha, body melding like it hadn’t been three weeks since their last meeting. Longer if you consider they hadn’t actually fucked since before then.

Jack just laughed. “And if she does, then there we have it. For now, it’s settled if you ask me.” Jack nipped kisses up the younger man’s neck, grinning as Rhys whined and tugged at his shirt.

The older man knew this wasn’t a pleasure he’d have to give up anytime soon. Angel was too loyal a daughter to try to tell him whom he could and couldn’t fuck. It wasn’t easy testing her patience like this, but she loved him; he knew she’d come around. And if she did tell him not to fuck her friends, or ex-boyfriends, or whatever, well, he’d comply to her wishes. Rhys was a hot piece of ass, but Angel was always number one in his book.

For now though, neither let thoughts of the younger alpha fill their heads too long. Jack was tugging Rhys to the couch, and the younger man was unbuckling his belt and pulling down his zipper. The alpha was nipping the omega’s throat and growling at him to hurry up as they stripped. Rhys growled back for him to fuck him through the couch, grinding up against the man, and Jack paused, a very serious look on his face to inform that he didn’t want to have to explain a new couch in case Angel ever forgave him.

The reminder of the younger, mentally-scarred alpha brought them both down a pace before they were both laughing at the idea. It washed a little bit of the heaviness away, that maybe it was okay, just a little, even though she never wanted to hear of it again.

And maybe, just a little, Rhys felt a bit less guilty about letting Jack pound him into next Tuesday.

#poisonjack #my fic #rhack #hope this is what you were looking for anon ahaha #i usually really don't care to write angel and rhys as friends but idk this spoke to me (and the energy drink i had today xD) #Jack is just an asshole in general. Wasn't sure if he's supposed to be an asshole about getting to screw rhys or an asshole to them both or #like just general dickhead jack ahaha xD so i kind of just...did this. Also i cant have rhysie get kicked in his poor omega balls D: #that's just too awful. esp. if they're best friends hahaha #i wrote this instead of working on mail order bride omega today oopsies hahaha #rhys #handsome jack #omegaverse #fanfic #alpha!jack #omega!rhys

[getyourgossip0-blog]

Now that's what I call a tracklist: how the compilation's 100th edition sells its history short

New Post has been published on http://getyourgossip.xyz/now-thats-what-i-call-a-tracklist-how-the-compilations-100th-edition-sells-its-history-short/

Now that's what I call a tracklist: how the compilation's 100th edition sells its history short

Released on 20 July, the 100th edition of Now That’s What I Call Music shifts from its regular programming: instead of summarising the last quarter in pop, the second disc condenses 35 years of Now into 80 minutes. It uses the biggest names – UB40, Phil Collins, Wet Wet Wet, Kylie, the Justins (Timberlake and Bieber), Coldplay – to tell its story, which rather misses the point. Now compilations are tamper-proof time capsules, where the most pleasure is found in one-hit wonders and sub-genres that were genuinely – but only briefly – popular. They are proof that history isn’t always written by the winners.

Here is how it could have looked. (Listen along below.)

The most significant sound of 1983 – for teenagers and the future of pop – was electro, represented on the first Now by the Rocksteady Crew with Hey You, which sounded like Peppermint Patty jumped ship from Peanuts while holidaying in the Bronx. Frankie Goes to Hollywood were huge in 84, and over by 85, but Propaganda (Dr Mabuse, Now 3) foreshadowed a new kind of European pop. Philip Oakey and Giorgio Moroder created a sad goodbye to the era (Together in Electric Dreams, Now 4) and British pop went into hibernation for much of the rest of the decade. US music became dominant on the dancefloor, with Prince’s success creating space for Cameo (Single Life, Now 6) and glorious one-offs such as Sly Fox’s Let’s Go All the Way (Now 7).

Not all was hopeless in mid-80s Britain. Stock, Aitken and Waterman, before they relied too heavily on pre-set buttons, gave us Mel and Kim’s weekend anthem Showing Out (Now 8), while mild experimentalism came via the Communards’ creepy So Cold the Night (Now 9), which used the bassoon as a rhythmic instrument. It wasn’t enough. Some turned to soft metal and the Brontëan passion of Heart’s Alone on Now 10, but the slick and tinny high-80s sound was dying by 1988; Johnny Hates Jazz’s puny but endearing Turn Back the Clock (Now 11) desperately attempting to stop the 90s from ever beginning.

