#Disc Jockey Music Man

[ntls-24722]

DJ singing Dolores's part and MCMM singing Camilo's part from the song We don't talk about Bruno

(Sorry I just watched the movie again at dinner tonight and I got stuck with that mental imagine for like an hour after I finished my dinner 🥲)

sorry, i didnt do their entire verses since with the way i did this i think i would cry, but

[artastic-friend]

HelloPaint Drawings!!

Ofc I had to fit some simping in- this time with a somewhat Bible accurate DJ!!

Featuring the Kandi Raver rawrself!!! By @arachnid-disc-jockey

Thank you to everyone who showed up!!! I'll still probably doodle a tad longer but I wanted to post what I have now ^^

[garthnadermemestash]

💿🎚️🎛️🎚️💿 DJ memes

[dezinomania]

(via "DJ Panda " iPhone Wallet for Sale by DEZINOMANIA)

[temptaetions]

cinnamon sugar 🌙 k.sm (m)

a/n: the photo above is from seungmin's instagram. i don't own the media, but i sure was blessed to see it. anyway, i think this is my first post with like...actual smut in it. please forgive me, because it is so shitty, i'm so bad at writing it. anyway, uhm, enjoy! my anon ask is now on, if you'd like to send any requests in!

synopsis: her lips taste sweet, like cinnamon sugar...she's such a treat.

genre: best friends to lovers | idiots in love | x fem!reader | smut | fluff | angst

pairing(s): best friend!kim seungmin x virgin!reader

word count: 6k. lowercase intended.

rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

warning(s): swearing, mutual pining, a lot of emotional turmoil from both parties, horribly written smut [between k.sm x reader: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!!!), creampie, soft d/s themes, (slight) overuse of pet names (angel, sweetheart) oral (f. receiving), paragraphs of praise, so much kissing, some grinding, the lightest amount of nipple play. riding/missionary, crying during sex, multiple orgasms, reader begs a lot, they stare into each others eyes and hold hands while fucking oh my god]. this is slightly self indulgent but the guilt i feel after writing it, and so badly at that, is overwhelming.

what to listen to: gaze - sweetback | eat it - megan thee stallion | agora hills - doja cat | real love - mary j. blige | whatta man - salt-n-pepa & en vogue

message from: seungmin🧸🤎

[7:32pm] i’m coming to pick u up, i want a cinnabon.

message to: seungmin🧸🤎

[7:33pm] ur paying 🤑

"can i get aux?" you say as you slide into seungmin's car. the leather of the passenger seat was cool to the touch, a sign that nobody had sat in your self-assigned seat. "hello to you too, best friend. how was my day? oh, it was lovely! it's so nice to see you, too!" "oh, shut up, min. you don't give a shit if i ask those questions or not." you chuckle, snatching his aux cable out of the center console. "you know me so well, fuck. i hate small talk. just merge souls with me." you and seungmin had been best friends for over ten years. he knew you inside and out - from your scalp to the bottom of your feet (including the scar from his razor scooter slamming into your ankle at age sixteen.)

you shared a lot of interests, but none as intense as your love of music and cinnamon rolls. he was always at your dance recitals. your biggest fan, really. he cheered, but never showed you more praise than necessary.

"i need you to stay humble, it helps me tolerate you." he murmured into your hair after one recital last year. you just shook your head in amusement, holding it high as you let him march you to his car for dinner.

"oh, i updated our playlist! i have a few new things on here." you said excitedly as you scrolled through the playlists on your homepage. you shared this love language – you had dozens of collaborative playlists with user ksm922, and you giggled at the ugly photos of the two of you he often used for the covers.

"sure." he shrugs, using his pinky to turn the volume dial up. your eyes trail on his slender fingers as they return to the wheel, but you shake it off just as quickly. pressing play, you let the smooth r&b sounds fill the car.

"oh, this is nice. what is this?" seungmin nods his head along to it, and you glance at the screen. "gaze by sweetback. it played on my sade station, and the vibes are just so kim seungmin, yanno?" you close your eyes and fake being a disc-jockey, his hand coming to pinch your arm lightly, a chuckle playing on his lips. "stop that, you'd be a horrible deejay."

"are you sure this isn't about sex? geez, bub, act like you get some." he teases, and you swat his arm. "i do get some!" "oh yeah? from who?" his eyes are trained on the road as he bullies you about your sex life (or lack thereof), allowing you a moment to stare at his ringed fingers. oh, the way they gripped the wheel, they could so easily grip your neck–

shut up, y/n.

"your mom." you huff, crossing your arms with a pout. you hated this conversation, and you often avoided it with him. yes, seungmin was your best friend, but you never wanted to talk about your sex life with him. he had experiences…and you heard from so many people how good it was.

with him, to be specific.

"what are we, thirteen? you wish my mother would breathe in your direction, you fucking virgin." he scoffs, and you force a snicker out. you glance at your phone, a smirk threatening to escape as it started. "oh, this one is good. turn it up!" he obliged, not even giving the screen a second look.

you settle in your seat as megan thee stallion's voice blares through the speakers, muffling a soft laugh behind your hand. seungmin hated the idea of you being a sexual being, and you often used it to bother him. you liked seeing him get red in the face, and squirm. it doesn't mean you understood it, but it was hilarious.

legs shakin', hit it 'til the bed breaking…bed springing, talk to it…

seungmin's mouth is agape, his cheeks firetruck red…

i don't want just one nut, daddy, i need the whole tree, ah…

…before his nimble fingers press skip. 

"are you serious, y/n? in my christian minecraft server?" his eyes are still fixed on the road, his knuckles turning white from his hold on the steering wheel. weird.

