#Creedence Clearwater Revival perhaps

[queerdissidence]

Dad Rock round at my local pub quiz

I'm ready to demolish it with my '80s rock knowledge

They start playing My Chemical Romance

I age 30 years on the spot

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 812: Willie Nelson Stardust

My father-in-law passed away on February 23rd after a long battle with Parkinson’s and various other ailments. Over the last six years, my husband and I made frequent trips down to central Oregon to check in on my in-laws and help out around the house. During some visits, it seemed possible that his dad would be around for another decade or more. And on other visits, we wondered if he would be around more than a few months. Things took a rough turn around Thanksgiving of last year and his health declined considerably. My husband spent most of January in Oregon while I’ve spent 2024 fulfilling tour obligations with three different bands and making trips down to visit them during any available downtime.

My father-in-law was a great guy. He grew up in the Bay Area and was around for all the excitement of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. He was buddies with Pigpen from the Grateful Dead and attempted to go to the Altamont Free Concert but was stuck in the traffic jam when news traveled down the road about all the chaos and violence incited by the Hells Angels. He loved ZZ Top and Creedence Clearwater Revival and Tina Turner. But more than anything, he loved Willie Nelson.

Stardust, in particular, got a lot of spins around their house when I’d come to visit. In some ways, it’s odd that this was their Willie album of choice. After all, the ten songs on Stardust are all covers of old pop standards. Columbia Records was even hesitant to release it considering that Willie was riding strong on his outlaw country reputation at the time. But the album became a huge hit—a quintuple platinum album and a favorite among both fans and critics.

I won’t lie, I prefer Willie’s own songs, but the slow, sparse, and relaxed vibe of Stardust grew on me. I also appreciated how he chose songs with less conventional melodies (“Blue Skies,” “All of Me,” etc) and how his minimalist slow-hand style seemed perfectly suited to those compositions. The stretches of empty space, the chord changes that feel a little counterintuitive at first but then settle nicely into the larger song, the playful but rough-hewn quality to the vocals—it all has a hazy, late night, intoxicating vibe. I don’t even remember when I picked up my personal copy but it’s been a part of my collection for at least two decades.

Over the years, I heard less and less music at my in-law’s house. Television became the more constant companion, perhaps because the sound of people talking filled the conversational void stemming from the reclusive nature of my father-in-law’s disease. But when they began doing hospice at home back in January, they switched back to music. In his last days, we kept the stereo on throughout the day, switching between various CDs from their collection. I was occasionally tasked with picking out music, and I grappled with finding something that was familiar and comforting without running the risk of forever being tainted by the circumstances. Stardust was a family favorite but I never put it on for fear that it would render it off-limits once his father passed.

The hospice nurse called us on a Tuesday in February to say my father-in-law was near the end. He wasn’t eating or drinking and his breathing was labored. My husband and I drove all night hoping to make it to central Oregon in time to say goodbye. He was nearly unresponsive by that point, though he would squeeze your hand if you talked to him. Despite his condition, he managed to to hang in there for another week-and-a-half. In that time, I had to return to Seattle for rehearsals, then had to fly out to the East Coast for a weekend of shows, then flew back to Oregon, then had to fly back to Seattle to check in on a friend that was mentally struggling after being involved in a motor vehicle fatality involving an inebriated man that had been running across a busy highway.

The call came in the afternoon. My father-in-law passed peacefully. My husband and his mother had been listening to Stardust at the time, and he took his last breath during “September Song.”

The struggle was over. It had been a long decline and by the end it was hard to recognize the warm, witty, and vibrant man I first met nearly 26 years ago in the withered and incapacitated person we’d been tending to for the last few months. I was grateful to know my father-in-law for so many years, to have a stockpile of memories of him before things got so difficult. And in the weeks since he’s passed I’ve listened to Stardust a few times. The wistful nature of the album has an added element of sadness, but the memories of listening to it in happy moments outweigh its more recent association. If anything, “September Song” feels like an even more bittersweet reminder to savor the moment and hold your loved one’s close, because seasons change and all things must pass.

Oh, it's a long long while

From May to December

But the days grow short

When you reach September

When the autumn weather

Turns leaves to flame

One hasn't got time

For the waiting game

Oh, the days dwindle down

To a precious few

September, November

And these few precious days

I'll spend with you

These precious days

I'll spend with you

[jedi-hawkins]

Bryn (Jedi OC) x Sergeant Hunter

So Bryn, my Jedi oc, is in a poly relationship with both Hunter and Obi-wan (fully consensual, and codywan is also cannon in my oc au, no clonecest). This is an amazing character workup, in combination with TBB S3 premier, it really got my writing flow going!

I originally found this character question sheet by a reblog from @anxiouspineapple99 months ago - go check out their work, it’s incredible! See the og character question post by @shiny-self-shipping here.

See the post about Bryn and Obi-wan's dynamic here.

Who makes the other blush all the time and who finds it adorable?

Bryn makes Hunter blush all the time with things as simple as a glance. He hides it in his bucket a lot.

Who sings in the shower?

Hunter will sing in the shower when he's having a good sensory day, and he has a surprisingly good singing voice.

What would their song to each other be?

From Bryn to Hunter: Have You Ever Seen the Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival

From Hunter to Bryn: Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

Hunter is a secret Swiftie, don't tell anyone, especially Crosshair

Who embarrasses the other in public with kisses and pet names?

For obvious reasons, they can't be openly affectionate. Bryn will rile Hunter up by muttering things under her breath that only he can hear. Sometimes, it'll just be little jokes, other times it'll be obscene things that make him blush redder than their armor paint. Hunter will of course use mando pet names (cyare, me'shla), but a specific pet name he uses for Bryn is "kar'ta", meaning "heart." This is a reference to when she performed CPR and saved Hunter's life shortly after she took on the batch.

Bryn will also use mando pet names since she descends from Mando lineage and is fluent in Mando'a, but her pet name for Hunter is "ner ruus," meaning "my rock." This has a double meaning, one time, Hunter was trying to get Crosshair's attention and threw a rock at him since Cross had his helmet on. Cross just happened to bend over at the right time and the rock nailed Bryn in the head behind Crosshair. It wasn't really any bigger than a pebble and Bryn didn't have a mark on her, but Hunter felt so bad. Bryn uses the name to tease him, but also remind him that he is her rock.

Who curses, and who reprimands the other for it?

Both. They both swear and the other will gently reprimand them when they’re around others in the command and after Omega joins the squad.

What small quirks do they love about each other?

When Bryn is anxious/deep in thought, she'll pace while twirling her lightsabers (unlit). Hunter will sit and twirl his knife between his fingers when he's stressed. Bryn doesn’t like pickles, and even though Hunter isn't too hot on them, he always eats hers for her. Hunter is fairly good with folding his laundry except his socks. For some reason he just throws single, unpaired socks into his trunk ("they're all the same regulation socks, why does it matter?"). Bryn will go through his trunk and pair/roll them for him.

Who makes the other laugh more?

Hunter naturally makes Bryn laugh more. Bryn will deliberately do things to make Hunter laugh when he's getting in his own head.

Who gets jealous easier?

Same as with Bryn's relationship with Obi-wan, neither of them really get jealous as they're all secure in their relationship. Hunter perhaps gets more jealous because Bryn will often split off from Squad 99 to assist the 212th or 501st, and Hunter doesn't like when she's away from the squad/with regs.

How did they know they were right for each other?

They saw a lot of themselves in the other. Both are leaders, created and thrust into a life that wasn’t exactly their choice. They’ve both faced fear, loss, anxiety, guilt. They know what it is like to have everyone looking to you for direction when you barely know what’s happening yourself. They know what it’s like to have to be the pillar of stability for everyone else and they found a grounding force in each other.

Who brings up the subject of kids first?

The topic was mutually brought up in passing conversation since neither really had a traditional 'childhood.' Bryn was curious about the comradery among the clones as they grew from tubies to cadets to soldiers and their mentorship by mandos, clone commandos, or bounty hunters. Hunter was equally curious about the experience of a Jedi youngling in the temples and the parent/child relationship that forms between master and padawan.

They broach the topic a little more seriously when Omega joins them, especially on Pabu when a life after war seems within reach.

Who's adorable when they're sleepy, and who gets grumpy and irritable?

Quite plainly, Hunter is the tooka ready to snuggle into any quiet, warm, soft spot he can find. Hunter will get grumpy when he gets overstimulated/can't get to or stay asleep. Bryn is the tooka that will take your skin if you try to wake her up. She used to be an easy sleeper and early riser but as the war progressed, her relationship with sleep got a little more complicated.

Though they can do either, by choice Hunter is the early bird, Bryn is the night owl.

Who's more protective?

Hunter is more protective, especially after Order 66 and they know Jedi are being hunted. Bryn tries to keep her mando helmet on in public after Order 66 to hide in plain sight with the squad and Hunter is hyper aware/cautious when she takes it off or they're in situations where it might get knocked off.

How do they express their feelings (Words, visual art, a song, etc.)?

When Hunter gets overstimulated, Bryn will immediately comfort him physically with soothing, grounding strokes on his back and press his ear to her chest so he can hear her heartbeat and breathing. When they're out and about, Bryn will whistle so softly only Hunter can hear, even if they're right next to each other. It's a symbol of "I'm here."

Hunter likes to sketch the world around him on scraps of flimsi in his off time. Usually he throws his drawings away, but he’ll save a select few and hide them for Bryn to find. He’ll do the same with flowers since he knows botany is Bryn’s secret ‘nerd’ obsession.

Where would they go on a 3am adventure?

A rooftop, a high cliff, the canopy of a tall tree - anywhere they can get above and away from the noise/chaos below.

Who has a hobby only the other knows about?

Hunter is an artist, in his down time he’ll sketch the world around him on pieces of flimsi. These drawings usually get burned in a campfire or tossed in the mess compactor, but a few are squirreled away by Bryn, and a few were gifted to her by Hunter.

Bryn has a gorgeous singing voice (and would even be brave enough to step up to open mic night at 79’s) but since the start of the war, her singing became much more private. Hunter would often catch her singing quietly on her own or under her breath as she completes chores around the ship/base, or while completing flimsi-work. Throughout the war, Hunter could always tell when she was mentally/emotionally struggling because she'd stop singing.

How do they hype each other up?

They'll bang their forearm bracers against each other in a sort of handshake/huddle-break style symbol that they're energized and ready for a mission.

Who picks flowers for the other?

Bryn will pick flowers and put them in Hunter’s hair. Hunter will pick flowers and leave them in places like the med bay or the cockpit for Bryn to find.

Which one wears the "I'm with stupid" t-shirt?

Bryn. Crosshair gave it to her; she thinks it's hilarious. Then, when Omega joins the batch, Bryn gives it to her for a sleep shirt. Omega was really fascinated by how soft the fabric was in comparison to Kamino fatigues and she was so excited to have her own piece of clothing.

Who's the better dancer?

Bryn is the better dancer, but Hunter is a quick learner and has never stepped on her toes. He is getting to be a surprisingly confident and graceful leader when dancing. Though he still has to get the hang of club-style dancing for 79's. He'll usually just sit and watch his squad/Bryn have fun from a booth or the bar.

Who infodumps and who listens with heart eyes?

Bryn infodumps, especially when she is preparing for mission briefs/debriefing reports. Hunter listens. Sometimes he'll gently grasp her wrist and get her to sit down from pacing or move to sit beside her and start giving her a massage as she goes over her notes.