1991’s biggest-selling singles act … the KLF perform at the 1992 Brit awards. Photograph: Richard Young/Rex Features

The rising sound of 1988 came from Chicago, and the media panic over acid house, but London played its part: the aerosol snare of Theme from S-Express (Now 12) signified an imminent DIY future for dance music. Soul II Soul (Back to Life, Now 15) instigated Paul Oakenfold’s Movement 98 and a tranche of early Ibiza-friendly 98bpm records (the Grid’s Floatation; JT & the Big Family’s Moments in Soul). By 1990, the primary colours of acid house and the frivolity of hip house resulted in Betty Boo (Where Are You Baby, Now 18) becoming a Smash Hits cover star. The major labels, iron-fisted in the 80s, had lost control of pop and in the chaos the KLF (3AM Eternal, Now 19) became 1991’s biggest selling singles act in Europe. The underground went overground – breakbeat-led hardcore (SL2’s On a Ragga Tip, Now 22) was the foundation stone of jungle, drum and bass, and genres yet to come.

Future thwarted … Tasmin Archer. Photograph: Mick Hutson/Redferns

Enough futurism – there was other stuff going on. Latin superstar Gloria Estefan was one of the biggest artists of the 90s never to have featured on a Now, but Jon Secada was her songwriter and backing singer, and the slippery, discomforting chords of his Just Another Day (Now 23) went Top 5 in 1992. A TV ad for the Soft Reggae compilation went with the bawled tagline “The softest reggae yet!” – as if L’Oréal had been trying to perfect a formula. UB40’s sound was inescapable in the early 90s, but Chaka Demus & Pliers’ Tease Me (Now 25), was soft, witty, and should be an oldies radio staple. The Brit awards saw the future in the form of Guiseley’s Tasmin Archer, (Sleeping Satellite, Now 26), named 1993’s best British breakthrough act – they were wrong.

Britpop’s year is remembered as 1995, but dance music was bigger, invigorated by happy hardcore (N-Trance’s Set You Free, Now 30), uplifting handbag house (Livin’ Joy’s Dreamer, Now 31) and whatever the Bucketheads’ joyous disco cut-up The Bomb was meant to be. Oasis aside, the most consistently successful UK act between 1993 and 1997 weren’t Pulp or Suede but Eternal (Power of a Woman, Now 32), whose run of homegrown, Topshop R&B singles – 12 Top 10 hits between 93 and 97, twice as many as Pulp, Shed Seven, Sleeper and Menswear combined – ran parallel to Britpop.

Spice Girls (Say You’ll Be There, Now 35) brought back a bubblegum sensibility in 1996 that dominated British chart pop for the rest of the nineties (All Saints’ I Know Where It’s At, Now 38; Steps’ Heartbeat, Now 41; Billie’s Honey to the Bee, Now 42). On Now 40, Aqua’s Doctor Jones – the second of three No 1s – was up against portentously titled post-Britpop items such as the Verve’s Sonnet and Legacy by Mansun.

A new golden age of R&B … Kelis. Photograph: Tim Roney/Getty Images

A new sound was needed for a new century. Still in demand in 2018 according to posters dotted around the North Circular, DJ Luck and MC Neat’s A Little Bit of Luck (Now 45) was urban, British, minimal and hard as nails, while So Solid Crew’s 21 Seconds (Now 50) was arguably the last time the media was scared by a No 1 single. British bubblegum was killed off by the more grownup, complex and beautifully baffling R&B emerging from the US at the turn of the century. Sisterhood may have suffered with the breakups of 90s R&B groups such as Jade, TLC and En Vogue, but solo singers produced a new golden age of R&B (Aaliyah’s More Than a Woman, Now 51; Ashanti’s Foolish, Now 52; Kelis’s Milkshake, Now 57). Previously a backroom songwriter, Christina Milian produced a masterpiece in Dip It Low (Now 58) – it’s a scandal of Vienna-type proportions that it was held off No 1 in 2004 by the tiresome Fuck It/F.U.R.B. (Fuck You Right Back) craze.

Almost undocumented by the music press but huge north of the Wash in the early 00s was the Blackburn-based All Around the World label, which provided donk-heavy foot fodder from acts such as N-Trance, Aquagen and Ultrabeat (Pretty Green Eyes, Now 56). Down south, 3 of a Kind were the ultimate one-hit wonder – one single, one No 1 hit in Babycakes, a last gasp of UK garage and one of its most endearing moments. Based in rural Kent, Britain’s Xenomania production team had scored their first No 1 in 2002 with Sugababes’ Round Round (Now 53) but by 2006 their main project, Girls Aloud (Biology, Now 62), had become broadsheet critical darlings. Girls Aloud were, of course, the product of the 2000s’ talent show craze. While you have to wade through a swamp of Sneddons to find anything else worthwhile, Shayne Ward’s Max Martin-produced gem No U Hang Up (Now 68) is worth a nod.

