#Bands don’t sell papers; headlines sell papers

[aeolianblues]

Oof, someone fucked up. They did not need this headline right now. Poor Fontaines.

[ladykailitha]

If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? Part 4

We finally get to the concert part of all of this. And the start of The Plan.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

*

Steve was in such a hurry to get home and actually shower that he wasn’t watching where he was going and barreled straight into Wayne.

“Oh shit!” he said, bending down to help the man pick up all the books and papers that Steve had knocked to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Wayne chuckled. “It’s all right, I’d be in a rush to get out of here to if it was me.”

Steve blushed. “The nurse told me that Eddie’s going to have the room to himself now.”

Wayne grinned. “He’d like that. Not having to share with anyone else. Not that he had a problem sharing with you.”

Steve scratched his cheek nervously. “I didn’t mind sharing with him, either.”

Wayne raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought with you used to having everything to yourself that sharing would have chaffed.”

He shrugged. “It gets lonely up in that big house all by myself.”

Wayne pursed his lips but left it alone.

Steve picked up the last paper and looked at it in confusion. “What’s this?” He handed the paper back to Wayne.

Wayne read the flyer. “Oh, it’s that concert Ed was saving up for.” He gave it back to him. “Looks like he won’t be able to go now.”

April 6th. “I mean he could, his doctor said a week if he’s lucky,” Steve murmured.

Wayne shook his head. “He didn’t have all the money to go. That’s why he was so willing to sell to that girl.”

Steve frowned. “That’s too bad.” He held up the flyer. “Do you mind if you I keep this?”

Wayne shook his head. “Go ahead. I don’t think he’d want the reminder that he can’t go now.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll probably be back to visit him later.”

Wayne squeezed his arm. “You do that. I think he’d like that.”

He blushed and went to the patient pick up where Nancy and Robin were waiting for him to take him home.

“Thanks, guys,” Steve mumbled as he slid into the front seat of the Wheelers car.

“You’re welcome,” Nancy said. “I’m just glad it wasn’t more serious.”

“That’s because I had a great nurse,” he teased.

Robin smacked the back of his head. “Why nurse and not doctor?”

“Ow! Robbie!” he protested. “Because doctors don’t do the actual work, nurses do that. Shit, dude.”

Robin paused for a moment. “Yeah, all right.”

Nancy giggled, but stopped when Steve glared at her. She pursed her lips to hide her smile, but Steve saw it anyway.

“What’s a guy got to do get some respect here?” he grumped, sliding down in his seat to sulk.

Even though he was mostly joking, it was something that did bother him. How many lives did he have to save? How many monsters did he have to kill? How many people did he have to protect to get people to see that he had grown since high school?

“Aww...” Robin teased. “We pick on you because we love you.”

He shrugged and grudgingly accepted it, but he was quiet all the ride home. Once Nancy had drove off and Robin had helped him up the stairs to his room, she asked, “Hey, what’s up? We were only teasing in the car.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not that...” Robin raised a skeptical eyebrow and he sighed. “It’s not entirely about that. I mean it bothers me a little that people still treat me like we’re still in high school, but that’s not what’s upsetting me.”

He sat down on the bed while she rifled through his drawers for clean clothes.

“So what is the problem?” she asked, filing away the high school thing for later.

He pulled the flyer out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Ozzy Osborne headlining Metallica?” she read out loud. “Wait...why does that sound so familiar?”

“Ozzy is who Eddie compared me to when I ripped that demobat in half,” Steve muttered, “and Metallica is the band that the song he played to distract the bats while we were going after Vecna.”  

Robin sat down on the bed next to him. Hard. “Shit. He was going to go to this, wasn’t he?”

Steve nodded. “He was trying to scrape up enough money to go.”

Her eyes went wide. “Chrissy!”

He hung his head between his hunched shoulders. “I kept thinking all the way home about how it wasn’t fair he was dragged into this nightmare because he wanted to go to some concert.”

She took his hand and squeezed it tight. “I mean, even if we could get the money to buy a ticket for him, there’s no chance his doctors will let him go to a metal concert.”

“I know,” he mumbled, thumbing the ring on her hand. “But part of me wants to try anyway.”

“Go get your shower, dingus,” she said, helping him to his feet. “Maybe you’ll figure it out once your brain isn’t fried.”

Steve nodded and headed into the nearby bathroom. He turned the water as hot as he could stand. He hadn’t gone this long without showering in...well...if he was honest, only when the Upside Down happened.

He let the water wash over all his body. The bottom of the tub turned brown with dirt and dried blood. He couldn’t scrub but even getting the surface shit off his skin felt like sin. He washed his hair three times before he was satisfied that it was clean. He turned off the water and slid out of shower. He put on the clothes Robin had picked out for him.

It was just another sweater and pair of sweatpants. He put them on gratefully and stepped out to his room. Robin was still on his bed looking at the flyer.

“I think I might have an idea,” she said without looking up.

Steve chuckled. “I thought I was the one that was supposed to be thinking while I was in the shower.”

She waved him off and licked her lips slowly. “What if contacted the venue or band or whatever and told them that we had a huge fan that got hurt during the earthquake and would like to see them. We could get a couple of cheapo tickets and he could see them.”

“Who would go with him?” Steve asked, coming to sit next to her.

“You.”

He reared back. “No. Why–I can’t go. No. I don’t even listen to that kind of music. One of his actual friends or Dustin maybe.”

Robin shook her head. “It wouldn’t be fair for the other two boys if only one of them got to go. And for Dustin, he wouldn’t be able to help Eddie get around the venue.”

Steve gaped at her open-mouthed.

She bumped him with her shoulder. “And then there’s the fact you like like him.”

He tried to speak, but no words came out.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even deny it.”

Steve hung his head. “I don’t even–I just...I don’t know!” He threw his arms in the air and abruptly stood up. He started pacing, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Do I like boys? Both? What if my entire sexuality is a lie? Was he flirting with me? But he was also telling me to get back together with Nancy. Which you were doing too, by the way.”

Robin opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Yeah, fair. But that was before you abandoned Nancy and I to finish off Vecna when you heard Dustin screaming Eddie’s name.”

“Why was he flirting with me if he wanted me to get back with Nancy?” he asked again. “Because if he was interested why throw Nance at me? Or if he wanted me to get back with her why did he flirt with me? It’s messing with my head, Robs!”

She stood up and grabbed his arms to steer him back onto the bed. “Let me explain something to you as the resident queer. I think the Nancy thing was seeing if you were interested in her and if you weren’t then he could admit he liked you. To test the waters so to speak. I was doing the same thing only about Nancy.”

Steve looked up at her blankly. Robin waited for the lights to come on and he mouthed, “oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Too bad Nancy is happy with Jonathan,” Steve murmured.

“You’re missing the point, dingus,” she said softly. “He wanted to make sure that you were interested in boys before he put the moves on you. Only you had the weirdest reaction.”

Steve blinked, furrowing his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“Most straight guys would have pushed him away,” Robin said. “Only you didn’t, at least not violently. But you also didn’t flirt back. You acted confused.”

“I was confused,” he whined. “Still am if I’m honest.”

“Which is fine,” Robin said holding up her hands. “Finding out you aren’t as straight as you thought is absolutely terrifying. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through right now. I always knew I liked girls. This must be like a bombing dropping on you.”

“Or a demogorgon,” he muttered darkly.

“Or one of those, definitely,” she agreed. “But the point is that your reaction wasn’t what he expecting so he had to try other avenues to see if you were interested. Hence the Nancy test.” She spread her fingers wide to emphasize her point.

“Oh.” He threw his head back and rubbed his hands over his face. “I failed, didn’t I?”

“No, no,” she murmured. “Results were inconclusive. However if you do this for him...”

“He’ll know how I feel about him?” Steve asked, hopeful.

“Right in one.”

Part 5  Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12 Part 13 Part 14  Part 15 Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20

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[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (July 14, 1979): 119/?

THE QUEEN BACKLASH ENDS HERE

WITHOUT DOUBT Queen are among that elite number of bands universally hated by the rock press.

The rancour is, make no mistake, mutual which is understandable. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an inveterate dislike at the outset of your career and watch it being nurtured and carefully cultivated over the next six years you’re bound to retaliate.

Queen’s hatred manifests itself by their continued habit of ignoring the music press i.e. refusing to give interviews. There is the occasional token “chat”, pointless as it is innocuous, but in the main it amounts to a blanket “No.”

One of the last interviews Freddie Mercury gave was the last nail in the perspex coffin. Under a headline which boldly asked ‘Is This Man A Prat?’ the king of the leotards was demolished by one of the old school Queen haters and Freddie obviously came to the conclusion, in its wake, that interviews in future would be both superfluous (he was popular enough) and detrimental.

The curtain, velvet naturally, closed.

Roger Taylor, a little wary, a little weary, sits stiffly in an armchair. The juggernauts rattling the Chelsea Street outside create a sonorous buzz bomb hum in the room.

You expect a member of Queen to look elegant. In fact Roger is only wearing a wine colour mohair jacket, black shirt and blue jeans.

He apologises for being a little late and explains how he went to the wrong address. Roger seems to be the only member of Queen left who is prepared, albeit rarely, to open his mouth in the presence of a hack. A question springs to mind . . . why?

“We all sat around a table before I flew over from Munich to discuss the press situation and we agreed I should be the one to represent the band. Freddie is very uncompromising and refuses to have much to do with journalists.

“Obviously, he’s had a few raw deals with them in the past,” observes Taylor.

Roger himself has a rather low view of the music press.

“Most of it is rubbish. There was something I liked recently, a piece on Malcolm McLaren, but in the main I think I’m the only one of Queen to actually read the music papers.”

Why does he think the band are systemically slagged?

“I think it’s because Queen have always come across as being a rather confident band. We seemed, to other people at least, to be very sure of ourselves. I think the press may have misconstrued the confidence, mistaking it for a form of arrogance. Hence they became wary of our motives which bred a dislike for our music.”

Now that’s what I call a neat conclusion.

At the risk of being sent to Coventry by my colleagues I’d like, if I may, to come clean. I love Queen (you’re fired, Ed).

I think it all began with a simple pre-packed but indisposable line – “Dynamite with a laser beam” and has continued uninterrupted (despite the occasional flaw) right through to ‘Queen Live Killers’.

A combination of reasons, Freddie Mercury’s lascivious lisp – the most attractive intonation known to man . . . Brian May’s reel ‘em off rococo riffs that would, in his capable hands, transform the theme music for ‘Waggoners’ Walk’ into a meisterwork . . . John Deacon’s almost stoic stance, incongruous yet integral . . . Roger Taylor’s intense power, so unexpected from one so slight . . . the ability to go over the top without failing into the trap of caricature . . . a desire to give the punters what they want without pandering . . . that cast iron confidence . . . those nine glorious winter weeks of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ which kept the cold away from my soul . . .

Yes, I love Queen.

Roger explains the story behind ‘Killers’ which features just about every Queen classic which ever found its way into a silk lined memory bank.

“We always knew that one day we would make a live album. I think it was well planned. About 90 per cent of our last European tour was recorded on a mobile unit and we then spent weeks sitting through the songs in the studio.

“The result is a 100 per cent LIVE album. Nothing has been touched up in the process of selection, I think that’s pretty rare these days. Many ‘live’ albums are tampered with.”

The choice of single is unusual – ‘Love Of My Life’. “It’s not so unusual when you hear the way it came out. The song seems to have such a wide appeal. Everywhere we go the reaction to it is the same. The audience are just bursting to sing along.”

The result is Queen’s best single since ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ (that was their LAST one crawler, ED)

As I mentioned earlier the band are currently residing in Munich where they are “experimenting” in the studio.

“We are recording in a totally different way for us,” says Roger who speaks with a delicate London accent only typical of cockneys with dramatic training and David Essex.

“Every time we entered a studio in the past we had a good idea of what we were going to do. This time we started from scratch and the result is amazing. The music is nothing like anything we’ve done before, I guess you could say it’s much simpler.”

And this novel approach to their music also extends to their shows. On their next British tour – in the late Autumn – the band will be playing much smaller venues than they are accustomed to.

“In London for example we went to play to audiences of about two or three thousand in different areas. I think it’s much fairer to the fans.”

But won’t this affect their stage show which is after all a crucial factor for any powerpomp outfit?

“Not really. We will just scale down the show accordingly. Besides,” he says taking another bite out of the biscuit, “we haven’t used dry ice in years.”

The monkey on Queen’s back, as corpulent and cantankerous as ever, has been put there by those who firmly believe the band can never emulate past achievements. Roger is cognizant of its presence but refuses to unpeel its bananas.

“That all began after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. When it stayed at number one all those weeks we were kindly informed that we would never be able to make another single to rival it both artistically and from the point of view of sales.

“Yet ‘We Are The Champions’ sold a great deal more and has since become the biggest selling single in the entire history of Elektra Asylum – our label in the States.

“We don’t do the amazingly complex things any more because we’ve moved on from that. We concentrate on the music we are doing now and we intend to do it the best we can, it’s ridiculous looking behind and and what you’ve done.

“There’s nothing like going back on the road to re-unite the bond between the four personalities and strengthening our belief in the band. We are a real working unit and, in my experience of the music business, one of the most democratic bands around today.”

A statement like that cries out to be expounded.

“People think every member of all the bands, not naming any names, are treated equally that is get the same money as their colleagues. That’s rubbish. In many bands there are a couple of guys that get all the money. The rest are on wages. Queen share the profits equally.”

And they don’t have a manager taking his cut either, John Reid departed a couple of years back and now the band themselves make all the major policy decisions. Why did they decide to dispense with the services of a manager?

“Basically because we were fed up with giving other people money. Y’know it never ceases to amaze me how naive those guys are in bands who have just had their first hit. After all this time I’ve forgotten just how naive we must have been at the beginning.

“I mean, everything seems so great when you get into the charts for the first time. You’re living on cloud nine and nothing else matters. But in truth that hit means absolutely nothing. So few people achieve any amount of financial success in this business.

“Oh, you think, you’re really living . . . for a while. Somebody gets you a flat in Chelsea and it’s all free. But one day the rent stops being paid for you and you realise you’re skint.

“Since John Reid has gone the four of us have always made a point of discussing everything together. We have various people working for us but all the important decisions are made by us alone. That way we get freedom of choice – and financial independence.”

My attention is suddenly diverted.

“FORTY-LOVE!” Wimbledon, the Persil White opiate for the hoi polloi squashed in a strawberry crush wrings out its perspiring petticoats on the TV in the next room.  Roger’s girlfriend, an extremely attractive French girl called Dominique, is engrossed. The couple have lived together for two years. Crippled old marriage questions permeate the air.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” says Roger. “It’s simply a contract and the fewer contracts I enter into the better. If you get on well with someone then there isn’t any harm in living with that person – but marriage is something else again.”

They live in a six bedroomed Victorian house just outside London, which is set in 20 acres. Roger has a “tiny” town house in Barnes as well. What’s it like having a bank full of money at the age of 29?

“I don’t hide away from life. Queen have never been one of those ‘being grabbed in the street’ type bands. It may happen when the four of us are together – but when we are out alone we are seldom bothered. That gives me the opportunity to enjoy myself. I go to clubs a lot. I like having a good time. I don’t think you could describe any of the band as leading sheltered lives.

“But I have completely lost touch with how much things cost. When you find yourself living in hotels for so long you never really deal in money as such. Everything is available whenever you want it – but you never see the cash actually being handed over.

“I’ve forgotten what it was like to be penniless which Queen were for years. I guess that must happen to many successful rock bands.”

Another thing that happens to many successful rock bands – they quit the country. But not Queen it appears.

“We have always based ourselves in England and I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue to do so. We could leave at any time but we choose to stay. People believe we are tax exiles because we spend a lot of the time out of the country recording in studios all over Europe and touring.”

And what will happen when the band finally trudge wearily down the road leading to that  ivory strewn elephants’ graveyard . . . ?

“I know it’s bound to happen one day. I suppose I’d take a long, long holiday . . . and then make a solo album.”

[cruecifymesixx]

Love and Leather /part eighty eight/

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Enjoy! Things will get better soon

Warnings: language, angst

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*Flashback*

*Moscow 1989*

"It's fucking bullshit!" Nikki shouts as he and the rest of the band come barreling through the dressing room door, "He's seriously going to let Bon fucking Jovi headline? Seriously? We deserve more than that!"

I glance up from filing my nails as each and everyone of them, besides Mick, looks pissed.

"Who the hell does Doc think he is? We're more of a selling act than he is! We didn't fly all the way out here just so we can be out at the bottom of the lineup. It's a complete waste of our time. We could be getting ready to promote Dr. Feelgood!" Tommy then joins in on the screaming match, well at this point I would say it's an ego match.

I move a piece of Nikki's disheveled hair out of his face as he sits next to me on the leather couch, "Fucking Doc promised Jovi that he would be headlining and bumped us down a few notches. If you can't handle managing big names than maybe you should get a different fucking job." Nikki explains to me as he swipes the bottle of sparkling water off the table and takes a sip.

I look around the room as Vince is staring off into space, Tommy is fumbling with his wedding ring and Mick is in his own little world strumming some chords on the guitar. I clear my throat a bit, "Baby, it's not that big of a deal.."

"Not that big of a deal?"

Nikki and I stare at each other a moment, "You know this event is for the fans, the kids that have never experienced American rock before. I don't think it really matters whose headlining and whose not, ya know?" I express my opinion gently as he just continues to stare at me, a dumbfounded look plastered across his face.

"You're just saying that because you like Bon Jovi." He snaps back with an added eye roll,

I chuckle a bit, "You're right, I do, but I wouldn't care if he was headlining or not. Just like I don't care if Mötley was headlining or not. Doc is doing what's best for business. The whole line up is star studded, Nikki. Whether your first or last it's not gonna matter to the audience. What matters is how good of a show you put on. Plus...with you guys being sober, not having performed in over a year and with the new album coming out, it just gives the band the chance to prove that you guys are doing better than ever before."

"How could you not care if Mötley was headlining or not?" Nikki questions, his tone shocked as I groan in annoyance.

"That's really all you took from that?" I eye him as his lips tug upwards in a small smile.

"It just fucking sucks Van. Our first big show out of rehab and he has us being the opening act for Bon Jovi. It's ridiculous. Doc was our manager first. We should take precedence. Not some fucking wannabe cowboy that sings power ballads."

*End flashback*

*Nikki's POV*

"She really wants to play soccer?" I look at Vanity as I lean against the doorframe of the bathroom, "Arianna hates when she gets dirty from playing in the backyard so why would she want to play soccer?" My nose wrinkles up in confusion as I watch Van brush her teeth.

She shrugs at me before spitting and rinsing her mouth, "I don't know. She just said she wanted to play so I grabbed the papers from the bulletin board at her school. I think it would be good for her Nikki. She likes staying busy so I think some little league sports would be good. We can still think about it and talk, the packet isn't due until April."

"No, no. I agree too. We'll just have to explain that she would have to stick with it and try to participate as much as she likes being active she is lazy sometimes." I notice she grabs her make up bag and start pulling stuff out, "You going somewhere?"

She turns her head looking over at me as she rubs cream onto her face, "Yeah? I'm going out with Jon...I told you like three days ago."

"Jon? Oh, right...right...the guy from the diner." I chuckle as she lets out an annoyed sigh.

"If you're gonna start already you can just leave me alone." Vanity tells me, eyebrow raising in mischief as she begins to put make up on her face.

I cross the threshold and pull myself up on the counter, "Where's he taking you? Somewhere romantic?" I tease her as she glances at me, "Oh? It is romantic tonight? That's cool...Donna's out shooting some stuff for Baywatch so she's kinda busy."

"I'm sorry you're lonely." Vanity smirks as she blows me a kiss, "And he's taking me to the beach. There's a horse stable in Malibu and we're gonna ride some horses and have dinner."

I let out an boisterous laugh, "Fucking seriously? That's the most corniest date I've ever heard of."

"Don't be mad because you didn't think of taking me first." She's quick with a comeback as I steal the blush from the counter when she reaches for it.

"Baby, If I wanted to take you on a romantic date I would fly us to Paris." I explain as I hand the container over, "Yeah...Paris, we could get some really nice wine, I'd take you to the best restaurant, get you some fresh flowers from the florist cart. We would take a stroll at the Jardin des Plantes after our dinner. You'd love it Van, there's twinkling lights and always people singing love songs." I explain to her as she glances at me smiling before rolling her eyes and looking back at herself in the mirror.

"Last time I was in Paris, I found out I was pregnant."

My eyes narrow as my head slightly tilts to the side, "During Dr. Feelgood? You knew you were pregnant then?"

"Yeah.." she nods as she starts putting the make up away and tousled her hair with her fingers, "And don't get upset because I didn't tell you. I had to take tests in Paris, remember? You thought I was sick from the sushi? I just had a feeling something was off and I also didn't want to tell you in case they were wrong. One test was negative so I just wanted to wait until we got back home and as you know what happened next." She chuckles a bit and looks at me, "Do I look okay?"

I sigh a bit, trying not to be upset "Yeah doll, you look perfect."

Vanity comes over and stands in front of me, placing her hands on my knees, "If you're gonna be bored go hang out with Tommy-"

"He's too obsessed with putting his head against Clems stomach since they heard the heartbeat at the doctors appointment last week." I explain as she smiles at me.

"You can't be mad at him for that. What about Mick? I'm sure he could use some company or Corabi?"

"No, Micks been wanting to stay to himself and Corabi got a girlfriend...I'll just wait for you to get back. You are coming home tonight, right?" I question her as she leaves the bathroom and I quickly follow, "Right, Vanity?"

"Yes Nikki. I'll be home. Do I have a curfew?" She looks at me over her shoulder before she walks into her closet to pick out clothes.

"Well...now that you mention it..." I laugh when she throws a pair of jeans at me before she slips a pair on and pulls them over her ass and hips, "So it's a casual date?"

"Mhmm...not that romantic like you think it is." She tells me as she pushes hangers back to look at sweaters. We both look at each other when the doorbell goes off.

"Nikki! Wait!!" She yells for me as I run out of her room with Anarchy chasing after me.

I run down the stairs, my eyes narrowing when I see a figure outside the glass paneling of the door, "I'll get it Van! You finish getting dressed!" I yell back at her, nudging Anarchy out of the way as I open up the door. The arrogant smile I had on my face dropped when I saw a dozen red roses and a pearly white smile hiding behind it.

"Jovi?" I stare at him as he chuckles, "You lost?"

"Uh no actually. I'm here to pick up Vanity." He explains, clearing his throat, "We have plans."

My hand grips the doorknob as we stare at one another, "Oh really? You're the guy she's been seeing? You do know it isn't a serious thing between you and her, right?"

Jon laughs at me as I glare, he holds the bouquet of flowers in his hand, "Look Nikki, I wouldn't want your feathers to get ruffled. We're just having fun with each other, that's all."

What the fuck was that suppose to mean? Fun? With each other?

"Yeah, well she can't go. She's sick. It's really nasty, she's been vomiting all morning and stuck on the toilet if you know what I mean. I think Arianna brought the bug home. So I'll have her call you, yeah?" I try closing the front door but he puts his hand out to stop me, "Get off my property before I call the cops."

I feel a hand on my side before I'm being pushed out of the way, "I'm glad you two were able to catch up." Van says, glaring at me before rolling her eyes, "Lets get going Jon." She smiles at him as he hands over the flowers and she's giving them to me "Put them in a vase for me would you Nikki?"

I reach for her arm and pull her back in, "Give us a minute would ya Jon? It's a family meeting." I glare before shutting the door in his face, "Seriously?! Bon fucking Jovi?!" I yell quietly as she reaches for the door handle but I grab her wrist.

"What? What's the problem? I'm doing what the therapist is asking us to do?" She fakes stupidity as she smiles at me, "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Why him? Of all fucking people? You know I don't like him." I speak through gritted teeth, "You could have picked anyone but him."

"That's not my problem Nikki. I am doing what you wanted so I am going to have fun on my date and I will see you when I get back."

My jaw clenches as she reaches for the door, I wanted to find the words to tell her not to go, to just stay with me and we'll figure it out but I just couldn't get them out of my fucking mouth. She looks at me before closing the door, hearing them talk before a car door closes and the engine starts. I grip the flowers in my hand before tossing them into the trash can.

*Vanity's POV*

I lean down against the drivers side window, feeling Jon put his hand against my cheek "I really had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you." I smile at him as his thumb runs over my cheekbone.

"Can't wait to see what you plan for the next date, I don't know why but I'm expecting it to be over the top." We both chuckle a bit as I nod in agreement.

"I'll have to think of something good then.." we both look at each other for a moment, before I lean forward to give him a kiss, "Goodnight Jon."

"Goodnight sweetheart, I'll call you."

I sigh a bit, waving bye to him when he drives out of the gates. I hold onto my purse as I walk up the front steps to the door, reaching for the handle as it doesn't open. I groan a bit and dig through my purse for my keys "Damnit.." I look through the glass, seeing them on the entry way table being illuminated by the kitchen light.