[laurfilijames]

im so curious to know if you associate any kind of music w mr will miller? its one of my fav things to hypothesize about w my favourite fictional characters lol, and i feel like you have a good grasp on him so I thought I'd ask :)

he gives soft and blues rock generally to me, but id especially pinpoint him as a bad company guy, with a bit of eric clapton, creedence clearwater revival, and perhaps a touch of the stones!

Hiya sweet nonnie!!

I'm so so sorry this has sat unanswered for as long as it has. My brain is going a mile and minute these days and some unfavourable things have been occupying my time and energy, but I appreciate you sending this in SO much!! 💗

I love music and often associate songs with characters I write for as I think a lot of us do! It helps take you into that world or story and there's no better feeling than hearing lyrics that make you think of your guy (even more than you already do 😆)

While I was hoping to create a playlist for Will, I haven't had the time to do it, but I'll add to the list of bands that you already have that I think he listens to! (Also thank you for thinking I have a good grasp on him 🥹💗 that makes me so happy you have no idea!!)

I am a hugggeeeee fan of CCR myself so they are absolutely on that list of bands he listens to! Along the same lines I think he'd listen to The Allman Brothers, Bob Dylan, Lynyrd Sknyrd, Zeppelin, Metallica, and Pink Floyd.

I also think for more current sounds, he'd appreciate the likes of Cage the Elephant, Oasis, The Offspring, Billy Talent, The Black Keys and The Foo Fighters.

I am going to give a big Canadian nod to one of my personal favourites and think that Will would appreciate getting lost in the weird and wonderful and thought provoking lyrics of The Tragically Hip.

Will would use music as a way to calm and distract his mind, to focus on something other than the noise in his head and find comfort in the words and notes that other people create that speak about all sorts of things in life we experience, the good and bad. I can imagine him sitting outside in the cool night air, looking up at the sky or at a fire in front of him, just being in that moment while his favourite songs keep him company.

Maybe one of these days I'll get to actually formulating a proper playlist for him!

Thank you again for sending this in!! 💗💗

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 10

Summary: it's Will's birthday, and everyone gathers at his place for a nice Sunday barbecue. You choose a particular -sensible- outfit, and some decisions are made in the heat of the moment.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: it occurred to me recently (thank you Fanna) that some of you had subscribed to the taglist without my knowledge... I'm an unworthy idiot and thought I'd get a notif of some sort, so I never thought to check the form out. I'm very sorry. I'm insanely grateful to anyone who interacts with this story. I will never tire of thanking you.

Word Count: 7.1k (I'm very sorry, I don't know what happened, I'm blaming the Millers on this one)

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 10: The Deal

(👆🏻 as per usual, from @nicolethered 's treasure trove)

-

Catfish, noun [C] (FISH) : a fish with a flat head and long hairs around its mouth that lives in rivers or lakes.

Catfish, noun [C] (FAKE), informal: someone who pretends on social media to be someone different, in order to trick or attract other people.

Padding out of the steamy bathroom into the adjacent bedroom, you press the home screen button to close the Cambridge Dictionary app and tap open your Larousse translator.

Catfish [‘kætfiʃ] (pl catfish or catfishes), noun : poisson-chat.

None of it makes any sense to you, not in any language you know. Perhaps you should try Spanish? Putain de merde.

Benny’s resounding voice echoes from the living-room, the velvety tones brushing against your naked skin. He’s strumming his guitar to a song you recognise as Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Fortunate Son. The hand holding your phone lowers slowly, your tense shoulders dropping in slow motion as you listen.

Ben’s voice is what you like best about him. It’s the very first thing you noticed, in the hardware store aisle, and also the first that charmed you after your first couple of dates. It trickles down your spine like honey, keeps your inside warm and your mind snug, and when he sings… well, when he sings, on a normal day, it’s plenty enough to turn you on like an electrical wire, and he never gets to play very long when you’re staying at his place.

Only nothing’s normal anymore.

You stood up Rosie at the last minute on Tuesday, unable to face her in the wake of this new reality, instead showing up at work on your day off without an explanation and unilaterally deciding to undertake a thorough inventory of the bookstore. Your boss, Suzanne, was pleasantly surprised, and if something seemed off to her, she didn’t say.

When Benny told you he would see the guys again on Friday night, you attempted to talk him out of it, as subtly as you could despite your nervousness, feeling as though he could see right through you. Which he didn’t.

After closing up that evening, you walked straight to your usual deli, just around the block corner from the bookstore, where the cashier is a Moroccan grandpa with whom you chat in French, much to your delight, and who calls you “cousine”, and bought your first pack of smokes since college.

Back at your apartment, you smoked all 20 cigarettes sitting by the windowsill of your living-room, waiting for a text or a phone call from Benny that never came. He’s not in the habit of texting nor calling you, on Friday nights. He has taught himself to respect your chosen moments of aloneness, with a childlike willingness, eager to please you.

What were you so nervous about, anyway? How likely is it that Frankie would walk up to his friend to tell him, “Hey, I fucked your girlfriend fifteen years ago, and she let me do things to her that she has denied you repeatedly. Want another beer?”

Your manic brain won’t let go about it, however, no matter how sternly you reason with yourself, no matter what logic you employ. Would that eventuality be so far-fetched? You don’t know what these men share. You know nothing of the strength and nature of their bond. Only that they’re like brothers. You’re foreign to that. You’re an outsider. How can you be sure that Benny wouldn’t cut you loose without a second look if his friend told him about what happened between you? Besides, if Catfish looked at you with such unabated anger, he might very well consider it his brotherly duty to warn his friend. “She’s a liar. She’ll never call you.”

The worst being that you can’t make up your mind about what would hurt most. Benny’s abandon. Or Frankie’s betrayal.

If only you knew what the fuck “Catfish” means. If you had this one clue, you might get an understanding of the man he has become. Or so you think.

You put down your phone and retrieve a cotton t-shirt from your travel bag, laying it flat on the bed next to your jeans, smoothing over the fabric with a frown. You brought another choice of outfit, more suitable to attend a birthday party, a cute little white cotton short-sleeves button-up with a red lining around the collar, a yellow one along the button placket and a dark green one on the breast pocket.

Picking up your phone again, you briefly consider running a Google image search, for the hundredth time or so, but instead angrily toss it on the bed, where it bounces off and ends up on the wooden floor with an ominous noise.

“Et merde!”

“Ooooh she’s naked!” Benny appears on the bedroom threshold, dirty blue jeans and shabby Kiss T-shirt, his massive silhouette dwarfing the doorway.

“Sorry, I’m dressing up, I’ll be ready in a minute,” you quickly shuffle back to the bag and crouch down, rummaging through it in search of your underwear. Benny offered weeks, no, months ago, to clear a drawer for you. And a shelf in his wardrobe. You’ve really mastered the art of deflecting, if anything else.

“That’s not what I meant,” he croons, joining you in two long strides, tugging at your arm until you stand up and face him.

“Stop it, we’re bringing the drinks, we can’t be late,” you tilt your head up with a raised eyebrow, your frustration visible.

“I do not care… Come on, I’ll be quick,” he promises with a cocky smile, wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“Oh, you’ll be quick? What about me?” you exclaim in mock offence.

It systematically takes you by surprise, every single time, the ease with which this man manages to lift up your mood. No matter how reluctant you are, he just drags the joy out of you.

“I can get you off fast. Three minutes—”

“Three minutes?!” you cry indignantly.

“I like a challenge, come on,” he chuckles, splaying his large hands across your cheeks, drifting toward the cleft of your ass as you try to wiggle out of his embrace.

“Benjamin, it’s late, stop it,” you giggle, but the drag of his lips along the line of your neck is making you weak in the knees already, a small heat flaring up in your belly.

His voice drops another octave and your entire body shudders against his rumbling chest, “Three minutes. Bend over the bed, baby.”

—

Three minutes turned out to be twenty, after what you had to take another shower, and now you’re definitely running late. You’re not cross, however, if anything you feel more relaxed than you have since the beginning of the week. More than quick, he’s been rough, pounding you ruthlessly into the mattress from behind while you frantically rubbed your clit, and perhaps it was just what you needed to straighten your head. To remind yourself that you’re precisely where -and with whom- you’re supposed to be. Because you are. Right?

As you apply mascara in the bathroom, Benny calls in from the living-room, announcing he’s going to start the car. You acknowledge the information for what it means: that gives you five extra minutes, it being the amount of time he likes to run the engine for, before pulling the Mustang out of the garage.

You briskly walk into the bedroom and slip into your sensible underwear and your jeans. The t-shirt you pulled out of your bag earlier slipped on the floor while Benny was fucking you, and you pick it up without looking at it, shoving it back unceremoniously inside the bag. You make a face at the rumpled cotton as you pull out your blouse and lay it on the mattress. As you vainly repeat your earlier motion, trying to smooth the shirt under your palm, you decide that you’re going to ask Benny again about the shelf and drawer, after all, nodding to yourself.

You put on the blouse and start buttoning it up, circling the bed to retrieve your phone from the corner of the room where it fell earlier, and as you pick up the device, the screen unlocks and lights up.

Catfish [‘kætfiʃ] (pl catfish or catfishes), noun : poisson-chat.

You pause for the briefest moment, clenching your jaw and about to rub your eyelids before remembering you’ve got makeup on. Sliding the phone in the back pocket of your jeans, you hurry back to your bag and choose the yellow t-shirt for the second time today.

—

Will is getting a grill for his birthday. An insanely expensive beast of a machine with more knobs than a sci-fi villain’s aircraft. Something he has no use for, since he’s had the same simple, basic charcoal grill since he moved in alone after splitting from Jean. Something Frankie’s dead sure he won’t even like. Pope and Redfly’s idea.

He tried objecting, but he’s no match for the two of them together, and Benny, typically, sided with the two men. So everyone chipped in, Yovanna and you included, he was informed, and Frankie was handed the money in cash and asked to take care of everything, from buying the damn thing, to storing it in his garage and bringing it over to Will’s house on Sunday morning. Everyone else too busy with their respective jobs, kids, girlfriends. He’s the one with the suspension and the big truck parked outside all year round. He’s the one with the empty garage and the empty bed.

When Will opens his front door, bare-chest and his hair still wet, Frankie gives him an eloquent glance from under the brim of his cap, as he moves to the side of the doorway to let his friend see what is hauled up at the back of the red truck.

“Fuck, man, you kidding me?” Will exclaims in his slow drawl. “Why did you let them do that?”

“I tried, brother, I tried. Happy birthday, anyway,” Frankie pats him on the shoulder before walking back to his truck to unload the monster with the help of a trolley.

It takes the two of them to carry it across the soft soil of the backyard, on which the trolley refuses to budge, and position it against the fence at the rear of the garden.

Yovanna and Pope come in soon after with the meats and side dishes, Pope’s winning argument to convince Will to throw a party being that he wouldn’t have to do a thing. While they help set everything on the large picnic table, Frankie starts the grill.

He had flipped through the thick manual the night before, shaking his head and occasionally chuckling at the convoluted instructions. He’d be damned if Will was going to use this thing once, and when he asked his friend whether he wanted him to take away the old grill, Will shot him a “don’t you dare” glance that got him wheezing.

Redfly arrives next with his two daughters, Tess, the eldest, looking like she’d rather stick a fork in her leg than be here with a bunch of old men, her headphones riveted to her head. Frankie notices for the first time, with a pang of sadness, how much she resembles her father, her defeated look reflected on his friend’s face.