A brief flutter of excitement … Beth Ditto of Gossip. Photograph: Simone Joyner/Getty Images

Girls Aloud’s Something Kinda Ooooh and Justin Timberlake’s equally invigorating SexyBack fought drear like Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars and America by Razorlight on Now 65. The Magic Numbers (Forever Lost, Now 61) were physical and musical exceptions in a landfill indie landscape of identikit Wombats, Maccabees, Frays, Views and Hoosiers. There was a brief flutter of excitement as a bunch of exciting and excitable female-fronted guitar bands (CSS, New Young Pony Club, the Gossip) emerged in the mid ‘00s: the Gossip’s Standing in the Way of Control was on Now 66, alongside the first appearance by Calvin Harris who, along with David Guetta (Flames, Now 100), seems set to remain a Now regular until the apocalypse. Amerie’s Take Control (Now 67) provided a more imaginative way of using guitar riffs than any band in the UK could manage, though it presaged the oddly rock-heavy summer of 2008 (Sex on Fire, I Kissed a Girl, Pink’s So What).

The biggest country act of all time … Taylor Swift at BBC Radio 1’s 2012 Teen awards. Photograph: Brian Rasic/Brian Rasic/Getty Images

November 2008: in came Obama and, lo, a new lightness (Shakira’s She Wolf, Now 74), playfulness (Lady Gaga’s run of 2009 No 1s), and a sense of something regained (Alicia Keys’ Empire State of Mind, Now 75). This optimism soon bled into an over-ripe maximalism, and some of the scientifically loudest records ever made (Rihanna’s Only Girl (In the World), Now 77). Meanwhile, David Cameron’s Britain dabbled in the darker arts of loud but sombre stadium dubstep (Chase & Status’ Blind Faith, Now 78; Nero’s Guilt, Now 79). As Madonna and Britney Spears’ careers suddenly faded, a new heroine emerged from the world of country. There had been R&B/country crossovers before (Usher and Tim McGraw, Now 60) but adopting that internationalism made Taylor Swift (We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, Now 83) the biggest country act of all time. She even had Obama on her side, with the president calling Kanye West a “jackass” after he invaded her prize acceptance at the 2009 MTV Video Music awards.

Foxes was an example of an emerging, less thrilling, 2010s British pop; her Let Go for Tonight (Now 87) was perfectly fine, but it represented a shift to a rather blank, home counties sound, as if Tim Henman had been appointed pop tsar. Sam Smith, Jess Glynne, Tom Odell, Ellie Goulding, and tousle-haired jack of all trades Ed “Hello Dave” Sheeran – this was chart pop as a career, in the way insurance or banking used to be, with a professional distance and a pre-rock attitude. At least Foxes had a proper stage name.

Stressed out … Drake. Photograph: Gabe Ginsberg/Getty Images

The charts were starting to become harder to read – in 2014, Oliver Heldens and Becky Hill’s Gecko (Overdrive) (Now 88) was the last UK No 1 to have made it on sales alone, as streaming became incorporated into the chart the following week. It was also becoming harder for outliers to break through, though Philip George’s Wish You Were Mine (Now 90) – deep house made in his bedroom – was an exception from a period when Robin S’s Show Me Love appeared to have been the most influential record ever made.

And so we enter the very recent past, the era of Trump, and some exceptionally good but also exceptionally mopey R&B. There was the new tough-but-weepy Bieber (Let Me Love You, Now 95), the Weeknd’s The Hills (Now 93) claimed “when I’m fucked up, that’s the real me”, while Drake bemoaned how “stressed out” he was as a Timmy Thomas sample played on Hotline Bling. Black British music had begun to dominate the second side of Nows (Stefflon Don’s Hurtin’ Me, Now 98; Dave’s No Words, Now 99). Indeed, the second disc of Now 99 was as exciting a sequence as Now had ever produced – Ramz, J Hus, B Young, Not3s, Mabel et al – at least until it weirdly petered out with Maroon 5, James Bay and U2.

The rather conservative “greatest hits” choices on Now 100 are therefore all the more disappointing, but no matter – the pop continuum is what counts with Now. I’m already looking forward to 35 years from today, and seeing the future of pop from the vantage point of Now 200.