"it's megan! i love her, she's the hot girl coach. you don't want me to be a virgin forever, do you?" you joke, and he scrunches his nose. "since when do you listen to music about getting your…ugh, whatever. don't ever bring up sex appeal, you repulse me." you laugh loudly, your hand going to pinch his cheek softly. "you're so cute when you get flustered, min. here, i'll play pretty boy by the neighbourhood in your honor."

he can't stop thinking about it. it's been four hours since you played the song in the car, and it's still stuck in his head. well, what he did hear.

you, inherently, did not come across as a sexual being. you didn't, and that wasn't seungmin being just a platonic, nice friend – you genuinely did not care to be the core of anyone's sexual desire. you wore oversized shirts and loose jeans, the occasional dress paired with black pantyhose and boots. "gotta hide my ankles, minnie. that's how they getcha." but thinking about you…listening to that song? your hips winding down on some other man like he's seen you do on stage? hell, some other man's face when he's right here?

it made him sick.

and you were so beautifully unaware as you swirled your fork in your cinnamon roll, bringing the tines to your lips and sucking the icing clean off them. not a second lick or adjustment, just straight off. he felt his cheeks heat as his cock twitched in his pants, and he almost missed you waving your fingers in his face. "yo, you good? you seem distracted." you have a bit of icing on your lip, and he subconsciously reaches over to wipe it off. your eyes are wide as he does so, and he doesn't know why he can't move his thumb from your lip. he doesn't know why everything feels like it's moving in slow motion, and he just watches as you instinctively suck your lip between your teeth at the loss of contact.

you're so pretty, fuck, you're so pretty.

"i'm good. do you want to go?" he's surprised to hear his own voice, and you nod absently. he was acting weird, he knew he was, but he feels like there's a fog in his brain that he can't shake. maybe it was the way he'd memorized every curve of your body, from watching your fluid dances. maybe it was the way that you smiled so innocently, you were so innocent. your eyes big and pure, your heart full, your mind…naïve.

he didn't understand the sudden urge to ruin you, but he knew he had to get over it, and fast.

"fuck." he groans, and your head whips around to look at him. "you okay?"

he nods quickly, his hand landing on the small of your back to guide you to the car faster. "min, if you have to shit, you can just say that." "ugh, shut up. you always say the most unhinged shit. no wonder you can't get laid." he rolls his eyes, and you just laugh. "trust me, it's not for lack of opportunity." you let him open the door for you, and you wink at him playfully, his fingers flicking your forehead before shutting the door. it was true, multiple of your friends had offered to…deflower you. hyunjin, on your dance team. minho, on your production team. felix, your choreographer. even their friends in the music department had offered, and you simply smiled, shaking your head at them. "i just like to flirt, your dick is your problem."

but much like seungmin, they had all seen the way you moved. how easily you sunk to your knees, how smooth your gyrations were, the way you looked like you enjoyed it. you felt good knowing people were attracted to you, but it never compared to what you believed was seungmin's innocent gaze.

it was weird to want more from him, and it pained you, slightly. he was cute, your best friend. cute, experienced, and he knew you. he knew you so well, what could go wrong? he could reject you, that's what.

you're in your own head when you realize the car has been moving, and rather fast, at that. "min, seriously. are you shitting your pants?" you roll your eyes, and he brings the car to a screeching halt. "bro, your brakes." you cringe, covering your ears as he pulls into his driveway.

"are you going to kill me? no way, jisung always said i'd go out this way. please, tell my mother i love her and make sure i get the best spot in heaven." you feign terror as you unbuckle your seatbelt, not noticing the way seungmin can't even look at you. you feel how hard he slams his door, and you give his car a pitiful look as you slide out, following him to his apartment. he lived on the first floor, what a privilege.

he doesn't look at you as he walks into the apartment, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. "y/n, i have a question."

"oh? mr. attitude has a question, does he?" you smile sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest, the cowhide leather of the letterman you stole from him in high school rough against your skin. "alright, let's hear it." "why are you still a virgin?" okay, not what you were expecting. don't let it fluster you. you don't really notice his hardened expression as you try to answer. "well…it's just not on my list of priorities. i'll get fucked when i get fucked, you know?"

you shrug, not thinking much of your answer as he steps closer. "hm, i don't buy it."

raising an eyebrow, you shake your head, unbuttoning the jacket. "you're acting so weird, seungmin. if you wanna fuck me, just say that."

you sound surprisingly confident, and you can feel your heart pounding in your ears as you slide the jacket off, draping it over the couch. you gather your hair forward, spinning to speak to him again. "did you still want to watch the mov-" you're cut off by his lips pressing against yours, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. you can't move, your hands frozen as he works you carefully, lips burning against your own. his movements feel desperate, and you let your body take over as you kiss him back, a soft sigh escaping his lips as your tongue slips between them. the kiss is hungry, his hands are digging into you so deeply you're sure you'll bruise. 

he stops. his fingers let go of your hips, and he pulls away, your lips chasing after his as he does. your lip gloss is glittering on his face, before he covers his eyes. "i'm so sorry, y/n. i have no idea what came over me, i…i'm sorry, please, let me take you home."

you can't speak, your mind still swirling with endorphins. your best friend of ten years just made the biggest move on you, and without a word, you managed to fumble it. no way. absolutely not.

"sorry for what? i'm not understanding." you suddenly feel very vulnerable, your skin littering with goosebumps at the sudden change in the air. "i'm perfectly fine with…whatever you were doing."

seungmin peers back at you through dark eyes. "no, y/n. we can't." he swipes his keys off the table, and you huff. "and why can't we, seungmin? what is so bad about kissing me?" his eyes are wide as you ramble, and it's all word vomit. you can't seem to stop it, but he's drinking every word.

"what is it? am i a bad kisser? is it because i'm a virgin? i don't think it's very fair that you can openly admit to being other girls' firsts but you can't even do that for me. you haven't even offered. i'm not saying you fucking have to, because you're my best friend and you always will be. but holy fuck, seungmin, i'm trying to get some. you said i should, so why not be the one i get it from?" 

you're out of breath, and seungmin just shakes his head as he takes one, two steps back in front of you. "you think i don't want to be your first? you think i don't want you all to myself, to ruin you for anyone else? you think i don't want to fuck you stupid, until all you know is my name? are you hearing yourself right now?"