The doorbell keeps ringing for a while, more guests pouring into the small backyard, arms full of drinks and food, and gathering around the table. First, the couple from across the street and their two toddlers, and Frankie inquires if they want the kids to eat first, the exhausted father gratefully agreeing to the suggestion. Then the next door neighbour, a cute redhead of indiscernible age named Clare who, Frankie observes, melts on her chair every time Will addresses her, and finally two of Will’s coworkers from the VA.

The table is quickly buried under heaps of food, egg salad, bowls of chips, biscuits and corn on the cob, three different salads, bags of buns and a large plate of homemade arepas brought by Yovanna… So Will neighbour’s suggests to lend him two plastic folding tables to accommodate everyone, that they install after retrieving them from his garage.

Pope plays some music through his Bluetooth speaker and everyone starts loosening up, happily chatting against the sizzling noises of grilling meat.

At which point, Frankie gets fidgety, his carefully crafted composure eroding slowly.

It’s not out of character for Benny to be late, quite the contrary. Even though he’s been tasked with providing the refreshments.

Only, he knows you too will be here. And he came prepared, deciding early on that this day would be a run test for future interactions. Specifically, is he capable of entertaining a polite and distant relationship with you, without feeling like his blood had been turned into lava. Without the need to take the anger out on himself afterward. Without wanting more than just that.

Judging from his increasingly shaky hand clasped around the fancy grill’s spatula, he might have to skip the next couple of happy family gatherings.

—

Will’s house is smaller than his brother’s, although it counts one more room. But being considerably tidier, you’ve always thought it to be much larger.

The front door opens directly into a wide but shallow room, arbitrarily divided into a living-room on the right and a dining area on the left. Beyond this first room, a corridor serves a bathroom and a kitchen to the left, and two small bedrooms to the right, and leads to the well-kept backyard, closed off by a neatly lined white fence.

You’ve been here once or twice before, but when you hang out with the Miller brothers, it’s usually at Ben’s place, or in a downtown bar. It’s not that Will’s house is uncomfortable, the couch is brand new, the fridge well stocked, the TV set modern. But everything about it is spartan, bordering impersonal.

Today, as Will greets you with one of his heartfelt, marked embrace, you can’t help but ponder one more time the contrast between the austere interior and what you know to be the man’s rich, limitless inner world.

“You’re late,” he shoots gruffly at his baby brother.

Ben shrugs carelessly and retorts, “It’s her fault,” tilting his head toward you, before making a beeline to the backyard, carrying a giant beer keg and a cooler filled with beverages with the same ease as if they were fluffy pillows.

Will throws you a skeptical glance and you answer silently with a shake of your head.

“Happy birthday, Will,” you say with a soft smile, and as he moves to follow Ben into the garden, you hold him back, tugging at his plaid shirt. “I’ve got something for you.”

“You mean you weren’t in on the present?” he asks as if it makes more sense, returning your smile.

“Oh no, I am, I wasn’t given a choice, but I got you something else.”

For some reason, you don’t feel comfortable handing him the rectangular, carefully wrapped package you extract from your tote bag in front of everyone, and he senses your hesitancy. He gives you a short nod and you follow him in silence towards the corridor. Somehow, his massive frame looks even more impressive as you walk sheepishly behind him, tall figure, wide shoulders, strong arms. You know him to be slightly smaller in height than his younger brother, but he’s all quiet strength and raw power. You wonder for a brief moment what it must feel like to be facing a man like him in battle, to find yourself on the wrong side of William Ironhead Miller.

He opens the door to the spare bedroom, where you’ve never been before, and before you have the time to withhold it, a faint gasp escapes you.

It’s an office, of sorts, and a cluttered one, with a desk positioned under the single window, covered in notebooks and scattered notes written on loose sheets, an old sofa bed, foam coming out of the thread-bare armrests, and so many bookshelves it looks as though they’re holding the ceilings, the walls barely visible. Rows of non-fiction, philosophical essays, geography textbooks and some exhibition catalogs, several framed military decorations, and framed photos. Dozens of photos.

You’re standing inside William’s brain.

You gape at him in bewilderment, your eyes asking a silent question, to which he replies, “It’s ok, you can take a look,” a knowing smile on his face, and you dart toward the nearest shelf without hesitation.

The picture of the two of them next to the golden retriever is the first one that holds your attention, but there are many more family portraits, some of them with a couple you easily identify as their parents, the boys bearing a striking resemblance to them, and one with a toddler, a girl, holding a very young William’s hand. Everything’s there, a colourful and assorted retrospective of their entire childhood: picnics, mountain hikes, birthdays, first bikes, fishing trips to the lake, graduations… Ben and Will at a variety of stages of their military carriers, lined up in chronological order, as far as you can tell, and because your mind so often works in the same ways as your friend’s.

A growing lump invades your throat, and you begin to blink wildly. You stand here, motionless, numb, unable to pull away from the images, fully aware of the privilege he’s granting you, admitting you into this sanctuary, tucked away from everyone else’s prying gaze.

And then you see it. A group picture of the five of them, siting around a camp fire in front of a large camouflage tent, in what looks like a Middle Eastern scenery. Pope, Redfly, Ironhead, Benny, and Catfish. All of them looking considerably younger. All of them grinning widely. Your heart sinks at the sight of his dimple. How old can he be? Thirty, thirty-five, you assume, his hair short, a soft caramel brown, his face clean-shaven, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes shallow, still, but the crease between his brows deep, already.

You missed out on so much of him. You missed everything.

It takes all of your willpower to turn away and hand Will the package, without a word, not trusting your voice to be steady enough to speak.

He doesn’t tear the wrapping, instead tugging the adhesive open, until the busy book cover is revealed. It’s an exhibition catalog, Bauhaus 1919-1933: Workshops in Modernity, held at the MoMa in 2010, long before you met each other. The first time the two of you visited the museum together, you swung by the bookstore, and you observed him discreetly as he flipped through the catalog’s pages with covetous eyes, eventually replacing it on its pile, with evident regret. It took you a while, several weeks of getting to know him better, before you could understand why. Priced at $75, the book was an unaffordable luxury to him.

You see the surprise play across his handsome features, and you can tell the exact moment when he registers, the memory resurfacing, that milestone in your friendship, the fact that you remembered. You see this solid, pragmatic man, rarely surprised, always prepared, clearly shaken; and as you finally stir to leave the room, wanting to allow him the space you know he needs, he pulls you into his arms, hugging you so tightly it hurts, and he whispers, “Thanks, sister.”

—

“Alright, who wants some alcohol?” Ben shouts into the backyard, his question greeted by a collective and cheerful holler.

Frankie’s knuckles crack in his grip of the cooking utensil, and he has to make a conscious effort to stop gritting his teeth. Ok, he got this, he reminds himself. If he made it through Monday night, he can make it through Sunday afternoon. He turns around to face the house, and his front collides with Ben’s chest, who pats his back with a resounding grunt. You’re nowhere in sight.

“Hey man, wanna beer?” Ben asks brightly.

One of them had a good morning, at least.

“Yea, is it fresh?” Frankie’s voice comes out a bit tense, but he can work on it, he knows he can.

“It sure is,” Ben answers, cracking a can open and handing it to his friend.

Frankie takes a swig of the cool beverage and feels it flowing down his burning throat, scanning the door to the house. You’re still nowhere to be seen.

“You’re alone?” he asks, and immediately winces.

Off to a great start.

“Nah, she’s in there with Will, scheming.”

Ben tries to pick up a wiener from the grill and burns his fingers, swearing under his breath and mumbling something about the size of the machine. Something that Frankie doesn’t hear. His ears are filled with the frenetic thumping of his blood, even though his heart has stopped beating.

Will’s bulky silhouette appeared in the doorway, and as he stepped into the garden, you materialised behind him, pausing there for a moment to let your eyes adjust to the midday light. You’re wearing these jeans again, the ones that are way too tight on your hips, they’re Benny’s favourite, but Frankie doesn’t know that, and it’s not what he sees. What he sees is your t-shirt. A pale shade of yellow, and the print of a book cover. A black cat in a white bow tie, holding a gun in its clawed paw, winking straight at him, and the title in red, bold letters, etched over your breasts, that spell:

The Master and Margarita.

—

You find yourself behind Will again, walking down the narrow hallway to the backyard, but you have to stop on the threshold, blinded by the sudden daylight. It’s early in April, and you recall a Gainsbourg song about April inspiring love. There’s a stereo playing Jefferson Airplane and the smell of grilled meat fills the air. When your eyes adjust to the luminosity, you’re slightly taken aback. You didn’t expect that big of a crowd, and anxiety immediately kicks in at the thought of having to meet new people and make small talk. Something catches your eyes on your right, Yovanna is waving at you, standing next to Pope.

You smile back, relieved, about to step in and join her, when you see him.

A blue and brown plaid shirt pulled taut over his broad frame, the top two, no, three buttons undone, the dip of his collarbones exposed, rolled up sleeves revealing his forearms, locks of hair curling around his ears and on his nape.

When your eyes lock, a faint, wistful smile tugs at the corner of his lips and oh god, you want to crawl under his skin and forever live there.

—

The guests are all seated, now, divided into groups around the three tables in the cramped backyard, except for the neighbours’ kids, who are running around under the playful supervision of Tom’s youngest, Sue.

You’re sitting between Will and Benny, across from Yovanna and Pope, but more often than not, Will’s up and around, refilling people’s glasses, making sure everyone has everything they need. You know him to be more comfortable in quiet settings, but he makes for a very charming host, nonetheless.

Grilling food and preparing the burgers take up most of Frankie’s time, who has yet to sit down and enjoy his own plate. You’ve never seen so much meat, and you don’t think you’ll be able to swallow any for the next two weeks at least.

When Frankie comes over to your table to ask what your party would like to eat, you notice for the first time that he addresses Yovanna almost exclusively in Spanish, whereas Pope and him mostly use English. He’d told you he was born in Argentina, but you’d never heard him use his mother tongue, and it’s invading all your senses. His voice sounds different, softer, rounder, less gruff around the edges.

You won’t let it carry you back to the orange bedroom, not here, not like that, not with your boyfriend’s hand resting on your lap, his thumb rubbing your inner thigh. If you could just effectively control your goddamn breathing every time he lifts that cap and combs through his hair…

“What about you?” his husky voice jolts you out of your reverie. He’s looking straight at you, hands propped on his hips, “What do you want?”

You stare at him blankly, dumbstruck, an instantaneous acceleration in the rhythm of your heartbeat as you feel crimson creeping up your neck and cheeks. Will’s steely gaze is on you as you shift nervously on your hard plastic seat.

Meat. He’s asking about the meat.

“Burger. Rare. Please,” you answer without thinking, before adding hastily, “Wait! Can I have some extra cheese? Please?”

Pope bursts out laughing and Yovanna shoves her elbow in his ribs. A slow, devastating smile appears on Frankie’s face, so broad, so spontaneous, so sincere, all dimple and teeth, and for the first time in this life you’re facing your Frankie, despite the deep creases at the corner of his eyes, despite the cap hiding away his curls, despite the whiskered cheeks stranded with grey, and it’s more, much more than you can stand, you have to lower your eyes onto your egg salad.

The rest of the meal is a game of avoidance, played knowingly and with unexpected skill by the two of you. Every once in a while, you throw each other sideways glances, facing away mere milliseconds before your eyes can actually meet, holding your stare until the last possible moment. But for the most part, you concentrate on Yovanna, exchanging ideas on topics as diverse as politics or cinema, making plans for a girl’s night out with Rosie and some of her friends.

Frankie cooked the food you’re eating right now. You try not to linger on the thought. And he gave you extra cheese, alright, your burger disintegrating in your hands, nearly impossible to handle with the amount he managed to melt on top of the patty.