Bob Stanley is a founding member of Saint Etienne and the author of Yeah Yeah Yeah: The Story of Modern Pop

[getyourgossip0-blog]

Now that's what I call a tracklist: how the compilation's 100th edition sells its history short

New Post has been published on http://getyourgossip.xyz/now-thats-what-i-call-a-tracklist-how-the-compilations-100th-edition-sells-its-history-short/

Now that's what I call a tracklist: how the compilation's 100th edition sells its history short

Released on 20 July, the 100th edition of Now That’s What I Call Music shifts from its regular programming: instead of summarising the last quarter in pop, the second disc condenses 35 years of Now into 80 minutes. It uses the biggest names – UB40, Phil Collins, Wet Wet Wet, Kylie, the Justins (Timberlake and Bieber), Coldplay – to tell its story, which rather misses the point. Now compilations are tamper-proof time capsules, where the most pleasure is found in one-hit wonders and sub-genres that were genuinely – but only briefly – popular. They are proof that history isn’t always written by the winners.

Here is how it could have looked. (Listen along below.)

The most significant sound of 1983 – for teenagers and the future of pop – was electro, represented on the first Now by the Rocksteady Crew with Hey You, which sounded like Peppermint Patty jumped ship from Peanuts while holidaying in the Bronx. Frankie Goes to Hollywood were huge in 84, and over by 85, but Propaganda (Dr Mabuse, Now 3) foreshadowed a new kind of European pop. Philip Oakey and Giorgio Moroder created a sad goodbye to the era (Together in Electric Dreams, Now 4) and British pop went into hibernation for much of the rest of the decade. US music became dominant on the dancefloor, with Prince’s success creating space for Cameo (Single Life, Now 6) and glorious one-offs such as Sly Fox’s Let’s Go All the Way (Now 7).

Not all was hopeless in mid-80s Britain. Stock, Aitken and Waterman, before they relied too heavily on pre-set buttons, gave us Mel and Kim’s weekend anthem Showing Out (Now 8), while mild experimentalism came via the Communards’ creepy So Cold the Night (Now 9), which used the bassoon as a rhythmic instrument. It wasn’t enough. Some turned to soft metal and the Brontëan passion of Heart’s Alone on Now 10, but the slick and tinny high-80s sound was dying by 1988; Johnny Hates Jazz’s puny but endearing Turn Back the Clock (Now 11) desperately attempting to stop the 90s from ever beginning.

1991’s biggest-selling singles act … the KLF perform at the 1992 Brit awards. Photograph: Richard Young/Rex Features

The rising sound of 1988 came from Chicago, and the media panic over acid house, but London played its part: the aerosol snare of Theme from S-Express (Now 12) signified an imminent DIY future for dance music. Soul II Soul (Back to Life, Now 15) instigated Paul Oakenfold’s Movement 98 and a tranche of early Ibiza-friendly 98bpm records (the Grid’s Floatation; JT & the Big Family’s Moments in Soul). By 1990, the primary colours of acid house and the frivolity of hip house resulted in Betty Boo (Where Are You Baby, Now 18) becoming a Smash Hits cover star. The major labels, iron-fisted in the 80s, had lost control of pop and in the chaos the KLF (3AM Eternal, Now 19) became 1991’s biggest selling singles act in Europe. The underground went overground – breakbeat-led hardcore (SL2’s On a Ragga Tip, Now 22) was the foundation stone of jungle, drum and bass, and genres yet to come.

Future thwarted … Tasmin Archer. Photograph: Mick Hutson/Redferns

Enough futurism – there was other stuff going on. Latin superstar Gloria Estefan was one of the biggest artists of the 90s never to have featured on a Now, but Jon Secada was her songwriter and backing singer, and the slippery, discomforting chords of his Just Another Day (Now 23) went Top 5 in 1992. A TV ad for the Soft Reggae compilation went with the bawled tagline “The softest reggae yet!” – as if L’Oréal had been trying to perfect a formula. UB40’s sound was inescapable in the early 90s, but Chaka Demus & Pliers’ Tease Me (Now 25), was soft, witty, and should be an oldies radio staple. The Brit awards saw the future in the form of Guiseley’s Tasmin Archer, (Sleeping Satellite, Now 26), named 1993’s best British breakthrough act – they were wrong.

Britpop’s year is remembered as 1995, but dance music was bigger, invigorated by happy hardcore (N-Trance’s Set You Free, Now 30), uplifting handbag house (Livin’ Joy’s Dreamer, Now 31) and whatever the Bucketheads’ joyous disco cut-up The Bomb was meant to be. Oasis aside, the most consistently successful UK act between 1993 and 1997 weren’t Pulp or Suede but Eternal (Power of a Woman, Now 32), whose run of homegrown, Topshop R&B singles – 12 Top 10 hits between 93 and 97, twice as many as Pulp, Shed Seven, Sleeper and Menswear combined – ran parallel to Britpop.