"you're certainly not acting like it. it doesn't have to mean shit, seungmin. it's just sex." you roll your eyes, leaning on the couch. "it's not just sex, y/n. this is a huge step for you, for us. our friendship is on the line, and i don't want to do something you might regret later." you shake your head, and he hates when you get stubborn like this, you won't listen to reason. "still not seeing the issue here. i lose my virginity and gain some experience for the next guy, you get your dick wet. we go to bed, and we act like it didn't happen in the morning. you take me home, we listen to our playlists on the way there, and we go about our days."

he flings his keys onto the floor, his hands reaching to hold your face. he tucks a few strands behind your ears, fingers lovingly caressing your pierced lobes before he looks you dead in the eyes. "y/n, if i give you what you want tonight, there is no chance in hell you're going to fuck someone else."

you stare back at him silently, your eyes darting to his lips before your tongue peeks out to wet your own. it's not the worst thing in the world, being with seungmin. it could be good…and not just the sex. he knows you, you know him…his lips felt like they were made for you. they always had, since your drunken kiss on christmas eve.

"you say that like it's a threat." you challenge, and he bites back a smile, nodding his head. his hand has traveled to your hip, his other still holding your face when his nose touches yours, his breath hitting your lips. "if you want me to stop at any point, just let me know. understand, sweetheart?"

you nod, leaning forward to connect your lips. he pulls back, shaking his head. "i need to hear you say you understand."

"jeez, seungmin, i understand. i get it, can we please move this along?" you're not the least bit embarrassed as you whine against him, and he lets you kiss him. your lips are eager, your hands carding through his hair as he licks into your mouth. the kiss is all teeth and tongue, a soft moan interrupting it as he gives your clothed breast a gentle squeeze, his thumb working over your pebbled nipple. "min, i…" "what, tell me what you want, sweetheart." his lips trail down your jaw, nipping along your exposed neck carefully. your whines are like heaven to him, "n-need you.." "aw, you need me? need me where?" he's loving this, the way you squirm under his lips, under his nimble fingers. you push your chest into him involuntarily, "h-here. please?"

you grab his wrist, a wave of confidence taking over as you guide his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants. his fingers are cool against your clothed heat, a soft wet patch forming on the fabric. his eyes are wide as he instinctively lets his hand run over the spot, watching as you flinch, lip caught between your teeth. he presses hard against you, a gasp falling from your mouth. "i haven't even touched you, and look at how wet you are for me. a little pathetic, hm?" "'m’ yours, minnie. always, always been yours." you don’t mean that, he thinks. he's letting you grind against his hand, his gaze transfixed on your face. your brows furrowed, eyes screwed shut as you used his hand to get yourself to the edge. his cock twitches at the little pants falling from your lips, when he decides he's had enough. you nearly cry at the loss of contact, his hand escaping the confines of your plush thighs. "minnie-" "if you're gonna cum, it's gonna be on my face. let's go, sweetheart." he tugs you towards his bedroom, your legs weak as you try not to stumble behind him. "bed. on your back."

he's pulling his sweater over his head, and you nearly coo at his messy hair in your fucked out state. he feels a flush coat his cheeks as you lay there, waiting for him to tug your pants off. hooking his fingers in your waistband, you lift your hips to make it easier, and he slides your underwear and sweatpants off in one go. you suddenly feel shy, closing your legs. 

"ah, ah. it's just me, sweetheart. do you want to stop?" his hands move to your knees, the cool metal of his rings sending a soft shock to your spine. "no, i'm…okay. i'm just nervous." "it's okay, angel. i got you, don't worry." he presses a kiss to your forehead, nose…lips. he lingers there a bit, but doesn't let it deepen as he runs his hands down your legs. his fingers dig into your thighs, pulling them apart for him to settle between. you're soaking, the heat of his stare making anxiety bubble in your stomach. "fuck, you're going to be the death of me." his lips press soft, chaste kisses along your inner thigh, nipping carefully as you mewl. "minnie, please..i..please…" you end in a whimper, and who is he to deny you when you beg so nicely? he buries his nose in your pussy, bumping your clit as he lets his tongue drag through your folds, collecting your sweet, sweet arousal on his face. your hand flies to his hair as his lips suck on your clit, thighs threatening to close around his head. he doesn't care, he'd die a happy man right there between your legs.

"f-fuck, seungmin, ah! right there, holy f-fuh.." you're shaking around his head, bucking your hips into his face as gently as you can muster. he loves it, but he can't tell you that as he drowns in the scent of you, the obscene sounds of his tongue against you paired with your pretty whimpers ensuring he'd probably cum in his pants. "oh, b-baby i'm gonna.."

his hand reaches for yours, interlacing your trembling fingers with his, his other hand massaging your thigh in encouragement. he can barely bring himself to talk, a soft moan of his against your clit sending you over the edge, a soft cry of his name echoing in the room. "that's it, good job angel. you did so well for me, hm?" he's still lapping at you, not wanting to miss a single shiver or whimper from your body. "s'always that good? min?" he peers up at you from his spot between your legs, your lips parted as you blink, a tear rolling down the side of your face. he moves up to wipe it away, but you take his hand in yours, kissing his palm softly. "you okay? we can stop." he presses his forehead against yours, not able to process your cute gesture without wanting to bawl. you nod, a lazy smile crossing your lips as you reach to kiss him. "m'all good, minnie. do you…want me to help you?"

you can feel his clothed cock pressing against your leg, practically begging to be set free, and you teasingly buck up against it. he inhales sharply, shaking his head, "i want tonight to be about you. i want to make sure you feel good, okay? are you sure you want to continue?" "yeah, m'all yours." you sigh against his lips, a chaste kiss from you to him. "can i take this off, sweetheart?" he yanks lightly on your shirt, and you nod. you help him tug it over your head, your fingers reaching backwards to unclasp your bra. he feels like all the air is sucked out of the room as you lay beneath him, for him, in all your glory. every curve he's imagined just as gorgeous. "you're staring, it's making me shy." your soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "no, no, fuck, you're gorgeous. look at you, oh my god, i.." he trails off, his hands resting on your tummy. "you just went down on me, and you're short-circuiting over my tits, kim?" your teasing is not helping his brain, but the attitude brings him back to reality. "you know that's not all it is, stop it." he rolls his eyes, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. it's soothing, the warmth of your skin radiating against his. he dips his head between your breasts, trailing open mouthed kisses all over your chest and stomach. "you're so beautiful. i'm literally the luckiest person in the entire universe." he's mumbling to himself mostly, but you feel soft tears prick at your eyes. his lips latch around one of your nipples, a gasp from you making him pull off with a pop. "can i…are you sure you want this, y/n? i really, really don't want you to regret this."