He loves the way you eat, grabbing the burger with both hands and unceremoniously pushing it into your mouth until you realise there are people around who might be watching.

Memories are resurfacing now, flowing into the gaping abyss vacated by his receding anger, flooding his brain, and his senses.

And if he can’t recall what the two of you ate during the single meal you shared over the course of the weekend, he remembers your voracity. To this day, you remain his best kiss. Like that first one on the balcony, no, not a balcony, a fire escape, when he hung on for dear life to your hips with a bruising grip as you pulled him in, a minute ago shy and self-conscious, all he had to do was show you the attraction was reciprocal.

And that other kiss you gave him after that meal, only it hadn’t been on his lips.

It was already Sunday, in the early afternoon, when you too had first thought of eating. You were together on that bed where you spent most of the weekend. Lying on his back, eyes closed and a smile dancing on his lips, he was focused on the sensation of the tip of your fingers tracing patterns along his torso.

Your stomach let out a very loud, very angry growl. Your eyebrows shot up and you rolled onto your side to cover your face in embarrassment, both of you bursting into a laughing fit. He wrestled you for a bit, trying to pull your arms away from your face, and he finally carried you out of bed. He couldn’t understand why he found the idea of feeding you so satisfactory, even then, as he still does today.

You slipped on his plaid shirt, the act so natural and familiar, you looked so fucking lovely. He felt a pang of possessiveness, a foreign feeling to him, one he’d never experienced until then. You followed him into the kitchen where you ate together in content silence, exchanging cheerful looks, like two happy puppies.

After eating, however, the atmosphere shifted. He felt your gaze on his bare skin and when he looked up, your hooded eyes told him everything he needed to know. You got up slowly, purposefully, and slowly, purposefully took off his shirt, draping it neatly over the back of the Formica chair. Fuck, he loved your tits, so damn much.

He found himself unable to move, mesmerised by your demeanour, confident and full of intent. It was new, and it was something else. You were not quite the same girl anymore, and he wasn’t sure if “girl” was still the fitting term.

Closing the distance between you in one stride, you kneeled in front of him, gently parting his legs with your hands, and you moved closer, holding his gaze. He felt dumbstruck, at your mercy, like he had when you first backed him against that same kitchen chair two nights ago, and he licked his bottom lips in a futile attempt to snap out of it.

You lowered your eyes to the growing bulge in his black briefs and his cock twitched. With parted lips, you leaned in to kiss him through the warm fabric, eyes closed in rapture under your raised brow. Softly, you nuzzled your cheek against the cottony material, and inhaled. He froze, eyes locked on you, his chest heaving, his mouth gone slack. You rested your cheek on the inside of his thigh for a short while.

Then, flicking your eyes open, you started quietly, “I really want to–” and paused, and it occurred to him you might not even know how to say it in English.

“You don’t have to, if you’re–”, he trailed off, hardly recognising his own breathy, shaky voice. What the fuck was he talking about? He might die if you stopped now.

“Please? Please let me. It’s just that… I know I’m not too good at it.”

He was already fully erect when you took him out of his briefs, hard and heavy, and when you hesitantly bit your bottom lip, his eyes squeezed shut. He felt the curled up tip of your tongue collecting the bead of precome from the head of his cock, heard your satisfied exhale, felt your cold mouth enveloping him -cereal, he remembers it now, you had cold milk with cereal-, felt the contrast of your warm hand wrapping around his base.

If you were fairly inexperienced, your eagerness more than made up for it, and he let out a muffled curse when you began licking up broad stripes, before dipping as far down on him as you could.

He wanted to bury his hands in your hair and thrust deeply into your mouth, fill you entirely, the thought of fucking your throat threatening to tip him over too soon, but a part of his brain somehow still functioning remained in control; instead he gripped the sides of his seat until his knuckles turned white.

Your mouth closed around him, you settled in a steady rhythm, tongue swirling around his fat tip, hand stroking up and down with a maddening twist of your wrist, but you were far too gentle. With his cock still in your mouth, your eyes flicked up to his with a question, to which he gave a short, rapid nod, yes, yes, do whatever the fuck you want with me and you withdrew your lips with a popping sound, your timid smile in complete contradiction with the filth of your actions, before spitting tenderly on the head of his cock.

You were going to be the death of him.

Spreading your spit down his length, you stroked harder, wrapping your lips around him again, this time sucking firmly up and down with hollowed cheeks. He saw you squirming, pressing your thighs together, he heard your moans, you were enjoying this. That realisation, combined with your ministrations, was overwhelming.

His hips locked into place, the muscles in his belly strained, his balls drew tighter, he was too fucking close; he reached for the soft hair on your nape and tried pulling you back before it was too late, but you resisted, sucking harder, looking at him from under your eyelashes with an expression that mirrored his when you had straddled him on that same chair. “Do it, use me.”

He came at once. His head rolled back, an obscene grunt echoing in the room, heavy ropes of spend hitting the back of your throat that you bravely tried to swallow, flooding past your closed lips and dribbling down your chin. You kept suckling him delicately through it and when he came around after a minute, or five, or ten, he noticed he was still holding your hair.

You looked dazed, dazed and pleased with yourself, holding him in your right hand, sitting back on your heels like a proud student waiting to be graded, and he laughed breathlessly.

He’s hoping now, looking at you as you wipe your chin clean of the dripping sauce from the burger he cooked especially for you, that he told you then how well you did for him. More women than he’d care to count have sucked his dick ever since, some of them professionals, none made him feel the way you did. All he can remember is that he had been eager to get you cleaned up.

And what happened then in the bathroom had been the beginning of the end for him.

—

When the neighbours bring their kids back home for nap time, the place becomes considerably quieter. Tom takes his leave shortly after, having to drive his daughters back to his ex-wife, and you’re slightly alarmed that his friends are letting him take the wheel, considering how much alcohol he’s had. Then it’s Will’s colleagues’ turn to go. There’s a pleasant, sated lull in the conversations, as the remaining guests stretch their limbs in the afternoon sun.

When Frankie joins your table, Benny sits up as if remembering something.

“Hey baby, I’ve been thinking,’ he starts, looking at you both, “Fish could help you with the car. He used to be a mechanic, right Fish?”

All the food you’ve ingested makes your body slow and heavy, but you think you could start shaking with the way Frankie’s eyes flick up to you, alight with an alarming gleam.

The car. Benny’s big project, getting you out of public transportation. You didn’t need one in Paris and you haven’t bought one here yet, you like the bus rides, you can read and listen to music and daydream. A real luxury. And you’re more than fine with Benny driving you around in the Mustang.

“We’ve talked about this, Ben, I’m not comfortable driving, here,” you remind him tentatively.

Frankie leans back in his chair, arms crossed on his broad chest, and you avoid the sight of his lean muscles rippling underneath the tanned skin of his forearms.

“Look, I don’t like you riding them buses alone at night. She won’t even take a cab,” he adds for his friend’s benefit. “Fish knows a lot about cars and engines and shit, he could help you choose a good one. I think that’s a good idea, that’s all I’m saying.”

Nothing about this is a good idea.

“Cheers, but I’m a big girl from a big city,” you answer with a hint of aggressiveness. “I mean I’m fine,” you try again, softer, “and I’m used to driving a stick, I would want a manual gear, anyway.”

A manual gear. Nice touch, very European, that was convincing.

“Yea I can help you with that, too,” Frankie lifts his head and you get a better view of his face under the brim of the cap, but you’ll be damned if you can decipher his expression.

This whole situation is throwing you off-balance, you can’t process what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it, not in the least, what do you want, what does he want, what is he playing at?

He wants you safe. He wants you off the buses at night, is what he wants. Nothing else. Nothing more. Aside perhaps from the opportunity to ask you one question.

Clare provides you with a much welcome way out when she joins the discussion.

“I’ve been to Paris, like fifteen years ago? I loved it! What neighbourhood are you from, exactly?”

The topic seems forgotten and you carry out the conversation for as long as you can before excusing yourself and stepping inside for a glass of water. Talking about your hometown has cooled down your nerves, but you still need a moment to yourself.

Will’s kitchen is cleaner than an operating room. It’s disconcerting, and you wonder if he ever eats in. The hob is pristine, so is the oven, and you hardly resist the urge to open the fridge just to have a peek, refraining out of respect for your friend.

The first cabinet you open contains different sorts of coffee, teas and herbal infusions, canned soups and chocolate, something you didn’t expect. You find the glasses behind the second door you open, but your hand freezes on the handle as you hear someone coming into the kitchen behind you.

It’s him. The understanding instinctual. You recognize his gait, measured, calm, assertive, and before you can decide how to react, you’re surrounded by the scent of him. You were right, of course you were right, you do remember it vividly, only now it’s more potent, and it’s so close, too close, it’s there, you feel dizzy, he’s drawing nearer and you brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come.

He stops half an inch short of your back, and it’s as if your very skin is reaching out for him.

He leans over you, his mouth to your ear, the thin hair on your nape standing, and his breath fans over your throat when he whispers, “Let me get that car with you.” It’s not a request. It’s not a question.

You feel the heat rolling off of him once it’s no longer there. You stand alone in the empty kitchen, eyes clenched, cold and perfectly still, your hand gripped onto the cabinet handle.

It’s a moment before you can walk out of the kitchen on shaky legs. You’re going to do this. You are really going to do this. You can’t pause to think.

You get to the garden and the sun blinds you, they’re all staring in your direction, if only in your head. You go back to your seat next to Benny and you put on a broad smile, willing your voice to sound perfectly casual.

“Ok you win. I’ll get that car. But a small one.”

Oh god he looks so fucking happy, like a child, and he kisses you deep, you hate yourself already when you notice Frankie’s watching, he hasn’t missed a thing. You recognise the sadness in his eyes, it’s the same that’s pinching your heart.

Everything happens too fast afterwards. Benny signals him to come over, and you exchange phone numbers, an ordinary social interaction that is anything but. The irony of the situation drops like an anvil in your stomach and you fear for a moment that you’re going to be sick. Neither Frankie nor you can look at each other as you tap the digits on the screens.

Your entire body shudders at the sound of Benny’s voice.

“Alright, then, Fish, I guess she’ll give you a call!”

—

Why you didn’t call is all he needs to know. He’ll back off once he knows. And he can’t stand the thought of you travelling by bus, alone at night. Two birds, one stone.

He didn’t recognise your scent. Standing so close to you in that clinically clean kitchen, he breathed in your hair, your neck, and it was intoxicating, but it wasn’t like it used to be. Not that he can remember your old scent. He’s forgotten about that, along with your taste, a long time ago, he just knows it’s not it. New shampoo, new perfume, maybe. New boyfriend.

The only thing he remembers after all these years, apart from your eyes and your face, is your skin. The feel of it under the pads of his fingers, under the palm of his hand, under his tongue, between his lips. How it shivered under his touch. The way it caught at his calloused digits. And your cool back against his burning chest. And your breasts, and your own hands as you ceaselessly caressed him.

Is it better to remember?

Around three years ago, he met a girl from Mexico, much younger than him, dark and beautiful, and she made him feel good for a while, he liked the sensation of her soft body underneath his, and he thought he might be in love until he realised it was nothing but a reminiscence of you. Of your skin. Over and over and over again. Always you. Only you. A life spent seeking you through all these stranger, distant bodies.

He got so close to your skin, earlier. He knows that’s how close he’s ever going to get, now. Benny’s never been this happy. Benny’s in love, it’s all over his face, on display for everyone else to see.