I step off the porch and walk over to the gate leading to the back yard but it's locked. Fucking Nikki. It's never locked. I try reaching over the wooden boards but I wasn't tall enough to grasp the latch. I sigh and go over to the door, pressing the doorbell and knocking loudly.

I hear a window open above me and i step back seeing Nikki, "Babe! Open the door. I left my keys here!"

"Oh you did? Well that sure as hell sucks." He says as he looks down at me.

"Nikki c'mon it's cold! Just let me in!" I shout back at him as I hear him laugh "This isn't funny! Open the door or I'm breaking it!" I hear him grumble before he leaves the window. I wait impatiently, ringing the doorbell again before the hallway light flips on.

"Why'd you forget your keys, Van?" He looks at me with a smug smile as he opens up the door.

"Because you were yelling at me." I lean against the wall "And we never lock the side gate so what gives? How childish are you to lock me out because you're jealous?"

"Jealous? Of course I'm jealous! How did you even meet him?! What the fuck Vanity, it's gonna get out to the press!"

"It's already in the press Nikki!" I shout back at him, "They already released pictures of you and Donna looking pretty comfortable at some god damn club! Everyone already knows! I met him at work Nikki-"

"So you've been lying to me?"

I stare at him as I laugh, "Are you joking me? Lying to you? I haven't lied about anything! I told you I was seeing a guy I met there!"

"But you didn't say it was Jovi! God, why do you have a thing for fucking rockstars! If it's not me, it's Tommy, if it's not Slash, it's Jovi. Whose fucking next!? How about I call up some of my friends and you can pick! You're nothing more than a glorified groupie slut who got lucky and popped out a rockstars kid!"

My shoulders drop as I stare at him in shock. Eyebrows raised and my lips parting slightly, "Hm." My eyes close with a light head shake as I reach for my keys from the bowl. I keep my purse on my shoulder as I turn from him and head back out the front door.

"Van, it's the middle of the night, I am sorry." Nikki's tone is panicked as he follows after me, "I'm mad and I didn't mean that. I said it out of anger." I feel his hand wrap around my elbow as my own hand reaches for the door. I tug my arm away from his grip and open the car door.

I stare at him for a moment, trying to come up with something to say, "Yeah, no. I'm not doing this." I sit down and shut the door, quickly locking it as I see him trying to open it. I put the key in the ignition ignoring the constant tapping on the window and my name being yelled as I put it in reverse and start backing out of the driveway. I'm not really sure where I was going, but I just knew I didn't want to be here with him suffocating me with apologies.

Later the following week, I find myself sitting in our therapists office clutching an iced coffee as I wait for Dr. Peterson to come in. I wanted to have a solo session as Nikki was in meetings with Alan and the band to discuss the production of the up coming tour and Arianna was at school.

Nikki and I haven't talked about our argument the other night, nor have we spoke more than 5 words to each other at a time. It makes me laugh because talking is easy, it comes naturally for the two of us as our own persons. Nikki had also been leaving after Arianna goes to bed and coming back early in the morning before she wakes up, my guess is he's staying at Donna's but at this point I've been finding myself asking do I even care anymore?

"I am surprised to see you by yourself." Dr. Peterson pulls me from my thoughts as I hear the door click shut and watch her walk over to her chair.

"Yeah-" I smile politely at her, "Thanks for seeing me on such a short notice too. I really appreciate it." I watch as she opens up her folder as she brings her glasses up to her face.

"At least I won't have to replace the candy dish mid session because Nikki decided to inhale the whole thing." She jokes as we both laugh a bit.

"I decided it would be better if I went solo on this one. Would save us both the headache and keep Nikki out of the dentist."

"Of course, so what would you like to discuss today?"

I shift on the couch as I cross one leg over my knee, "Well...Nikki and I got into a pretty heated argument the other night essentially over us seeing other people and I left because I didn't want to say anything I regretted like he did. I don't know...I'm just, I'm conflicted." I glance over at her, "The more him and I see other people, the more I don't feel like we have a chance of being together how we want to be. We're more distant than ever before. It's like there's some heavy, crushing weight over us."

"We-we rarely talk, only when it involves Arianna. Sometimes we have sex still so it's just confusing because he'll tell me one thing and do another."

"Okay...Have you two done any of the other ideas I told you about? Spending time with one another? Doing things you normally wouldn't do? Spending time together without Arianna? Adults need their time too, Vanity." She questions as I shake my head, "You two just jumped into seeing other people?"

"Well Nikki did, I didn't-" I sigh when she puts her hand up, "I forgot, don't place blame on the other person. Yes, we both did jump into seeing other people. I mean, we did hang out and spend time together alone but it was only once. He started getting busy with the album so we just haven't had the time."

"You haven't had the time? Or you just don't want to make the time?" Dr. Peterson asks as I look at her.

"Well...I don't know!" I chuckle a bit, "Nikki's busy. He has a lot on his plate at the moment."

She narrows her eyes at me, "He's busy? Is he even too busy for Arianna?"

"No, he's never too busy for her. He'd wipe out his whole schedule for Arianna."

Dr. Peterson leans back in the chair as we look at one another for a moment, "So...he's not too busy for Arianna and he's not too busy to make time to go on these dates from what you're telling me. So why do you think he's too busy to make time for you? Or are you worried he's going to tell you no, Vanity?"

"No, I'm not worried he would say no....I just don't feel like I'm one of his priorities, so why would he waste his time?" I shrug my shoulders as I look away from her for a moment.

"Okay....you've been going on dates too? How are they? Are you enjoying your time?"

I take a deep breath and exhale, "Yeah, I am. They've been really good and a lot of fun. He's really nice and pleasant to be around. It's like a fresh of breath air, but I feel so much guilt when I'm with him and I doubt Nikki feels like that." I roll my eyes as I meet her stern gaze, "I shouldn't assume how he's feeling." I mumble lowly to her.

"And has Nikki expressed how he feels about you going on dates? Has he told you?"

I nod a bit, "Yeah, he usually just jokes or teases me about it. But he got mad over the weekend that I was going on a date so we got into an argument. Nikki wasn't happy about who I'm seeing because he knows him and doesn't like him. He locked me out of the house, every door and side gate was locked. Even the garage. He kept saying I had been lying to him just because I didn't tell him who I was seeing.. I didn't tell him who I was seeing because I knew this would be the outcome." I lightly shake my head as a sigh escapes me.

"Vanity, I know you want things to work."

I stare at Dr. Peterson as my eyes swell up with tears, "Is that so wrong? That I just want to be together? For Arianna to have a family? I don't think that's a bad thing to want." I feel my voice get shaky and my bottom lip quivers as I look away from her.

"No, you're right. It's not a bad thing to want. However, is it Arianna who wants a family or is it you?"

My eyebrows pull together tightly in confusion, "What do you mean? I'm certain Arianna would want to see us together."

Dr. Peterson chuckles slightly as she glances at me, "You always use Arianna. Let's be honest, Vanity. You want a family because you weren't close with your own, same with Nikki and you are doing everything under the sun to have Nikki just want you, and only you. He's been your only support, stable support system. Yet, you don't know if you want him in or want him out. You're so worried about if he wants you that you probably don't stop and ask yourself, 'hey, do I even want him?'."

"Because he always says he wants me and only me. I'm sorry that I believe him?" My face scrunches up as I become frustrated, "My family was around enough. I wasn't completely abandoned like Nikki was. I just don't know why I keep thinking he's going to change, he never does. It's a never ending fucking cycle we're fine one minute and then the next we're not. It won't fucking stop." I grumble, slumping back against the couch as I look past her.

"Then maybe this is when you need to change instead of waiting on him. You decide if you want to take this situation into your hands and decide the outcome."

My eyes find hers, "Are you telling me to leave him?" The expression drops from my face and a frown replaces it as she doesn't say anything in return, "But I love him...and I barely knew how to function in New York without him." I blink back tears as I stare at the green and white pattered carpet, "I just- I wouldn't even know how to bring it up to Nikki without it turning into one big pile of shit."

"You could always do it here. It is a safe space, ya know?"

"I know it's a safe place...I'd just be scared he'd storm out of here and I'd find all my stuff thrown out in the street."

She chuckles, "I highly doubt Nikki would do that to you." I shrug at her words, "I'm not saying to jump to conclusions Vanity. Think it over, listen to what your gut, mind and heart are saying. I can only give you so much advice, it's your turn to decide if you want to take it or not."

I take a deep breath in as I breathe it out slowly, "I'll think about it for a few days and then I'll talk to him. And whatever happens, happens."

[mrwinterr]

Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: You meet your favorite artist and get more than what you bargained for. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual and protected sex, oral [male and female receiving], vaginal fingering, belly bulge, light degradation) dirty talk/language and recording. Mentions of drugs and alcohol and a tiny bit of angst.

Disclaimer: I don’t smoke regularly, so anything that has to do with drugs mentioned are techniques I’ve outweighed based on what I’ve been taught by different people. I don’t know which method works best nor am I encouraging the activity. It just came with this fic’s territory. It’s not that deep. You do you, boo. 

Title Inspiration: “Happy” by The Maine 

A/N: I might or might not have based some of this on true events. All I can say is, life is short, shoot your shot! Enjoy! 

A/N #2: There’s a Part 2 now!

“You owe me.” Your friend next to you said for probably the third time this hour. You learned earlier in the day to tune her out. She had been saying that since you persuaded her to accompany you on the weekend long road trip to the neighboring state just so you could see your favorite band…again.

Growing up your parents thought this was just another phase, but as your teenaged years passed on by and you’re now well into adulthood, you’re still a bigger stan for The Avengers as ever.

The Avengers consisted of three members: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Everyone had their take on each of the guys, Steve was the nice one, Sam was the goofy one and Bucky was the bad one. It was silly. They weren’t *NSYNC or The Backstreet Boys, but the fangirls will be fangirls.

Their music wasn’t exactly mainstream, but they did very well within in their genre’s scene. They graced the covers of a couple of magazines, garnered thousands, close to millions, of views and streams online, were featured on TV every now and then, toured around the globe, sold a bunch of records, even independently, but despite all that notoriety, they stayed true to their sound and that’s what kept you around as a fan.

That and the band’s front man Bucky Barnes. 

He was hot – plain and simple. Ok, maybe he was just that to most, including your friend who couldn’t deny it, but you didn’t want to objectify the man. What their music had done to get you through the years, they were more than that. There was a level of respect there. You also didn’t buy into the “bad boy” gimmick the fans have dubbed for him. They were human beings just like the rest of us. Imagine being called something like that by the public? They just so happened to be fortunate enough to share their talent to the rest of the world.  

“You’ve already seen them. I don’t know why you think you need to for what a tenth time?” She clearly wasn’t amused by your infatuation with the band, but she was still your friend and she would always be by your side through thick and thin even if she didn’t have the same taste in music as you. You loved her for that. Who else would stand for hours in a dark room full of loud, sweaty, smelly, rude even, and sometimes drunk people with no self-control for you? She really was the real MVP.

And she was right though. You’ve already seen The Avengers perform. It was probably more, but you’ve lost count. Whenever they’re in your city or two to four hours in the next one over, you loved this band alright!

You both were polar opposites standing next to each other in line waiting for the venue doors to open. She was calm and still, arms crossed with an unamused look on her face – she could almost play as the “mom that tagged along and didn’t want to be there” – but you knew she wasn’t really mad. There was a bar inside she could occupy herself at. You on the other hand were trying to contain your excitement. You tried your best to not fidget around in anticipation so much. You didn’t want to sweat off your makeup that you managed to apply on point or get an embarrassing stain on your clothes.  

“It doesn’t matter,” was always the response you gave her, “their music means everything to me. I’ll always come out to support them.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and scoffed a bit at that. She wasn’t trying to knock you down. She knew you deeply liked the band, but she also knew another side of you, and she liked to pick at it. “Yeah that and you’re into Bucky,” she said and just flat out poked at the side of your breasts. The bra that you chose to purposely wear tonight gave your boobs an extra push and it didn’t go unnoticed by her. They were out there, tastefully, since you were hardly the flashy type. 

“Okay, but who isn’t?” You flare back swatting her hand away and trying to shut her down. You didn’t need to have this conversation with her while other fans were around. You didn’t want to sound like a fangirl. You weren’t 13 anymore.

“Chill.” She said raising her hands up in surrender. She wasn’t going to fight you on this one again.

When the top of the hour hit, the roar of the crowd signaled the doors had opened. Once inside, you hit the line to the bathroom considering you’d been outside for a few hours. You didn’t just have to pee, but you needed to freshen up. Your cheeks were a bit flushed from standing in the heat. You dabbed lightly at your face with a small blotting sheet, sprayed a bit of body spray and finished putting every hair back into place before finding your friend, who was already at the bar.

You sported a 21 and up paper wristband that was handed at the entrance, however you weren’t planning on drinking. Usually you had one or two drinks at most, but you were assuming you would be the designated driver tonight. You just always flashed your ID to the bouncer for the wristband to emphasize that you were of age. Unfortunately, some bands have had a bad reputation of fooling around with underaged girls, who lied about it.

She held up her drink to you with a smile on her face. Yeah, you were going to be the one driving back to the hotel, but at least she’s happy. She tried to coax you into ordering a drink of your own, but you only shook your head at her nonsense and stood away from the crowd.

As an avid concert goer, you’ve been to enough shows that you’d been in every section of the crowd. Hell, you’ve even gone crowd surfing before! Plus, you couldn’t hang with those vicious and hormonal fans in the crowd anymore, so you learned to enjoy the show from the back with a full view.

The opening bands were decent. You’d never heard of them, one was probably local, but you always believed live music was just as good, if not, better than opposed to being recorded and remastered at a studio. 

During their sets, you caved and bought a drink from the bar, hoping it’d help to pass the time before the headliners came on. Your friend was seemingly on her phone when a random guy approached you asking if he could buy you a drink. The house lights were on. Did he not see the can of beer in your hands? You politely declined his offer and further advances until he gave up and walked away.  

“Girl. He was cute!” Your friend said shoving you lightly.

“I wasn’t interested,” you shrug and taking a swig of your drink. 

“You’re not being fair,” she started and seeing that you weren’t catching on continued, “you can’t wait around hoping that one day Bucky will notice you. Honey, he came here to play a show and make money not look for a girlfriend.” Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, bursting your bubble like that and all, but her intentions were good. Bucky Barnes just set the standards too high.

She wasn’t wrong. Guys like Bucky meet new people every day, met girls probably way prettier than you. The majority of their fans were female because let’s face it, the guys had sex appeal and you know what they say…sex sells.

Looking around the venue, you took in the kinds of girls you were going up against. There was a mixture of women of different backgrounds and sizes decked out in different styles, but the ones who won most of the time were the ones that looked good dressed in risqué clothing and heels. Some of them probably even wore less make-up than you or none at all. You couldn’t understand how it was effortless for some people.

It wasn’t that you had low self-esteem. You had your fair share of internal struggle, so sometimes your insecurity played its part. You had your good days and you had your bad days.

You decided upon wearing something simple that you would be comfortable in while still serving a look. And the only other significant thing you did to your make-up was add in a little more shimmer. Yeah you wanted to impress, not sell your soul to the devil.

“Okay, but I just really wasn’t interested,” you said again hoping she’d understand. She did, aware you wrestled with that demon in your head always taunting and ridiculing you that you could look better when you’re perfect just the way you are. With an added bonus of telling you that Bucky was missing out if he hasn’t noticed you already, she ordered another drink in time before the lights dimmed and ear-piercing screams erupted to alert that The Avengers finally took the stage to headline the show.

Like each of the shows you’d previously attended, they were amazing. They poured their hearts out with each beat and belt. Every lyric resonated with you so deeply. There was just so much raw emotion packed into their performance. The beauty of concerts was that they were designed to let you forget about all the bullshit happening in the world for a few hours. They were therapeutic for you.  

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say your friend secretly liked The Avengers’ music because she broke you out of your shell and had you swaying along with her to their songs…that or it was the alcohol taking over her. You didn’t fight it and you allowed yourself to let loose.

You tried to give each member equal attention, watching them as they played, but you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on Bucky the most. They were just trained on him. His cheeky smile and onstage presence were electric. The mere sight of him, all sweaty as his clothes stuck to his skin accentuating his toned body so well, all but had you shuffling trying to ease your body’s frustration and mind.

The only time you looked away was when you swore you thought he looked at you. Making eye contact with someone on stage was kind of awkward sometimes, but with him it was almost intimidating. Believing he was probably staring at the girl behind you, you downed the rest of your drink, pushed that thought away and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.

A full set of songs that showcased their albums and a two-song encore later, you were driving yourself and your buzzed friend back to your hotel room. It wasn’t that far from the venue, electing to stay within its vicinity. Upon entering the room, you tossed the shirt you bought at the merch booth on your bed before removing your leather jacket while she face-planted down on her bed, arms wide open, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief. You couldn’t blame her. It felt great to rest right after standing on your feet for hours.

Your back rested against the headboard, you knocked your boots and socks off a while ago and had your bare feet up on your bed. You hadn’t changed out of the rest of your clothes or even wiped off your make-up yet. Instead, you sat there skimming through the timelines of your social media accounts while you waited for your friend to get out of the shower.

You had posted a few photos and videos of the night to your story, like your outfit, a few of you and your friend sightseeing, and of The Avengers’ set. You refreshed your timeline and noticed Bucky’s account pop up before everyone else that you followed. It’s no surprise that you were following them on social media. You liked seeing them share the personal moments of their lives. They used to be interactive with their fans. Bucky had even once commented on the old photo you had with the band years ago.   

You met them after a show when they were just starting out with their first full-length album debuting that summer. Now, they hardly came out because all it took was one crazed fan to ruin it for everyone else. Their popularity sometimes deemed it unsafe for venues to let them stick around so late, restricting them from meeting their fans.

You click on Bucky’s account and go through his story. There was one of a view of the open road from their tour bus, a clip of a song he liked, a cryptic quote with a deep underlying meaning to it, him getting ready to go on stage and then of the show.

He had taken a photo of the crowd towards the end of the set, asked fans to tag themselves if they could, because the crowd was amazing…as if they didn’t say that in every town they played in.

His caption read: “Awesome crowd tonight! Probably our best show yet!” topped with how much he loved the city. Sometimes you wanted to reply to his posts like he was one of your friends, but then you second guessed yourself knowing he’d never see the message, or he would and just ignore it because he was busy. You knew it was a long shot, but what did you have to lose and what is it that they said these days? Shoot your shot.

You didn’t linger on the body of the message for too long, settling with a “Great show tonight! You guys were amazing as always! :)” hitting send and closing out the app thinking it would conceal any embarrassment that might come out of it. It was a ridiculous thought.

After surfing through the channels of the TV and picking at the food you had delivered to your room, your phone pinged. You saw that it was a notification from your social media account, but once your face unlocked the phone and the subject appeared, you nearly choked on the drink you were sipping on.

Bucky Barnes sent you a message.

Your heart pathetically started beating really fast. The phone almost slipped from your hands as you opened up the toxic app again to read what he said. He probably just sent you an emoji or something.

“Thanks for coming out.”

That was it. Okay, what did you except? A proposal. That was a fair response. He probably had some downtime and was able to reply to people. You couldn’t be that special…but thinking you could strike gold again, you started typing up a response.

“Of course! Will always be out there to support you guys! Hope the city treats you well and have a safe rest of the tour.” Yeah, that was a good one. You say to yourself thinking that would be the end of it…except it wasn’t.

“Appreciate it. You know of any good spots around here?”

Nope. You did not. Do you look up some recommendations for him? No, that’s too much. Great, you’re having a conversation with him through DMs and you can’t even genuinely contribute enough to hold it down.  

“No, not really. I’m not from here actually. My friend and I drove here just to catch the show. Maybe YELP?” Shit. You just might’ve effectively got rid of him with turning him to the Internet instead.

“No way! That’s love. Good thinking.” They came through in separate text bubbles.

Why were guys so short? You couldn’t work with that. You thought about it for a while but came up with nothing, so you sent the sassy ‘girl sticking her hand out’ emoji as a reply. Damn, you were really bad at this.

Several minutes passed by and thinking you were really done with him; you got another message. It was Bucky again and he sent you a photo. It was from your own feed; the group photo of you and his band mates all those years ago.

“I thought I recognized you.” You sat up straight as you read that message over and over, eyes bugging. Thankful your friend was taking her sweet time in the bathroom, so she wouldn’t see you all strung up.

What? There’s no way. That was a long time ago. Your thoughts spiraled at his words that had you blushing. He’s pulling your chain.

“Impossible. That was forever ago!” I guess two could play this game then.

“I swear. You tripped and fell into my arms that night.”

What the hell? He actually remembered that? Yeah, that did indeed happen. You had been waiting outside surrounded by a bunch of other chatty girls, pushing and shoving their way to get to Bucky first. By the time he turned to you and you stepped forward, you lost your footing and fell straight onto him. He played it cool, but then you heard Sam, who was trapped in his own circle of girls, signing and taking pictures away, that Bucky has girls falling for him all the time.

“OMG. That was so embarrassing, and I was so awkward!” You couldn’t even speak to him when you managed to hold your own ground. You were young then, you thought you effectively put that behind you.

“You weren’t awkward! You were cute and that’s what has stuck with me since. One of the most memorable moments.”

Yup, he was definitely pulling your chain. While you were ecstatic that you were interacting with your favorite artist, you couldn’t help but wonder why you. He was a public figure and you were just a fan.

“Is this weird?” Came through as his next message after your silence. 

Oh, no. I hope I didn’t offend him. You might as well tell it like it is and get it off your chest.

“I don’t know...just a bit. Probably because I’m just a fan? I feel like you should be careful. I mean I should be too…” You really did wonder though. How was it that people of his status were willing and freely open to people they barely knew only to get threatened of being leaked and blackmailed by their own nudes or messages? What made them trust the other party so easily with that kind of stuff? They couldn’t be that dumb. Well, you got your answer.

“I don’t think of you or anyone as just a fan, but you are right…at the same time I feel that you’re grounded enough and a good person that we can trust each other. If that makes sense.”

You weren’t sure if it did. He still didn’t really know you.

“Awe, well that’s really flattering. I totally understand that because that’s how I feel.” Did you? There was a pause between that message and the next that would come.  

“What’s your cell?”

Really? It was just that easy? Oh, okay then. Nonetheless, you still gave him your number. The DMs stopped and transferred over to text messages. You have Bucky Barnes’ phone number. What fan fic were you living in? Shit like this doesn’t just happen, does it?

The texts between you and Bucky went back and forth, some playful and some slightly suggestive, but you were completely oblivious to them thinking that was just in his nature. You found out the band was staying in for the night before heading back out on the road tomorrow afternoon off to the next city. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath when you stared at his most recent text asking if you wanted to hang out. It was kind of late, but you didn’t get a guy like Bucky Barnes asking you to hang out on the regular.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questioned breaking your train of thoughts. You could see her from your peripheral that she was towel drying the ends of her hair even though you’re still staring at your phone.

“Bucky sent me a DM inviting me to his hotel room.” You answered in a stoic demeanor, but it felt really strange coming out of your mouth.

“Okay. How long was I in the shower?” Your friend asked with her hands on her hips wanting an explanation.

You recount the details and show her the messages you and Bucky had been sending to each other. She scrolled through each of them and you could see the look of apprehension forming on her face.

“I don’t know,” she said her words trailing before giving you a worried look, “shouldn’t you be the slightest bit concerned?”

“About?” You ask taking your phone back from her.

“All of this!” She exclaimed her arms outstretched in exasperation and not understanding why you were so blinded by Bucky. “You briefly met the guy, years ago might I add, and you decide it’s okay to meet him at his hotel room in a city you don’t even live in?”

Alright, it did raise a couple of red flags, but you were a consenting adult and you lived a life of being cautious and in fear a little too much you wanted to be reckless for at least one night.

“I know you’re only looking after me, but I got to go for it. You know I like him! Sure, I may not know him on a personal level, but I’m allowed to have some fun, right?” You try reasoning with her. Just how different was all this compared to what people around the world were already doing with each other anyways?

She was a bit skeptic before reluctantly agreeing and letting you go but with the promise from you to be careful, share your location and his room number with her just in case she needed to save you or come after him. You thanked her for understanding and assured her that you’d be back before check-out in the morning.

On the drive to his hotel room, you thought about how you always imagined the different scenarios of what it’d be like when you’d ever meet Bucky again. What things you’d do differently or say. How you’d make sure to not trip or do something to embarrass yourself the next time. How you’d be more confident.

Parking was a pain in any city’s downtown, you ended up having to pay for parking twice in one night. Not surprising to you, they stayed in a nice hotel. It wasn’t over-the-top nor was it fancy, but it was definitely clean and a slight step up than of what was in your budget for booking a room.

When you’re finally at his door, you wonder if you were going to be catfished. Were there other people in his room? Were you really that special? Fuck it. Was the final thought, putting an end to the rest, and knocked at his door.