Spice Girls (Say You’ll Be There, Now 35) brought back a bubblegum sensibility in 1996 that dominated British chart pop for the rest of the nineties (All Saints’ I Know Where It’s At, Now 38; Steps’ Heartbeat, Now 41; Billie’s Honey to the Bee, Now 42). On Now 40, Aqua’s Doctor Jones – the second of three No 1s – was up against portentously titled post-Britpop items such as the Verve’s Sonnet and Legacy by Mansun.

A new golden age of R&B … Kelis. Photograph: Tim Roney/Getty Images

A new sound was needed for a new century. Still in demand in 2018 according to posters dotted around the North Circular, DJ Luck and MC Neat’s A Little Bit of Luck (Now 45) was urban, British, minimal and hard as nails, while So Solid Crew’s 21 Seconds (Now 50) was arguably the last time the media was scared by a No 1 single. British bubblegum was killed off by the more grownup, complex and beautifully baffling R&B emerging from the US at the turn of the century. Sisterhood may have suffered with the breakups of 90s R&B groups such as Jade, TLC and En Vogue, but solo singers produced a new golden age of R&B (Aaliyah’s More Than a Woman, Now 51; Ashanti’s Foolish, Now 52; Kelis’s Milkshake, Now 57). Previously a backroom songwriter, Christina Milian produced a masterpiece in Dip It Low (Now 58) – it’s a scandal of Vienna-type proportions that it was held off No 1 in 2004 by the tiresome Fuck It/F.U.R.B. (Fuck You Right Back) craze.

Almost undocumented by the music press but huge north of the Wash in the early 00s was the Blackburn-based All Around the World label, which provided donk-heavy foot fodder from acts such as N-Trance, Aquagen and Ultrabeat (Pretty Green Eyes, Now 56). Down south, 3 of a Kind were the ultimate one-hit wonder – one single, one No 1 hit in Babycakes, a last gasp of UK garage and one of its most endearing moments. Based in rural Kent, Britain’s Xenomania production team had scored their first No 1 in 2002 with Sugababes’ Round Round (Now 53) but by 2006 their main project, Girls Aloud (Biology, Now 62), had become broadsheet critical darlings. Girls Aloud were, of course, the product of the 2000s’ talent show craze. While you have to wade through a swamp of Sneddons to find anything else worthwhile, Shayne Ward’s Max Martin-produced gem No U Hang Up (Now 68) is worth a nod.

A brief flutter of excitement … Beth Ditto of Gossip. Photograph: Simone Joyner/Getty Images

Girls Aloud’s Something Kinda Ooooh and Justin Timberlake’s equally invigorating SexyBack fought drear like Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars and America by Razorlight on Now 65. The Magic Numbers (Forever Lost, Now 61) were physical and musical exceptions in a landfill indie landscape of identikit Wombats, Maccabees, Frays, Views and Hoosiers. There was a brief flutter of excitement as a bunch of exciting and excitable female-fronted guitar bands (CSS, New Young Pony Club, the Gossip) emerged in the mid ‘00s: the Gossip’s Standing in the Way of Control was on Now 66, alongside the first appearance by Calvin Harris who, along with David Guetta (Flames, Now 100), seems set to remain a Now regular until the apocalypse. Amerie’s Take Control (Now 67) provided a more imaginative way of using guitar riffs than any band in the UK could manage, though it presaged the oddly rock-heavy summer of 2008 (Sex on Fire, I Kissed a Girl, Pink’s So What).

The biggest country act of all time … Taylor Swift at BBC Radio 1’s 2012 Teen awards. Photograph: Brian Rasic/Brian Rasic/Getty Images

November 2008: in came Obama and, lo, a new lightness (Shakira’s She Wolf, Now 74), playfulness (Lady Gaga’s run of 2009 No 1s), and a sense of something regained (Alicia Keys’ Empire State of Mind, Now 75). This optimism soon bled into an over-ripe maximalism, and some of the scientifically loudest records ever made (Rihanna’s Only Girl (In the World), Now 77). Meanwhile, David Cameron’s Britain dabbled in the darker arts of loud but sombre stadium dubstep (Chase & Status’ Blind Faith, Now 78; Nero’s Guilt, Now 79). As Madonna and Britney Spears’ careers suddenly faded, a new heroine emerged from the world of country. There had been R&B/country crossovers before (Usher and Tim McGraw, Now 60) but adopting that internationalism made Taylor Swift (We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, Now 83) the biggest country act of all time. She even had Obama on her side, with the president calling Kanye West a “jackass” after he invaded her prize acceptance at the 2009 MTV Video Music awards.