But it’s real. He’s got that. Everything that happened between you and him, has been real. That’s what you gave him, today, you clever, clever girl. He can be content with that, he thinks. If only…

If only he didn’t feel your skin reaching out for him.

—

In the orange bedroom, he’d fallen asleep first and you had fought through your own tiredness to stay awake just a little while longer. Looking at him, committing to memory all his singular details. The size of his hands, the shape of his nails, the colour of his eyelashes, the tattoo behind his ear and the one on his thumb, the curve of his nose, the line of his neck, the pattern of his freckles, the dip between his collarbones, the ones over his hips, the flawless shape of his length, the build of his thighs, the sharpness of his jawline, the breadth of his shoulders, the curls of his hair…

You couldn’t ever be satisfied but you didn’t want to disturb his slumber, so you got up for a glass of water and got reminded of the books piled up by the chair.

Kneeling down on the floor, you looked through a first column of physics and algebra textbooks. A few others, smaller, with eye-catching covers, were fiction. Mostly second-hand, judging by the yellowed paper. Some were in Spanish, from authors unknown to you yet, but some you knew and loved, Hemingway, O'Connor, Remarque, Capote… You picked up a beaten copy of Franny and Zooey, inhaling the old paper scent, and flipped through the pages. Here, some sentences were underlined, there, entire paragraphs. His bold handwriting sprawled in all caps in the margin, his thoughts laid down in ink, something you would never dare do.

You put down the book, resuming your browsing, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking for, only that you would know when you’d find it, and oh! there.

You held the book with both hands and murmured the title like one does a binding spell.

“Le Maître et Marguerite”

****

Taglist (Thank you 💕): @nicolethered @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8

[an-aura-about-you]

at some point the plan is to use my day off to go on a hike, but that hasn't happened yet, so let's dive into Handbook for Mortals Chapter 2:

when we last left our hero, Scheherazade had just completed her audition for her daddy's magic show because apparently we've gotta keep up some appearances. the reader isn't supposed to know Charles Spellman is her father yet, but it's also not doing a good job of planting the hints for that twist. she met like a bajillion dudes and earned the ire of her dad's current girlfriend Sofia, in-house real magic user Zeb, and technical director Mac. people who have been paying attention to these so far know Mac is Zade's love interest, which means this is gonna be one of those love stories.

now let us press on to Chapter 2: The Hermit

-I won't lie, I'm envious that Zade can just fall asleep in a theater where 200 people are milling about having their own conversations. she apparently didn't get much sleep the night before because she had been "so nervous about the audition," which, why? it's your daddy's show. this was basically a formality to make it look less like the nepotism it is. everything about how Spellman talked about this in the previous chapter indicated that all you really had to do was walk up to him and ask, "can I be the star of your show daddy?" and he would have said yes. still, I wouldn't be able to fall asleep in those conditions, even if I hadn't slept the night before.

-she's fighting the sleep though because she's worried that falling asleep before Beth the assistant gets back would make a bad first impression, which is impossible since you've already met her. she already has her first impression of you. and based on the fact that most of the people present looked bored before your audition, you have already made the bad first impression.

-you know how explaining a joke makes it not funny anymore? perhaps unsurprisingly, it doesn't work in reverse with bad jokes. explaining Cam's wrong boyband names joke does not suddenly make it funny. but it also points out a great missed opportunity in this book. we have SOME proxies for real celebrities, such as the love interest that's going to be introduced later. (not Mac, but we'll get to that.) but there's also just. too many real people and too many real bands.

there's a game I like to play with friends, family, and people I've just met. I call it Cover Bands, and it's when you pick out a band and make up what the name of your cover band version of them would be. for example, my Creedence Clearwater Revival cover band would be called Bad Moon Rising. or when I first came up with the idea of the game with Dad, he said his Pink Floyd cover band would be called Which One's Pink? Sarem had the opportunity to make up some bands and singers for this world that are like Obviously This Is So And So but she didn't. like look here, I'm gonna do it with two bands I know almost nothing about and show y'all what Sarem could have done. my Plain White T's/100 Monkeys mashup cover band is called Monkey Suit. their logo could be a necktie that resembles a noose, which might be a bit strong for imagery but from what I know of the song Hey There Delilah it perfectly represents being constrained by the burden of capitalism that's keeping the narrator apart from his love. see how interesting that is with barely any effort put into it?

-oh yeah I want to mention that Sarem took an entire paragraph explaining the joke. the joke that I summed up as Cam's wrong boyband names joke.

-this wouldn't be something I nitpick on in a fanfic but since this is a published book I will: if you write one person speaking without a dialogue tag and go immediately to another person, you need to make that into a new paragraph. otherwise it looks like the other person is speaking. I'll put down the exact section of the book so y'all can see what I'm talking about:

"...You just have to know the important ones, like mine." Cam smiled and flashed his full set of pearly whites. "Uh...who are you?" Cam frowned and pretended to look hurt. I laughed again before proving that I did remember his name at least.

the way that's written doesn't make it clear that Zade's the one who said, "Uh...who are you?" until you fully parse the next sentence.

-I don't know what bothers me more, Zade being southern or Zade trying to act southern by suggesting she call everyone darlin'. this, theoretically, should be a book I really vibe with since I've lived in the south my whole life, enjoy stage magic, and dabble in witchcraft, but everything that Zade does that should resonate with me only repels me. it just feels like a facade she's put on. I would probably like her more if she just owned up to the fact that she's out of place in the south and didn't try to wear the mannerisms of it. I mean, isn't that why she left in the first place?

-ok we're starting to get some payoff to the detail I asked you to retain before about how the theater is in the round. to clarify, this means the stage is fully surrounded by seats. the book just told us that a character left through one of the stage entrances. but how? if he's leaving through a stage entrance, wouldn't that just mean he's going on stage?

-Mac approaches Zade and, while he's a bit snippy, he tones it down and asks for a meeting with her and the rest of the techs to go over how her trick works and how to safely implement it in the show. she is pissed about this for reasons unknown, especially about how he apparently reduces her illusion to a mere trick. like, girl, that is EXACTLY what you should WANT! if you're going to be using Real Fucking Magic in your act and you want to keep that fact a fucking secret, you WANT the normies to downplay it! you should be GLAD that he thinks it's just a trick! your internal monologue should be like, "ho ho ho, he doesn't suspect a thing~!" but no, it's insulting because something something witch's pride or whatever.

-we then get a half a page long paragraph about how Zade is tall. I'm not kidding.

-Mac is rightfully not accepting Zade's refusal to disclose the mechanics of her trick.

-"I could feel my hands tightening into fists. I really did want to punch him." mark another tally for Zade's violent tendencies.

-Mac tries to walk away but Zade grabs him by the shoulder, turns him around, and yells in his face that she's not going to show him how her trick is done. what the fuck???? I feel safe in counting this as the first time Zade actually does something violent instead of just think about harming someone. she grabs this guy she doesn't know and forcefully turns him around to escalate a conversation that he was clearly trying to put on hold by leaving. even if she didn't physically harm Mac, that is still just abusive by nature.

-"If we have a problem I can go to another show where the technical director doesn't have a God complex." I would actually really like to see Zade try to audition at another show that's not being run by her daddy. then we could see how far she gets without the nepotism. not to mention any sane technical director at any other show is going to do the same damn thing because they're in charge of the entire crew's safety, not just Zade's.

-we then reach the blurb from the back of the book, which I already pointed out has a section where Mac looks as though he would like to hit Zade. this is our main couple, everybody.

-if you got this far you might be going, "wait, didn't you mention there's another love interest besides Mac? that seems kind of pointless since Mac is the love interest on the back blurb." and yeah, that's how I feel about it, too. the entire conflict of this book is the love triangle between Zade, Mac, and the love interest yet to be introduced, but it's not even worth the spit it takes to say that because everything about the framing makes it clear that Zade/Mac is the endgame. it's perhaps unsurprising that the pseudo love triangle going on in this story is more akin to the one in the Twilight saga where it's abundantly clear that Bella/Edward is the endgame but Jacob is just. kinda there. shooting his shot. hopefully the other guy doesn't werewolf imprint on Zade and Mac's infant daughter.

-"Mac could have at least tried to talk to me in private; not in front of people I didn't even know yet." Zade thinks this to herself as if she hasn't been the one escalating the situation every step of the way. and literally the SECOND after she thinks that she goes right back to yelling right in his face! what the fuck???

-we've reached the first part of the book where we're gonna play a little game! it's called When Is This Story Set? the game where we try to decipher all of Zade's weird references and comments that she treats as though they were relevant to see if we can figure out a timeline for this story. for this round, she just dropped a reference to Game of Thrones, specifically the HBO show as she mentions the first two seasons of the show and not the books in the series A Song of Ice and Fire that the show is based on. (she legit spends a whole paragraph explaining to us who Joffrey Baratheon is like this is going to be important information.) so this would indicate that the story is set at its earliest in 2012. stay tuned for our next round in a coming update.

-if Zade has to protect her secrets so bad, why the fuck did she show her magic to a theater of 200 people with plans to do that regularly?

-somehow the stage has curtains around it and Charles just popped out from behind one of them. why would this stage have curtains? the theater is in the round. the only way this would work is if you had some kind of ring curtain that goes around the entire stage, but Zade specifies that the curtains are just hung at the stage entrances.

-ohhhhhh she's in trouble with daddy

-Charles straight up lifted Zade by the chin to face him exactly the way a father would a disobedient child. I'm certain a reader who doesn't know the twist going in would be surprised that the author considered it a twist upon the reveal. Zade even points out that this is something her mother does.

-omg apparently Mac and Zeb have friction between them and almost never agree on anything but Zade is so much of an idiot that Mac and Zeb are in total agreement about how bullshit this is. Zade is bringing people together through their sheer amazement at her fuckery.

-"I could give [Charles] just enough information to comply." and you couldn't do that with Mac for some reason??

-Charles just casually cut out Sofia's illusion right in front of her. oh my god, I would kill both of them. I would certainly be dumping Charles's ass right now.

-Zade says relationships with Charles are on his terms and that the word "compromise" likely isn't in his vocabulary. fruit doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?

-Charles says something about this being a chance to work on a new illusion with Sofia, but even the narrative makes it clear he's brushing her off.

-the chapter ends on this big buildup for a private confrontation between Zade and Charles and gives us a cliffhanger that *spoilers* we are never privy to. probably because if we did then we'd know without a doubt that Spellman is Zade's father. this is one of the many ways that the first person pov shoots itself in the foot with that.

man, I wanna see Sofia's Dance Illusion now. that sounds like it would be so much more visually interesting than Zade's stupid high dive. justice for my girl Sofia.

[simurghed]

For the undersiders road trip thing. I think perhaps, if you'd like. You could include a moment where one of them casually drops a fucked up factoid about their life. like regent says some horrific shit he watched his dad do. And all of them just have to sit there and process that. in a cramped car. With creedence clearwater revival playing.

hmmm most of their lives r just a series of fucked up factoids so technically there will b that but i want it to stay silly .. so idk if they will all sit n process but aisha can 🤨 a few times

[mdenvs3000w24]

Nature's Symphony (week 7)

Hey everyone, I took a little hiatus from posting for a week to recharge. I was able to go on a brief hike but forgot to take any pictures for you guys : (   I did see a thunderstorm this week, which was super cool but highly unsettling given that it is FEBRUARY IN CANADA, but I digress.