You hear a click and sliding of the chain door unlock, then you’re face-to-face with Bucky. He’s dressed down in sweats and a zip-up hoodie. He shoots you a smile and steps aside for you to come inside, there wasn’t much light offered to illuminate the room other than the ones the lamps attached on the wall between the beds and what little the TV could provide.

“Oh, thank God. You’re real.” Motherfucker. Did you really just say that?

Bucky laughed at that and you explained, honest with him, that this whole thing just felt surreal. He nodded in agreement, offering to take your jacket from you and a drink. It was alcoholic. Not denying him, you accepted it and waited to see what he would do next.

You watch him sit down on the king-sized bed with his feet up, one foot over the other. You’re standing there next to the dresser that also served as a stand for the TV he was watching a random show on. Not sure what to do, you set the drink aside, kick off your boots, leaving them next to the luggage rack, and sit on the spot next to him with a considerable amount of distance between your bodies.

It’s quiet and you’re trying to hush the voices in your head. Did he really invite you to just watch TV with him? Is this awkward for him? Oh, no. He’s going to realize I’m boring.

You feel the bed shift and you see Bucky is leaning over, opposite of you, to grab something from the nightstand. You don’t see much of what he’s doing as your view was blocked by his large back. When he changes positions, a brief spark of a flame emits from his hands. Your eyes trail up from his hands to his lips and notice it was a blunt. You were pretty sure this was a non-smoking room, but it wasn’t under your name, so it didn’t really matter in the end.

Of course, he did that kind of stuff. It was part of the lifestyle to be exposed to it. He took a steady hit and you watched as he exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke disappearing into the air in front of him.

“Want a hit?” He asked passing and offering you the blunt.

It’d been a while since you last smoked anything. You tried it a few times and even then, you didn’t think you did it right. You stare at the neatly rolled blunt in between his thumb and forefinger, but not too long as to not let it go to waste and ash up all over the bed.

You steadily take it from him and carefully attempt to take a puff. Wrong. That puff was anything but steady. Not realizing how close you were actually sitting next to Bucky, when you tried to exhale you ended up coughing – terribly. Bucky’s face scrunches up as he braces for the impact of white smoke to hit his face.

“Oh my God,” you say covering your mouth in disbelief, but it was a bad idea because your body didn’t like that, and you ended up coughing even harder.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to get out in between your coughing fit while passing him back the blunt and trying your best to waft at the smoke. Well, if you thought your first encounter with Bucky was embarrassing. This had to take the cake. It wasn’t proper etiquette to blow smoke in the other person’s face.

He waves it off letting you know that it wasn’t a big deal before taking another hit. He even begins to give you a few pointers to inhale in increments, until you get used to the smoke. You don’t even notice the long looks Bucky gives you hit after hit. You take a second to let the smoke stay in your mouth before you give it a second inhale, letting it process through your system before gently exhaling. It was a lot of fucking steps to remember.

“Don’t try to put too much emphasis into the exhalation,” he said as he watches you take another hit, almost perfecting it and with each puff and pass being deeper and longer than the previous, “see, you’re getting the hang of it!” He whimsically lifts his hand up for a high-five that you softly pat in return, but he seizes that moment to hold your hand instead, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The more you breathed in the more your body started to relax. All the edge was taken off and you felt good. You and Bucky continued to pass the blunt, smoking whatever was left of it and what he had with him, as you told random bits of information about yourselves to one another. By now, you and Bucky were leaning on each other, backs against the headboard, the TV barely audible as it continued to play a rerun of whatever that was on earlier.

“You know I really do remember you?” He says causing you to turn your head to look down at him. He has his gaze fixed on your hands, his thumb barely grazing the back of your hand. He’d been playing with your hand, drawing random shapes on it.  

“That’s hard for me to believe,” you answer back truthfully.  

“Why?” Bucky questions while looking up at you. He was in a slouched position, his hoodie and shirt rising up, allowing you a thin glimpse of his skin, while you sat a little higher up than him. 

You admired his handsome face, the crease lines in his forehead, the faint and not so faint marks scattered all around it, his wet lips that shone when he ran his tongue over them and the stubble that surrounded it all down to his adorable nose. Then there were those blue eyes that once put you in an overawe of intimidation, were now a bit alarming in a new sense. They were swirling and growing darker.

“You meet new people every day, Bucky. There’s no way that I could’ve been that unforgettable to you.” You just couldn’t wrap your mind around that. Staring at him, you tried to read him, but you were too faded to concentrate.  

“But you were,” he tells you in a low voice just before you notice his eyes shut and he leans in to place an experimenting kiss to your lips. He pulls back to quietly study your expression, and when you don’t show any sign of disapproval, he goes in for another.

This time with added pressure, more emotion, Bucky pulls you down by the back of your neck and casually slips his tongue in your mouth the moment your lips parted. Your heart started racing when you reciprocated his kiss, trying to keep up with him. He definitely liked to dominate. You could even slightly taste the blunt you both shared moments ago as his tongue tangled with yours.

He slips off his hoodie leaving him in a dark gray shirt. Navigating his body over yours, he pulls you down into a more comfortable position. He’s cradling the side of your face as your lips continue to move one another, getting hungrier and hungrier.

The movements cause your top to ride up, exposing your midriff. His hands wander down to caress your skin before you feel his fingers grip at the waistline of your jeans. You instantly grab his hand and stop him. This was moving all too fast for you.

Bucky didn’t press on it for too long and slipped his fingers out, running his hand back up your side and this time underneath what your tank top was covering left of your upper body. His hand snuck back out and started tugging at the material bunched underneath your breasts. When your top was finally discarded to reveal your red bra, he latched onto your neck, kissing up along your jawline and nipping at your ear, the sound of his harsh breathing sent a tingle at the contact and shivers through your entire body.

You winced when you suddenly felt one of his hands at the back of your head, yanking a handful of your hair causing your head to snap back. It gave him more access and you closed your eyes letting the sharp pain run its course and turn into something pleasurable as he practically devoured your neck. You could feel him inhale deeply, getting high on you, and possibly the lingering aroma of the drugs, and sucking tiny splotches onto your skin then licking to soothe them.  

He pushed aside the straps of your bra as his lips travelled down your shoulder before stopping at the curve of your breasts. You briefly opened your eyes to see him fixated on your chest. He uses both hands to grope them.

“You think I didn’t notice these from the stage?” He asks now looking at you, squeezing and releasing them before pulling your bra down, your breasts spilling out of the cups. He instantly latches his mouth onto a nipple, while the other hand digs in between the mattress and your back to unclasp the bra. His tongue swirled around the nub, teeth lightly grazing and sucking at the skin around it.

You run a hand through his hair, it was a little sweaty and you couldn’t blame him. It was getting hot; you could feel the heat radiating off of him. It became even more apparent after he got rid of his shirt and you feel his clammy skin on yours.

He pulls back, straddling your waist, most of his body weight falling on his knees, careful to not to crush you. Your hands cascaded down his chest and rested at his thighs. You gave them a shy squeeze, something you’ve always dreamed of doing and you were only slightly satisfied.

Bucky flashes you another smile before he braces one hand next to your head and leans back over to fish something off the nightstand. When he pulls his other hand back you notice he’s going through something on his phone. Curious, you look at his face trying to get another read at him, but this whole night was just full of surprises. He finally looks at you before speaking.

“Can I ask you something and you promise not to freak out?”

It depends.

“Yeah…” Who were you kidding? You’d gladly get on your knees for this man. He swooped in for another hard kiss, your mind turning into mush just before you could get anything else out.

“I think it’d be so hot if we recorded ourselves,” his face was so close to yours making sure that your focus was on his and only his. He must’ve felt you shift because he allowed more of his weight to drop; he was closing in on you and it was like you almost had no chance of escape. You weren’t going to lie. The way his weight was crushing you and sinking you deeper into the bed felt really nice. You were speechless. He wanted to record a sex tape with you.

“I travel so much,” he starts listing off reasons why while still cradling the side of your face again, your hand bracing his forearm, and starts kissing your face, “it gets really lonely being on the road.” At this point, he’s probably kissed every inch, “I’d love to have this...it’d be so much easier for me to come thinking about you.”

Motherfucker. His dreamy voice speaking those words into you did one hell of a number because you were aching down there plus the way his hips dragged at your still jean-clad lower region didn’t offer much relief.

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate for a bit. What if his phone got hacked and the footage leaked?

“It’s just for me, baby. I swear,” he asks with hopeful eyes.

Sure, you could’ve had the strength to say no, but you were more than willing to be everything he desired. With your consent, he sealed it with another wild kiss. The magnitude of it setting you ablaze.

Bucky sets his phone back on the nightstand, propping it upright, camera on front face mode to display the both of you on its screen, and at the perfect angle he hits the red record button.

It’s showtime.

He revisits the mission of removing your pants and is this time successful. If you both weren’t so faded, he’d probably have an easier time taking them off, but they were tight, and you were grateful he didn’t clumsily break your ankles in the process. Chucking them somewhere off to the side, with his fingers, he traces the top pattern of the matching red lace panties you had on.

He let out a faint chuckle commenting on how red is his favorite color. Oh, you knew. You precisely chose this set just in case you got lucky. He plants kisses to your hip bones, his lips evading the area that cried out for his attention the most, and slithered down the bed, so he had your calves now placed over his shoulders.

Bucky laid gentle pecks on them and came back up to start nipping at your inner thighs, most likely leaving his mark there also, until you felt the tip of his nose hit your center. Your panties were definitely a deeper shade of red at this point. He pushed your panties to the side enough to get started.

You feel the pads of his fingers begin to rub circular motions at your clit. The first wave causing your hips to jolt involuntarily. You feel the smirk that formed on his face against your thigh at your body’s response.

“So sensitive,” he says pushing your hips back down to continue his task at hand, “and so wet,” he added while pulling his fingers away to examine your arousal that coated his long digits. You don’t take your eyes off him and you almost forget how to breathe when you watch his lips wrap around his fingers, noting his eyes closed and how his cheekbones become more prominent on an already perfect jawline as he sucked them off clean.

When Bucky opens his eyes, they’re darker than before, clouded with lust. He roughly yanked at your panties, still in his other hand, effectively tearing the overpriced garment. After giving it a few more tugs, it was long gone. Headfirst in between your legs, Bucky craved for more of you. He licked a broad strip, down up, to your clit. His tongue teased your folds before dipping inside you, the intrusion causing you to gasp. Your body withered around desperately searching for a path to release. Bucky kept at it, his nose nudging your clit with each plunge his tongue made.

Not denying you of a finish, he adds his fingers into the mix, curling them to find that spot. Noting that your eyes had closed sometime during the act, he stills, and you whine at the sudden halt. Your hand aimlessly reaches out to his face. When you find it, you open your eyes and pick your head up to find out why he had stopped. Bucky offers one of his hands for you to hold on to before speaking.

“Baby keep your eyes on me,” he orders, and his eyes don’t leave yours as his head lowers back down to your pulsing heat. You struggle to keep your eyes open and head from lolling back in ecstasy because you desperately wanted to come. Fuck, he was so talented.

The noises as a result of his onslaught were downright sinful. Bucky’s hips started to ground into the bed trying to relieve some friction of his own. His moans tremble across your entire body. There’s no warning when you come, and you don’t even give him a chance to escape your thighs that clamp around face. Not that Bucky minded, feeling you clench around his fingers as he drank in more of what your body had to offer. Bucky only then emerges when your legs fall limp against the bed.

He plops back down next to you, but as he does so, he pulls you on top of him. Your lips reattach themselves with his and the raw nature of tasting yourself on his lips drive you both mad. He hadn’t even wiped around his face, so you feel the wetness on his chin scrape across yours, staining you with your own arousal.

Your hands moved on their own from planting themselves on his firm chest then working their way down the ripples of his abs, through the trail of hair leading to the top of the waistband of his sweats. You tauntingly pulled the drawstring to loosen it before letting it go and instead grip him through the soft material. Bucky grumbled at your actions, but let you carry on.

You palmed him, getting a feel of how thick and long he was. Bucky was growing whiny with each passing move your hand made, he took matters into his own and grabbed your hand, shoving it into his pants. Your hand instinctively wraps around his hard cock and you give it a light squeeze and a few strokes, generating long drawn out moans to spew from Bucky’s mouth.

His cock felt even better with nothing separating you two. Bucky’s pants and boxers easily slide down his muscular legs, which spread apart to give you room. You maneuver south to lie on your stomach, still in between his legs, and grab his member that was curved resting at his stomach and bring it your face.

“Wait,” he says almost breathlessly. Your mouth is only inches away from the head already weeping profusely. He sits up to rest on his elbows and retrieves his phone from the nightstand. Oh.

“Okay, smile for me,” he directs, and you follow his lead before your tongue darts out at his slit and follow the ring around the tip of his cock. You pull back to savor his taste for a moment, your hands spreading the pre-cum around his shaft. Your strokes are then accompanied by the long licks you give at the sides and to his balls that your other hand had been playing with. Bucky’s head rests on his pillow so his other hand could rest on the back of your head and guide you down his length. Your mouth immediately started to water, but it made it easier for you to bob up and down. He let you move at your own pace for the most part. Bucky pushed your hair off to the side, away from your face to get a better view of the outline of his cock poking at the inside of your mouth. You let his cock drag across the inside of your cheeks a few times until it audibly popped out of your mouth.  

“Fuck me. I knew you’d be perfect.” His words mixed with his incessant moans were like honey pouring into your ears. He loved the way your eyes looked directly at him through the camera lens when you come up with a long tantalizing lick to the underside of his cock and crawling back up to straddle him.  

Bucky gets a good shot of your flushed face and breasts that had some of your drool combined with his pre-cum running down your body before dropping his phone beside him. He sits up causing you to fall back down at the other end of the bed. He picks out a condom from the nightstand and you watch as it rolls down the length of his cock. You bite your lip watching it twitch.

He’s on his knees, but sitting on the balls of his feet, you are lying down patiently waiting for him. He swipes his cock through the wetness of your pussy, prepping himself to slide in. He’s watching your reaction with each pass his dick makes. Your body is yearning for him to be inside of you, to hit that fucking spot over and over.

Just when you think he’s about to do it, he’s reaching over for that damn phone again. Out of habit, you cover your face with your hands. Not only showing the last shred of humility you had left, but also because you probably looked like a fucking bitch in heat.

Bucky pulls your hands away, he still has the phone in his hands, and he’s got it angled to playback from his point of view before he finally pushes into you. He’s big, much bigger than what you’ve experienced, you think you need a moment to adjust, but he never gives you that opportunity and you find that it doesn’t matter when he feels so good. Too good that you find it hard to breathe with each thrust he’s making because he’s hitting it so deep. You push your hands out in front of you to his lower abdomen and attempt to slow him down. Bucky shakes his head and knocks your hands out of the way.

You let out an abrupt yelp at his retaliation to your failed efforts in trying to stop him with a particularly harder and much forceful thrust. Instead, your hands grab fistfuls of the hotel bed’s white blankets and just let him have his way.

“So beautiful,” he says spreading you further then coming down on you to reclaim your lips with his. He rips your hands from their tight grips on the bed sheets to pin them down next to the sides of your head. You don’t care where his phone went, just happy to have both his hands on you. The skin-to-skin contact just hit different sometimes.

The kisses become so feral you start to feel a burn around your mouth from his stubble. Bucky rolls his hips into yours deliciously, a damn true artist, the rhythm he’s got going sends you just about over but never fully beyond the edge to prolong the climax.

Much to your dismay, Bucky withdraws away from you again, back into his previous position, a new idea popping into his wicked mind. With his hard cock still inside you, he slides his hands under your hips and hoists your lower half up towards him, resting your ass on his thighs, effectively bottoming out. You don’t hold back at the way that made you feel and let out an embarrassingly loud moan. He holds still for a second and you’re not quite sure why. You try to move by wiggling your hips, but he holds you still.

He’s staring at how close your bodies are, connected, he moves just the slightest. It causes your pussy to contract and your stomach to tighten up. He does it again in different intervals, his eyes surveying the entire thing. The next push is a little harder and when you see the devious smile breakthrough his face, he does it even more. The thrusts are much sharper and almost painful, but it quickly subsides when you feel the head of his cock probe at the right spot.

Bucky lifts your hips up higher, your back arching in bridge fashion you weren’t aware you could even do until he resumes his new pattern of thrusts again. This new position aided his cock in hitting your sweet spot a little better. He’s filming you again and resting one of his palms on your stomach. He’s not only watching, but he’s feeling the bulge in your belly from the distension caused by the jabs of his cock.  

“That’s my girl,” he praised, continuing to pound into you, “you take this cock so well.” The sight boosts Bucky’s ego and for you it actually probably wasn’t a good thing, but you’d be damned the angle did so many wonders to you right now.

“You love watching your cock go deeper and deeper inside me, Bucky?” You ask trying to look up at him from that position. Where did that come from? Your words cause him to freeze momentarily, but you could still feel his cock throbbing inside of you. He liked that.

Another impish thought running through his head, Bucky pulls out, picking you up so you’re also knee-height with him, giving you another searing kiss, then he’s behind you. He gently pushes you down, you on your elbows, Bucky leans over behind you, his soaked cock sliding up your ass resting on the small of your back as he places his phone back on the nightstand in the same position it had been in the beginning.

You don’t dare look at the screen in front of you, so you look down until you feel Bucky enter your pussy once more from behind. Your head rises and it wasn’t due to the surging pleasure, but because Bucky uses your hair as a rope to bring your body upright with his.

He thrusts up into you while he mutters incoherent slurs and lewd noises into your ear. He peppers the side of your face with wet and uncalculated kisses, his hands massaging your breasts before one of them migrates down to cup your pussy. His fingers dip in and starts another assault to your clit. You’re already tethering off the edge and on the brink of succumbing to him, but he just knew when to let up and keep you starved for more.

“Look at you,” he says, using his other hand to turn your head to face the small screen, the numbers continuing to go up. “You’re such a fucking slut for my cock,” you don’t argue with him and instead moan his name. “You like watching yourself fuck this huge cock, don’t you?” You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore; watching the two of you was hot. Your uncontrollable moans now muffled into Bucky’s palm. And he just kept egging you on, “I know I do. It’s gonna remind me just how tight this fucking pussy is.” Damn him. 

“You want to come, baby?” He asks, the speed of his fingers picking up a notch.

You pull down Bucky’s hand to respond, “Mmm, yes. Fuck! Please let me come, Bucky,” you don’t know what has possessed you, but it spurs the both of you on even more. Your next words do it for Bucky, “I want to come all over your cock,” and he’s immediately coming and spilling into the condom, still inside you, you feel his release pump through him. He’s biting your shoulder, some of his weight coming down on you, his thrusts becoming erratic, but one did the trick for you and you finally let go.

And what drives Bucky even more wild, is that you don’t stop. You keep rolling your hips into him, riding it all the way out. Bucky’s trying to hold on, with a bruising grip on your waist, his forehead resting on your back; the aftershock of his release proving too much. Your release pours out freely, you feel some of it slide down the inside of your thighs mixed with sweat.

You sag against Bucky, each of your body weight balancing against the other. You feel him scatter lazy kisses up your back and pull your face towards him to press one against your lips, moaning in satisfaction. He slowly pulls out of you with a low groan, your body feeling numb when you fall forward to lie down on the bed. Bucky discards of the condom and shuts his phone off before settling next to you.

He pushes the hair out of your face, and you, facedown, peek an eye open. He has a more than content look on his face, you notice his eyes were back to their normal color. He allows some time to pass for you both to calm down. Sleep wants to overcome your body, but it doesn’t when Bucky’s touch puts you on notice again. He runs his hand up and down your back. He’s insatiable, but he didn’t anticipate your comeback in the end and put him in a daze. He could get addicted to you.    

“Is it weird if I fly you out to Brooklyn?” He said out of nowhere. Brooklyn was thousands of miles away from where you lived. He wanted to pay your way to see him again. It was such an outlandish request. You’re starting to regain a more balanced sense of perception and thought, and you ponder on this for a few seconds. “Never mind. You think it’s weird,” he says lifting the blanket over his head turning his back to you. You could tell he was just trying to be cute.

“Oh, come on! You caught me off guard. You can’t blame me!” You respond, but he doesn’t budge. You muster up enough strength to sit up to lean over the side of his body, resting your chin on the top of his shoulder, and try to grab at the blanket. You pull it over his head and see the lazy smile etched across his pretty face. All you do is return the smile and close your eyes, basking in the post-coital bliss.  

“Stay for the night,” came as his last request and turning to lie on his back, wrapping his arms around you.

You don’t think about your car, that’s still parked nearby or care if the parking rate is probably going up by the hour and start eating at your bank account. You don’t think about how pissed your friend would be when she wakes up in the morning and you’re still not back in time. You just think about how tomorrow he’d be far away. You scoot up to give him one more kiss before laying your head to rest on him and make the best out of the present. Happy that you went with your gut on this one.

A/N: This could flop. At first, it was easy to write, but then the ending tripped me up. & while I have your attention, please let me know, anonymously or not, if there’s an interest in a Chase Collins fic? Charles Blackwood smut, anyone? Anyway, I hope this delivered! Thanks for reading!

[nickelkeep]

What Mattered Most

Pairing: Dean/Cas Rating: Teen, for some profanity. Word Count: 6.1K Warnings: Pining, Internalized Homophobia Written For: Nickel’s Storytime On Ao3

Dean stormed into Crowley’s office, despite the warnings from the overworked and underpaid assistant. He threw the copy of Rolling Stone he carried onto Crowley’s desk and waited for his demon of an agent to get off his phone call.

“Seems I forgot about a meeting. A client just showed up at my office.” Crowley shot a smile in warning at Dean. “We’ll catch up soon. I want you to tell me all about this new talent of yours, Kipling. Until next time.” Crowley hung up the phone and picked up the magazine. “Ah, yes. Thursday James. Apparently Country’s brightest new star.” He tossed it back on his desk. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“I want to come out,” Dean replied simply and plainly. “I have hidden for the past 15 years because you said my music wouldn’t sell. I’m done not being me, I’m done hiding.” He pointed at the magazine. “He’s been on the scene for six months, and he booked a Stones cover? It took me seven years, Crowley. Seven! They never put country artists on the front.”

Crowley sighed and picked up the magazine and stared at it for a few silent moments before dropping it back on his desk. “No.”

“What the fucking hell!?” Dean’s arms shot out to the sides in exasperation before he pulled them back in, gripping his fingers on the chairback in front of him. “I have done everything you have ever asked of me, Crowley. I am just sick of living a damn lie.”

“So, you want to be ridiculed and laughed out of the country music scene?” Crowley pushed himself to his feet and leaned forward. While Dean had several inches on him, Crowley’s presence alone could cause most to back off. “You have succeeded in this world because you pushed that life away. You have sold out arenas because you are what women want and what men aspire to be. Until you retire, you are the straight, all-American boy. Do you understand?”

“No. I don’t.” Dean stormed back to the doors and swung them open, exposing Sam and Charlie, his lawyer and PR person. “So, I quit.”

“You really want to throw away your, as you acknowledged, 15-year career because you can’t hold hands with a man in public?” Crowley rolled his eyes as Sam and Charlie sat in the chairs across from him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dean. I have not led you wrong. I have not given you any bad advice.”

“You did, 17 years ago, when you first found Dean,” Charlie spoke up.

“He wasn’t out then, and he’s not out now.” Crowley tilted his head and looked at Dean. “Are you?”

“Not yet.” Dean shook his head.

Sam sighed exasperatedly. “For what it’s worth, Fergus, I did advise him to ask you differently. That being said, I don’t disagree with my brother. He’s done everything you asked. It’s been 15 years, and clearly, the world has changed.” Sam pointed at the magazine on the desk. “The world is in love with Thursday James. He’s proven that being queer isn’t a crime. And we’re not changing who Dean is. We’re not asking for chaps and songs about rainbows. We’re just asking you to let him be the person he’s hidden for 15 years. For you.”

“He doesn’t need a big coming-out party.” Crowley gestured at Dean. “Is there a person you’re interested in dating, Dean? Is that what this is? Go on a date. You’re not restricted to going out solo or having beards anymore.”

“Not good enough.” Charlie tapped Sam on the shoulder and pointed down to his briefcase. “As Dean’s lawyer and PR, we’re submitting an amendment to his contract, advising of it’s instant and final termination in regards to Article 2, Section 13.”

“A conflict of interest?” Crowley shook his head. “This is not a conflict of interest. This is me trying to protect my client, which is my job as his manager.”

Sam pulled out the stack of paper and set it on top of the magazine. “It’s a clean cut. We pay you a lump sum that equals 13% of his projected income for the next five years, which is a current 5% more than you take right now. Dean comes off your roster instantly.”

Crowley picked up the papers and quickly flipped through. “I also give up my rights to royalty and merchandising profits. Why?”

“Didn’t think you wanted to be associated with a gay country singer, Crowley.” Dean stood between Charlie and Sam, hands shoved in his pockets as he rocked back and forth from heel to toe. “Figured that 5% would make up for it.”