Foxes was an example of an emerging, less thrilling, 2010s British pop; her Let Go for Tonight (Now 87) was perfectly fine, but it represented a shift to a rather blank, home counties sound, as if Tim Henman had been appointed pop tsar. Sam Smith, Jess Glynne, Tom Odell, Ellie Goulding, and tousle-haired jack of all trades Ed “Hello Dave” Sheeran – this was chart pop as a career, in the way insurance or banking used to be, with a professional distance and a pre-rock attitude. At least Foxes had a proper stage name.

Stressed out … Drake. Photograph: Gabe Ginsberg/Getty Images

The charts were starting to become harder to read – in 2014, Oliver Heldens and Becky Hill’s Gecko (Overdrive) (Now 88) was the last UK No 1 to have made it on sales alone, as streaming became incorporated into the chart the following week. It was also becoming harder for outliers to break through, though Philip George’s Wish You Were Mine (Now 90) – deep house made in his bedroom – was an exception from a period when Robin S’s Show Me Love appeared to have been the most influential record ever made.

And so we enter the very recent past, the era of Trump, and some exceptionally good but also exceptionally mopey R&B. There was the new tough-but-weepy Bieber (Let Me Love You, Now 95), the Weeknd’s The Hills (Now 93) claimed “when I’m fucked up, that’s the real me”, while Drake bemoaned how “stressed out” he was as a Timmy Thomas sample played on Hotline Bling. Black British music had begun to dominate the second side of Nows (Stefflon Don’s Hurtin’ Me, Now 98; Dave’s No Words, Now 99). Indeed, the second disc of Now 99 was as exciting a sequence as Now had ever produced – Ramz, J Hus, B Young, Not3s, Mabel et al – at least until it weirdly petered out with Maroon 5, James Bay and U2.

The rather conservative “greatest hits” choices on Now 100 are therefore all the more disappointing, but no matter – the pop continuum is what counts with Now. I’m already looking forward to 35 years from today, and seeing the future of pop from the vantage point of Now 200.

Bob Stanley is a founding member of Saint Etienne and the author of Yeah Yeah Yeah: The Story of Modern Pop

[getyourgossip0-blog]

Now that's what I call a tracklist: how the compilation's 100th edition sells its history short

New Post has been published on http://getyourgossip.xyz/now-thats-what-i-call-a-tracklist-how-the-compilations-100th-edition-sells-its-history-short/

Now that's what I call a tracklist: how the compilation's 100th edition sells its history short

Released on 20 July, the 100th edition of Now That’s What I Call Music shifts from its regular programming: instead of summarising the last quarter in pop, the second disc condenses 35 years of Now into 80 minutes. It uses the biggest names – UB40, Phil Collins, Wet Wet Wet, Kylie, the Justins (Timberlake and Bieber), Coldplay – to tell its story, which rather misses the point. Now compilations are tamper-proof time capsules, where the most pleasure is found in one-hit wonders and sub-genres that were genuinely – but only briefly – popular. They are proof that history isn’t always written by the winners.

Here is how it could have looked. (Listen along below.)

The most significant sound of 1983 – for teenagers and the future of pop – was electro, represented on the first Now by the Rocksteady Crew with Hey You, which sounded like Peppermint Patty jumped ship from Peanuts while holidaying in the Bronx. Frankie Goes to Hollywood were huge in 84, and over by 85, but Propaganda (Dr Mabuse, Now 3) foreshadowed a new kind of European pop. Philip Oakey and Giorgio Moroder created a sad goodbye to the era (Together in Electric Dreams, Now 4) and British pop went into hibernation for much of the rest of the decade. US music became dominant on the dancefloor, with Prince’s success creating space for Cameo (Single Life, Now 6) and glorious one-offs such as Sly Fox’s Let’s Go All the Way (Now 7).

Not all was hopeless in mid-80s Britain. Stock, Aitken and Waterman, before they relied too heavily on pre-set buttons, gave us Mel and Kim’s weekend anthem Showing Out (Now 8), while mild experimentalism came via the Communards’ creepy So Cold the Night (Now 9), which used the bassoon as a rhythmic instrument. It wasn’t enough. Some turned to soft metal and the Brontëan passion of Heart’s Alone on Now 10, but the slick and tinny high-80s sound was dying by 1988; Johnny Hates Jazz’s puny but endearing Turn Back the Clock (Now 11) desperately attempting to stop the 90s from ever beginning.