you grab his face in your hands, your thumbs lightly padding over his cheeks. "i want you, entirely. in this life, in the next life. okay? i got you, don't worry." you echo his words back to him, and he bites his lip, a hint of something in his eyes as he pulls back to unbuckle his pants. kicking them off quickly, you wait until he straightens to take a peek. 

the rumors were true. he's thick, his tip a soft mauve. your mouth is watering at the sight, when a snap of his fingers catches your attention. "eyes up here, sweetheart. i want you to look at me, can you do that?"

you nod, a shy smile on your lips as he goes to spread your knees again. "no, wait, minnie…" he feels his heart skip a beat at your voice, eyes flickering to yours in concern. "i…can i be on top? i read that…it can be better that way." you swallow thickly, and he feels the tips of ears burn but a smile grazes his features. "you studied for sex?"

any awkwardness is gone. you scoff, a light smack landing on his arm. "forgive me for wanting to be in control."

"you want to be in control? okay. fine, but you won't last long." he shrugs, sliding onto the bed behind you, eyes taking in the curve of your ass before you turn. "lay back, asswipe." "watch the attitude, or i'm shutting this shit down." he says, eyes serious as you feel your cheeks heat. you watch as he gets comfortable on his pillows, and you crawl over to him, your hands brushing against his sides as you straddle him. "we can go as slow as you want, okay?" his words are reassuring as his hands reach for your thighs, and you nod.

you take a deep breath, lightly letting your cunt drag along his length, his tip bumping your clit. you shiver, a buzz going up your legs as he takes your hips in his hands, manually guiding you over his cock. "did you read about this too?"

"shut up." you roll your eyes, his hands holding you in place. he looks…so convincing like this. like everything will go back to normal after this, like everything will be the same. he'll still be your best friend, and you'll still be desperately, hopelessly, stupidly in love with him. it's overwhelming, and you just bite your lip, shaking your head. "you're staring." "your dick is twitching, but i'm not saying shit." scoffing, you take him in your hand gently, lining him up with your aching center. you sink down slowly, the tip barely swiping your entrance when you grimace, a hiss escaping your lips as you screw your eyes shut. "i know, angel. here, let me help you." seungmin pulls you closer, his back against his headboard, careful not to pull out. you watch as his hand snakes between the two of you, his thumb softly circling your clit, your eyes threatening to close. "eyes open." you oblige, feeling a gush of arousal at his command, and you have no room to feel embarrassed when he begins to shallowly fuck into you, matching the pace of his thumb. your eyes are glossy as you move your hands to hold onto the headboard, your chest flush to his face. he kisses your shoulder, your soft whimpers music to his ears. 

"deeper? or stay like this?" he asks, voice shaking slightly, the warmth of your pussy almost staggering. it's humiliating how worked up you have him, but you need to stay humble. it helps him tolerate you. "d-deeper, is okay."

his arms wrap around your waist tightly, slowly pulling you down further, a whine escaping your throat as your hands move to his shoulders, your eyes meeting his. he's trying not to cum from the way your pretty cunt swallowed him so perfectly, taking him so well. made for him, just him. "m'so full, minnie." you clench around him, and it takes all his willpower not to finish. he's not far, he's practically seeing stars…but the way you're looking at him, you're so pretty, so ready to cry over his cock. he needs to drag this out as long as he can.

"y-you can move, if you want. p-please, want to feel you." you're pleading, he knows. he swallows, confidence wavering as he nods, slowly thrusting up into you, the squelch immediately catching his attention, eyes tearing from yours. he watches the way you take him, your body begging to be ruined by him. he moves a little faster, your mind beginning to blur as he falls into a rhythm. 

your nails are digging into his shoulders, your lip caught between your teeth as his hips rock against yours. his eyes flicker back to your face, and you manage a quick wink. he feels his cheeks burn beet red as he looks away. he feels like such a fucking virgin, when he is the one that's your first, not the other way around. pretty girl on his lap and he can't even look at you.

he wishes you had been his first, too, and he wishes you would have asked him sooner. you're so smart, you're so gorgeous, your lips taste like cinnamon sugar. fuck, he loves you. you're his best friend, you feel so good around him and you know him so well. he loves you, so fucking much.

his hips come to a slow, your moan drawing out as he drags his cock against your walls at an agonizing pace. "'still want to be in control, angel?" his lips press to your clavicle, and you nod against his neck. "will you tell me if it's good?"

he pulls you back, hand coming up to caress your face. "how could it not be, when it's you?"

you don't say a word, allowing his lips to meet yours in a chaste kiss. he slumps a bit, and you maneuver so his back is almost flat on the bed, and you try not to moan as the movement makes his cock hit you just right. "whenever you're ready, just use me how you want to." you feel a flutter in your stomach, giving an experimental roll of your hips, your hands flat on his side. raising your hips, your thighs tremble as you start a rhythm, bouncing on him carefully. he's watching you, the way you move so fluidly, like you're dancing. like you're enjoying him, using him, making his brain feel useless. he can't speak, just drinking in this picture of you he's never going to get to see again after tonight, taking in your throaty moans.

"m-minnie?" your eyes are low, your hands moving to his chest, pushing your breasts together. fuck, you are art. "y-yeah?" 

he can't even focus as you whimper, clamping around him like a vice, moving slightly faster. "m'close, i can't..i.." you're still looking at him, and he can't. he can't take it, using his strength to flip you on your back. he interlaces your fingers, pinning your hands above you as he roughly fucks into you, sharp cries falling from your lips.

his head dips, lips dragging along your jaw as he whispers in your ear. "this is where you belong. under me, begging for me. got it?"

you feel chills cover your body as you nod, "y-yes, god, yes." "good girl." he's so unsure of himself, he's so afraid he'll scare off your high but he needs to know. "did you mean what you said earlier?" he's speaking through gritted teeth, his eyes focused on the gloss in your eyes.