“Dean. Listen to yourself. You really want to throw our partnership away?” Crowley was practically pleading with Dean. “Why do you want to do this to your career?”

“Crowley, if my fans truly love me, I won’t lose them. And if anything, I’m openly welcoming a whole group of potential fans who think they’re not wanted. This is what’s best for not only me but also for the future of Country.”

Crowley stood up straight and rubbed at his temples. “Fine.” He handed the contract amendment back to Sam. “Believe it or not, I do want you happy, Dean.” He turned to the petite redhead sitting with a giant smirk on her face. “I’m assuming you’ve already started a plan?”

“Yes, but there’s one more thing.” Charlie pointed at Sam. “It was your idea.”

“In order to stay on as Dean’s manager, you will sign a different amendment. I’m going to start the official paperwork. Once you and Charlie come to a full and equal agreement for Dean’s coming out, it will be added to the contract, and both you and Dean will sign it.” Sam opened his suitcase back up and slid the defunct amendment into it. “We have an understanding, Fergus?”

“Yes.” Crowley nodded as he sat in his chair. “I think this is the first time I’ve been outwitted by a client.” He leaned back, resting his hands on his stomach. “Shall we begin, then?”

…

Thursday James took a deep breath as he took a final bow for the crowd that had come out to see him. While he was excited that his career was taking off, he had never expected how exhausting it would be. He stepped off the stage and into the wings, where he was greeted by his manager and best friend, Balthazar.

“Cassie! That was fantastic, as always!” Balthazar clapped his hand on Thursday’s - Cas’ - shoulder and led him back towards the dressing room. “You simply wowed the hall.”

“If you say so.” Cas slid off his mask, mindlessly playing with the fringe as Balthazar opened the door for him. He crossed over to his seat in front of the mirror and ran his hand down his face. “So. To what do I owe this pleasure? I wasn’t expecting you until St. Louis.”

“I am so very glad that you asked.” Balthazar crossed over to the sofa as Cas started his aftershow routine, beginning with the removal of his eye make-up. “Word of a fascinating tour came through the grapevine, and only a select handful of artists were invited.”

Cas perked up an eyebrow. “So, either I was invited, or you’re trying to get them to bring me along.”

“You were personally invited. By a Charlene Bradbury.” Cas’ head whipped up, and he stared at Balth’s reflection in the mirror. “I see you remember that name.”

“Charlie?” Cas frowned and turned around and stared at Balthazar, mouth agape. “Does she know?”

“Doubtful. Sia could learn a few lessons from you in hiding identity.” Balthazar leaned forward and clasped his hands together. His face turned serious. “Look, I understand the surprise, and I know I’m going to be fighting to get a yes out of you...”

“Damn right, you are! I’m not going on tour with Dean Winchester!”

“Let me finish, Cassie.” Balthazar tugged at his sleeves and fixed them before continuing. “Dean’s been a leader in the industry for 15 years. He’d be exposing you to fellow musicians, new venues, and possibly new members for your staff. Maybe you could steal Charlie out from under him?”

Cas shook his head. “Not happening, Balth. I can’t do it. He headlines arenas, he’s a damn star. I’m...” Cas choked on his own words, unable to finish the sentence. “You knew I would say no, why did you bring it up?”

“Well, for starters, it was 15 years ago. So why dwell on it? If you want him to know it’s you, you can show him that you outshone him in a matter of months.” Balthazar appeared to preen himself at those words. “But there’s an even bigger rumor involving the tour. Dean’s announcing something big.”

“He’s going to be the first country artist in space?” Cas deadpanned.

Balthazar let himself laugh at that. “I honestly don’t know. Charlie wouldn’t spill any beans. But, the rumor is that he’s going to retire.”

“Dean’s 36. Not happening.” Cas shook his head. “He’s got a lifetime ahead of him.”

“Okay, well the people who tour with him, get to find out first, and I am a nosy bastard, okay?”

“You’re a bastard, alright.” Cas picked up the mask he had worn for the evening and started fidgeting with the fringe. “And you’re not winning me over for this tour.”

“Fine. Rumor aside, here are the facts, from the devil herself. It’s a short 10 stop tour. All of the venues are 4000 people or less, either on college campuses or at smaller theaters.”

“That’s a huge step back for Dean.” Cas ran a hand through his hair and squinted at Balthazar. “I can see why retirement is a rumor associated with the tour.”

“That’s not all. The first stop?” Balthazar paused and bit his bottom lip. “Lied Center at KU.”

“Home?”

…

Dean looked up from his notepad as Charlie entered the studio in the home he shared with her and Sam. “What’s up, Red?”

“I got the final tour line up.” She held up a notepad of her own before crossing over to sit next to Dean. “Still writing?”

“He is.” Sam looked up from his desk. “And driving me crazy. Please get him to stop.”

“I changed my mind, Sam. I’m not writing a brand new song. I’m fixing an old one.” Dean turned to Charlie. “Hit me.”

“We’re going to go with four acts in total. First, a 20-minute set for your opener, a band coming out of hiatus, Tina & Her Pony. Second, We got Thursday James, which there’s a big caveat, but I got him.” She stole a glance at Sam, who was glaring at her.

“Sam’s going to kill you now, I’m okay with this. Continue.” Dean half-joked before gesturing for her to continue.

“Thursday is on for a 30-minute set. And, and, and! Brandi Carlile is on board, also for a 30-minute set assuming that yours is only 45. She’s got a hell of a negotiator on her team. Wonder if she’s single.”

“Brandi, or her negotiator?” Sam leaned forward on his desk, chin resting on his knuckles.

“Her negotiator. That wit. That charm. Ugh. So unfair.” Charlie let out a little sigh before shaking it off and looking at Dean. “So, did I do good?”

“You did fantastic.” Dean set down his pen and paper before pulling Charlie into a hug. “So, what’s the caveat with Thursday James?”

Charlie winced. “Shit, I was hoping you’d forget about that.” She flipped through her pad and pulled out two sheets of paper, handing one to Dean before getting up and taking the other to Sam. “It’s well known that Mr. James is private. I took the time to look up his previous riders. NDAs, no pictures unless he’s in a mask, pretty simple stuff. His agent - who’s name sounds so familiar - sent over his ‘standard rider’ and an amendment specific to this tour.”

“No guest appearances during his set, no requesting him to come on during another person’s set, and no requesting to hang out after shows.” Sam started to rattle off what he was reading. “What the hell?”

“I asked Meg, Brandi’s negotiator, to let me know if she got the amendment as well. I know that Tina & Her Pony didn’t get it as of yet, but Mr. James’ manager may not have sent it to them yet.” Charlie shrugged. “It is strange, but it’s not unheard of.”

“Well,” Dean shrugged, “if it gets him on tour with us, then I’m happy to do it.”

Sam nodded. “I mean, it’s not a bad request. I’ve heard Sia’s rider is insane. Like, you can’t even talk to her between sets.”

“Agoraphobia’s a thing, Sam. Lighten up.” Dean swallowed hard, a brief memory from his past flashing through his mind. “Charles, they okay being on a tour that’s literally called ‘The Thanks for Coming Out Tour,’ or do we have to change that?”

“I may not have mentioned that.” Charlie rubbed the back of her neck.

“WHAT!?” Dean and Sam cried out in unison.

Charlie held up her hands in defense. “Look, we don’t want Dean’s announcement blown before he gets to make it himself, right?” She waited until Dean nodded. “I’m going to get Sam to write up an NDA for the name, then Dean’s going to announce it with the tour dates on his website in a video.”

“So they don’t get to know the name of the tour until they sign the NDA, and if they don’t sign the NDA?” Sam questioned.

“Then, they can be replaced.” Charlie brushed it off. “But after speaking with Meg and Mr. James’ representative - why the fuck can’t I remember his name? - It sounds like they’re okay with it. I think they like knowing that they’ll be in on a rumor before the rest of the world.”

Dean stole a glance at his younger brother, who let out an exhausted sigh before speaking. “I’ll leave you to your magic, Charlie. You’ve never led us astray before. Just tell me what I need to write up and get out for you.”

…

“Cassie!” Balthazar closed the door shut behind him and held up a folder. “They accepted the terms of your rider with the NDAs and sent them over, signed. Charlie’s getting the rest of their crew to fill them out, and we should have them within 48 hours.” He flipped the folder open. “They responded with a note: ‘We fully honor the requests of Mr. James’ privacy rider. However, if he finds himself in need of someone to speak to, Dean and his crew will be available.’ How charming.”

“Shut up, Balth.” Cas kicked his feet up. “I’m assuming they sent the dates over?”

“Yes, and the rest of the lineup. Tina & Her Pony, you, Brandi Carlile, and Dean.” Balthazar pulled out a paper and handed it to Cas. “There’s also an NDA for you and I to sign. They don’t want the tour’s name to go public until Dean announces it, but they want to make sure we’re okay touring under it.”

Cas looked up from the paper. “I’m assuming you already signed for me?”

“Of course, Cassie.” Balthazar sat down and rested his ankle on his knee. “It adds weight to the retiring theory. ‘The Thanks for Coming Out Tour.’”

Cas chuckled. “One can only hope. I realized that the longer we’re in the industry together, the harder it will be to hide my identity from him.”

“There is that, yes.”

“You still think I should just tell him.” Cas crossed his arms over his chest and slouched down in his chair. “I can’t do that, Balth. I didn’t work my ass off for my career to spite him.”

“You can tell that to the people who don’t know you better, Cassie.”

“If I wanted to spite him, I’d be going by Castiel Novak, not Thursday James. I would show my face and not hide behind a mask. This has always been for me, Balth. I did this. For me.” Cas hung his head. “He wouldn’t care how hard I worked anyway.”

Balthazar pushed himself out of his seat and crossed to Cas before crouching down in front of him. “I can’t pretend to know what happened, Cassie. But when you two went your separate ways? I still believe a little piece of him died.”

“You’re right. You don’t know what happened. And as much as I love you? As much as I’m thankful every day that you’re my manager, my cousin, and my best friend? You do not and will not ever know.” Cas wiped a tear away. “I’m starting to think this was a mistake.”

“It’s not too late for us to back out. I’ve been informed that there are acts dying to fill the spots for this tour.” Balthazar rested a hand on Cas’ knee and squeezed gently. “If you want me to go cancel, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

Cas shook his head. “We’ve already signed a million and two pieces of paper, and put in the request to have the riders printed. I got through most of the autographed merch pile...” Cas looked at Balthazar. “As long as he honors the NDAs and riders, I can get through this. It’s ten stops. And if we’re lucky, he’s retiring.”

“Are you taking off the mask the day of or the day after he announces his retirement?” Balthazar smiled, clearly trying to get Cas to laugh. “We can throw a huge party announcing your real identity.”

“Well, if he announces it at KU like you think he is, then I have to wait for an additional nine more tour stops.” Cas attempted to return his cousin’s mirth. “But, I will say that I’ve gotten attached to the name Thursday James.”

“Then, we do an interview with the highest bidder to get an inside look at your life.” Balthazar stood up, his knees cracking. “Oh, bloody hell. When did I get so old?”

“Shut up, you’re only three years older.”

“Don’t waste those three precious years, my darling Cassie.” Balthazar gently patted Cas’ cheek. “Looking forward to losing the mask?”

Cas paused, thinking before nodding. “Once this tour is over, and Dean’s retired? I’ll lose the mask.”

…

Dean stared out the window as his tour bus pulled up behind the Lied Center. Two other buses were there, as was a small caravan of vans, and Dean made a mental note to offer to charter a bus for the tour’s opening act.

“Nervous?” Sam walked up next to him and looked out the window.

“I mean, when’s the last time we were home, Sammy?” Dean looked to his brother and tried to fight the nervous frown on his face. “The closest before was Topeka, and those Will-Call tickets were never picked up.”

Sam let out a sigh. “I meant about coming out tonight, but I guess that works too. You want Cas here, don’t you?” Dean nodded, and Sam continued. “It’s been almost twenty years, Dean. I know you’re still in love with him, but you need–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Sam. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m going to, but only because you need to hear this. You need to move on. I found out about your... something, with Cas because of that god damned song. You think you could have hidden that you’re gay from Charlie and me?”

“It’s my decision if I move on or not. And I don’t want to. I never have. And, to be honest, Charlie knew.” Dean turned in his seat. “And I wanted to tell you sooner, but...”

“But I was a loud-mouthed kid, and Dad would have killed you. I get it.” Sam sat across from Dean. “You gotta know, Dean. I have only ever wanted to see you happy.”

“Thank you, Sammy.” Dean looked over to the bus door, Sam’s head turned to look as well, as it opened.

Charlie walked up the stairs, her fingers in a peace sign. “What’s up, bitches?” She hip-checked Sam and sat down next to him as he slid over. “Dean?”

“It’s just weird being home.” He swallowed. “You get everything set up?”

“Of course I did, and before you ask, yes, I checked to make sure that a pair of tickets were held for a Castiel Novak at Will-Call.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook and started going over it. “Benny and the boys want to know if you have the setlist finished.”

“Yeah.” He flipped up a piece of paper and slid it over to Charlie as he prepared for their pre-venue checklist.

…

“I know you can see it, Cassie.” Balthazar took a sip from a water bottle before handing one to Cas. “How are you holding up?”

“We’re back in Lawrence. I’m on tour with Dean, but it’s as a solo act.” Cas set the bottle down and looked up at Balthazar. “Balth, did I make the right choice, or was I too lenient in letting you twist my arm?”

“Well, that’s not fair. I’ve never made you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Cas ran his fingers through his hair. “I know. Even when it could have made us - how did you say it? - filthy fucking rich, you never forced me to do it.” He picked up the mask in front of him, an emerald green one with gold embroidery and fringe, and gently traced his fingers over the ornate pattern. “I’m making a huge fucking mistake.”

“Cassie. You have been having this fight with yourself for the past month while the tour dates got finalized. We are here.” Balthazar picked the bottle up and cracked it open before handing it back to Cas. “If you need alcohol, I’ll give you a couple of shots after your set, per your rider.”

“Can we break my rider for once?” Cas pinched the bridge of his nose before picking up the bottle and taking a sip. “So, what do you need?”

“Since we’re borrowing Dean’s band for the tour, their leader - a handsome, hopefully single, drummer named Benny - is asking for a finalized setlist. He also wants to do a test run of a song or two with you for the sound crew.”

Cas pushed himself out of his seat and went back to his bedroom. He grabbed a notebook off of the bed. He stole a quick look at the picture on his nightstand - a reminder from his life 17 years ago - before rejoining Balthazar. He handed the paper over and sat back down. “Small change from the usual list.”

“Cassie...” Balthazar looked up from the setlist.

“I don’t need your criticism right now. I made sure that the song was on the possible choice list for the tour.” Cas put on his mask.

Balthazar shook his head. “Not criticizing. Just worried about you.”

…

Dean was on edge as the concert started. He had paced his dressing room until Tina & Her Pony started the first song of their set. Per his request, Charlie had gotten their music on his phone, so he could listen to it, but hearing them live was much better. He calmed down and finally sat on the sofa, drinking the water Sam forced on him.

“You look like you’re going to faint.” Sam took the seat in front of the mirror and checked himself before turning around to face Dean. “You do your grounding technique?”

“Yes, Samantha.” Dean rested his forehead in his palms and stared at the ground. “They’re probably not going to answer at the box office, are they?”

“You’re not going to find out, Dean.” Charlie looked up from her phone. “I will unplug that phone if necessary.”

Dean harrumphed and slunk down further into his seat.

“Seriously, Dean. What’s finding out if he’s here going to do? If he didn’t come, you’re going to be mopey. If he did come, you’re going to be so nervous you can’t perform.” Sam pointed at him. “Go through your grounding again.”

“I’m fine.” Dean closed his eyes and focused on the current set piping through the speakers. He gave himself a silent reminder to provide Charlie with a raise for picking the duo for the tour’s opening act.

A few songs later, one of the members thanked the audience and told them to enjoy the rest of the show. Dean opened his eyes and looked up to the monitor, and watched as they waved and stepped offstage. The stage crew stepped in quickly and prepped for the next set. Dean sat up in surprise as he watched them roll a baby grand onto the stage, not remembering which of Thursday James’ songs required it.

“Charlie?” Dean smacked her shoulder and pointed to the monitor. “I don’t remember that on his list.”

“I have no idea.” Charlie sat up in her seat and leaned forward, aptly paying attention alongside Dean.

…

Cas was incredibly impressed and surprised by how easily his set had gone so far. He was humbled and honored by the sheer number of people who were cheering for him, and he used their energy to wash away his dread and apprehension.

“Ladies, Men, and Gentlethem.” He pulled the mic out of the stand and spoke into it as he walked over to the piano. “There’s a little something special I wanted to do for you all tonight.”

The crowd cheered, and Cas took the opportunity to inhale deeply as he put the mic into the stand clipped on the piano.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s not a new song, but a song that you all are familiar with. When I first wrote it, I had intended it as a piano ballad.” Cas sat down and adjusted the mic. “A few of you may have already noted it missing from the lineup, but it’s one that I’ll always sing until I can’t anymore.”

Cas ran his fingers over the keys in a brief allegro, stirring the crowd up even more. He took in another deep breath and closed his eyes before hitting the first chord of the song.

Catch ’em by surprise and Chasin’ the horizon Nothing holds me down Askin’, “Where the time’s gone?” Dreamin’ with the lights on Tryna keep your eyes on Something along the rise

You and I Bide our time And I miss summertime

Cas found himself surprised by the number of cheers as he played. While he was there to perform for the concert-goers, this was for him. This was to get him through the remainder of the tour.

Catch him on the run, they Punish those who love young Never right on time Watch each other fallin’ Always catch the call and Whistle while we’re walkin’ Something inside me dies

You and I Why, oh, why? And I miss summertime

Cas swayed in his seat, letting the piano run through him. He fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

Keep on rockin’, baby Keep on risin’ on the tide Son of a gun and maybe We’ll be ridin’ all night Something inside me dies You and I, You and I Bide our time. And I, I miss summertime

You and I Why, oh, why? And I miss summertime

Cas hit the final chord of the song, and the venue exploded. He stared at the keys for a few moments, letting the tears fall softly before nodding. “Thank you, everyone. Enjoy the rest of the concert. Up in just a few minutes will be the amazing Brandi Carlile!”

He stood up and waved before quickly walking offstage. Balthazar led him to his dressing room. Once the door was shut, Balthazar pulled Cas into his arms and hugged him tightly. “I am so sorry, Cassie. I never realized it.”

“Realized what?” Cas sniffled.

“You two. You and Dean? You were together.”

Cas swallowed and looked up at Balthazar. At a loss for words, there was only one thing he could do. He broke down and sobbed into his cousin’s arms.

…

Dean was still shaking from Thursday’s set when he was given his five-minute warning. Brandi was terrific, and he looked forward to hanging out with her after the show, but the way that Thursday sang, the smooth whiskey sound, the profound heartbreak... Dean knew there was more there. Something was entirely familiar to him, and it was driving him crazy that he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Dean walked out to the stage, waiting in the wings for Benny to start their opening number with the rest of the band. He tried to shake himself loose, rolling his neck and stretching out when Charlie walked up to him.

“You’re working yourself up, Dean.”

“Yeah, and I’m about to come out to a sold-out auditorium, which is probably going to go viral. Forgive me if I’m nervous that I’m going to kill my career tonight.” Dean pulled his arm in front of his chest, stretching out his shoulder, before switching to the other.

“And you’re so full of shit.” Charlie looked out to the stage as Benny counted the band out. “Break a leg, Dean.” She stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek before stepping back further into the wing.

Dean shook himself out one more time, putting on a great big smile and ran out on stage, waving to the crowd. “Good Evening, Lawrence!”

The crowd roared, and Dean broke into his first song. Their energy was contagious, and it took all of Dean’s power to not come out right then and there. He wanted to ride the high and get it over with. But people came out on an excellent show, and he was going to give it to them. And it was all he could hope that they would still be fans when all was said and done.

After the eighth song in his set, yes, he’d been counting, Dean smiled at the crowd and winked. “I think it’s that time, huh?” He took his guitar that he had acquired during the second song off, and walked it to a stand. He picked up his acoustic guitar and grabbed a stool before setting back up in front of the mic.

“First and foremost, I want to thank y’all for coming out tonight.” Dean sat on the stool and pulled the guitar strap over his head. “I’m not sure if y’all know, but Lawrence is actually my hometown.” Cheers and whistles rifled through the crowd. “I was born and raised here, stayed until I was 19 years old. Ran off to Nashville, found a manager who thought I was decent, and here I am. Blessed by fans like y’all.

“And I mean it when I say I’m truly honored to have so many wonderful fans. But there’s something that’s been eating me up inside for a long time, and I need to be honest with y’all.” Dean strummed absentmindedly on his guitar, his fingers starting the beginning notes from memory. “Eleven years ago, my second album came out, and on it is a song that means so much to me.

But my manager, even though I’m not which one more, was concerned for my career and my safety. He refused to let me include it on the album unless I changed the pronouns.” Dean bristled at the hushed whispers going through the crowd. “While that song turned out to be one of my most significant hits, I’ve never forgiven myself for letting that change be forced onto it.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m gay. And Cas, if you’re out there. Anywhere. This has always been your song, sunshine.”

…

Cas fell off of the sofa.

The room spun around, and Balthazar joined him in a heartbeat as he stared up at the screen. His mind was racing a mile a minute as he thought through Dean’s discography.

I thought I knew the boy so well If he was sad, I couldn’t tell I missed the point I missed the signs So if he’s gone the fault is mine I know, I know a whole lot little things And even though I could list them one by one Oh, he would still be gone

Cas sucked in sharply. He knew this song. He knew it better than he would ever care to admit. He had often dreamt about it being for him.

His eyes are blue His hair was long In ’84 he was born In Baton Rouge His favorite song is “In My Life” I memorized his every move I knew his books, his car, his clothes But I paid no attention to what mattered most

Cas pushed himself up to his feet, relying on Balthazar’s shoulder for support. His eyes were locked on the screen, feet unable to move.

I never asked he never said And when he cried, I turned my head He dreamed his dreams behind closed doors That made them easy to ignore I know, I know I missed the forest for the trees All I have to show Oh, when he walked out the door The cold facts and nothing more

His eyes are blue His hair was long In ’84 he was born In Baton Rouge His favorite song is “In My Life” I memorized his every move I knew his books, his car, his clothes But I paid no attention to what mattered most

Cas started to the door, ignoring Balthazar calling after him. He ran out the door, making it to the stage as Dean began the final refrain.

His eyes are blue His hair was long In ’84 he was born In Baton Rouge His father’s tall His mother’s gone He moved out west when he was two The way he laughed The way he loved Oh my god, what did I do?

He dreamed his dreams behind closed doors I never asked he never said

Cas looked out to the crowd as Dean got a standing ovation. He wanted Dean to have this moment, to know that the audience would still love him, regardless of orientation. But Cas also wanted to know if Dean still loved him. He needed to know.

He started to walk out on stage when a hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him back. “Holy shit. Cas? You? You’re here?” Charlie looked him up and down. “Oh my god. Thursday James. Castiel James Novak.”

“Please, Charlie. Can I?”

“You have a lot of explaining to do, but you both do.” She turned him around and pushed him gently. “Go get him, and make him whole again. Please.”

…

Dean gave a final wave to the crowd before turning to walk off of the stage. He looked up from his boots, and his eyes met the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and he’d never forget. Dean’s knees went weak and out from under him, and he grabbed the stool he’d just been sitting on. “Cas?”

An electric buzz shot through the crowd as the realization settled over the venue. Cas looked out to the audience, then took a few steps closer. Dean pushed himself to his knees, staring in awe.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked Cas up and down when everything clicked. “Thursday... Castiel. Fuck. How did I...?”

Cas finished closing the distance between them and held his hand down. Dean took it and allowed Cas to help pull him to his feet. Once standing, Dean hesitantly reached forward, his hand faintly touching Cas’ cheek. Cas took Dean’s hand and pressed it against his cheek, and Dean felt the first sob wreck through his body.

“That song has always been for me?” Cas whispered, and Dean nodded, unable to find his words out of shock. “You never stopped?”

“Loving you?” Dean shook his head. “Never. It has always been you, Cas. I knew what I lost, and I couldn’t move on. I won’t ever move on from you.”

Cas leaned in and pressed his lips softly against Dean’s, and Dean felt Cas’ mouth break into a smile as cheers erupted from the crowd. “Am I dreaming, Dean?”

“God, I hope not, Cas.” Dean brought his other hand up, holding Cas’ face as he rested their foreheads together. “I have missed you, so much, Cas.”

“You don’t have to anymore, Dean.” Cas kissed Dean again, reclaiming his lost love for himself and no longer dreaming behind closed doors.

[love-pyramus]

Rings

No. This is not happy-

Warnings: panic attack, fighting, death mentions 

Tagging: @brooklyn-is-here​ @biana-vacker @trans-witch-cauldron and brain dead 

WC: 1057 

Every time she woke up, there was a cycle. Ever since King had died, this cycle was the only reason she was up. 