1991’s biggest-selling singles act … the KLF perform at the 1992 Brit awards. Photograph: Richard Young/Rex Features

The rising sound of 1988 came from Chicago, and the media panic over acid house, but London played its part: the aerosol snare of Theme from S-Express (Now 12) signified an imminent DIY future for dance music. Soul II Soul (Back to Life, Now 15) instigated Paul Oakenfold’s Movement 98 and a tranche of early Ibiza-friendly 98bpm records (the Grid’s Floatation; JT & the Big Family’s Moments in Soul). By 1990, the primary colours of acid house and the frivolity of hip house resulted in Betty Boo (Where Are You Baby, Now 18) becoming a Smash Hits cover star. The major labels, iron-fisted in the 80s, had lost control of pop and in the chaos the KLF (3AM Eternal, Now 19) became 1991’s biggest selling singles act in Europe. The underground went overground – breakbeat-led hardcore (SL2’s On a Ragga Tip, Now 22) was the foundation stone of jungle, drum and bass, and genres yet to come.

Future thwarted … Tasmin Archer. Photograph: Mick Hutson/Redferns

Enough futurism – there was other stuff going on. Latin superstar Gloria Estefan was one of the biggest artists of the 90s never to have featured on a Now, but Jon Secada was her songwriter and backing singer, and the slippery, discomforting chords of his Just Another Day (Now 23) went Top 5 in 1992. A TV ad for the Soft Reggae compilation went with the bawled tagline “The softest reggae yet!” – as if L’Oréal had been trying to perfect a formula. UB40’s sound was inescapable in the early 90s, but Chaka Demus & Pliers’ Tease Me (Now 25), was soft, witty, and should be an oldies radio staple. The Brit awards saw the future in the form of Guiseley’s Tasmin Archer, (Sleeping Satellite, Now 26), named 1993’s best British breakthrough act – they were wrong.

Britpop’s year is remembered as 1995, but dance music was bigger, invigorated by happy hardcore (N-Trance’s Set You Free, Now 30), uplifting handbag house (Livin’ Joy’s Dreamer, Now 31) and whatever the Bucketheads’ joyous disco cut-up The Bomb was meant to be. Oasis aside, the most consistently successful UK act between 1993 and 1997 weren’t Pulp or Suede but Eternal (Power of a Woman, Now 32), whose run of homegrown, Topshop R&B singles – 12 Top 10 hits between 93 and 97, twice as many as Pulp, Shed Seven, Sleeper and Menswear combined – ran parallel to Britpop.

Spice Girls (Say You’ll Be There, Now 35) brought back a bubblegum sensibility in 1996 that dominated British chart pop for the rest of the nineties (All Saints’ I Know Where It’s At, Now 38; Steps’ Heartbeat, Now 41; Billie’s Honey to the Bee, Now 42). On Now 40, Aqua’s Doctor Jones – the second of three No 1s – was up against portentously titled post-Britpop items such as the Verve’s Sonnet and Legacy by Mansun.

A new golden age of R&B … Kelis. Photograph: Tim Roney/Getty Images

A new sound was needed for a new century. Still in demand in 2018 according to posters dotted around the North Circular, DJ Luck and MC Neat’s A Little Bit of Luck (Now 45) was urban, British, minimal and hard as nails, while So Solid Crew’s 21 Seconds (Now 50) was arguably the last time the media was scared by a No 1 single. British bubblegum was killed off by the more grownup, complex and beautifully baffling R&B emerging from the US at the turn of the century. Sisterhood may have suffered with the breakups of 90s R&B groups such as Jade, TLC and En Vogue, but solo singers produced a new golden age of R&B (Aaliyah’s More Than a Woman, Now 51; Ashanti’s Foolish, Now 52; Kelis’s Milkshake, Now 57). Previously a backroom songwriter, Christina Milian produced a masterpiece in Dip It Low (Now 58) – it’s a scandal of Vienna-type proportions that it was held off No 1 in 2004 by the tiresome Fuck It/F.U.R.B. (Fuck You Right Back) craze.

Almost undocumented by the music press but huge north of the Wash in the early 00s was the Blackburn-based All Around the World label, which provided donk-heavy foot fodder from acts such as N-Trance, Aquagen and Ultrabeat (Pretty Green Eyes, Now 56). Down south, 3 of a Kind were the ultimate one-hit wonder – one single, one No 1 hit in Babycakes, a last gasp of UK garage and one of its most endearing moments. Based in rural Kent, Britain’s Xenomania production team had scored their first No 1 in 2002 with Sugababes’ Round Round (Now 53) but by 2006 their main project, Girls Aloud (Biology, Now 62), had become broadsheet critical darlings. Girls Aloud were, of course, the product of the 2000s’ talent show craze. While you have to wade through a swamp of Sneddons to find anything else worthwhile, Shayne Ward’s Max Martin-produced gem No U Hang Up (Now 68) is worth a nod.