"hmm?" your brows furrow, your bitten lips slightly agape as his thrusts become sloppy, and he just shakes his head, opting to kiss you instead. hoping it'll help the knot in his stomach go away, hoping it will help you forget he asked. you can't help but pant into his mouth, feeling him smile against your lips. "you can let go, sweetheart. you did so well for me, yeah? i got you." you don't register how tightly you squeeze his fingers, or how deeply you're kissing him as you feel the white hot sensation rip through you. he's drunk off you, and you can feel him spurting inside you, his cum trickling out of you as his thrusts come to a slow, slow, stop.

but he doesn't, his lips don't. he can't stop kissing you, he doesn't want to talk. he doesn't want to tell you how you made him feel, how he can never see you the same again. he doesn't want to watch you walk out of his apartment tonight and possibly never be able to talk you again. he doesn't want to ever, ever hear about you doing this with some other guy, but he made his bed. 

your thighs are trembling around him, and you tug your fingers out of his grasp, pulling as far away from his mouth as you physically can. he pouts, chasing after them, only stopping when your eyes blink slowly at him.

"you alright?" his voice is soft, almost scared. you nod, swallowing thickly as you look away, tears forming in your eyes. "ah, talk to me, y/n. it's okay." "i meant it. what i said, earlier. i…don't know why i said it, i never planned on saying it. i'm sorry if it's going to make things awkward." you feel a tear escape, your hand quickly pawing it away. "awkward? with you? it’s not possible." he murmurs, and you glance at him, but he's staring at the pillows above your head.

"but you don't feel the same way." you say, almost as if you're trying not to hurt your feelings by letting your own words reject you, instead of him. he shifts, and you realize he's still inside you. he props himself up on his elbows, hands holding his head up as he peers at you. "you think i don't?"

"i know you don't." you laugh coldly, and he smiles. "yeah, miss sex expert? you know everything? did you read that, too?"

"ugh, stop. i'm never telling you anything again." you're becoming increasingly aware of your nudity, and seungmin can feel the hot flame of shame creeping up his back. he shakes his head, hating the way his blushing cheeks burn so bright. "i want you to tell me everything, forever. i love knowing you, i love trusting you. i'm glad you trusted me with this."

you can't look at him. his hand moves to make you look at him, fingers lightly squeezing your jaw. "and i meant what i said, too. you can't fuck anyone else. only i can see you like this, okay?"

his eyes are searching your face, watching you attempt to nod. "and…" he sighs, feeling tears prick at his eyes. "and i love you. i love your smile, and how you laugh when you play sex songs in the car. i love when we split cinnamon rolls, because you always try to take the bigger piece as if i won't just let you have it. i love when you say my name because it rolls so nicely off your tongue. i love how you move so effortlessly, and how you remember every little thing about anyone, ever. i love that you're funny, and you're so passionate. i love that you're so smart, far too smart to think that i wouldn't sell my soul to live an eternity by your side." his voice is trembling, and your eyes are wide and full of tears, full of adoration, of love for the stupid boy hovering above you.

"i love you, please. please say you're mine." his tears spill, and your lips part, a soft sob escaping as you pull him close, the cool metal of his necklace dragging against your damp skin. "i'm yours, always. i'm yours, i'm yours, i'm yours. i love you." you mumble against his lips, your tears mixing with his on your cheeks.

"thank fuck, i was about to end it all thinking about you doing that fucking trick on someone else." he mutters, and you snort as he buries his face. "that wasn't in the article, funnily enough. it just felt like the right thing to do. think if i pierced my clit, it'd feel better for you?" you ponder aloud, and he nips at your skin.

"don't even start, i haven't even pulled out." he groans, and you laugh loudly. "you're so pretty." he pouts, and rolls his eyes as they start filling with tears, your hand quickly wiping the ones that spilled. "is this going to happen every time? i kind of hate it."

"god, i hope so. i love seeing you like this for me." you tease, and he scrunches his nose. "shut up. stay humble, it's the only way i tolerate you." he nuzzles his nose back into your neck, and you let him stay there, carding your fingers through his hair.

"y/n?"

"yes, seungmin?" "i'm yours, you know that?"

"mmm, i do now. just mine?" "just yours. always." he nods as he pulls himself off you, placing a kiss on your temple, before brushing his lips on the shell of your ear. "someone has to fuck the attitude out of you, and i'm so glad it's gonna be me." you feel your skin heat at his words, and you smack him lightly. he gives a playful thrust, making you gasp before slowly pulling out. "you're off the hook for now, my angel. let's get you cleaned up." he doesn't stop kissing your face in the shower, or when he's shampooing your hair. he doesn't stop kissing your shoulders as he towels you dry, or your tummy when he works lotion into your skin. he can't keep his hands off you, even when you say you need to put clothes on. he can't get enough of the burn of your skin against his, and moves as fast as a human possibly can stripping the sheets off his bed and replacing them. 

he can't stop, and he won't stop kissing you, splitting cinnamon rolls with you, or singing sex songs in the car. he can't stop, and he won't stop, supporting you at your recitals and fucking you stupid as a reward. he can't stop, and he won't stop filling your cup until it's overflowing, making you laugh until you cry, and dragging moans of his name from your throat.

he can't stop, and he will never stop, loving you.

temptaetions © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 6

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

The team starts their journey home and things start to change between her and Joel. Will she finally start letting him in? Or will he have to forget about her and whatever they had shared?

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical descriptions of injuries, smut-adjacent (finally)

The group spends the rest of the night in the old gas station. In the morning she tells them she wants to get back to Jackson in one trip. Joel keeps his mouth shut after their conversation last night, and it’s agreed that they’ll all keep moving, five days until they’re back home. 

Alex and Steve might be fooled by her confident attitude, but Joel can see the way she winces when she hoists herself up onto one of the horses, Steve swinging his legs over behind her. One night wasn’t going to heal the damage she had been dealt, and Joel can see she’s feeling it. Regardless, the group sets off on the highway back towards Wyoming.

The days start to pass languidly by, long stretches of squinting highway and nights spent hunkered down in withering buildings. She hasn’t been talking much to any of them, only sharing faint whispers with Steve that Joel pretends to not be curious about. He’s trying hard to not be such a guy about it, but honestly that’s never been an issue until her. For the first time since the world ended, Joel Miller is jealous.