‘Wake up, make sure you have the rings, get dressed, get papers, eat lunch, evening papers, talk and be fine, go to sleep.’ 

Mouse grabbed the necklace off her bedpost as she woke up, the familiar clinks the rings made as they hit each other reaching her ears. The rings were cold in her palm, and her hand closed around them as she put the necklace over her head. The rings themselves were nothing special, one silver band, one gold, but they were King’s. They were the one thing she had left, so they never left her sight. 

The shoelace they were on was nothing special either, and because of the bad condition of the shoelace, most people assumed the rings didn’t have a lot of value if sold, leaving it be. But some don’t learn,nor do they see how panicked Mouse gets when she doesn’t have the necklace. 

The rings were clinking quietly as Mouse walked, the sound familiar and giving a slight comfort to Mouse. Her attention wasn’t on them, it was on trying to think of a lie to use for the headline. While her head was in the clouds, a hand was reaching towards the necklace. The close physical contact jolted her and she grabbed the hand, twisting the boys hand behind his back. “Don’t touch it.” She snarled, releasing the boys hand, the hand instead going to hold the necklace, threading her fingers through the chain and the rings. Her breath was near heaving, a wild look in her eyes, but she gave the kid a nasty glare as she ran off. She backed into an alley, the cold metal of the rings pressing into her palm. 

The rings began to lose the chill they had, taking the heat from her hands. Her entire body was trembling with the thought that she could have lost the rings, the last thing. 

She needed him, oh god, how she needed him. 

She looked around, tucking the necklace under her shirt, trying to control her breath, the rings losing the heat they had taken in. Her breathing was still heaving, despite the fact that she could feel the rings safely under her shirt. She slid down the wall, controlling her breath before getting up to finish selling.

The next morning started as usual, Mouse reaching to grab the necklace from the nail put into place on her bed, her heart stopping as it wasn’t there. Her eyes widened, moving off her bed, her tanktop showing the scars crossing her back and shoulders. She got up, immediately searching the area around. “Finch! Finch, did you take my necklace-” 

The panic in her voice scared Finch, and he looked at the small girl looking around for her necklace. “No. It’s gone?” 

Mouse nodded rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. “And-and I know I put it there last night, I saw it right before I fell asleep-” Her words were becoming nearly impossible to make out, and Mouse’s vision was blurring, the world caving, something squeezing her chest, making it impossible to breathe. 

She felt someone touching her and punched blindly, not able to see in her panic spiral, though she was trembling, and it probably wasn’t a good punch. 

“Easy kid, easy, it’s Jack, relax kid.” 

She allowed Jack to pick her up, absolutely trembling, her breath ripping and burning her throat. “Se ne sono andati, se ne sono andati-” Mouse was repeating that under her breath, Jack carrying her up to the penthouse. “Find it-please-”

Finch had asked people all around the circulation to tell him if he heard anything about someone stealing two rings off a bedpost, and based on the commotion there was just outside the gate, someone had found the thief. He ran there, seeing a new kid holding the shoelace in his hand, and Race trying to get the necklace from him. “New kid!” Finch walked up, his arms crossed. “Those don’t belong to you. We don’t steal here, especially not from each other. And that necklace means a hell of a lot to someone-” Finch’s mouth dropped when the new kid interrupted him. “They’re on a shoelace. How much can they mean?” 

“Her friend died. Those belonged to him, and happen to be the only thing she has from him.” Finch felt a cold satisfaction as the new boys face fell, and he now looked guilty. 

He grabbed the necklace back knowing an hour had already passed, and the longer he was out here was the longer Mouse had to spiral. He took off running towards the lodge, not bothering to greet Kloppman as he ran in, quickly climbing to the roof and seeing Mouse sobbing and trembling, not letting Jack near her. 

“Shortass. I got the necklace Mouse.” She didn’t respond, not giving any sign she had even heard. He quickly moved to sit behind her, pulling her close, Jack moving in front. “Mouse. We have the necklace. Just breathe.” Jack took the necklace from Finch, opening Mouse’s hand and putting the necklace in it. Her hand closed around them tightly, and she seemed to shrink into Finch. Her trembling calmed, her breathing becoming easier as she felt the rings pressing into her hand. 

She slowly calmed, her vision coming into focus, now feeling tired. “I’ll watch these while you sleep.” Jack offered, and Mouse nodded, letting Jack carry her down to her bed, and she curled into her bed, exhausted from what happens. Her face was wet with tears, it was red, her eyes red and puffy, and she just looked a mess. Her scars were purple from the slight chill up on the penthouse, a contrast to her pale skin. She fell asleep rather quickly, though it was an uneasy and restless one. 

Once she woke up, Jack handed her the rings near immediately. She put the necklace on, her face still having visible tear tracks on it. Come time for the evening paper, Mouse walked out, holding the rings tight. 

The cycle started anew as she woke, a glare on her face as she looked at the people staring her. She didn’t want any odd looks. She wanted King. Not the rings. 

[eternal-ahsoka]

Star Wars x Newsies

Chapter Two: Carrying the Banner

Before Anakin’s feet hit the dusty ground of Mos Espa, he could hear the other newsies arguing.

“Hey, that’s my cigar!” Cody yelled.

“You’ll steal another.” Rex said, twirling it in his fingers.

“Hey, look, it’s bath time at the zoo!” Fives pointed to a clean-shaven Echo.

“I thought that I’d surprise my mother!” He said, proudly. The clones all stared at one another in a mixture of laughter and sadness. They had no mother.

“If you can find her...” Rex broke the silence.

“WHO ASKED YOU?!” They all yelled back in response.

And then the morning celebration began. The crew of newsies began to make their way from rooftop abodes to the gates of the Tatooine World. It didn’t take long for Anakin to catch up to them and join in:

“It’s a crooked game we’re playin’, one we’ll never lose! Long as suckers don’t mind payin’ just to get bad news!”

The clones turned around, their eyes lit with the hope and excitement of a new day. Perhaps it would be the day, the day all newsies hope for, the day they would sell enough papers to make it out of the black hole of poverty. The day this life would end and a new one begin. The day that never came.

Still, there was no sense in crying about it. So they sang in unison:

“Ain’t it a fine life! Carrying the banner through it all!”

Soon Owen caught up and the band of brothers was a sight to behold. Rex gave Anakin a bold, lengthy hug. Fives and Tup smiled as they roughhoused. A girl crossed Echo’s path, and he took full advantage of it.

“Well, mornin’, miss,” he smiled big, rubbing his closely-shaven head.

“Morning,” she said, politely.

It took Anakin a moment to notice her. She was wearing a long skirt and a headdress that lifted her dark hair into the sky, which he thought looked funny. This girl definitely wasn’t from Tatooine. As he inched near her he saw that she wasn’t some young girl, either; she was a woman, older than him, and carrying a notebook and a fancy pen. Much too mature for Echo, he thought.

But not for him.

“Whoa, whoa, step aside, Romeo.” He easily shoved Echo back with one arm and leaned against the wood post of a vendor’s stall. “Can I interest you in today’s newspaper, miss...?” He let his words trail off at the end, so as to prompt her to fill in her name.

She didn’t take the hint. Instead, she quipped, “You don’t appear to have any copies, but I have a headline for you: 'Obvious Flirt Fails Miserably.’”

The other newsies must have overheard, because he heard a large wave of laughter from behind him. So, she’ll take a little more effort than that, he thought. No problem. I like effort.

It was a good mentality to have, because today was 105 degrees without a cloud in the sky. The newsies were practically soaked in sweat by the time they arrived at the gates, only to see the lousy headline: ‘Plans Discovered for New Separatist Droid Foundry.’

A groan spread through the crew. “More war news?” Cody lamented.

“Man, nobody cares anymore.”

“When’s it gonna end?”

But their complaints were interrupted by the arrival of Cad Bane and Hondo Ohnaka, who unlocked the gates for the newsies - but not without a plethora of insults. The contention grew, and before Anakin noticed what was going on, Owen had been knocked down. Anger swelled inside of him, and he didn’t hesitate to defend his half-brother. He grabbed Owen’s crutch and with it knocked the two scoundrels to the ground in one fell swoop. The clones beside him cheered as he helped Owen onto his feet. Owen smiled weakly, definitely in pain.

“50 papes, Watto, and make ‘em crisp.” Anakin handed over his credits.

But the kid behind him in line clearly wasn’t as experienced as he was. He looked like a man, with a neatly-trimmed ginger beard and fresh-pressed, cream-colored robes - but Anakin knew that only boys were newsies. Trailing him was a young togruta girl - a rare alien species to be found on Tatooine. He knew these kids were newcomers.

“Hey,” Anakin caught their attention. “You wanna come sellin’ with me? I know all the ins and outs of this city.”

“Why would we do that?” Asked the snarky togruta. “We barely know you.”

“Cause I’m the best in the business, little snippy one.”

“If you’re the best in the business,” replied the man in a crisp, foreign accent, “why bother to help us?”

“Cause I don’t have a little togruta. She could pass for thirteen, which’ll earn sympathy points from everyone here but the bounty hunters.” He looked down at her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Ahsoka.” She straightened her posture as if to say, I’m not so little.

“She’s snippy, but adorable.”

The man shrugged and explained, “I’m Obi Wan. Our ship crashed nearby and we need to make enough credits to fix it.”

“Well, assuming you don’t wanna be stuck on this hellhole forever, I can help you do that.”

Obi Wan looked skeptical. “And ... what do you want in return?”

Anakin looked up at the electric blue sky. He felt it pour into his soul, calling him. “To leave with you,” he replied. “On your ship.”

“Travel with this guy?” Ahsoka protested. “No thank you.”

“Look, Snips, I can get you off of this rock in three days - guaranteed.”

They looked at each other, then at Anakin.

He spit into his hand. Ahsoka spit into hers, then they shook.

“So uncivilized,” Obi Wan looked repulsed.

They gathered their papers and headed out into the now bustling streets of Mos Espa.

[tavi-hayes]

side fic one ~ a series of very unfortunate events

((hiii! here’s a little side fic with some lovely rps with chris @leanarg​ and anna @arin-schreave​ thank you both! ignore all the spelling and grammar mistakes, as you always have to do with my writing woops...))

“Lady Octavia, what have you done?” one of my maids, Carla, almost screams at me. I can’t tell if she is angry, upset or disappointed. Or a mixture of all those things.

I’m looking at the mess I created, “it was an accident, I just wanted…”

Carla sighs, “accident or not, now I’ll be the one to clean it again.”

“I - I can do it myself,” it’s not like changing bed sheets is something new to me. At home I had to do it all the time, especially when little Arlan had been going through the peeing-in-bed phase.

Carla gives me a pointed look, “no, you’ve done enough. Please go!”

All the other girls seemed to have gotten friendly maids, but I was stuck with the one with a sour personality. I collect my iPod and my headphones, where do I even go to?

As I am about to leave, my other maid Willa enters the room. She gasps, “what on earth is that?”

Sour Carla shoots me an enraged look, narrowing her eyes at me. “Someone thought it was clever to eat ice cream in bed.”

There was in fact a gigantic brown stain on my bedding. The cause: chocolate ice cream. I hadn’t been paying attention as I wanted to grab one of the law books from my bedside table. I had reached over, pulling the blankets with me and then the bowl tipped over, creating a mess.

I don’t feel like being in this room anymore. Before I close the door behind me, I hear Carla say, “she’s supposed to be a lady, not one of those savages.”

To let them know, I actually heard that I close the door. With a bang.

Now that I’m in the hallway all by myself, I feel like I can breathe again. My head is pounding, why is that I always end up in situations where people just bring me down?

Still unsure of where to go, I take the stairs down to the main floor. The door to the women’s room catches my eye. Please let it be empty. Please!

I open the door and peak inside: empty, thank god! But as I open the door further my eye lands on someone else. She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I decide to clear my throat softly, “uh, hi?”

The girl doesn’t even look up from her work, “hey…”

Wow, okay. “Do you mind me being here? Or would you rather be on your own?” I keep my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave again.

It seems like I got her attention now, “oh, hello!” she says as she turns her face towards me, “You are fine, I can continue this later,” pointing towards her work.

Nodding I say, “okay cool,” I walk over to one of the sofas in front of the window and sit down. I pull my legs up in an attempt to make myself comfortable. Then I focus on the other girl again. I’m not sure if I have been seen her face before during the meals. My guess is that she is another selected, but given the fact that I also didn’t know the ex-fiancée from our wonderful prince I decide to ask for a confirmation anyway, “you're also a selected right?”

That makes her laugh a little bit, “yes, I am,” she says as she puts her stuff on her lap, turning towards me. “I’m Leana Grant and you are ...?”

Phew, I feel relieved that she not actually an old flame from the prince. Her name, Grant, does ring a bell but I’m unsure where I’ve heard it before.

“Octavia but please call me Tavi,” I can feel a yawn coming up, so I bring up a hand to cover my mouth, “nice to meet you.”

“Seems like you need some good rest, Tavi,” Leana says with a raised eyebrow. Please, tell me something I don’t know.

“Yeah I still need to get used to the time zone difference and it’s only a 2-hour difference,” I flip my hair over my other shoulder, “so what were you doing in here?”

For some reason unknown to me, she moves a bit uncomfortably in her chair, “just distracting myself a bit, the change of habits it’s hard as well...” she pauses before changing the subject, “what would you been doing right now back at your province?”

“Uhm I don’t really know what the time is right now, but I would probably be at work,” that seems like the safest answer. I yawn again. Maybe I should go to bed early tonight, then I remember the situation in my bedroom and I immediately don’t feel like going back there anymore. “Do you miss your life back home? What did you do to fill your day?”

“Not exactly miss, no, college and I work for a newspaper, The Globe, but maybe you haven’t read it...” Leana waves it off, but the mention of a newspaper my attention rises. I feel fully awake all of a sudden.

“Wait,” I narrow my eyes, “you work for a newspaper? So you're a journalist?”

My pulse quickens, please don’t be a journalist, be a photographer, an editor, anything else.

“Yes I am.”

A memory resurfaces: my mom sitting on a chair in the kitchen, crying. Myself trying to comfort her. A doorbell ringing. ‘I’ll go get it,’ I tell her. But as I open the door to see who it was, a billion camera flashes blind me.

“What do you write about?” I ask Leana. The Globe. One of the newspapers to write about my dad’s arrest. And instead of writing the freaking truth, they turned my dad into the most dangerous criminal Illéa had ever seen.

“Um, does it matter?”

People with recording devices and cameras push forward. I can barely keep them from entering our house.

“How does it feel having a criminal in the family?”

“How many skeletons are there in your father’s closet?”

“Are you his accomplice?”

“Care to comment?”

“Ever felt the urge to kill?”

“Did you know…”

“Our sources claim…”

All the voices blur together, I quickly close the door and lock it. I do the same with the back door. Telling Aria and Arlan to go join mom in the kitchen, I close the curtains and barricade the front door with the sofa.

I narrow my eyes at the girl, I see her in a completely different lighting now. “From my own experience, lots of people working in the news sector only focus on making headlines not even caring if the news they’re selling is even true.”

The next day, the headlines in every newspaper had been about my dad. Writing their own version of the story. Making it thrilling, exciting, scary just to get people to read their dumb paper.

Leana starts laughing at me, “you mean making statements without further information...?”

I can’t even hear her properly anymore. I’m seeing red. All the anger and hurt that I’ve kept hidden for so many years, takes control of me. I can’t push those emotions down anymore.

Collecting my stuff from the sofa, I stand, “you are all the same,” I roll my eyes, “only caring about landing the big story.”

“Such an accusation would require proofs and I doubt you have any.” Her voice is way to calm for my liking.

Pfft, she is just like the other press. “just open your eyes, maybe read some articles your beloved newspaper has published.” I can’t stand to be in the same room as this girl anymore, I need to calm myself down. Walking over towards the door, I say, “you news people are just using everyone as pieces in your chess game, and that's wrong!”

Leana keeps her perfect composure, “alright this sounds like a personal problem.” Her eyes narrow at me, just when I open the door, “do you care to share?”

Why would I want to share anything with her? “I'd rather not,” in the most sarcastic way possible I add, “I wouldn't want to read about it in the newspaper tomorrow.”

She walks past me out of the room, before I even have the chance. “Well, I will tell you then that the press wasn’t really the problem.”

I scoff, “and what was the problem then?”

She frowns, but I can tell she is faking her confusion, “thought you didn’t trust the press.”

I want to get away from her as quickly as possible, “wow what a joy you are.” I start walking away, not hearing anything else she says, and not looking back once.

In my head I’m trying to push my feelings back behind that the solid wall inside of me again. They shouldn’t have broken free, but that girl was just saying all the wrong things. All I can see is an image of my dad’s unconscious body being dragged out of the court room.

That was the last time I saw him. I feel my eyes becoming watery. Actively trying to think about nicer things, like music and my band, make me forget my surroundings completely. I don’t see the other person walking directly in my path. Until I run it them, literally.

An oof escapes from the other person.

“Just look where you’re…” I don’t finish my sentence when I see who it is, I’ve run into, “oh, I’m sorry!”

The prince ignores me completely, already crouching down on the floor to pick up his papers which have scattered everywhere. “I should have been paying attention”

“Yeah you should have,” that sounded way harsher than I intended, plus I need to remember that this is the person who could send me home any minute. I crouch down as well and try help him picking up his papers. “I'm sorry though, it is also my fault.”

He looks at me, “My apologies, Lady.......”

Well, how great is this? He doesn’t even remember me. I guess I didn’t make a good impression on him during the interview after all. I just blink at him, confused myself. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with curly hair, but okay… “It’s Octavia. We’ve met before you know.” I collect some more of the fallen papers.

“Yes,” he nods, “I remember.” He reaches for the papers in my hands, instead of being the annoying little child everyone claims me to be, I hand them over immediately. “You're the one who likes Dutch love songs?”

Another blow to my ego, “I'm just gonna ignore the fact that you don't remember me, but who on earth likes Dutch love songs?” Flipping my hair over my other shoulder I say, “I know quite a bit about music, so I can say the Dutch and music do not go together at all.” I realize I’m being a little bit aggressive right now, sighing I add, “but okay everyone can like whatever they want to like, I suppose.”

“I imagine the Dutch would disagree…” he neatly piles the rest of the papers, then looks at me again. “Are you the one that churns butter?”

“What?” I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he doesn’t even remember a little bit about me, or the fact that he thinks I look like a butter churner. I can only stare at him. “Someone can churn butter?”

At that the prince nods a little, “I think so...?” He shifts uncomfortably, “oh, sorry... I forgot to ask if you're okay.”

“Oh yeah I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.” I clear my throat softly, realizing I probably should have asked the same thing, “what about yourself? You look a bit dishevelled.”

“Yes, well... Being run into will do that to a person.” The prince takes a deep breath, then says, “why were you going so fast anyway?”

That makes me remember the encounter with Leana. My feelings have been locked away behind that wall again. But it doesn’t sound like a great idea to tell him about my little rampage. Tavi think. “Oh uhm, maybe I just like speed walking,” I say, looking down at my dress and realizing I look dishevelled as well. I try straightening it.

“Inside?” he glances around.

I nod my head, “hmm, gotta keep myself in shape.” Very believable…

That earns me a frown, “alright then... If you say so. Maybe just consider going outside next time.”

“Thanks for the tip, I will keep that in mind.” I nod again. Let’s change the topic. “What were you doing? Are you always walking around with your nose in whatever that is?” I motion towards the stack of papers he has been clutching close to him.

“Oh, they're just meeting notes. But no this isn't normal. Why...? Are you planning on running into me again?”

What does that mean? Unlike other girls here I don’t necessarily feel the need to know his whereabouts. Let me just do my own thing, searching for law books in the library that is.

“If that's what it takes for you to actually remember me, then yes I will make it my daily goal to find you. It's not like I have anything better to do,” I say jokingly.

He just blinks at me, no laugh, no smile, nothing, just those eyes blinking. And he actually takes a few steps backwards, “I have to warn you... Kevin won't like that.”

I genuinely can’t tell if he’s being serious… “I don't know who this Kevin person is,” I sigh, coming to the conclusion that maybe I should clear the air a bit, “but don't worry I won't seek you out if I don't have to.”

“He's my bodyguard...” the prince says before frowning at me, “I'm sorry that I ran into you and if it upset you.”

“What?” Why can he read me like that? I’m over here trying to hide everything I feel, and then this prince comes along and just sees it anyway. Well he doesn’t know the cause of these emotions but still I feel very vulnerable all of a sudden. I furrow my eyebrows, “that's not what upset me. Why do you think that?”

“Because we just ran into each other and you seem unhappy…”

Maybe I’m just not as good at hiding my feelings as I thought I was. “Oh uhm that is not because of you,” I pause for a bit, desperately trying to think of something to say. I start looking around, hoping to find inspiration elsewhere. But luck is not on my side, “just, you know.”

“I don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “But alright…”

“I'm sure you have enough problems of your own, I won't trouble you with mine,” I say flipping my hair again. Why do I keep talking?

The prince frowns at me again, which seems to be his go-to facial expression. “Why do you all think I'm so troubled?”

I didn’t say he was troubled, did I? But if others are saying it as well…? “Maybe it's just the vibe you sent off. But like aren't you going to run this country? I'm sure that isn't an easy task.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m troubled,” the prince states, very convincingly if you ask me. Not. “And I’m sure I’ll do just fine. I have years to get ready.”

I strongly suppress my eyeroll reflex, “okay if you say so.”

His gaze is fully on me again, before he frowns again. “Unless you know something I don’t.”

“It’s just,” I sigh, “no one is perfect. Everyone is fighting their own battles you know.”

“I guess yeah,” the prince says as he glances down at the papers in his hands. “Though I’m not sure a hallway fight was necessary.”

“You…” I’m shocked beyond words, “you consider this a fight?” Had I been too aggressive, too hostile? I genuinely feel bad for making him feel like this was a fight. It was all my fault anyway. Well technically it was all Leana’s fault, but still the poor prince in front of me didn’t deserve to be dragged into this. By me. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to... I will just go,” I say, desperately to end this … whatever this is.

But the prince shakes his head, “no, it was a joke. Uh, I’m sorry. It wasn’t a good one.”

I turn to face him again. Did he just… make a joke? “You almost made me feel bad,” but his words actually made me relax a little, “you have an interesting sense of humour.”

“I’d argue it’s a bad one if I upset you that much.” The prince swallows and shifts a bit awkwardly. Can he please stop reading me?

“That didn’t really have anything to do with you,” I sigh, being very aware I should probably give him some more information. “I was…” I pause again, not really sure how to put it all in a sentence without dumping all my crap on him. “I was upset because of some bad memories,” I look at the stairs again, my only escape, “I can go if you want.”

“You don't have to go if you don't want to. It's just the hallway and you're mostly free to be where you like.”

Free to be where I like, okay noted. “Yeah but I don't wanna keep you from whatever it is you have to do,” I flip my hair again, maybe I should try not to do that so often, “or make you feel awkward in your own home.”

The prince glances around again, “I promise you that you weren’t the person to make it awkward.”

I remember him doing the exact same thing during the interview, “who was it then?” I look around as well, “is it that bodyguard of yours? Is he sneaking around?”

He looks very uncomfortable. Did he not realize it was a joke? “Oh um, no. Kevin isn’t awkward.”

Perhaps someone should teach him how to take a joke, not take life so seriously. I don’t think I’m the right person for that. “Oh well okay,” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, “I won't take up more of your time.” I offer him a small smile. Why? I don’t know. “Sorry for running into you, literally.”

The prince nods his head, “well, I'm sorry I also ran into you. I'll uh... see you around then I guess?”

“I guess you will,” if he doesn’t send me home before that. It takes me a few steps towards the stairs for me to remember the company I’m in. I quickly turn around and drop into a curtsy, “goodbye your highness.”

He raises his eyebrows at that, but then nods, “I'll see you around. Try not to hurt anyone else.”

That makes me chuckle softly, “I can’t promise that.” And with that we part ways.

Before I know it, I’m back in my bedroom again. That weird run-in with the prince had put my mind at rest, I feel much more at rest right now.

I notice the new bedding, making a mental note to thank my maids the next time I see them.

But then I notice my hands being empty. No no no. I must have dropped my iPod in the hallway, the same time the prince dropped his notes. Except I forgot to pick up my own stuff.

I hurry back towards the hall. it must be here somewhere. After at least 20 minutes of me crawling over the floor, looking under sofas, behind flowerpots, everywhere, I realize it’s gone. And my world collapses.

[liam-93-productions]

Liam Payne is on the cover of Esquire Middle East's June 2019 issue

The One Direction star was photographed on a rainy day in London

During the shoot, Payne opens up about the media's obsession with romance rumours

"Most of what you read online about me is straight BS" says Payne

It’s raining in West London. Every weather man, woman, and app had forecast that sunshine would be on the agenda for the day. But no. It’s raining. So, we’re stuck inside instead.

Alternating between balancing on a set of dumbbells (...) Liam Payne doesn’t seem to mind all that much about the weather. He’s used to plans changing pretty quickly.