This week I’d like to address a fun question: Where is music in nature? Where is nature in music? I guess the first thing to do is to define music. Music is loosely defined as patterns of sound varying in pitch and time produced for emotional, social, cultural, and cognitive purposes (Gray et al., 2001). So, basically it is intentionally made sounds that vary in pitch. 

So, where is music in nature? Well to me it can be found in a variety of things. Something as simple as the wind blowing through the leaves of some trees can be a form of musical ambience, although by itself it isn’t really music because it isn’t done for any particular cognitive purpose. Instead, intentional sounds like crickets chirping and bullfrogs croaking form a musical symphony. 

Personally, I find pretty much all of nature's music peaceful and calming. Even cicadas, which I know many people find annoying, remind me of summer. So, I find them peaceful even when others do not.

Perhaps the most interesting music in nature is formed by more intelligent creatures such as whales. According to research, humpback whales use phrases similar in length to ours, and create themes out of several phrases before singing the next part (Gray et al., 2001). And, even though they can sing over a wide range of seven octaves, humpbacks still use musical intervals that are similar to the intervals in our scales (Gray et al., 2001). Their songs even contain repeating sounds that form rhymes! I knew whales’ had complex communication, but I didn't know it often took the form of a song. That's pretty cute honestly. The whales are actually singing to each other.

The second question is ‘where is nature in music’? In my opinion, there are two ways to look at this. The first way is that humans are ‘natural’ in the sense that we are evolved animals like whales and frogs, and so the songs and music we produce are inherently part of nature’s music. I think this view, while technically true, is less useful because usually we use ‘nature’ to mean non-human. 

The other way to look at it is how the natural world inspires human artists in their creation of music. There are tons of examples of this. There are songs that are more abstract in their use of nature, such as “Flight of the Bumblebee” that has no lyrics, but is meant to evoke the seemingly chaotic and rapidly changing flying pattern of a bumblebee. And, there are songs in which people directly talk about their experiences in nature. One of my personal favorites is Green River by Creedence Clearwater revival. It more directly reminds me of my experiences along ponds and rivers talking about the bullfrogs and dragonflies. 

Anyway, that's it for this week! What’s your favorite nature song? What song brings you back to nature?

I don't have any pictures of bullfrogs singing, but here's a picture of a leopard frog, they also make mating calls.

References

Gray, Patricia & Krause, Bernie & Atema, Jelle & Payne, Roger & Krumhansl, Carol & Baptista, Luis. (2001). The Music of Nature and the Nature of Music. Science. 291. 52-54.

[chasgow]

Homemade psychedelic inner sleeve found in a Creedence Clearwater Revival's Bayou Country LP. Songtitles are all in there with the LP name plus a few more bits and pieces- "Peac?" "Rollin" "Get it on!" and perhaps the owner's name and telephone number "Wilbur WOodside-0006". Bonus "BEATLES" on the reverse side.

[whileiamdying]

One Night In New York

When Ike and Tina Turner came storming into Manhattan in 1971 [April 1st, 1971], they were red hot. "Proud Mary," the biggest hit of their career, was burning up the charts; in the aftermath of their late Sixties tour with the Rolling Stones, they had graduated from the chitlin circuit to glamorous big-money venues. Crossing over to the American mainstream. they were discovering wildly diverse audiences - hippies at rock festivals, high rollers in Vegas, highbrows in New York City. Their new-fangled form of rhythm and blues, rooted in Ike's Delta blues and filtered through the psychedelic funk celebrated by Sly and the Family Stone, had, at long last, hit its stride.

Their Carnegie Hall performance caught the excitement. Five years earlier, they'd been scuffling. Five years later, they'd be splitting up. But here in the early Seventies, despite or perhaps because of a boiling tension, the duo was on fire. The Carnegie concert really wasn't a concert at all, but simply the Ike and Tina Revue, unadulterated and unshackled, down and dirty, and thank God, unfazed by the sophisticated surroundings.

In retrospect, it's tempting to read the repertoire as autobiography.

When Tina sings as a wronged woman, especially on her brilliant rendition of the ominous 12-bar blues, "I Smell Trouble," I believe every word. I also believe that Tina, along with Etta James and Aretha Franklin, forms a holy trinity of female soul singers. Ike's role as orchestral architect is no less brilliant. In the annals of soul music, he ranks high among its most influential leaders. As an inventor of the tight-and-right small band sound, Turner molded the minds of B.B. King, Ray Charles and James Brown, to name but three. On "I Smell Trouble," his guitar provides the perfect comic counterpoint to Tina's lament. I also love the way he sings around her on Otis Redding's "I've Been Loving You Too Long." Whatever happened off stage, their on-stage rapport was magical.

"If people just listen to the music," Ike recently told me, "they'll hear that me and Tina were on the same wavelength. We listened to each other. We worked off each other. For years we were in sync. I listen to this concert now and remember how we spoke a musical language like a secret language that's salty and sweet."

That language is evident in "Proud Mary," a cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival's original version a top-five smash in 1969-that rose to #4 on the pop charts. The concert version contains Tina's famous locution: "We never ever do nothing nice and easy," she explains. "We always do it nice and rough."

"Tina," says Ike, "had a way with words. I'd encourage her to say whatever she liked before singing. That kept the crowd on the edge of their seats. She was rapping before rap was called rap. Tina was a cool talker. She could work the crowd. real nice.. and rough."

There's much to savor here: the rough-and-tumble re-reading of Jessie Hill's infectious "Ooh Poo Pah Doo"; Tina's heartbreaking interpretation of "A Love Like Yours," whose country flavor gives us a feel for her Tennessee childhood; the raucous "Honky Tonk Woman," which takes the song to a level of theatricality unknown to the Stones; Tina's Tina-ization of Sly' spirited "I Want to Take You Higher" and Aretha's riveting "Respect."

"Tina's got her own sound," says Ike. "Maybe I helped bring it out, but it was there from the get-go."

Tina also has her own intensity, the quality that sets her apart. Her unrelenting focus is both thrilling and frightening; her stage persona incorporates high drama and smoldering sexuality in a manner that leaves audience weak and wanting more.

The tale of Ike and Tina has taken on mythic proportions. Like Adam and Eve, they are folk legends and archetypes of ruined romance. Tina has written her book. One day I hope Ike will tell the story from his point of view. The man-woman issues surrounding power and the abuse of power excite our anger and fears. The fact that those emotions are so evident in the music made at Carnegie Hall some quarter-century ago speaks to the expressive genius of both artists. And the further fact that the music still sounds fresh and vibrant still explodes with the force of nature is another validation of the timelessness of vital rhythm and blues.

— By David Ritz

David Ritz's latest collaboration is BLUES ALL AROUND ME, the autobiography of B. B. King. He's also written books on Marvin Gaye, Ray Charles, Etta James, Smokey Robinson and Jerry Wexler - plus the lyrics to "Sexual Healing."

[gdrar]

2/12/24: Genesis 1:1 by Zaeden

Today we have a desi pop album. It's bog standard pop, so much so I barely remember my experience listening to it. I played the first song and what felt like maybe five minutes later I've listened to a whole album, but heard perhaps three songs. Hip-hop beats, soft singing, and pop hooks, that's all I got. 

Like seriously I feel like I've been fucking mind-wiped exclusively about this album, and it's only been 10 minutes since I listened to it. I don't remember a single song sticking out. I maybe had the chorus of the last song 'days' playing in my head a couple minutes after finishing the album but now even that's gone, and 'Have You Ever Seen The Rain?' by Creedence Clearwater Revival has already moved back in. Maybe  the lingering effects of listening to a better artist all day (again, Creedence Clearwater Revival) and me still being tired has impacted my memory. I hate to give another short review, but…

That's all? See you all tomorrow for! Something!

[sneezilla]

Love your Virtual Insanity fic, can't wait for the next chapter!

What are some hc you have about Ratchet? :D

hehe thank you!!! these next couple chapters are gonna be a doozy, and will answer some lingering background questions!! so stay tuned. not sure when they'll come out, but i promise i haven't forgotten about it! Music is something I'm very passionate about, so I will give you some HCs about what I think he would enjoy! I'm gonna say 70's East-Coast rock. So think The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Very "boomer" takes on music, despite him not knowing anything about the music industry. Perhaps it's because he's sick of some of the more "out there" or "rambunctious" music that some of his fellow teammates seem to keep about them. Depends on which iteration you're looking at, of course. Any Jazz has a huge library, which variety would seem to be good, but it's all very experimental. Every iteration of Bee enjoys some sort of music that's high tempo and upbeat (whether that's Disco, Glam Metal, EDM, or Rap). It all manages to get under Ratchet's plating. No matter which version, 70's rock feels like something he could get behind IMO. Typically more laid back stuff that ""actually has meaning"". Basically, he's a music snob, despite sticking to music that is relatively mainstream. Which he will scoff at when someone points of, and tell them that "they just don't make music like they used to" ((even though he wasn't there when that music was made)). When I listen to that kind of stuff, I get very inspired to write for him! And thank you for the ask!! :))

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Thursday, 6 April 2023:

The Complete Scepter Singles (1962-1973) Dionne Warwick (Rhino/ Real Gone) (released in April 2023, originally released in 2018 as a PBS only item)

One of the things growing up in the early to late 1960s in the Midwest was that the radio was ubiquitous and they all seemingly were turned to WLS 89.9 Chicago.  If a place sold records, then you were always able to pick up a list of the Top 40 records most played on WLS that particular week.  And the one thing about the radio then, that seems so peculiar to people today is that everything was played on the same station.  Country, rock, soul, instrumentals, didn’t matter what the genre was, didn’t matter what color the artist was, there was always space for everyone.  Everyone knows this but some who never experienced it cannot begin to understand just how refreshing this was in hindsight.  At the time I thought nothing of hearing Bob Dylan, The Temptations, Percy Faith, Jeannie C Riley or Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Rolling Stones and The Beatles all within the space of 40 minutes.  If there was any dominant sound on the radio it was Motown.  But, running a close second to Motown, in my mind at least, was Dionne Warwick.  And boy, did I enjoy her voice although I might have been loathe to admit such a thing back then.

Some of this I can trace directly to one source: my mother.  My mother was crazy for Burt Bacharach.  I had no idea that a married person could have a crush on someone who wasn’t that person’s spouse until my mother developed a severe fondness for Bacharach.  Back then the people who were on the radio as singers, band members, songwriters, producers and arrangers were always on television and if the radio wasn’t going then the TV was and I seem to remember Bacharach was always on some variety show.  If you loved Bacharach then you had no choice but to love Dionne Warwick.  Virtually everything she recorded at one point in time seemed to be penned by Burt Bachrach and his songwriting partner Hal David and I’m certain everything she did was produced by them.  As a boy who loved 45s, you learned this quickly when you scanned the credits of Warwick’s Scepter singles. 

Quite frankly, I haven’t given Ms Warwick much thought these days.  Times change, people are forgotten or minimalized, but when I got the newsletter from Real Gone Records and saw this triple CD set being offered up I couldn’t resist.  Whether it was Bacharach’s recent death (8 February 2023), my love for complete singles compilations or just the nostalgia I felt when looking at this mammoth track list I honestly cannot say but something made me buy this (I suppose greed figures in there too).  Nevermind that this item originally came out in 2018 as one of those items you can only buy through a PBS fundraiser.  Nevermind that if I ran across this in a store I’d look at it fondly as I scanned the tracklist and wished I still had my copies of I Say A Little Prayer For You b/w Theme From Valley of The Dolls (a crazy huge hit back in the day that I am still crazy for) and Do You Know The Way To San Jose b/w Let Me Be Lonely.