He tries to hold onto what she had told him, that Steve wasn’t her man. And the further along the journey home they got, the more Joel was starting to understand their relationship. This was an intimacy past whatever Joel was getting worked up about. This was two people who had been through everything together. Something deeper than sharing love, or blood, or a name. They had shared life, or whatever there was left of it. 

He was still trying to figure out how Alex fit into this equation. They treated him like a little brother almost. Someone a little less worn than them, but still dear. What Joel saw before him was a family, the only kind that could arise in a world like this.

They’re two days out from home, settling in for the night. Her and Joel stay up while Alex and Steve get some rest in the first leg of the night, hunkering down in another cleaned out gas station. 

They sit shoulder to shoulder, backs against an old beer cooler. 

For maybe the first time, she speaks up first, “what kinda records do you have?”

“Don’t have many, you’ll have to share whatever you’ve been stashing. A buggy Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Hank Snow.”

“A real country boy, huh?” She quirks up her mouth in a split grin at him. He thinks to himself, this is new.

“Well what would you prefer?” He’s playing along. It feels weird to him.

“I’m guessing you weren’t listening to much Mazzy Star before this all went down?” He looks at her blankly, she smiles.

“That’s one I did manage to find, their 1993 album, seemingly intact. I’m gonna play it until it’s worn out when we get back.” He likes the sound of that, the promise of her presence.

“Anything else?” She turns her head, resting her cheek on her shoulder as she looks up at him. “You know Elliott Smith?” Again, Joel’s got nothing. She lets out a short laugh. “How about the movie Good Will Hunting?” 

“Robin Williams, right? A bunch of therapy talk.” He’s rewarded with a wide smile. “Yeah, Elliott Smith was the soundtrack to that.” Joel nods, afraid to admit he can barely remember the movie in the first place.

“He was big in Portland, where I was from, at least in the indie scene. My dad - he was a disc jockey, always on the up and up on music, always bringing home good shit for me to listen to. Elliott Smith was my favorite artist he showed me. You might like him, he’s folk-adjacent, lots of guitar.” He’s never heard her say so much at once, and even though he has no idea what indie or folk-adjacent means, all he wants is for her to keep talking. For just a second, Joel feels like he’s in a different world with her, a world in which none of this ever happened. Just two people talking about music on a normal night. And then he blinks back into reality, the still fading bruises on her neck, the bandage wrapped firmly around her arm, the way she talks in the past tense. She seems to snap back into this world at the same time, clearing her throat and looking down at her hands in her lap. He hates it, the sudden drop.

“Anyways, gotta get home first. But I’ve got one of his records too, I’ll play it for you.” Just like back in that field, Joel doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s already done it. He reaches out, sliding his palm under her own, interlacing their fingers. Her lungs catch on an inhale, turning her face to look at him from under those damn eyelashes. His other hand ghosts over the hinge of her jaw, thumb brushing the arc of her chin. While his brain blares the what the fuck alarm, he’s leaning into her, twisting in until she does the rest, leaning up and forward into him, and it’s a kiss that could only be shared between two broken people. It’s a trembling brush, a frightened test. She squeezes his hand and he closes the gap this time. The second one is a little more certain. I want this. I want you. This is real. I’m terrified that this is real.

They freeze before slowly unfurling from each other, resting their heads back against the wall. He’s afraid to look back at her and see regret, but she breaks the silence first, “was that alright?” He thinks his head’s going to explode. She’s asking if that was alright for him?

Joel swallows, “uh-hum, yeah. Was that alright to you?” Neither of them have looked at each other yet, just glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes. He sees the sliver of her smile. “Yeah, that was alright, Joel Miller.”

… 

Over the next two days of travel, she gets quiet again. Joel thinks he royally fucked up, that maybe the more she thought about what they shared, the less alright it became to her. He feels selfish, downright ridiculous, that this is what he’s worrying about. He can see that she’s still in a decent amount of pain in how she moves, sudden, wincing jerks. She won’t let any of them look at her ribs again.

Mercifully, it’s an uneventful return home. They make it back through the mountains, and their appearance on the edge of town causes a serious stir, people gathering to watch the ragged crew ride in. They dismount, and Maria is quick to take her under her arm and out of the crowd to a former doctor’s house. Joel can hear hushed whispers regarding “the saint’s” return. Back home, back to all her secrets he still doesn’t know.

Steve and Alex look at Joel, both nodding to him, before walking off towards their home. The job is over, and Joel heads home too.

Ellie is begrudgingly happy to see him return, asking too many questions that he refuses to answer. He wonders if things will return to the way they had been, an icy distance, Steve’s warning. He hopes they won’t.

…

That night, there’s a knock at Joel’s door. It’s Alex. Joel steps out, sitting with the man on the porch.

“Thought you’d wanna know, she’s doing alright. Doc did a full checkup. No broken ribs, just some serious bruising, have her taking freezing cold baths to reduce the swelling. She’s at home now, sleeping like the dead. Think she’s already feeling a lot better just being back.”

Joel nods at this, not realizing he needed so badly to know how she was doing.

Alex takes a sharper inhale, “Steve also told me to tell you he was sorry for being a dick. He’s a hard one to get an apology out of, just a little too proud.” Joel huffs at that.

“Don’t have to apologize. I get that, wanting to keep someone safe. I was happy to help you do that.” Alex rubs his palms on his thighs before standing up, turning to leave before thinking twice and looking back at Joel.

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but she told me she likes you, Miller. That’s a high compliment. Thinks you’re one of the good ones. Please don’t prove her wrong.” Before Joel can respond to this, Alex is already shuffling off his porch, walking out into the dimming night.

…

Joel tries hard to get back to business as usual. Picking patrol shifts back up, working with Tommy. He doesn’t see her around at all that first week back, figures they have her laying low while she’s still recovering. He sees Steve at the bar one night and the man nods at Joel, a silent extension of peace, a thank you.

He wonders to himself if it’s better to just forget what happened, that it’d be best to let it lay dormant, to stop thinking about her. But he can’t, the feeling of her hand in his is what he falls asleep to and wakes up with.