“I’ve found in my life at the moment, because of the way things have happened, that everything’s kind of fast-forwarded,” says Payne, his dark eyes lighting up like those of a prospector that’s just panned a nugget of gold, “everything has fast-forwarded.”

Payne’s lived pretty much his entire life on fast-forward. He had his first X-Factortelevision appearance at the age of fourteen. He embarked on his first world tour with a little band named One Direction—you might have heard of them—only four years later. The band sold more than 50 million albums worldwide, and had four albums debut at number one in the US charts. (...)

As Payne ambles about the studio, it’s hard not to notice that even the tattoo on his forearm bears a striking resemblance to the fast-forward button on a television remote. Or a Spotify skip button.

Having recently performed alongside Rita Ora at the Global Teacher Prize concert in Dubai, Payne looks healthy and tanned, kissed by the sun even though his visit to the region was greeted by weather not dissimilar to today’s overcast conditions. “I think the weather’s just following me around at the minute,” he says with a laugh as abrupt as the first half of a hiccup. “There’s an air of something almost Vegas-y about Dubai,” adds Payne, “everything’s a little bit of a show there.”

Payne is no stranger to bit of a show. As well as having spent the better part of a decade touring the world with One Direction (the band is currently on a definitely indefinite hiatus) Payne helped break a concert attendance record in the Middle East last year by performing in front of 110,000 people. “I didn’t eat anything at dinner beforehand because I was thinking no-one’s going to turn up,” he admits.

To make Liam Payne nervous certainly takes some doing. Back in 2009—when ambitions of winning X-Factor as a solo performer were still very much at the forefront of his mind—Payne sang in front of over 29,000 fans as part of the pre-match entertainment of a game between his local football team Wolverhampton Wanderers and Manchester United. A pretty heady experience for a boy not yet old enough to drive a car.

Now 25, Payne knew from an early age that he could “hold a tune”. What it took him longer to realise was that others couldn’t. “I think I thought it was just a normal thing that people could get on with,” he says with a shrug. That may well have been the case when it came to his local theatre group, but when considering most of the “normal things”that people “get on with”, we’d hazard a guess that the majority don’t involve amassing over two billion streams on Spotify.

But that’s Liam Payne for you: unassuming, self-effacing, and—for the most part—a guy who seems just genuinely happy to be here. It’s easy to forget when deliberating the merits of Linkin Park’s nu-metal masterpiece ‘Meteora’ with Payne that his face was once plastered on the bedroom walls of millions of tweens the world over.

Payne’s achieved extraordinary success in the quarter of a century he’s exhausted so far. So much so that you’d expect the moment that sparked off his passion for music to be equally spectacular. A real spontaneous Kevin Bacon dancing-in-an-abandoned-warehouse sort of epiphany. The reality is that it wasn’t romantic or sexy in the slightest. It was karaoke. “I used to go out to Cornwall and see my grandad and we’d always go to this karaoke bar and we’d sing a load of different stuff,” says Payne.

What sort of “stuff” does a future pop-star sing in a karaoke bar in a small town on the west coast of the UK? Well, the same oeuvre that you or I are have probably crooned into a microphone at midnight at Lucky Voice: ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams.

While Payne isn’t ashamed to admit that he was listening to Williams pretty much 24/7 as a youngster (“No, I really was”), one of the first CDs he bought with his own money was an Eminem record. Growing up with both Robbie Williams and Marshall Mathers as his idols, he places his own sound as “somewhere in-between the two”.

A little bit Slim Shady and a little bit Rock DJ, that intersection of pop and rap is reflected in Payne’s solo career so far. His debut single, the catchy-as-the-plague earworm ‘Strip That Down’, featured Migos alum Quavo and went on to be certified platinum in both the US and the UK. The title track of his First Time EP also saw Payne join forces with rapper French Montana. Payne’s certainly not the first popstar to align themselves with a more urban sound in an attempt to appeal to an older demographic. Nor will he be the last. The transition from squeaky-clean boyband member to fullyfledged solo artist is, after all, anything but easy. To use a Take That comparison: for every one Robbie Williams, there are a hundred Mark Owens.

When it comes to One Direction, it’s still a bit too soon to tell who the Robbies and the Marks of the bunch are going to be. “When we did the band stuff it was very—not exactly scripted—but let’s just say you kind of knew your audience very well,” says Payne. “We’d usually sell a tour out before we’d even done an album. And then they [the record producers] would go: ‘Right, you’re doing stadiums’. And then you’d go: ‘Okay, so we need longer choruses—the kind of songs that people can chant in a stadium’. You had to kind of write around the tour.”

If that process sounds a bit paint-by-numbers, that’s because—by Payne’s own admission—it was. “It’s a very backwards way to do it,” he admits, “obviously people don’t really tend to write like that. But we just had no time, so it was like: ‘Quick! We need another hit and another and another!’ It was actually easier to write in that scenario because there were so many hoops you had to jump through. It wouldn’t necessarily be my choice of music now—it wasn’t something that I would listen to—but I just knew how to make it, if that makes sense?”

Going from such a canned bop formula to a world of complete creative freedom is a daunting prospect for anyone looking to make it as a solo act. But that was far from the only challenge Payne faced. Streaming services like Spotify and Apple Music have drastically altered the music industry since the phone-to-vote days that launched One Direction. “The way that the industry kind of works now is kind of a difficult one because of the way albums are and the introduction of Spotify,” says Payne. “When I was in the band, Spotify wasn’t really a thing for us, we didn’t really care. We used to sell a lot of albums and physical copies, so it was different for us. As I got more into the solo stuff it was a kind of, like, a bit f**king confusing.”

All you need to do is look at the chains that Payne draped around his neck during the releases of a series of sophomore singles to see a man adopting a kabuki mask that didn’t quite fit. A man who was, in his words, a bit f**king confused. “‘Strip That Down’ was amazing and I was really happy with the success of it—but it didn’t necessarily paint the right picture of me and who I actually am,” he says, “I always found, to start off with, that with a lot of the chains and the clothes and the fashion, I was kind of hiding behind something. We did a billion streams for ‘Strip That Down’ but it still all gets a bit heady and at a certain point you’re like: ‘what the f**k am I doing here?’ It’s a bit like being stuck out in deep water and you’re just going ‘well, it would be really nice to get back now.’”

Payne might still be far from the shore, but he seems to be treading water at a more comfortable pace nowadays. “It took me a long to get my head around it,” he says (...)

And where is Liam Payne now? Well, he’s sat in front of me looking comparatively anxiety-free: comfortable and relaxed in a plain black tee and pair of tailored HUGO trousers. “My style and my fashion sense are all quite laid back now because that’s kind of the way I am as well. I don’t feel the need to hide behind the clothes anymore. I feel I can finally be who I am and enjoy myself.”

The last few years have witnessed a real boy-to-man transition for the ex-boy band squaddie. A coming-of-age moment came when he arrived at Frank Sinatra’s house in Palm Springs to record his part of ‘For You’ with Rita Ora. A crooning, finger-snapping, rather embarrassingly-waist-coated rendition of ‘Fly Me to The Moon’ was what Payne sang to get through his first ever X-Factor audition. Walking into Old Blue Eyes’ home, for Payne, came with the realisation that he’d “made that complete full-circle journey”.

Suffice it to say there’s no turning around for Payne in that journey when it comes to the fame front; he’s well in the thickets of the tabloid jungle. Headlines about who’s “breaking silence on romance rumours” with the popstar are a daily occurrence in the British papers. So too are accompanying photographs of his face. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Payne has, after all, got a rather nice face. The latest use of which has seen it become the face of Hugo Boss’s latest HUGO menswear line.

“To be honest, they called me and it just seemed to make a lot of sense at the time. It was a direction that I knew I’d love to go down,” says Payne on how his partnership with the brand first came about. “It’s very rare that a big company like Hugo Bosscomes around asking for you to be the face of it. It’s a bit of a dream come true actually.”

Previous Hugo Boss ambassadors include the likes of Chris Hemsworth, Jamie Dornan and Gerard Butler. Handsome faces. Familiar faces. Faces that are now forever immortalised in the public conscience. A fact that Payne is all-too conscious of himself. “I was looking through the different people that they’ve had on their roster over the years and they’re all people that I look up to,” says Payne, “So, I’m obviously quite excited but it’s also a bit daunting because these things,” he spreads his arms in a gesture that aptly sums up the rigmarole of press junkets and interviews, “are literally around for forever now.”

Moving from location to location and outfit to outfit, it becomes evident that dressing to hide who he is, is no longer on Payne’s agenda. As he’s grown (both figuratively and literally) in the public eye, and Payne’s now come to accept the lane he’s in. “I’ve become more in tune with things now,” he says, “as the years go by, I think you gain a different level of confidence and find out what works for you and what doesn’t, rather than constantly trying to be something that you’re not. If that makes sense?” It does.

What makes less sense is why Payne decided to go with chains in the first place “It was quite funny at the time when everyone used to get really mad about it,” he says referencing outraged headlines like: Sleepy Liam Payne leaves a London studio wearing a HUGE gold chain. “It just didn’t really matter to me.”

What matters to Payne is when those stories affect the lives of those around him. One particular article published in the British newspaper, The Daily Mail, last year that attempted to insinuate he was romantically linked with a member of his team irked Payne so much that the usually apolitical Twitterer took to social media to criticising the newspaper.

“The difference with that story was that the people that they were putting me with have families, boyfriends, girlfriends,” explains Payne, “I go home every night and know that people write horses**t about me daily. I won’t worry about it because I know it’s f**king bulls**t. But for someone who’s never had a story written about them before? If they go home and their partner’s reading the paper going like: ‘what the f**k is this?’ It’s difficult for them to be able to explain that.” Payne’s voice ratchets up a few decibels when he says this. He uses more than a few words we’re not legally allowed to print. I can tell that he cares about this. That it needles him. That it’s not something he has to say, but rather something that he needs to say. So, I let him.“I asked for this, I get paid very handsomely to be here and it’s part of my life and I get it. It’s alright. You can write what the f**k you want about me but when it comes to other people who work with me? That is not on.”

The only way for Payne to cut through that noise is by doing the thing he knows best: making music. “Everything I do is very, very public a lot of the time. I get reported on a lot for different things. I just think there’s a certain line where I have to have my say. And that there’s only one way for me to do that—which is through my music.”

(...)

Communicating as a public figure becomes increasingly difficult when navigating the glut of information that exists online. Do a quick Google search for ‘Liam Payne’ and you’ll be greeted by countless fan sites with a never-ending litany of “facts” about the man. Facts like:

“Liam Payne prefers showers over baths” “Liam Payne sleeps naked” “Liam Payne has a phobia of spoons”

While Payne is quick to assure me that most of what you’ll read online is straight B.S., one fact did keep cropping up again and again. And I mean, c’mon, I couldn’t not ask him about the spoons, could I?

“Yeah, I did have a fear of spoons,” he groans with the weariness of a man who’s been pelted with countless pieces of cutlery, “but it wasn’t so much a fear as something that’s now turned into a thing because of the internet. I was forced in detention once to wash up dirty plates and spoons and I think it just put me off looking at how dirty some of these spoons came back. But people used to throw spoons at me in concerts! I should have said I had a fear of pillows—that would have been comfier.”

All things considered, a fear of spoons is a fairly harmless rumour to spread. But rumours rarely ever are. Most are vicious; spreading like wildfire and burning all of those they touch. “I’ve been dead,” says Payne abruptly. “People I love have been dead.”

The non-stop 24-hour nature of the news cycles can be overwhelming to read, let alone to be involved in via the announcement of your own death. “You have to learn fast and we [One Direction] had to grow up pretty quick in the circumstances that we were under or else you kind of f**k it a little bit,” he says. If you’ve ever seen clips of The Beatles or BTS getting mobbed on the streets, you know the kind of hysteria that can ensue when boyband members are seen out in public.

“I don’t think I struggle in the sense of what you would naturally think of when I’m walking down the street with every person stopping me,” says Payne, “I mean, it happens sometimes but it’s mainly mentally where you struggle with it. It’s the getting ready and always knowing that you might be photographed.” From elaborate airport fits to the loungewear he puts on to pick up a pint of semiskimmed milk from the shop down the road, there’s never a moment where Payne and his clothing aren’t in danger of becoming front page news.

One of the ways that Payne combats that simmering anxiety is by going for a run at 5am every morning. It’s probably why he’s been able to maintain his sanity so far. And probably why he’s in—as evidenced by his numerous topless Instagram photos—such great nick.

“I love it. I get myself outside and into the day and get past that fear of ‘what if this happens?’ or ‘what if that happens?’. Because, for a long time, I became—what’s the word?” says Payne, gesticulating wildly as if he’ll catch the phrase careening around his head like a runaway wasp, “there’s a word for this condition where you stay inside and never leave, it’s in Ocean’s Twelve…”

I saw Ocean’s Twelve last week. The word he’s looking for is agoraphobia.

“Yeah, that’s it. I developed a bit of agoraphobia. I would never leave the house. And I do sometimes suffer with it a bit in the sense that I’ll get days where I just don’t want to leave my house. Even if it’s just going to the shop. I’d be going i to order a coffee at Starbucks and I would sweat because I wouldn’t know whether I was doing the right thing or not. I would be thinking: ‘f**k, I don’t want to be here’.”

I worry for a moment whether Payne is feeling that same feeling today but decide instead to take likely misplaced solace that my innate knowledge of the Ocean’s film franchise has won him over.  “I even used to have a really bad problem with going to petrol stations and paying for petrol. I can feel it now—it was like this horrible anxiety where I’d be sweating buckets in the car thinking ‘I don’t want to do this’.”

Many people suffer from moments of panic and instances where we feel crushed by the weight of  the world’s expectations and Payne is all-too aware that his specific anxieties stem from a position of privilege. “Unfortunately, it does happen to everybody in this industry,” he says, “I think at a certain point you just have to get over it as quickly as you can.”

There we are once again: back to doing things quickly. Back to being on fast-forward. Back to doing countless interviews in specifically allotted time slots. Back to that constant pressure where “everything happens a little bit quicker in my world than it does in everyone else’s”.

Everything might be happening a hell of a lot quicker for Liam Payne than me, but I’m still interested to know: what’s next for the man? What does he want to achieve in the not-yet fast-forwarded future? “I’m hoping for something a lot more than what I’ve done so far, if that makes sense?” Having listened to Payne’s solo discography in preparation for this interview, it really does.

Sure, Payne’s produced a spate of bonafide bangers—songs that will have you singing along as you whip down Emirates Road—but they’re also songs that are, for the most part, still formulaic. They’re catchy, glossily well-produced, yet contain something of an air of inauthenticity about them.

And, having met Payne, I can’t help but feel they seem at odds with his unabashedly authentic self. As he tells me: “People can see right through that s**t and it’s difficult for you to then go and say ‘buy this record!’ if you don’t really believe in what’s going on.”

So, what does a man who’s (sort of) afraid of spoons actually believe in? Moreover, what does a man who eats ice cream with a fork want to be remembered as having believed in? “I’m obviously really happy with some of the stuff I’ve done. Like breaking world records with the band and all sorts of amazing stuff. But in the recent years, it’s been a bit topsy-turvy with me kind of finding my way. And I’d rather not be remembered for a lot of those things. I want to make a really amazing album that’s not, like,” and he air-quotes here, “important, but something that people really get into. Something that makes certain people feel a couple things. I think that would be the best thing for me. I just want to make people move, if that makes sense?”

In case you haven’t already noticed, that question (‘if that makes sense?”) is practically punctuation to Payne. It’s a caveat that ends many of his statements; an interrogation of his own beliefs and a moment where his PR armour reveals its chinks and offers a glimpse of the man beneath the surface. A man that is equal parts cocksure and uncertain—a man who’s very rarely both and almost never neither.

While he might be living on fast-forward—and shows no signs of slowing anytime soon—Liam Payne, for the moment at least, might just be in the midst of the most interesting time of his life. His legacy is currently being written, awaiting the day we’ll eventually look back with a clearer idea of whether he’s a Robbie Williams or a Mark Owen. As for me, I’m just hoping that the next evolution of Liam Payne’s career is a lot more Liam Payne than the last. If that makes sense?

[queenarticlearchive]

Sophisticratic rock - Genevieve Hall gets a dressing down from Queen

Record Mirror

March 30, 1974

Genevieve Hall

Fire and brimstone, the gnashing of teeth and all of hell’s fury, is nothing compared to the anger and wrath of Queen.

It was the first journalist they’d encountered after having had their new album Queen II slagged off unmercifully in most of the music papers. Plus the fact that one particular journal had analytically delved into the depths of hype using Queen and Merlin as their prime examples.

So was it any wonder that all their embittered feelings of outrage, hurt, anger and frustration poured out like hot lava from an erupted volcano?

Lead guitarist Brian May picked up the paper and waves it under my nose. “This article is the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever read in my life”, he declares vindictively.

“Look, there are people going to read this article - some of them won’t have heard of Merlin and some of them won’t know us. The headline screams out commercial pop. They’ve printed a very old picture of us, which we hate, looking extremely poppy, and underneath it is the word HYPE. The whole article says in a suggestive way that Queen are a hype.”

Hype

“To be honest it looks to us like a put-up job. They say we’re a put-up job. I say that’s a put-up job, and the reasons are that this paper completely ignored us all the time we were going around on the road building up a following. We draw about a minimum of a thousand people a night for the last God knows how many months and they all know where we’re at.

“This paper completely ignored us and so now that we’ve got to the position where our records are taking off and we’re in the public eye. Now we’ve got to that position without the help of the music papers, they can’t really admit that we’re good, they have to suggest we’re a hype or something.”

Is that how you really see it? I asked.

“That’s exactly how we think it is,” joined in their drummer Roger Taylor. “Supported by the fact that they’ve compared us to a totally new band who we’ve never even heard of. We don’t want to say anything against them, but, apparently they’re just a straight pop band. Whereas we’ve been playing and working up to this for years. Christ, I’m 24, Brian’s 25, Freddie is 27, John’s a bit younger 23. Plus the fact that we’re all intelligent enough not to want to be put across in that way. We want to put out music first.”

Is it coming first? I asked, we appear to be getting a giant-sized image with the music running a close second.

“That’s only ‘cos we want to put our music across in the most striking and entertaining way. We want to make an impact. Surely that’s what it’s all about - entertaining.

“And that’s another thing,” he continues, “They’ve given the impression that someone’s said to us, ‘here’s a load of money boys, go down to Carnaby Street and get yourselves some clothes.

“Freddie and I used to sell old clothes. In fact Freddie used to design and MAKE our stage costumes. We’ve always taken care to make sure that our clothes are just right and look good. Perhaps they’d prefer it if we went on in dirty jeans, but we don’t really think the public want to look at that. I think they’d rather see something that looks good.”

Their lead vocalist Freddie Mercury (the aristocratic one) reads aloud with indignation the parody of a hype lead singer, and comes to a part where it says that hype bands employ writers to pen their instant hit singles.

“Now how the hell do they think we fall into that category? They haven’t done any homework. They’ve even called John our bassist our drummer. They haven’t even bothered to find out what we’re really about.

“Everyone seems to object if you’re playing what you think is serious and the kids buy it, they can’t understand it.

“Well we’ve definitely had no Chinn and Chapman behind us,” Roger bursts out, “every song we’ve do is planned by us, including our album sleeves” (note the famous Queen crest designed by Freddie).

Uncontrolled

“We even have control on which tracks we want released. In fact out of all the bands, I think we’re the most uncontrolled.”

“Exactly,” says Freddie, “That’s why this article is a complete farce and nowhere near the truth.”

OK - so how come they’re able to obtain this uncontrolled freedom? It was Brian who answered. “Because the record companies desperately wanted us in the beginning. I know it sounds like blowing our own trumpet, but it’s true. We made demo tapes and everyone thought they were good and wanted us. They realised they were in competition with each other. So in the end we were able to settle for a deal which enabled us to dictate a bit.”

You can’t deny that you’ve been getting preferential treatment over a lot of equally good bands, I said glancing around at their specially provided de-luxe van, which had been given to them at the beginning of their British tour.

“Ah wait a minute,” says Roger. “It wasn’t until our record company realised we were succeeding before they started giving us the big treatment. At first EMI printed 5,000 copies of our first album and much to their surprise they had to reprint that number five times over. So naturally when we made our second album, they felt justified in a lot of work behind it. Which is really why there’s been enough copies in the shops to put it into the charts in the first week.”

“Yes, but any record company if they’ve got any sense is going to do that,” says Freddie, “it looks like we’re getting knocked for having the right people around us doing their jobs properly.”

Is that a large part of their success - having the right people doing the right job?

“No”, answered Roger, “that comes after. Our success is due to us being a bloody good band and also having common sense - ‘cos there a lot of bloody good bands around - to get things managed properly. But even so we wouldn’t have had the support of the people if they hadn’t believed in us in the first place.”

And now over to Freddie. “People think that if there’s a lot of money put behind a band and they seem to make it quicker than usual, then they’re a hype. But we’ve geared ourselves to jump a few hurdles and have benefited by doing so.” He glances down at his picture.

“Oh really,” he exclaims in disgust, “this paper has no flair - I mean to print this picture three times in succession … and just look at my arms!” He was horrified, “look at how fat they appear, now my arms aren’t like that at all - what do you think?”

He rolls up his sleeves for me to inspect and I’d like to state here and now that the poor dear’s arms are quite, quite slender!

Ripped-off

Phew! If after all that you think that the lads are hypersensitive to criticism and feel animosity towards their critics, then let Roger put you straight.

“No, we don’t hold grudges - we just go round and wrench people’s arms and legs off. Or send them bags of wet cement, nothing too violent!”

By this time John Deacon (who reminded me of the Alice’s doormouse) had woken from his slumbers (too many late nights and early mornings), he was reasonably cheerful for someone who had had his clothes ripped off the day before.

“By the law of averages,” he was saying, “it’s someone else’s turn to be ripped off today.”

You talk to him about the success of their Queen II album and he says, “It’s all our Mums and hype.” He’s a lot quieter than the other three, but can’t help warming to him as he’s completely unpretentious.

Freddie is a pretty dynamic character, he has an air of confidence which can sometimes be mistaken for arrogance. He has hair the colour of midnight, luminous brown eyes which he makes look evil with skillful use of make-up. He speaks ever so nicely (don’t you dear?) with the superfluous use of his hands, and commands attention rather than demands it.

Brian’s the tallest one and has a shock of dark curls which bring out the green flecks in his lucent grey eyes. He’s the thoughtful considerate one, and it’s a joy listening to him arguing with Roger.

And Roger - well he’s the pretty one with a sense of fun. He doesn’t look capable of busting a gut over a set of drums, but once he gets that adrenaline moving - the guy goes berserk.

Sucker

Music wise, Queen are a heavy electric rock band - but not raucous. There’s a fair amount of melodic structure incorporated in their material, which contains complex harmonies and could quite easily become messy was it not skillfully honed to precision. They’re exciting to listen to and watch, and have the good sense to capture rather than rupture the senses. The only word which describes their musical finesse is SOPHISTICATION.

After their British tour which climaxes at the Rainbow Theatre, Queen will take their ‘sophisticratic’ rock for a two-month stateside tour. Their opening night will be in Denver, Colorado, where they appear on the same bill as Mott the Hoople. I don’t know about the rest of you - but I’ve always been a right sucker for royalty.

[natromanxoff]

Most of you probably know about the alleged tape incident of Roger’s. After constantly getting pissed off because of him getting called as “dumbass”, seeing people trying to find and watch the video (let’s be honest that is actually a little impertinent); now I am able to acknowledge better how someone out there made up some incorrect version about this, maybe even totally fake, story and the misinformation had spread around. It’s actually getting even worse when the incident in question might not have happened at all.

Last month, I have come across and received the scan of another article which had headlines about this matter. And guess what? While I was only expecting to read pure nonsense again, there was more about it - I realized that it doesn’t tell about it as Roger giving the wrong tape and it’s totally different. The Sun said “it’s stolen" too but everybody around has been saying “he gave it”. Before I start, I’d like to point out some important points: 

1. Be aware that this is, even though it has reached out to tabloids, a private issue. Whether the story is wrong or right, this is a story about a private stuff of them. Above all, Roger is already a private person himself about his personal life. Please be respectful at that if you ever say something about it.

2. You all use this story to mock him in some ways which I don’t really appreciate – it’s kind of like IILWMC –, don’t do it. I am not writing this down for you to change the context and make more jokes. My sole purpose is trying to stop this ‘gave the wrong tape’ accusation because I don’t see any source or proof regarding that. Send me if there’s any but I don’t think there is.

3. Always remember that these are only tabloid stuff. Most of the time, they are not credible or creditable at all. Those are the same papers which wrote all the horrible things when Freddie passed away. It’s hard to trust anything that those unreliable papers wrote about. But, at least, we’ll be able to see the origin of some details. Basically, keep in mind that this whole thing might not have happened at all but it also mentions nothing about him making a mistake - that part doesn’t appear anywhere on the internet actually, except on the words of fans’.