Perhaps I am romanticizing all of this, perhaps I bought in haste, perhaps I’ll hear one disc and wonder, what was I thinking (which I will think every time I have to sit through Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head), but I also know I’m bound to hear some tracks I’ve not heard in fifty years. 

Above you see the front of the disc (and it looks similar to the original PBS/ Rhino release of 2018), the spine (I was quite pleased to see this show up in a fatty jewel case with double spine) and then the back.  Here is a close up of the hype sticker on the front.  While not all the songs are penned by Bacharach and David (11 are penned by other writers) they did produce all the tracks.

Here is a shot of the original cover that I pulled from discogs.

Since the cover of the booklet is just like the cover of the set, I’ll only show a photo of the back of the booklet, seen below.

Since this is in a fatty jewel case, you have a couple of places for photos in the inlay trays.  Below you will find both of them.

And lastly, here are the three discs.  Good lord, three discs...I’m already thinking maybe this is sheer nostalgia and romanticizing this mammoth collection!

[gvfrry]

Vinyl Collection Masterpost

inspo from @mamavanheat :) this is such a cool idea thank you kat!! find kat’s collection here my collection on discogs my vinyl collection playlist (incomplete because not everything is available on spotify)

my turntable model

vinyl collecting is one of my biggest passions, my collection is one of my greatest achievements and quite literally my prized possession, so I'd love to share it with you :) I've been collecting for about six years now, and have inherited a lot from my grandparents (hence the random spiritual and children's records.) below is an alphabetical list of my collection. I have also included a list of the LPs I'm currently searching for at the end! I'll update as it grows!! <3

my favorites are in bold

anything in parentheses denotes additional information on special colored pressings or other details

newly added vinyls are in purple

The Gregg Allman Band - Playin' Up A Storm

America - America

America - America

America - America

Arctic Monkeys - AM B

Babe Ruth - First Base

Bad Company - Desolation Angels

John Baldry - It Ain't Easy

Bastille - Bad Blood

Bastille - Doom Days

Bastille - Give Me The Future (Orange, Transparent)

Terry Baxter His Orchestra & Chorus - The Best Of '72

The Beatles - Abbey Road

Tony Bennett - Tony!

Jade Bird - Jade Bird

Boston - Boston

Bread - On The Waters

Savoy Brown - Hellbound Train C

Glen Campbell - Galveston

The Charlie Daniels Band - Fire On The Mountain

The Charlie Daniels Band - Full Moon

Chicago - Chicago

Chubby Checker - For Twisters Only

Eric Clapton - Backless

Commodores - Midnight Magic

Perry Como With Mitchell Ayres And His Orchestra - Rollin' Stone / With All My Heart And Soul (Shellac, 10")

Earl Thomas Conley - Treadin' Water

Alice Cooper - Killer

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Greatest Hits

Crosby, Stills & Nash - Daylight Again

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - So Far D

Mac Demarco - 2

John Denver - John Denver's Greatest Hits

John Denver - Whose Garden Was This

Neil Diamond - Stones

Neil Diamond - The Jazz Singer (Original Songs From The Motion Picture)

The Disneyland Children's Sing-Along Chorus - Disney's Children's Favorites Volume II

Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein - Stranger Things, Vol. I (Red and Blue Starburst)

Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein - Stranger Things, Vol. II (Red and Blue Starburst)

Placido Domingo With John Denver - Perhaps Love

Doris Day and Buddy Clark - I'll String Along With You / Powder Your Face With Sunshine (Shellac, 10") E

Billie Eilish - Happier Than Ever (Pale Blue)

Billie Eilish - When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? (Yellow)

Eurythmics - Revenge F

Fabian - The Fabulous Fabian

Fleetwood Mac - Mirage

Fleetwood Mac - Rumours

Fleetwood Mac - Tusk

Fleetwood Mac - Vintage Years

Dan Fogelberg - Phoenix

Peter Frampton - I'm In You

Peter, Paul And Mary - In The Wind G

Larry Gatlin & The Gatlin Brothers Band - Greatest Hits Vol. II

Larry Gatlin & The Gatlin Brothers Band - Help Yourself

Go-Go's - Beauty And The Beat

Greta Van Fleet - Black Smoke Rising EP

Greta Van Fleet - Anthem Of The Peaceful Army

Greta Van Fleet - The Battle At Garden's Gate

Greta Van Fleet - The Battle At Garden's Gate (White)

Larry Groce And The Disneyland Children's Sing-Along Chorus - Disney's Children's Favorites Vol. I H

Halsey - Hopeless Fountain Kingdom (Clear With Teal Splatter)

George Harrison - All Things Must Pass (50th Anniversary Box Set)

Niall Horan - Flicker I

nothing here yet :) J

Michael Jackson - Thriller

Jay And The Americans - Sands Of Time

Billy Joel - Glass Houses

Elton John - Don't Shoot Me, I'm Only The Piano Player

Elton John - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Elton John - Madman Across The Water

Janis Joplin - Pearl

K

Khalid - American Teen

Kid's Praise! - Kid's Praise 2 A Joy Fuliest Noise

The Knack - Get The Knack L

The Lads - The Lads In Concert

Lake - Lake

Steve Lawrence - Winners!

Le Roux - Louisiana's Le Roux

Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffiti

Lee Greenwood - Somebody's Gonna Love You

Lee Greenwood - You've Got A Good Love Comin'

The Lettermen - I Have Dreamed

The Liverpool Kids - Beattle Mash

Living Strings - Music From Fiddler On The Roof

Living Voices - Sing Irish Songs

The Longines Symphonette - The Best Songs Of 1969

The Longines Symphonette - The Best Songs Of 1970

The Longines Symphonette - The Best Songs Of 1973

The Lumineers - The Lumineers

The Lumineers - Cleopatra

The Lumineers - III (Gold Translucent Gold Foil)

The Lumineers - Brightside (Sunbleached, Artist Signed) M

Post Malone - Beerbongs & Bentleys (Clear)

Chuck Mangione - Fun And Games

Paul Mauriat And His Orchestra - Blooming Hits

Paul McCartney - Tug Of War

Meat Loaf - Bat Out Of Hell

Medical Mission Sisters - Joy Is Like The Rain

Shawn Mendes - Wonder (Silver)

Mickey Mouse Club - Mousekedances And Other Mouseketeer Favorites

Steve Miller Band - Fly Like An Eagle

The Mistletoe Disco Band - Christmas Disco

Anne Murray - Anne Murray Sings For The Sesame Street Generation N

Nazareth - Hair Of The Dog

Olivia Newton-John - Physical

Olivia Newton-John / Electric Light Orchestra - Xanadu (From The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) O

One Direction - Made In The AM

Orleans - Walking And Dreaming P

Panic At The Disco - Pretty. Odd.

Panic! At The Disco - Vices & Virtues

Panic! At The Disco - Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die!

Panic! At The Disco - Death Of A Bachelor

Panic! At The Disco - All My Friends We're Glorious: Death Of A Bachelor Tour Live

Christopher Parkening - Parkening Plays Bach

Poco - Legend

Elvis Presley - A Legendary Performer Vol. 3 (Picture Disc)

Elvis Presley - Elvis In Hollywood

Elvis Presley - Moody Blue Q

Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody (The Original Soundtrack) R

Olivia Rodrigo - Sour

Linda Ronstadt - A Retrospective S

Carlos Santana & Buddy Miles - Carlos Santana & Buddy Miles! Live!

Bob Segar & The Silver Bullet Band - Live Bullet

Richard M. Sherman & Robert B. Sherman - Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Shooting Star - Hang On For Your Life

Nancy Sinatra - Boots

Roy Smeck and His Paradise Serenaders - South Seas Serenade

The Smothers Brothers - Curb Your Tongue, Knave!

Southern Pacific - Southern Pacific

Johnny Standley With Horace Heidt And His Musical Knights - It's In The Book Part 1 / It's In The Book Part 2 (Shellac, 10")

James Lee Stanley - Live

Steely Dan - Can't Buy A Thrill

Stephen Stills - Stephen Stills 2

Stephen Stills / Mike Bloomfield / Al Kooper - Super Session

Strawberry Shortcake - The World Of Strawberry Shortcake: Original TV Sound Track

Harry Styles - Harry Styles

Harry Styles - Fine Line

Harry Styles - Watermelon Sugar Single (Red, 7")

Styx - Cornerstone

Survivor - Eye Of The Tiger

Taylor Swift - Speak Now

Taylor Swift - Fearless (Taylor’s Version) (Red Opaque)

Taylor Swift - Red

Taylor Swift - Red (Taylor's Version)

Taylor Swift - Folklore (Pink "Clandestine Meetings")

Taylor Swift - Evermore (Green) T

Toots And The Maytals - Reggae Got Soul

The Turtles - Happy Together U

nothing here yet :) V

Jerry Vale - More Jerry Vale's Greatest Hits

Various Artists - Dear Evan Hansen: Original Broadway Cast Recording

Various - Grand Old Country (Box Set)

Various - In The Mood: Greatest Hits Of The Big Band Era

Various - Magnavox Let Us Entertain You

Various - Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (The Movie Soundtrack Featuring The Songs Of ABBA)

Various - Mickey Mouse Disco

Various - Super Hits Of The '70s

Various - Take Me Home Country Roads (Box Set)

Various - The 50's Greatest Love Songs / The 50's Golden Hits To Remember

Various - The Million Dollar Themes

Various - The Music Man - Original Soundtrack

Various - The Original Hit Performances! The Late Fifties

Various - The Sound Of Music (An Original Soundtrack Recording)

Various - Walt Disney's Sleeping Beauty

Various - Wonderful World Of Children's Christmas

Various Featuring Peggy Lee - Walt Disney's "Lady And The Tramp" - Including Songs From The Motion Picture

Virtuoso Symphony Of London- On The Night Before Christmas - Nutcracker Suite W

Joe Walsh - "But Seriously, Folks..."

Waylon - Greatest Hits

Wet Willie - The Wetter The Better

The Who - The Kids Are Alright

Roger Williams - Roger Williams

Wings- Back To The Egg X

nothing here yet :) Y

Neil Young - Harvest Z

nothing here yet :)

current vinyl hunting:

Taylor Swift - Lover (it's currently being shipped)

The Velveteers - Nightmare Daydream

Bastille - Wild World

Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher

Phoebe Bridgers - Stranger In The Alps

Greta Van Fleet - From The Fires

Fleetwood Mac- Fleetwood Mac

Fleetwood Mac - Tango In The Night

Carole King - Tapestry

Joni Mitchell - Blue

Crosby, Stills & Nash - Self Titled

Hozier - Hozier

Hozier - Wasteland Baby

Mother Mother - O My Heart

Dominic Fike - What Could Possibly Go Wrong

Frank Ocean - channel ORANGE

Frank Ocean - Blond

One Direction - Four

Cat Stevens - Tea For The Tillerman

Eagles - Eagles

Euphoria Soundtrack

[destielhasmedead]

this is the first part to a story i started - thoughts?

It had been two hours in the Impala for Cas to suddenly crack, he cleared his throat,

“Uh, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned around to see the angel. Cas made a head-nodding motion towards Dean and pointed to his ears.

“What y’all playing charades now? What is it Cas?” Dean laughed and took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at the two passengers,

“What…..”

“Dude, we’ve been listening to the same song for the past hour, and the same album for the past two, even Metallica isn’t that good,” Sam said.

“You watch your mouth Sammy, I'm the one driving here!” 