Joel certainly isn’t a romantic now, nor was he before. He learned not to be the hard way, with Sarah’s mom, who left him and his babygirl before he knew love was capable of hurting, of destroying. And then he lost Sarah, and with her, whatever he thought was left of his heart. 

Something seemed to slide back into that space with Ellie, but now, he can feel it filling out to the brim with her, this wild, strange, dangerous woman that he still doesn’t know, not really. He tries to tamp it down, drown it out, but the thoughts of her keep pouring in. She’s ten years younger than him, and while Joel knows time doesn’t count for much in this world, it feels like a chasm, one big enough for her to not want him at all. But then he remembers that night, that shared moment, and he has to believe he’s not being a fool for feeling this way.

His mind rolls like the tide with these wonderings, these worries as he moves through the days. And then, it’s two weeks since they’ve returned, and he gets another knock on his door on a Tuesday night.

She’s wearing the same thing he saw her in that day at the childcare center, soft, faded t-shirt, grubby jean shorts, and duct-taped sneakers, a zip-up hoodie hanging loosely over her frame. He can see that she’s got two vinyls tucked under her arm.

“You owe me a turn with your record player, Miller.” A ghost of a smile in the corners of her lips. He opens the door wider, letting her slip inside.

“Yes ma’am. Was wondering when you’d be coming for a listen.” Joel can handle patrol shifts, clickers, raiders, general danger, without much anxiety. But having her here, in his space, is making him nervous in an embarrassing way.

“Doc finally cleared me for daily activities. First day of freedom since we got back. Been thinking about this the whole time though.” He knows she means the record player, but something in him still flips over at her words.

She holds up both records for Joel to see, “I brought Mazzy Star and Elliott Smith, the ones I told you about, think we can listen to both tonight?” 

He nods, “Ellie’s out wreaking havoc with some other kids, won’t be around to give us any grief. We can listen to whatever you want.” She gives him one of those rare, cracking smiles. He thinks that’s all he really wants these days.

She lets him lead her upstairs, and he only now starts to realize he keeps the record player in his bedroom. Jesus christ, man, calm down. She lets out a sigh when she sees the player set up, tentatively walking over and thumbing through the sparse crate of records Joel has. 

“Man, feels like Christmas morning,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. The record player is set up on an old end table, Joel sits down in the armchair next to it, elbows on his knees, watching her carefully kneel in front of the player. She lays her two records down on the floor, seemingly trying to decide which to play first.

“I think I have to go with Elliott Smith first. Haven’t heard him in twenty fucking years.” She slips the record onto the table, letting the needle catch. The opening chords of “Speed Trials” kick up and she smiles until her cheeks are rounding up under her eyelashes, eyes closed.

Joel’s only half paying attention to the music, his focus more intently on the seeming ecstasy she’s in, nodding her head with the drums, letting out a sigh as each new track begins. She opens her eyes a squint, catching him staring and he looks away, trying to listen closer to the music.

She just keeps smiling, “ah man, this last track is so good.”

I'm in love with the world

Through the eyes of a girl

Who's still around the morning after…

She’s mouthing along to the lyrics, Joel feels like he’s going to combust.

I could be another fool

Or an exception to the rule

You tell me the morning after…

She looks at him, her smile slackening as she slowly stands. She shuffles over in front of him and offers out her open palm, he takes it and squeezes lightly. 

Crooked spin can't come to rest

I'm damaged bad at best

She'll decide what she wants

I'll probably be the last to know

No one says until it shows, see how it is

They want you or they don't

Say yes…

Joel stands, his and her feet shuffling until the toes of their shoes skim. She splays her other palm over his chest, fingers grazing just below his collarbone. He lets his hand furl around the curve of her neck, thumb resting on the aching roundness of her cheek.

They both jump when the needle catches the end of the record, warbling off. She huffs a laugh, eyes still caught with Joel’s.

He swears he hears his voice crack when he asks her if this is ok but he doesn’t care because she’s smiling and then she’s nodding and then she’s leaning up and in and the first kiss is soft, a remembering, a test. The second is a bit firmer, more confident. The third, she slides her palm up from his chest, to his jaw, drawing into him a bit closer. The fourth, they untangle their hands, his going to the hilt of her spine, hers draping over the tops of his shoulder blades. The fifth, he lets his palm rest heavy on her back, pressing her body fully against his. She swipes her tongue across his lips and he’s already letting her in, tasting into him. They can feel their battering heart beats where their chests press against each other, shaky and unsure of where they’re going next until Joel is cupping her hips in both his hands and gently walking her back towards the end of his bed. The backs of her knees hit the sheets and she’s stumbling back onto the bed, taking him with her as he awkwardly tries to hold himself up. She lays back and he’s hovering over her with his knee between her legs and his palm beside her temple and he laughs, really truly laughs. She brings her hand up, thumb brushing over his lips.

“What is it?” He sighs, “it’s nothing, it’s just — kinda feel like I’m back in highschool right now.” She giggles and Joel thinks it might kill him, “Joel Miller, are you blushing?”

“Mm, shut up,” and with that he’s diving back down to meet her and this kiss is different. It’s desperate, licking into each other, teeth bumping, huffed breaths, and the clicks of spit. She starts to work at the buttons of his shirt and once he catches on, he sits up for a moment, yanking the thing off over his head by the collar before settling back into her. He shivers as her palms run over his bare skin, nails grazing his back, his sides, up his chest. He dips his head into her neck, leaving nips along her throat as she gasps under his touch. She lets out a strangled whine when he brushes his lips at the hinge of her jaw. He presses back, pulling her hands with him to bring them both standing. His hands grasp at the edges of her hoodie, he sees a flicker of something in her eyes, but she still lets him shrug the jacket off her shoulders. Joel runs his fingertips down her bare arms and she shudders. He stops at the bandage around her left forearm, she looks down at the floor.

“Almost all healed now. You still gonna like me with another scar added to the list?” He frowns at that, dipping his head to meet her gaze, swooping in for a swift, hard peck. “Don’t even say shit like that,” he murmurs, bringing his attention back to the task at hand, fingers ghosting along the hem of her shirt. He doesn’t miss her flinch this time.