4. Let’s just not delve into this subject much more than necessary but only read the paper to see what it says. As I said, this post is written only for information.

We all know about The Sun article (May 4th, 1991). The one I mentioned now is from Sunday Mirror (SM) (May 5th, 1991). There is a couple of interesting points when you compare these two; that person asked for £10,000 from the first one anonymously and £5,000 from the second one by arranging a meeting; The Sun says they let the police know about it and some progress have already been made, SM says they gave the files to detectives the previous night; The Sun is somehow able to tell that the video was recorded in the previous year but also tells that it’s not known how the copy was made, meanwhile SM describes it with details. They make me nothing but more suspicious, like they are in contradict and something feels off. Did he request two different amounts of money from two different newspaper company by having only one copy to see which one will accept? Or were there more than one copy? If there were more than one, it makes me think that people would have found it by now. I am not going to question these anymore though, I don’t want to do that and it’s not my aim at all, because the main point I’d like to talk about and correct is how the tape has reached out to Douglas Lane, the person who tried to sell it,: by the man who was hired to do some work at Roger’s home when he was away. He thought the tape he saw on the shelf is a video from The Miracle album and took it home to watch so he basically ‘stole’ it because he ended up making a copy and giving it to Lean.

Lean claimed the tape had been “borrowed” and copied by a 47-old-friend.

The man had been hired to do building work at Taylor’s £700,000 second home in Kensington, West London, while the star was away.

He took the tape from a shelf thinking it was a video from Queen’s Miracle album.

Lean said: “He is a Queen fan so he thought he would take it home and have a look at it.”

And Douglas, who earns money in an unsatisfying amount, thought that he would get more by selling it.

“He had the sense to copy it and put the original back, but he didn’t do anything with the copy.

“He knew I was involved in music and told me about it.”

Lean, who drives a concrete mixer by day and earns £20 a night playing guitar in pubs, said: “I immediately thought I could make myself a packet out of it.

“It was my idea to sell it.”

Sunday Mirror writes that Lean said Roger edited the tape so that after those “sessions”, you see Breakthru video and he labelled the tape “Breakthru promo”.

“Taylor has no idea the video has been copied,” said Lean.

He said the tape was labelled “Breakthrough Promo” — the name of the band’s single from the Miracle album.”

I mean, really? I honestly don’t have any idea why he would do that. Why would he add a private video on a same tape with one of Queen videos? Why would he bother? If he did, why does he label it with that? Why does that worker get so curious about a video from 2 years ago? Maybe he didn’t have chance to see it in those two years, that could be the only answer. But why does he bring it to his home rather than watching it in Roger’s home? Surely, he wouldn’t see any problem at that as he’s fine with taking something that doesn’t belong to him. It’s purely a chance that he came across with something unexpected which will make him want to copy it at his home.

And after everything, this is apparently what Lean says:

But he insisted: The video was not stolen. It was just borrowed and copied.”

I can say a lot of words right now but I won’t… If all these things are really true, that is not an excuse of taking someone’s private stuff to copy without their consent, not ethical at all as he aimed to sell it and make it public. Ergo it was indeed stolen.

So, see? There is no “mixing the tapes and giving the wrong tape to a fan”. I assume this article must be the first place where that wrong version came from. And if it is telling the truth, there seems to be no mistake he has done here because his private stuff has been taken from his property unbeknownst to him. Briefly, we don’t know for sure if they had a tape and if it has really reached out to someone but if it did, then I believe this is high likely how it would happen.

It’s worth to mention that there is another theory regarding these news, that it’s been arranged to take media’s attention off Freddie. I can’t tell which one is true or if both them are wrong and nothing even happened, of course. It’s up to you, choosing whatever you’re going to believe in. But know that I can’t see any creditable source about him giving the wrong tape - so I wouldn’t suggest believing in that or keeping talking about it - and there might be more about this that we don’t / won’t know about so it’s only haste to make a judgement based on these. 

Last note about something regarding him in general: Please, don’t take the different versions of this story and comments about them into account when you form your opinion about him because only those things don’t define him. Or the other way around, “if it’s Roger, it’s probably true - he would do it” attitude is not really fair when we consider that it’s actually you who chose to perceive him in that way by getting influenced whether by the movie or some ‘facts’ around - they do not reflect some aspects of him in the right way. Always try to find an original source. It is not always only him who would have his fun in those various ways, it is possible for any other rock star. All of them did some stuff - sometimes some really bad stuff - but it is not only Roger (I don’t mean the stated story here though, I honestly can’t see anything bad there). So him being the one who is involved in this story doesn’t prove or provide any authenticity. If everyone complies with that while critizing him or not approving something about him, it is always acceptable and welcomed, in my opinion. And that is valid about everyone, of course.

[thewritewolf]

Eating Habits Chapter 16: On the Rise

With the fashion show out of the way, our heroes finally get a chance to unwind. At least for a moment.

Happy New Year, everyone! :D

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9��10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

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Letting out a long groan as her muscles relaxed in the sudsy hot water, Marinette tried to think of the last time she had gotten to take a bubble bath. It had to have been before she left the bakery since her tiny apartment didn’t have a tub big enough to relax in and she hadn’t used the one in this apartment until today.

Not for the first time, she wondered what her past self was thinking by settling for that terrible place.

She took a deep breath and settled back against the scented wet towel she’d placed along the edge of the tub. It didn’t matter, she supposed. Now that she was out of that place, she didn’t have to worry about it again. Today, especially, she was planning on not worrying about anything at all.

The music faded peacefully from one song to the next. The playlist had been a gift from Nino for her birthday - four hours of masterfully crafted instrumental music, each blending seamlessly into each other. No wonder he was doing so well working with Jagged Stone; Nino really understood music in a way most people could only hope.

Closing her eyes, she took another deep breath to help herself get lost in the sound, but ended up smiling at the scent of lavender in the air. The candles stirred up memories from the previous week - Alya taking her out for a day of shopping to help get her mind off of the fashion show. Their stop at the candle shop and how they’d accidentally ended up wasting an hour there. Alya had teased Marinette when she got the lavender candles, despite her protests about how it was a relaxing scent.

After all, lavender was also the favorite scent of Adrien, who wore it so frequently that just catching a whiff of it had been enough to bring a smile to her face since she was fourteen. Even now, the scent had her grinning to herself. Remembering Adrien reminded her of something else. She peaked open an eye to check the door - the comfy set of pajamas Adrien had gotten her months ago while he was in Milan were hanging on the knob, ready for her to change into them the moment she was finished with her bubble bath. She let out a sigh of comfort. Sure, it wouldn’t be that bad if she had to go and find it, given there wouldn’t be anyone else in the apartment, but that’s hardly how she wanted this to end.

Tikki phased through the wall, yawning. “Good morning, Marinette! How’s your bath going?”

Marinette curled her toes as she stretched under the water. “I haven’t felt this relaxed since Christmas, so I’d say pretty good. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering about that internship.”

“What about it?”

“Just… in general. What does it mean? How long is it?”

“Well,” Marinette said, rising a little to make it easier to talk. “If it is like other internships, then it’ll be a lot of busy work and helping their main designers. I won’t be doing a lot creatively for them, but I can still learn a lot, and meet some people in the industry.” A sly smile graced her face. “And get paid, of course.”

“That’s good,” Tikki said, perking up. “How long will it be? Is it going to interfere with your studies?”

“No, it’ll just be for the summer. At least, that’s what the letter said. It also said they might extend it. They’ll be sure to keep my classes in mind, but I’d definitely have to cut back on the university clubs and stuff.”

Tikki frowned. “That’s too bad.” She landed on the side of the tub, tentatively sticking her feet into the hot water. “At least you had fun while you were in them, right?”

“Yeah… at least there was that.”

They sat and listened to the music in silence for a few minutes before Tikki spoke up again. “When does it start?”

“Really soon, actually. Next week is orientation, then I get assigned to a designer and I get right into work.”

“Wow! That really is fast! I wonder what they would have done if you turned them down?”

Marinette shrugged. “A big name like that? Either they don’t expect anyone to turn them down or they can easily find someone who won’t, no matter how short notice they give.”

The conversation drifted along, Marinette slowly being drawn out of her pleasant stupor until she was ready to get out of the bath and start the day. A day which would mostly be consisting of watching her favorite shows until Adrien showed up… at which point she would start watching her favorite shows while cuddled up against him.

Marinette smiled. It was good to have a plan.

------------------------

“It’s just… this is absolutely huge and I’m so happy for her, you know?” Adrien stopped pacing as his tail continued to flick back and forth behind him. He looked back at Carapace, who was leaning against the brick wall with his arms crossed, a patient smile on his face. “But at the same time, it feels like I’m standing on sand. Its like everything is changing and I think for the better, but…”

Carapace cut him off with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I get what you mean. We went through something similar when we both got the jobs we have now.” He shook his head. “It was all so rough to start off, but we got into the swing of things. Now we’re feeling better than ever.” He put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “My dude, I know it’s scary right now, but it’s gonna be great. Just wait and see.”

“Thanks.” Adrien smiled, a little nervously. “And yeah, I know, I know. I’m excited, but… nervous too. She does tend to throw herself into things. Maybe this time-”

“-This time she’ll have you right by her side,” Carapace finished. “Just be there for her and you’ll both be fine.”

“Right.” Adrien sighed contently and sat down to look up at the full moon. “The future is looking pretty bright, huh?”

“Well, to start with, that’s the moon not the future.” Carapace snickered as Adrien smacked him on the shoulder. “...But yeah. You’re not wrong.” There was a long pause as they stared up at the inky blackness of the sky. The stars were drowned out by the light of the city below, making the moon look lonely as it shone above them. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately.”

“Is this the prelude to you proposing to me? ‘Cause I’m flattered, but I’ve already got a girlfriend, so I’ll have to pass.”

“Well, you aren’t totally wrong…”

Adrien blinked at his best friend in surprise. Then his mouth fell open. “No way…” His eyes lit up and he turned to face Carapace. “Did you already get the ring? Where are you planning to do it?” He gasped. “We’ll need a band - and roses! I’ll-”

Carapace held his arms up in an x shape. “Woah woah, dude. As of right now, I’ve got no ring, no plan. It’s just been something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.” He settled back against the wall, head tilted up at the sky as he closed his eyes, a smile at his lips. “It’s just… I love this girl, man. I can’t imagine ever wanting to be without her. It’s not time just yet, but… not a lot longer. Soon.”

Adrien deflated a little. “How long is soon?”

“I dunno,” Carapace said with a shrug, still not opening his eyes. “A month? A year? Maybe a little more. I don’t want to rush this, and I’m more than happy to wait for just the right time.”

Considering this, Adrien leaned back against the wall and frowned. A few minutes of silence passed between them.

“So… is that a no on the band then…?”

Carapace snorted, which quickly turned into a laugh. A laugh which proved contagious as soon enough, Adrien was laughing along with him.

----------------------

A few days later and they were visiting their parents. They tried to have dinner with them once a week if they could manage it. It usually gave them the opportunity to catch up and swap stories and just recharge after doing their own thing. And it would only get harder to do once the internship started or when Adrien would start picking up more photoshoots during the summer fashion season.

At the moment, Adrien and Marinette were in the kitchen with Tom, helping to make dinner. They were just putting the finishing touches on it when Adrien heard Sabine call from the living room.

“Tom? Kids?” Immediately, her voice put him on edge. There was an undercurrent of worry to it. Given how calm and collected Sabine usually was, it had to be something big to affect her. “Can you come in here? There is something on the television I think you should see.”

Adrien exchanged a look with the others. From the looks on their faces, he could only assume that they had reached the same conclusion as him. They hustled out of the room and entered the living room just as Sabine was turning up the volume.

There on the screen was Adrien’s face looking right back at him, with the headline, “Last Scion of Disgraced Agrestes paired with Rising Star of Fashion Industry.”

It felt as if a pit had opened up to swallow Adrien, that the very ground beneath his feet had betrayed him. All at once he was reminded of the days, the weeks, the months that he had spent hounded by opportunistic journalists without a shred of dignity. His every waking - and often even sleeping - moment stalked, all in the hopes of selling a few more papers.

He still had nightmares about that. But now it looked like that nightmare hadn’t ended. Not really. It reminded him that maybe it would never end. That he’d forever be haunted by the sins of his family.

All that passed through his head in the span of a few moments, a downward spiral like a rocket crashing from orbit. It drove him to his knees, gripping fistfuls of his hair as tears ran down his face, muttering to himself in a quiet droning:

“Nononononono…”

[marvelmando]

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - nine

notes: posting is my way of procrastinating doing my anthro homework. on a completely different note, i dyed my hair purple. ...it’s been an eventful couple of days, to say the least.

contains: swearing, canon-typical violence

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 3.6k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

MARIN WOKE UP THE NEXT AFTERNOON DETERMINED TO FIND A SOLUTION TO HER PROBLEM.

The first thing she did was chug down two full glasses of water. Then, feeling much more energized, she left to go to the kitchen. If she was going to do some detective work, she was going to need a lot of brain food.

After snacking, she made her way to an unoccupied computer. She wasn't entirely sure what she planned on finding, but she figured research was the best first step.

Distantly, she recalled the buzz surrounding Midtown's homecoming, and that it was supposed to be that night. She pulled up the school's website, scouring any information on Peter or Spider-Man. Most of the results were about the incident at D.C., which was no help to her. Peter was only mentioned once or twice, but only for things like the band or Decathlon team, and those articles were dated for the previous year.

Exiting out of that website, she tapped lightly against the desk out of habit, trying to think of what to search. After searching up the Vulture, the only articles she found were recounts of the ferry incident, or about the actual bird. None of them revealed anything Marin didn't already know.

Frustrated, she searched up Tony Stark and sorted the page from most recent to last. After scrolling for a minute through headlines discussing everything from Iron Man to his relationship with Pepper Potts, one article caught her eye.

STARK TOWER RELOCATING? OR IS IRON MAN GOING BROKE AFTER SIGNING SOKOVIA ACCORDS?

Marin clicked on it, skimming through. They were relocating the Avenger's tower? With a quick search on Tony's old bodyguard, Marin found Happy Hogan's cellphone number. She jotted it down on a nearby piece of paper and ran to the landline.

She dialed in the number and waited for Happy to pick up.

"Hello?" A gruff voice said on the fourth ring.

"Hi, um, is this Happy Hogan?" Marin chewed on her lip.

"Yes, who's this?" He sounded cross. "And how'd you get my number?"

"Um, Google, sir." She answered. "And I'm... my name's M—Liz, I'm Peter's girlfriend? I know he works for Mr. Stark, and I was calling to check up on him." Marin nearly used her name but realized that Tony had probably told Happy about the crazy mutant that corrupted his protégé.

"Shouldn't he be at school?"

"Yes, and I checked his apartment, and he's not there, so the Tower was the first place I thought to call, since he's always at the internship, anyway."

"Well, actually," Happy's voice pulled away, mumbling something that Marin couldn't distinguish. "Peter lost the internship. Aren't you supposed to know that? As his girlfriend?"

"He... didn't tell me?" Marin winced, both at the terrible lie she'd got caught in and the realization that Peter lost the internship. Of course, she thought, he would lose it too, along with his suit. It only made sense, and Marin cursed herself for not thinking of it before. "But he still might be there, and I'm worried. Are you guys busy? Would you mind if I stopped by to take a quick look?"

"Sorry, kid, moving day's today, and we can't have any more teenagers running around with all this dangerous stuff out."

"Moving? Moving where? And what stuff?"

"Upstate—does Peter tell you anything? And what we're moving is classified, I'm afraid."

Marin laughed. She didn't expect Happy to let her, but she was getting all the information she needed. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway."

"No problem, kid. Hope he turns up." Happy said. "Hey, be careful with that! That suit costs more than you and I combined!"

Marin heard him say the last part before he hung up. Slumping into a nearby chair, Marin grabbed the paper and jotted down everything she knew.

After a minute of staring down at her notes, her eyes went wide. "Oh, shit." She muttered to herself, grabbing the paper and running off to find Lucy.

+++

"So... you think he's gonna steal from Stark?"

"Think about it—remember how I said that the Vulture guy was more likely to keep dealing than stay low? This is the perfect opportunity for him, Lucy. All of this expensive, high-quality tech in one place, practically begging to be stolen by just the guy crazy enough to even attempt it. He did it before, in Maryland, and he's desperate. He's gonna make one final big move, and this is it."

"That... makes a lot of sense, to be honest." Lucy conceded with a grimace, and James looked ready to concur.

"I know." Marin panted, running a nervous hand through her hair. "Now I just gotta warn—"

"Marin, Lucy, and James—see me in my office, now." Demanded Charles' voice. The three mutants exchanged a similar, panicked look.

"Nuts."

+++

Marin frantically watched the sunset through Charles' office window. Homecoming would be starting only a couple hours from then, which also meant that so was moving day.

"What the hell were you three thinking!" Logan hollered at them. "Stealing the jet in the middle of the night and taking off to god-knows-where—"

"Queens," Marin interjected.

"I don't care!" He snapped. "And you two!" He addressed Lucy and James. Lucy looked slightly bored, while James did have the decency to look ashamed. "I can see this one pulling a stupid stunt like this, but you two know better than to stoop to her level."

Marin frowned deeply. "Hey!" Logan glared at her, and she cowed back.

"You three were extremely reckless and irresponsible, not to mention putting yourselves at risk by traveling unaccompanied." Charles shook his head at them, his forehead creased with disappointment. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

"I was fixing a mistake that you made, Professor." Marin leveled a look at the man, whose eyes widened at her tones. She figured that if there was ever a time to take one final stand, it was now, and she might as well go all-out. That, and she was buzzing with adrenaline, making her braver than she really was. "My friend was told your lie about my past, and I had to go and explain to him why you were wrong about me killing my parents."

Marin took a deep breath. "You all might as well know that my father drowned my mother, and committed suicide by electrocution. Just so we're all being clear, here." Charles' face softened with sympathy. She found that it was much easier to say now that she'd already told Peter, even if the words burned her throat on the way out. "I went to Queens to tell Spider-Man my story and to right your wrongs, as well as right my own. Lucy and James were kind enough to join me, but they are not responsible for my decision in any way. I would've gone with or without them, but I'm grateful that they wanted to help me still." She sent them a quick smile.

"But my friends in Queens are in danger—those weapon dealers are planning a heist to infiltrate the transportation of extremely valuable and dangerous item to the new Avengers headquarters upstate." She explained, but Charles's frown returned.

"That is unfortunate, Marin, but it is not our responsibility to stop them."

"You're wrong, Professor." Marin crossed her arms. "It is my responsibility to help my friend, to help Spider-Man stop this guy from making dangerous weapons and selling them to people on the streets. I will not let him go alone, not when I know for certain that I can help." She stared him down, tilting her chin up defiantly. "No matter what you say, I will go help him. You'd have to knock me out and chain me up to stop me. And I can assure you, it won't be easy—or clean."

Charles stared at her wearily as he considered her claims. "All right."

Marin blinked. "All right?"

He nodded. "Yes, all right. I admit that I'm growing a bit fond of this steadfast side of yours—even if the delivery was slightly disrespectful."

Marin smiled sheepishly. "Sorry,"

"You may go help your friend, but it will be up to Lucy and James to decide whether or not they want to accompany you on your mission, and to what extent. You are apparently capable of piloting the jet by yourselves. If you must do this, Marin, that is fine, but I will not jeopardize the lives of any unwilling participants. This mission is yours and yours alone."

Marin sat up straighter. "I've got this in the bag, Charles."

+++

Marin, James, and Lucy were on the jet, speeding towards Queens when a call came through. A face popped up on the jet's screen, and Marin was relieved to see that it belonged to Ned.

"Marin!" He cried, looking exasperated. "Thank god you picked up, Happy hung up on me right away, and—"

"Ned, what's wrong?" Marin interrupted his rambling. Ned was wearing an earpiece, and his bowtie was undone, hanging around the collar of his blue dress shirt.

"It's the Vulture! He's—"

"—hijacking the Tower's transport, I figured it out!" Marin nodded.

"We know! And he's also Liz's dad!" Ned pressed, typing away frantically at a keyboard out of Marin's line of sight. Her eyes widened dramatically.

"What?!" Marin shrieked, causing James and Lucy to flick their gazes to her nervously.

"Yeah! Peter's going after him right now—stole Flash's car and everything!"

So much for keeping Peter's identity a secret. "Ned, that's great, but where is he?" Marin jostled on her feet as she clutched to the backs of Lucy and James' chairs for balance. "Send us the location, we're almost near Queens!"

"Toomes is at an old industrial building in Brooklyn—tenth and forty-third avenue." Ned informed them. "You'd better hurry, Peter got there a couple minutes ago."

Marin nodded, and James plugged in the new location. "We'll be there soon!" And with that, she terminated the call. Glancing at the map, Marin noted that they were just flying over Manhattan. "Get me in low—I'm gonna jump."

James nodded, beginning the sequence to open the jet's ramp.

"Where do you want us to meet?" Lucy asked, maneuvering the yoke so that the jet was skimming the water of the East River. Marin summoned her energy, the jet bathed in a blue glow.

"I'll call for you," She steadied her feet, preparing to jump. "I can take it from here. Thanks for your help, guys."

Marin never thought she'd ever be able to jump out of a moving plane, but feeling the comfortable embrace of the blue energy support her, she soared confidently through the air.

She caught sight of the warehouse, and even from that distance, Marin could distinctly hear the crashes of metal on cement coming from inside the building.

She watched in horror as the front side of the warehouse collapsed, concrete chunks of the walls and roof raining down on top of Peter.

"No!" Marin cried, landing to the side of the warehouse roughly. The Vulture appeared from out of the alley on the other side, looking extremely pleased with himself. Then he looked in Marin's direction, and she darted to hide behind a large pile of debris before he could notice her presence. She would have plenty of opportunities to take him down later—but now, she had to get Peter to safety.

She didn't move until she heard the mechanical swooping of Toomes' wings fade into the distance. Moving around the rubble, Marin heard Peter's grunts and cries for help.

"Hello?!" He called out, desperate and in pain. "Hello!" Marin's heart cracked. "Please, hey! Hey, please, I'm down here—I'm down here! I'm stuck, I'm stuck—I can't move! I can't—!" He sobbed, breaking off with a series of heavily panting breaths.

For some reason, Marin couldn't move. She couldn't speak—her throat was contracting around her tongue, and her mouth refused to open. A memory flashed through her head, something that Peter had said the night before: I'm not Spider-Man without that suit. All I am is a stupid teenager who can climb walls and flip around. I'm no one if I'm not Spider-Man.

You're not no one—you're Peter Parker, she'd responded. Standing there, listening to Peter desperate calls for help, something clicked inside her.

Marin had wanted to be a hero since she was six and watched as her mother died, helpless, in the hands of her husband—Marin had wanted to be a superhero since she was twelve and watched a group of the bravest people she'd ever seen fight to save the world from an army of aliens. All she'd ever wanted was to save people when they couldn't save themselves.

And yet, she couldn't help Peter. But it was because she knew him, even after just two weeks, she knew the kid from Queens—the nerd, the hero, the selflessly kind boy who just didn't believe in himself. But she believed in him. She knew that he didn't need that suit to be Spider-Man, the superhero. She was beginning to realize that sometimes, you are the only person that can save yourself.

"Come on, Peter." He was chanting, bringing Marin out of her thoughts. "Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man!"

She watched in awe as the rubble shifted, and Peter's body emerged. He saved himself.

"Peter!" Her voice returned, and she sprinted to help him escape the concrete. Peter fell into her, leaning heavily against her. "Oh Peter," Marin supported his weight as best as she could while he fought to catch his breath. "You're okay... you're safe now."

His breathing wobbled, but he wasn't crying. He lifted himself from her arms and bent to retrieve the mask that was lying in a small puddle of water. Reaching to touch it, Marin drew out all of the water soaking in the fibers like she did the night he fell into the lake and pushed the mask back to him.

Peter looked like he was about to say something, but she saw something else had caught his eye. Looking above her head, Marin turned to follow his gaze.

It was Toomes, perched on top of a nearby billboard, watching the sky.

"C'mon," Peter pulled his mask back on, as Toomes prepared for takeoff. "You can still fly, right?"

Marin nodded, calling the energy forward. "I'll be right behind you."

Peter took off sprinting to catch Toomes before he launched. He vaulted onto the billboard, taking a running start and attaching a web to the Vulture's wings. In the distance, Marin noticed a large plane emerge from the Stark Tower, and once in the air, the panels changed to reflect the clouds above it. She recognized the technology as similar to the kind installed in the Institute's jet.

Marin didn't want the Vulture to spot her—which could have been easy, as even donned completely in jeans, a shirt, and jacket, she still glowed bright enough to catch someone's eye.

She kept far out of Toomes' possible peripherals, watching as Spider-Man flailed in the air behind him. The Vulture tilted and rocketed straight upwards, disappearing through a dense layer of clouds.

"Nuts," Marin muttered to herself, pushing her body faster.