A brief flutter of excitement … Beth Ditto of Gossip. Photograph: Simone Joyner/Getty Images

Girls Aloud’s Something Kinda Ooooh and Justin Timberlake’s equally invigorating SexyBack fought drear like Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars and America by Razorlight on Now 65. The Magic Numbers (Forever Lost, Now 61) were physical and musical exceptions in a landfill indie landscape of identikit Wombats, Maccabees, Frays, Views and Hoosiers. There was a brief flutter of excitement as a bunch of exciting and excitable female-fronted guitar bands (CSS, New Young Pony Club, the Gossip) emerged in the mid ‘00s: the Gossip’s Standing in the Way of Control was on Now 66, alongside the first appearance by Calvin Harris who, along with David Guetta (Flames, Now 100), seems set to remain a Now regular until the apocalypse. Amerie’s Take Control (Now 67) provided a more imaginative way of using guitar riffs than any band in the UK could manage, though it presaged the oddly rock-heavy summer of 2008 (Sex on Fire, I Kissed a Girl, Pink’s So What).

The biggest country act of all time … Taylor Swift at BBC Radio 1’s 2012 Teen awards. Photograph: Brian Rasic/Brian Rasic/Getty Images

November 2008: in came Obama and, lo, a new lightness (Shakira’s She Wolf, Now 74), playfulness (Lady Gaga’s run of 2009 No 1s), and a sense of something regained (Alicia Keys’ Empire State of Mind, Now 75). This optimism soon bled into an over-ripe maximalism, and some of the scientifically loudest records ever made (Rihanna’s Only Girl (In the World), Now 77). Meanwhile, David Cameron’s Britain dabbled in the darker arts of loud but sombre stadium dubstep (Chase & Status’ Blind Faith, Now 78; Nero’s Guilt, Now 79). As Madonna and Britney Spears’ careers suddenly faded, a new heroine emerged from the world of country. There had been R&B/country crossovers before (Usher and Tim McGraw, Now 60) but adopting that internationalism made Taylor Swift (We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, Now 83) the biggest country act of all time. She even had Obama on her side, with the president calling Kanye West a “jackass” after he invaded her prize acceptance at the 2009 MTV Video Music awards.

Foxes was an example of an emerging, less thrilling, 2010s British pop; her Let Go for Tonight (Now 87) was perfectly fine, but it represented a shift to a rather blank, home counties sound, as if Tim Henman had been appointed pop tsar. Sam Smith, Jess Glynne, Tom Odell, Ellie Goulding, and tousle-haired jack of all trades Ed “Hello Dave” Sheeran – this was chart pop as a career, in the way insurance or banking used to be, with a professional distance and a pre-rock attitude. At least Foxes had a proper stage name.

Stressed out … Drake. Photograph: Gabe Ginsberg/Getty Images

The charts were starting to become harder to read – in 2014, Oliver Heldens and Becky Hill’s Gecko (Overdrive) (Now 88) was the last UK No 1 to have made it on sales alone, as streaming became incorporated into the chart the following week. It was also becoming harder for outliers to break through, though Philip George’s Wish You Were Mine (Now 90) – deep house made in his bedroom – was an exception from a period when Robin S’s Show Me Love appeared to have been the most influential record ever made.

And so we enter the very recent past, the era of Trump, and some exceptionally good but also exceptionally mopey R&B. There was the new tough-but-weepy Bieber (Let Me Love You, Now 95), the Weeknd’s The Hills (Now 93) claimed “when I’m fucked up, that’s the real me”, while Drake bemoaned how “stressed out” he was as a Timmy Thomas sample played on Hotline Bling. Black British music had begun to dominate the second side of Nows (Stefflon Don’s Hurtin’ Me, Now 98; Dave’s No Words, Now 99). Indeed, the second disc of Now 99 was as exciting a sequence as Now had ever produced – Ramz, J Hus, B Young, Not3s, Mabel et al – at least until it weirdly petered out with Maroon 5, James Bay and U2.

The rather conservative “greatest hits” choices on Now 100 are therefore all the more disappointing, but no matter – the pop continuum is what counts with Now. I’m already looking forward to 35 years from today, and seeing the future of pop from the vantage point of Now 200.

Bob Stanley is a founding member of Saint Etienne and the author of Yeah Yeah Yeah: The Story of Modern Pop