“Dean, I do too thoroughly enjoy the melody, but perhaps we could hear something else?” Cas piped in from the backseat nervously. Dean moved his attention to the rearview mirror, took a good look at Castiel, then back to his brother, and with a deep sigh begrudgingly agreed. Sam grabbed something from his feet,

“An aux cord? You have to be kidding me”.

“Dean, unlike you I enjoy living in the 21st century. You should try it, upgrade from your cassette tapes.” Sam scoffed, but let out a soft chuckle. 

“Fine let’s see what garbage you listen to.” Said Dean annoyed and skeptical. Cas moved eagerly towards the space between the two front seats to get a good look at all the commotion. Sam plugged the wire into his cell and proceeded to scroll through till he found the playlist he was looking for.

Sam had always been a soft rock, jazz, and even pop kind of guy. Though, he was sure to always have a playlist that wouldn’t get him kicked out onto the side of the road. Soon, Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on through the speakers. Dean's face fell flat but remained silent. They were on their way to the beach, so Sam knew he had some leeway and extra room to play with, and Dean was fully aware of the opportunities Sam had. It had been years, decades even since they had a proper visit to the beach. The only times they’ve been there was on a case. Sure, when the boys were younger John had let them stay a couple of days afterward from time to time, but even then it was stress-filled and tense. 

A few songs in, Cas reached, sitting up higher, and pointed out the sign that read of the hotel they had booked. Cas had all the windows of the Impala opened, his hair flopped about as the salty air flowed around him. The hotel was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the shore. It was nicer than the places they typically stayed at. 

Sam helped his brother find a parking spot, and closed the doors almost simultaneously. Sam stayed back for a minute grabbing their bags, while Dean and Cas ventured inside. It was quaint, a typical beach hotel. Whiffs of sunblock, the squeaking of damp flip flops, bright lights, and inspirational signs filled their senses. 

“Hi, we have three rooms booked.” Dean leaned on the counter and put down a credit card that wasn’t his.

“I see only two on the reservation list..” the clerk said clicking on his computer. Dean looked at Cas nervously, searching for a response to give to the man. Sam strolled in with their bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam butted in on the conversation.

“You only booked two rooms,” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Sam shrugged and turned back to the desk for answers.

“I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do, there aren’t any extra rooms” 

“We could stay somewhere else..” Sam started to say but was interrupted.

“No! The reviews said this joint has great water pressure in the shower and I’m not giving that up!” Dean exclaimed passionately. Suddenly Cas cleared his throat,

“Well, I could um share a room with Dean. I don’t sleep anyway.” Cas’s face grew flushed and he shifted his weight on his feet. 

“Ok, that works for me. I’m sick of sharing with you anyway, you snore real loudly.” Sam commented about Dean. Though Dean didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, staring at the wall deep in thought. He felt his heart in his throat as if he had been chasing a vamp. He gulped it down and felt a soft palm on his shoulder that pulled him away from his thoughts. 

“Are you ok?” Cas looked him in the eyes.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine just thinking” Dean gave him a smile, and Cas’s head straightened once again out of its tilt. Both of the men were visibly flustered from the string of events that just occurred. Sam cleared his throat,

“Ok, wanna find our rooms and get some rest, I for one would appreciate getting more than four hours of sleep for once in my life.” The guys nodded, now aware of the time. Dean bunched up his sleeves till they reached his elbows, and looked at his watch. It was eleven pm, which in hindsight made sense since they had arrived when the sky was darkening. 

They started towards the elevator and to the 4th floor. Dean had been iffy about not getting their usual spot in the corner on the base level. But Sam just poked fun at him saying,

“Dude quit overreacting, we aren’t on a hunt, and we’ve saved the world like 12 times. We can survive two nights in a room that doesn’t look at a parking lot.” But Dean had just rolled his eyes. Soon, he found himself following Cas into their room, and Sam walked down the other end of the hallway to his.

“Have fun you two!” Sam teased. The new roommates' faces reddened. Cas swiped the key card over the black square and pushed the door open.

“You have to be kidding me,” Dean said under his breath, yet still audible for Cas to hear. He tossed his duffel bag a few feet away from him and rubbed his hands through his hair until his nails dug into his neck. Before them, they saw a couch, a TV, other typical Hotel amenities (bathroom, mini-fridge), and one queen-sized bed. But, looking back on it, the man at the front desk hadn’t said there would be a second bed in that room. 

“Dean, I don’t sleep much anyway, you have the bed and I can hang out on the couch.”

“You sure Cas?”, Cas nodded. Dean felt his eyes getting heavy, he tugged at his duffel and got out his Men Of Letters robe, Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, and his hotdog pajama pants. Meanwhile, Cas had found the TV remote and started channel surfing. He paused it on a show called Lucifer, which he had found very amusing. Dean walked back in to find Cas hunched over in front of the screen pointing at the different characters and saying how inaccurate they are.

“You having fun over there?” Dean said through a smirk as he drew the blanket toward him.

“Though it’s ridiculous, it’s also very comical!” Cas nodded to himself with a smile, maintaining his focus. 

“Alright, well you two have fun, just turn the volume down a bit so I can sleep? We’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow in the morning.” Dean kindly shook his head.

“Alright goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Buddy.”

--------

chapt 2 (not completed?)

It’s 9 am and Dean awakes to Castiel pulling the curtains open, letting the effulgent sunlight bounce around the room, filling Dean’s face with the brightness. He cups his hands by his eyebrows, grabbing at the covers while doing so. Once Dean’s eyes stopped ping-ponging and the static washed over, he grumbled “good mornin.'' and tossed around the clothes in his bag till he found what he called his “summer flannel” and shorts. Cas moved out from by the windows and shuffled over to Dean’s ill-made bed and began to meticulously tidy it up. 

“Alright, you ready? Sam’s meeting us downstairs for bacon. Well, he’ll probably have some fancy-schmancy healthy smoothie, but I’m having bacon.” Cas turned towards the bathroom doorway where Dean was still a few feet away from, nodded to Dean in agreement, and walked towards their room’s door.

“Wow wow wow there champ, you’re wearing that?” Dean held out his hand in a stop motion, running over to block the door from him.

“Y- Yes?” Cas replied, unsure of the question.

“Okay, I know it’s your outfit and stuff, but it's the beach! it’s hot outside!”

“But, you’re wearing your summer flannel, and this is all I have.” Cas gestured to Dean’s extra layer and then proceeded to look down at his overcoat.

“Well, that’s different.” Dean said, slightly defensive, and followed up with “We’ll ask Sam downstairs, but I for one am starving”. Dean swiveled, now facing the door holding onto the round silver knob, letting Cas walk through first.

Once the two arrive in the food court, they find Sam already set up with, as his brother had predicted, a bottled smoothie and eggs.

“Hey! Bacon’s over there, Dean.” Sam’s head tilted in the direction of the food. There were lifted metal container-looking platters lined up each with lids to keep what was inside warm. Excitedly, he grabbed a plate and piled on his food.

Castiel joined Sam at the circular table.

“So, how was last night?” Sam asked, showing genuine curiosity.

“It was fine. I did what Dean refers to as channel surfing, and I read all of the brochures on the table.”

“Oh yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not particularly, I saw a couple of different restaurants, there is an ice cream place down the street though.” Yes, Cas didn’t need to eat, but recently Rowena cast a spell for him so that he could at least taste it without feeling every single molecule. He hadn’t gotten around to trying Ice Cream yet though, he was still getting used to the sensations.

“What’d I miss? Oh, Sam! Cas refuses to change his clothes. The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me.” He had put emphasis on the word “refuses” to get his point across. Cas rolled his eyes at him, recalling the interaction and being fully aware that there hadn’t been anything he would refer to as a refusal.

“Cas only ever wears that trench coat though. And you on the other hand,” Sam turned to Dean,

“Are wearing your summer flannel which by the way does not exist.” Sam lightly laughed as Dean bites dramatically into his bacon.

“Well, this is a vacation, remember? So, if I even see your asses walking to the beach without wearing bathing suits, or at least not long sleeves, I swear I will shoot you.” He waved his fork in the air as he spoke. The men in question, who had been sitting next to each other, locked eyes. The two, without talking seemed to come to the consensus that Sam would in fact shoot them in the leg. Sam himself had been wearing dark purple swim trunks and a T-shirt. Having spent part of the night reading about the town, Cas mentioned a nearby store for him and Dean to walk down to. 

[sparrowsfall]

@vihilum​​ confessed: 08. a peek inside their WALLET & 26. a peek inside their MOST USED PLAYLIST.

from: “ a peek inside... ” | no longer accepting

WALLET — a black leather bifold. long and thin. simple and sleek. he always gravitates towards a similar piece whenever the previous one succumbs to the wear and tear of use. this one is likely already cracking along its outer crease, but only enough to be noticed by the owner himself. the contents inside are fairly run-of-the mill : a Bank of America checkbook. a debit and credit card to match. a small black ballpoint pen. cash tucked into the opposite pocket, just to keep on hand ( some singles and fives and a pair of twenties ). Anthem Blue Cross and Medicare insurance cards. a New York state driver’s license that expired in ‘72, tucked behind a Maine state driver’s license that expired in 2014, tucked behind yet another Maine state ID, this one recently renewed ---  even despite the dramatic age difference in all the photos, those doe eyes never stop sparkling through the years. a half-spent gift card for his favorite ice cream shop on the mainland. a Portland, Maine public library card. a couple crinkled receipts that he has yet to log in his check register. a United States passport, first issued in 1959 and adorned over the decades with stamps from Brazil, Bolivia, Venezuela, Mexico, Canada, Ireland, Scotland, Italy, Spain, Russia, Israel and Syria. he also holds onto his expired original passport, from his family’s immigration, as a keepsake. finally, there’s the St. Christopher / St. Michael visor clip he kept from his NYC cab driving days, slipped over the pocket where he keeps his cash.

perhaps most importantly, he always keeps two photos on hand: 

     the first is his favorite family portrait of the Pruitt-Rossi clan --- his mother, his father, all of his sisters ( including Alice ), and himself at barely 3 years old. taken just before their emigration from Tuscany. the sepia photograph is obviously aged, but has been tended to by careful hands, so that the portrait’s visibility remains in-tact.

     the second? verse-dependent. in his Far Cry verse it’s a candid photo of his wife, Sarah Pruitt ( née Harper ) and their baby boy, Sigur, when he was but a few years old. the both of them smiling wide and mounted on the back of Sarah’s mare, Mara. a moment of sweet reprieve and domestic bliss, captured somewhere in the Whitetail Mountains before the Reaping. in the verses of his main timeline ( and just about every other verse ), it’s a candid of Missus Mildred Gunning which he too shot himself. Millie is joyfully looking down at her ( their ) three-week-old daughter Sarah, just after her Baptism, with happy tears brimming in her eyes. John managed to keep himself together that day, allowing his own tears to flow at last in the privacy of the rectory.

MOST USED PLAYLIST VINYLS — he has a difficult time picking a favorite vinyl if you ask him outright. but you can easily identify the few he plays the most by the spines of their sleeves, the cardboard softening and the color washed away from the corrosion that comes with flipping them open, over and over. his favored picks include:

Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours

John Denver’s Poems, Prayers, and Promises

Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Willy and the Poor Boys

Neil Diamond’s Tap Root Manuscript

Jim Croce’s You Don’t Mess Around With Jim

Don McLean’s American Pie

Stevie Wonder’s Talking Book

Johnny Cash’s I Walk the Line

Marty Robbins’s Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs

Simon & Garfunkel’s Parsley, Sage, Rosemary And Thyme

Dolly Parton’s Jolene