A voice crackled to life in her ear. "Marin!" It was Lucy. "What's the update?"

"Spider-Man and Vulture are catching a flight, and I'm chasing after them."

"What?!"

"Bad guy's hijacking the Tower's camouflaged plane and we're going to stop him!" Marin huffed, growing impatient. Lucy said something, but Marin wasn't listening. She broke through the clouds and saw Toomes' wings sealing themselves to the bottom of the jet, Spider-Man clinging on behind him.

Now that she didn't have to worry about Toomes seeing her, she flew as fast as she could to catch up to Peter, who looked like he was struggling to stay stuck to the plane's exterior. He tried shooting a web forward, but the wind pushed it back. He lost his grip and momentarily went flying, but Marin pushed his body back onto the plane.

"Need a hand?" Marin shouted to Peter over the wind.

"I got it!" Hand moving over hand, Peter crawled his way to the wings.

Suddenly, Marin felt her head go fuzzy, her eyes blurring dangerously. The blue surrounding her faded ever so slightly, causing Marin to drop a few feet in the air.

"Marin!" Peter yelled to her, at the same time as a small drone popped out of the Vulture's wings. "You good?!"

"Yeah!" Marin shook her head, trying to snap out of the daze she was in. She found it incredible her powers had lasted this long already, but she felt herself beginning to lose control. They needed to stop the Vulture soon.

She heard Peter groan as he tried to pry the wings from the plane, and she floated over to help him. Changing tactics, Peter began kicking at the wings, until they finally jolted out of place. Over the rush of the wind, Marin heard a faint alarm sounding from inside the plane. Looking back, she saw Peter's hand braced on the plane's camera—the one that recorded the view of the exterior as a template for the cloaking technology.

"Peter!" Marin shouted, throwing a hand out to warn him. "The camera! He knows we're here!"

"What—" Suddenly, the wings fell out from underneath the plane, and Marin noticed the glowing green points that told her Toomes had attached himself to his wings again. Nuts.

Peter lost his footing, holding onto the plane with just his hands. Once he got his feet back on the metal, he crawled up the side of the plane. "Just a typical homecoming—ergh!—on the outside of an invisible jet—agh!—fighting my girlfriend's dad!"

Marin's eyes went wide. "'Girlfriend'?!"

"Duck!" Peter screamed, ignoring her protest. Marin dropped in the air just in time for the Vulture to soar right above her, the tip of his wing scraping alongside the panels of the jet where Peter's head used to be a second ago.

As he tried to fly away, Peter attached a web to Toomes, and then one to the plane, stopping him in midair. Then, both webs snapped and Peter flew right toward the engine.

"Peter!" Marin hurried to catch him as he shot web fluid into the turbine and keeping the motor from chewing him up.

"I can't believe that worked!" He cried hysterically, but the propeller dislodged from the shell, sending Peter flying back with it.

Moving instinctively, Marin reached out with her hands, and grabbed the propeller with a blanket of energy, suspending it in the air beside the wing.

"Whoa!" Peter exclaimed. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"Neither did I!" Marin's shout trembled from the exertion, her arms wobbling as she tried desperately to keep the engine in her grasp. Once Peter had climbed onto the wing, Marin released the energy trapping the propeller. They moved together to the top of the plane.

Glancing back, Marin saw the Vulture flying straight at them. "Behind you!"

They dropped to the plane, narrowly avoiding him. But Peter rolled, near the remaining engine that was now caught on fire.

Marin moved toward Peter, only to be clipped on the arm by Vulture's metal talons. She shrieked in pain, losing her grip on her energy. She briefly flew back but was caught by Peter's web on her good arm.

The Vulture jumped his was to Peter, his wings surrounding him like an impending omen of death. Marin got a hold of her powers again, lashing out at the Vulture with a bright blue burst of energy. He easily dodged it, attacking the web that held Spider-Man to the plane. Peter flew back, but Marin caught him.

Toomes seemed to realize that they were too stubborn to let him win and instead abandoned them to hack at the top of the plane. "I'm not going home empty-handed!" She heard him holler.

Marin suddenly realized that the plane was dropping in altitude. "Oh, my god!" Peter cried out next to her, and following his gaze, Marin gasped. The plane had broken through the clouds, giving her a view of the city they were plummeting toward.

Peter shot a web at the right wing and Marin crouched onto the exterior, forming a sheet up energy underneath the belly of the plane. Spider-Man pulled up on the web as hard as he could, aiming the nose of the plane toward the Atlantic, and away from Staten Island. Marin screamed with the effort of keeping the jet as level as she could, and watched as they approached Coney Island.

Peter's web snapped, and Marin felt the energy drain from her. Unfortunately, this also meant that she lost her ability to fly, sending her slamming back into the side of one of the engines. "No!" Peter called, and grabbed her hand with a web from his left wrist, as he held onto the plane with his right.

The beach grew closer and closer, and the plane jerked as the right wing hit one of the rides and crashed into the sand. Marin and Peter screamed as they were tossed through the air, trying desperately to cling onto the plane.

With a mighty snap, Peter lost his grip on the wing as the web holding Marin broke, hurling them right into the sand, and they tumbled violently down the length of the beach.

The red and orange glow of fire was the last thing Marin saw before her vision went completely black.

taglist

@dark-night-sky-99​ @pushmeinablackhole​ @demi-starzak​ @-thatgirloverthere-​  @yourwonderbelle @silver-winter-wolf

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Q & A with Ghost's Tobias Forge

Depending on who you ask, Ghost has been on the hard rock scene since 2006, or for more than half a century, with occult roots stretching back even further. The current frontman, known as Cardinal Copia, is the fourth embodiment of the band to lead the charge at the front of the stage as well as vocally. The band itself has grown, also, with the ranks of the Nameless Ghouls – the masked, black-clad musicians playing and singing behind the Cardinal, has swelled to include new members, including the Ghoulettes, and has occasional appearances by the original band leader, Papa Nihil. No one is quite certain who any of these musicians are, or even if they're the same from show to show, but they put out incredible music and assemble to bring amazing live shows to the stage.

The answer to the questions surrounding the Swedish rockers may be hard to nail down, but the music they make is easy to find. Just in the past year, Ghost's fourth album, “Prequelle,” landed in the number 3 spot on Billboard, has spawned two number one singles, two Grammy nominations, and a live show that's only gotten bigger. Their online following includes over a million fans following them on Facebook, and over 200 million streams of this latest album.

Following last year's “A Pale Tour Named Death” run, primarily in theatres throughout the US, Ghost joined Metallica in the opening slot for that band's WorldWired European run, playing stadiums all across Europe. After captivating audiences across the pond over the last four months, Ghost is ready to invade the US and Canada once again, this time bringing their entire, full-scale production to arenas in every corner of the continent.

Last week, the creative force behind the band, Tobias Forge, took a few minutes out of his schedule to talk about the personas on stage, the new tour, and the future of Ghost.

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Mike Sorensen: I know in the past, you've talked about your influences, and anybody can see influences like KISS and Alice Cooper if they just look at the band. But with Ghost, you've taken the mythology side, and taken it to an entirely different level than any of those bands have that I've seen. Was that something that you've done consciously, or has that just felt like something natural as you've continued to build the band?

Tobias Forge: A little bit of both. I mean, it was always intended to be theatrical and have some sort of...I guess, in the beginning, you could call it some sort of vague narrative, because it was supposed to be more clandestine. And then as the public interest seemed to be a little bigger than I had anticipated, it ended up being a little more outlined than I had probably predicted ten years ago. So, you know, you continue working with it as it's grown. But you sort of build where you stand, as well. Fortunately, it sort of grows quite organically, and it sort of ties in. I guess the biggest steps of the narrative is just to be seen, which is kind of exciting, I think!

MS: I know you've been building the stories with the video shots, the rise of Cardinal Copia, or maybe the fall of Papa, depending on how you look at it. Have you, or are you, if you want to tell, considering something closer to a more traditional film? Maybe your “Ghost Meets the Phantom of the Park?”

TF: I hope that what we're doing is slightly better! But I guess in the context of a rock band trying to tell a story, you can't have too high of hopes of it being a blockbuster success! Hahaha! We're still a rock band, and it's there for fun. But yeah, the intention is to, in one way or form, tell that story, and if it becomes a film one day, potentially...but there is definitely other ways to tell the story, as well. And it might come out in paper form.

MS: That's a nice tease, and from a fan point of view, now I'm really excited to see where you're going to go with it!

TF: Good!

MS: Sticking for just one more moment with the mythology part of it, in past interviews, you've said that introducing the Cardinal, you've referred to him as an underdog character that some people may not like. Do you think that's proven to be the case, and do have –  it may be like picking a favorite child if you have more than one child – do you have a particular Papa that you've enjoyed more than the others?

TF: No, not really. That would be Cardinal in this case, actually. I think he's the most accomplished so far, also because I see the potential. This album cycle was always meant as a...a sort of a cleansing of the palette, in a way? The Cardinal was meant to be a little bit uphill, and he has been for me, as well, but I definitely see the potential of him, potentially rise to an exalted place where he gets all the attributes of the previous Papas. That is, IF he gets to be Papa!

MS: It's a fun journey, and I'm grateful that you're taking us all along for the ride!

TF: I'm very happy that you guys want to be on the ride!

MS: With the tour just kicking off, you've just wrapped up the stadium run in Europe with Metallica, you've done other headlining tours in the US before, but this is the first full headlining run for arenas in the US. You've had a handful of shows that have started off the tour now, how does feel being out there doing these headlining shows in arenas now?

TF: My main focus has always been that I wanted to take the same production to anyone, regardless if you live in big, metropolitan, hipster cities, or if you live in a slightly more rural town. I didn't want to segregate anyone, and that has taken a long time. Usually bands don't do that because of spite or out of malice, it's just that economically most bands do not have the means to take the same show to everyone. So there's always a little bit of weeding out, which I've always been uncomfortable partaking in! And finally, now, we've come to a point where the opportunity was to take the same full production to everyone, and that's the main focus of this tour. What it meant was that we needed to go into venues that could house our production. And that is predominately arenas, or smaller arenas, that can swallow a full-production show. My main focus now, I'm not trying to think so much about it being arenas, because it's our first steps into it, and the point that I want to prove is for, in this case, the American and the Canadian people, if you go to see a Ghost show, you can count on us giving you the same thing you saw from that clip in New York.

TF: For me that's a great accomplishment, to even be able to try to prove that to people! If we manage to prove that? We'll see, but it feels good, and there's people coming out, the tour just started, it's been going very good so far! We're three shows into it, so we're still getting there, a few kinks, mechanically and technically, you always sort of end up with a little bit of push-and-pull in the beginning. But throughout the tour, we get into a vibe pretty quickly.

MS: Speaking from one of the more rural areas that you spoke about, I can say that I'm glad you're looking at it that way, because that means we get to have those shows where we might normally get a more scaled-down version, so I appreciate that as well.

TF: That's what I was thinking!

MS: With your shows, and with Ghost's music overall, you walk a really fine tight-rope between the darker imagery and the lyrics, but you have a lot of fun and humour in the shows that I think would surprise a lot of people that haven't seen it before. How do you manage to keep that balance without tipping into too dark, or being a parody?

TF: That's hard to answer. I can't exactly tell you how that...you know, you have a hunch, right? You just have to have timing, and I think so far, we've had that. That's also a little bit of trial and error. I think the tour that we did a year ago? [2018's “A Pale Tour Named Death” US Tour] that covered a big portion of America, from a technical standpoint, it was a little annoying, because – since we were doing theaters and arenas – we had to do a little bit of that segregation thing that I told you about before, that we're trying to avoid now. But it was also “An Evening With...” so we did a two-and-a-half-hour long show, out of which a great deal of that was sort of talking! And that was fun, I don't think that did us any harm, but I definitely wanted to do a different show this time around.

So it's way more to the point. We have a support act, which is different, and I wanted it to be more to the point. Scale off a bit of that talking, scale off a few songs that weren't really...I wouldn't say up to snuff, but that took a little more patience, if you want. Where this set is constructed to be a little more overwhelming, a little more for getting, and I like that, as well. I mean, I like the drawn out stuff as well, but I like the quick stuff. This tour is definitely way more to the point.  

And also thinking that, when you're playing small clubs, playing to 300-500 people, you're most likely playing to...you're selling Bibles to preachers, because everyone already knows all your songs, and people are really, really into it. You get so many diehards at shows like that. As soon as you, sort of, grow out of the clubs, you will have a lot of people coming that are fans, but that might not know every song that you have, and they're not diehard, know every detail of your band...they're there for the spectacle, to be entertained. And there's nothing wrong with that sort of fandom, it's just that you have to take that into consideration when you're playing. So there is a certain amount of recapping that you have to do, in order to kind of explain to people what you're about. I think that's even more true when you're coming up to arenas or even more so when you're playing stadiums.

We've just done a four-month tour with Metallica, doing stadiums in Europe. You could tell that most people, maybe 25,000 of the 50,000 that was average [show attendance], they knew all the Metallica songs. But 50,000 knew “Enter Sandman.” The people come for the spectacle. They don't know every song! The might have heard them, but they don't know every song. You have to treat it, not like a showcase, but a little. You have to stick with the best thing that you have, and get people to understand. You have to win everyone over every night. You cannot think that all of these people are already 100% sold, you have to win them over.

I think that is very important also in trying to figure out the measurement of slapstick and humour. And in this case, you were talking about the episodes. We cannot assume that 100% of everyone in the hall has seen the episodes. Some people are there because their friend at work told them this is a kick-ass rock show and you should come because you like KISS or whatever, and they haven't seen the episodes. So we cannot assume that everyone has seen it. So the bigger you get, the more you have to be attentive to things like that, I believe.

MS: With the new tour, you've also had the new songs that have just been released, and I've noticed a lot of talk going on with those. Did you have a particular inspiration for those new songs, or a particular sound that you were going for with those new tracks? TF: What? No, those are 50 years old! MS: The newly released tracks!

TF: The newly released tracks, yeah, yeah! Well, I mean, they were written 50 years ago, and I'm only 38, so I can't really say!

MS: So, they were the Ghost of the time, their attempt to try to get on the stage at Woodstock.

TF: I guess, right! They were trying to do the most exciting rock you could do at the time. A little bit like if Phil Spector had produced The Stooges. Something like that.

MS: For this year, you have this tour that's just getting started in the US, and then back to Europe. Do you have plans for what's going to happen next year already?

TF: Yes. There will be very little touring. To be specific, it's going to be absolutely zero touring in 2020. We have one show in February, and that's going be in a country that to the south of the US, and that will be it, that's the only show we're doing, and that's going to be the wrap-up of this tour cycle. The year is going to be spent making a new record, a new record that will come out in 2021, the beginning of 2021, and then we're looking at eighteen months of touring again. Next year is going to be, at least from a touring point of view, off. But there's going to be a lot of other things happening, so be sure that you're going to see plenty from Ghost next year.

MS: Definitely no rest for the wicked!

TF: No rest for the wicked!

MS: Was there anything else you wanted to add before I let you go to get ready for tonight's show?

TF: We're really looking forward to coming to Moline, and I'm very, very happy to be able to tell people that we're coming with all the bells and whistles.

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Ghost is one of the most dynamic bands performing around the world right now. From their heavy-grooved, melodic music to their engaging, bombastic live shows, to the mystique surrounding who's under the masks and make-up, they continue to build up steam on the way to complete world domination. If you aren't sure, see for yourself. You can go to ghost-official.com to get your own tickets, then slip up the road a little ways on October the 8th to Moline and join the party.

HERALD-WHIG

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

POST #24- J’s Year in Review 2019

Jesus Christ it’s 36 degrees and dark at 5:30. The most depressing time of year for me. I owe my friends a few reviews and keep putting them off. I’ll do them tomorrow. Hell, maybe when I have time over the weekend I’ll get that one out I promised a few weeks ago. Here I am, sitting on the couch trying to figure out which record I want to highlight next. It’s a daunting task. A lesson I’ve learned over the past year. I need to get those reviews out but my mind (and ears) get the best of me. What do I do instead? I listen to a couple of records and skip right to the end. What I mean by end is that cliche year in review article that all music journalists put out with their favorite artists, songs, records, and shows of the year. This is all new to me. Shortly after the new year I decided it was time for me to get in the game. I don’t have much to offer but I wanted to put my perspective on paper. My first article was a piece about Tyler Childers raising awareness and getting a large donation of bottled water for the citizens of Martin County, Kentucky. I knew about Martin County. I didn’t know how deep it went. It wasn’t the meet and greet and small solo set that made me want to write about my experience. It was Tyler’s words. It was the raw emotion and the choked up words that inspired me to be a writer. I wanted as many people to know about this event as I could possibly get the word to. Be it 5, 10, 20 or even 30 people that read the article and learned about the plight of the citizens of Martin County have been in for years. That maybe 5, 10, 20 or even 30 people that may learn how to contact their representative and ask questions. I hope it inspires people to learn about their community and lend a helping hand to those in need. That event was last year, but it inspired my path this year.

Let me begin by saying that I have met some of the most amazing people over the past 12 months. I will touch on as many of those people as much as I can. I am going to highlight the music that has moved me over the same amount of time. I’m gonna forget people. I’m sorry in advance. I could put a list of my top 10 albums out but that just wouldn’t be fair. To be honest, there is one album that stands head and shoulders above all others. It’s not even a competition. How do you compete with amazing art? I look at it like its a steady stream of good shit coming out and keeping my playlist full.

Album of the Year (Any Genre)

Sound and Fury - Sturgill Simpson

Why?

It’s f*cking amazing. Earth shattering. Ground breaking. LOUD!

Sturgill Simpson took everything you thought you knew about him and his music, threw it out the window of his muscle car, and backed over it about a hundred times. This man does not give a shit. I screwed up on my first listen. There are two ways this album should be heard. 1) On a turntable with the volume turned as loud as it can possibly go. 2) Watching the accompanying anime movie with the volume turned as loud as it can possibly go. Unfortunately I did neither. Most of my first listen was a track at a time on my phone or in my truck. Dead. Wrong. If I had it to do over again I would most definitely start with the anime.

I get it. Anime is not for everyone. If I could give someone a starting point with anime, it would most definitely be Sound and Fury. This album is The Wall of our generation. After my first listen I posted, “Album of the Year Any Genre”. I fully stand by that assessment.

Favorite Albums of the Year

This is where I will most definitely make someone mad or make myself mad for leaving off someone who deserves to be included.

Home - Billy Strings

Favorite Tracks: Away From The Mire and Watch It Fall

Country Squire - Tyler Childers

Favorite Tracks - Creeker and Peace of Mind

Stranger In The Alps - Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle

Favorite Tracks: Buffalo’s Canon and Stewball

Between The Country - Ian Noe

Favorite Tracks: Barbara’s Song and Methhead

Seneca - Charles Wesley Godwin

Favorite Tracks: Hardwood Floors and Seneca Creek

Chris Knight - Almost Daylight

Favorite Tracks: I’m William Callahan and Go On

The Wind - Eric Bolander

Favorite Tracks: Closer to that Flame and Ghost

Josh Nolan - Kind Heart to Follow

Favorite Tracks: Makin’ Eyes and The Honeysuckle

Nicholas Jamerson - Floyd County All Star

Favorite Tracks: Patience and Floyd County All Star

High Expectations - Sean Whiting

Favorite Tracks: Melody and Misery

Songs Only A Mother Could Love - Wayne Graham

Favorite Tracks: By and By and Every Evil Thing

On The Hilltop - Nic Allen and the Troubled Minds

Favorite Tracks: Cheap Pills and Wine and For Heaven’s Sake

Cheap Silver and Solid Country Gold - Mike and the Moonpies

Favorite Tracks: Cheap Silver and Danger

The Gospel - The Local Honeys

Favorite Tracks: Amazing Grace and Let the Church Roll On

Full Moon/Heavy Light - Ona

Favorite Tracks: Young Forever and True Emotion

Trial and Error - Vintage Pistol

Favorite Tracks: Lay It Down and Leave Me Behind

The Pilot Light - Derek Spencer

Favorite Tracks: The Witches of Appalachia and Lit By Moonlight

We Fall, We Break - Walter DeBarr

Favorite Tracks - Wicked Eyes and We Fall, We Break

Alive at Hillbilly Central - Arthur Hancock

Favorite Tracks - Take Me Back To The Country and Kenton’s Outdoor Seating Area

Cuz I Love You - Lizzo

Favorite Tracks: Truth Hurts and Juice

I have to give a shoutout to some amazing visual artists for their work on some of these records. Jimbo Valentine and Colonel Tony Moore did an absolutely amazing job on the Country Squire album art. With Valentine’s futuristic hillbilly aura and Moore’s gritty comic book background, their collaboration is my favorite album artwork in some time. Honorable mention goes to Nashville Tattoo Artist, Squishy Eyes. His work for Billy Strings’ home is colorful and visually stimulating. I definitely want some skin art done by this guy!

Next. Let’s talk festivals. Jon Grace burst onto the scene this year putting on not one but two music festivals. Jon and I go way back. We’ve been to country shows, rock shows, heavy metal shows, nu metal shows, Ozzfest. You name it and we were probably in the vicinity. Laurel Cove Music Festival was Bell County’s first foray into the music festival scene and it started with a flash of lightning, then another, then a shit load of rain. An outdoor music festival being held at a beautiful natural amphitheater turned in to an indoor show in the conference room at Pine Mountain State Park. It was a tough decision to make, but in the end, it was worth every minute. The lineup came together in short order and provided us with two days of blistering sets. Jon then put together the FREE Cumberland Mountain Fall Festival in downtown Middlesboro, KY. Featuring local and regional talent for another two days of fun and music. 2019 set the bar high for live music in Bell County.

Festival of the Red is located in the heart of the Red River Gorge area and put on three days of camping and music. The only downside was that I was only there on Saturday. My buddies Blake and Dave packed in the truck with Dave’s little boy Waylon to make the two hour trip to Slade to catch up with old friends and new.

Master Musician Festival is a yearly mainstay in Somerset, KY. Tiffany Finley and company put together a stellar lineup year after year. My wife and I went for the day on Saturday and returned home with memories that we still laugh about months later. I first want to give a shoutout to the staff of MMF for enduring a brutal storm and having the integrity to cancel the headlining act in the face of severe storms. We were devastated that we missed out on a Jason Isbell set, but we are also blessed that we were not injured in a stupid storm. The party rolled on to Jarfly and into the wee hours of the morning.

This brings me to the granddaddy of them all.

Kickin’ It On The Creek.

The Roberts do it up right on Ross’ Creek. The 5th Annual Kickin’ It On The Creek held on Byron Roberts’ farm is something every music fan should experience once in their life. I went to Irvine in June to attempt to buy tickets in person. I left the house Saturday morning around 4:30. My anxiety hit when I got into town and parked and saw the line stretched nearly a half mile down the road. What do you do though? You hop in line! My friends Jon and Daniel arrived about an hour and a half ahead of me and were about 15 people in front of me. Throughout the morning we made conversation with both veterans and newbies alike. The vibe was jubilant. It was almost like a family reunion atmosphere, and this was just the presale. Long story short, about 3 hours later we get to the front of the line when Byron exits the store to announce the tickets were sold out. My friends who were 15 people in front of me were the last group in. It made me ill to realize I was that close. Never fret, the next step was an online sale that supposedly sells out in seconds. Over the next few weeks, karma would smile on us as we were able to purchase enough tickets so everyone in our group of friends were able to procure tickets. Now the wait.

I’m not a festival virgin by no means. I was fortunate enough to go to three Bonnaroo festivals in the early 00’s. Needless to say, I had an idea of the festival life. However, I can’t begin to explain the giddiness that my wife and I felt driving to the festival that Thursday evening in late September. We made it just in time to set up camp and catch Bedford Band and one of the acts I most looked forward to, Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle. The family atmosphere was in full effect. We were home. On Friday we were treated to sets by a variety of artists handpicked by the Roberts family. Favorites included Luna and the Mountain Jets, Crownover, Laid Back Country Picker, Green Genes, Jericho Woods, Vintage Pistol, Magnolia Boulevard, John R Miller and the Engine Lights, Town Mountain, and the ‘Lectric Wooks. Saturday favorites included Abe Partridge, Padre Paul Handleman, Wayne Graham, William Matheny, Senora May, Ona, The Wooks, Arlo McKinley, and festival headliner Tyler Childers. I’m already thinking about KIOTC 2020.

This year was magical. I heard amazing music, saw amazing music, introduced my children to amazing music, and most importantly shared with with my wife. I met lifelong friends and have several shows to look forward to in 2020.

Upcoming shows I’ll be attending are The Wooks, Arlo McKinley, Eric Bolander, Charlie Woods and Deep Hollow, and Dave Shoemaker at the Bell Theater on December 21st. 2020 brings Morgan Wade/Kelsey Waldon, Town Mountain/Buffalo Wabs/Geno Seale, Billy Strings, and Sturgill Simpson/Tyler Childers. The festival circuit is also ramping up with dates set for Laurel Cove 2020.

-Josh Trosper

*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).