“I just – well, you’ve seen my back. Kinda a mood killer,” she laughs lamely at this, swallowing hard around an ache in her throat. 

“Hey, no. I — I want you, however you are, however you let me.” Joel feels like his mouth is full of cotton and he speaks before he can even think, “you’re – you’re wild, you know that? Make me feel like my head is gonna explode everytime I look at you.” She lets a small smile spread at that, still gazing down at her shoes. He brings his palm to her jaw, coaxing her face up towards him. 

“Don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, but you gotta know I want all of you, if you’ll let me have it.” She nods slightly, eyes a bit teary as she catches Joel’s gaze. What she says comes out as a hoarse whisper, “Think I need some time. I know you’ve seen them. I’m just not ready, but I want to be. That ok?” Joel takes hold of her hand, squeezing. She squeezes back.

“It’s ok, darlin. Give you all the time I got.”

[meatlesbeating]

On Bob Dylan introducing the Beatles to smoking weed for the first time in 1964:

(an excerpt from The Love You Make by Peter Brown, 1983):

On August 28 a small but auspicious event occurred at the Delmonico Hotel in New York that would grow to affect the consciousness of the world: Bob Dylan turned the Beatles on to marijuana for the first time in their lives.

Now, the Beatles did not become marijuana addicts immediately after that—it took at least six months for that transformation to occur—but smoking pot with Dylan gave getting high the Sanctification of the Hip. Before that they had spurned marijuana with a passion; as far as they were concerned, pot smokers were junkies, in the same category as heroin addicts. The pills the boys took were pharmaceutical, illegally obtained but not illegal to take. Shortly after their turn-on with Dylan they began to compose under marijuana’s spell. It didn’t show very much on the next album, most of which was already composed and recorded anyway, but you could almost smell the pungent smoke on the album that was to follow. There was no doubt about it; Dylan had given them a key that opened a door to a new dimension of pop music, and they took the youth of the world across the threshold with them.

John Lennon had long wanted to meet Bob Dylan but not as badly as he wanted to meet Elvis, however. For John, Elvis was a god who had achieved indescribable sanctity. Dylan was a contemporary, and to John just another competitor, although John was a little envious of Dylan’s gift for lyrics. It was only recently that John had begun to take special interest in his own lyrics. His first introspective, autobiographical song, “I’ll Cry Instead,” had been written for the soundtrack of A Hard Day’s Night but had never made it into the movie. The lyrics said, “I’ve got a chip on my shoulder that’s bigger than my feet/I can’t talk to people that I meet.”

That was certainly the case with Dylan. They were introduced by a mutual friend, writer Al Aronowitz, who was one of the first legitimate journalists to write about pop music. Aronowitz had befriended John the previous spring in England, while writing about him for the Saturday Evening Post. At that time John had told Aronowitz he wanted to meet Dylan, but only “on his own terms,” when John had become his “ego equal.” On that August 28, after playing the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium, with the Beatles’ smiling faces on the cover of Life magazine, John was ready.

--

Aronowitz rode in from Woodstock with Dylan in a blue Ford station wagon driven by Victor Mamoudas, Dylan’s road manager and chum. They parked around the corner from the hotel, and Mamoudas, who’s tall, dark, and Sephardic, bombed Dylan and Aronowitz past the crowd of screaming kids into the relative safety of the hotel lobby. There they found themselves with a two-man police escort to accompany them up to the Beatles’ floor. When the elevator door opened Dylan and company were shocked to find still more police, plus a dozen people gaily chatting and drinking booze being served out of Derek Taylor’s room. Included in this group waiting to be admitted to the Beatles’ suite were various reporters, disc jockeys, and the singing groups The Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul and Mary.

Dylan was whisked past these people into the Beatles’ private domain. Brian, Neil, Mal, and the Beatles had just finished a room-service dinner around the dining room table when Dylan appeared in the doorway. He was smaller than the boys had expected, with a hook nose and merry, twinkling eyes, like a Semitic St. Nick. After clumsy introductions officiated over by Brian, the embarrassed tension in the room was palpable. Brian moved the guests into the living room, trying to keep the evening afloat. He asked Dylan and his friends what they wanted to drink, and Dylan replied,“Cheap wine.”

Brian was embarrassed to admit that there was only champagne, French wines, scotch, and Coke in the suite, and Mal was dispatched to get Dylan’s favorite cheap wine. During the wait it was obliquely mentioned that some pills of speed were available, and Dylan and Aronowitz reacted strongly against the idea. Both of them were antichemical at the time, especially speed. In lieu of pills, Dylan suggested, perhaps they’d like to try something organic and green, grown out of Mother Earth’s sweet flowing breast.

Brian and the Beatles looked at each other apprehensively. “We’ve never smoked marijuana before,” Brian finally admitted.

Dylan looked disbelievingly from face to face. “But what about your song?” he asked. “The one about getting high?”

The Beatles were stupefied. “Which song?” John managed to ask.

Dylan said, “You know …” and then he sang, “and when I touch you I get high, I get high, I get high …”

John flushed with embarrassment. “Those aren’t the words,” he admitted. “The words are, ‘I can’t hide, I can’t hide, I can’t hide …’”

Dylan couldn’t wait to initiate them. The preparations to secure the hotel suite took a half hour before Dylan was even allowed to produce the grass. The doors were closed and bolted, and towels from the bathroom were stuffed into every crevice and crack. The blinds were pulled tight and the drapes drawn against the Park Avenue traffic. Finally, a bemused Dylan was allowed to roll the first joint.

Dylan lit the joint, gave them instructions on how to smoke it, and passed it on to John. John took it from him but was too scared to try it himself and passed it on to Ringo, whom he called “my royal taster.” Ringo held onto the joint and finished it himself while Dylan and Aronowitz rolled half a dozen others.

Ringo started laughing first and set the others off. Like many novice pot smokers they found many trivial things funny. Dylan watched for several hours as the Beatles broke each other up, sometimes with something authentically funny, often at nothing more than a look or a word or a pause in the conversation. For a while they all laughed at Brian, who kept saying, “I’m so high I’m on the ceiling. I’m up on the ceiling …” After the smoke had cleared out they allowed a room-service waiter to come in to clear the dining room and found everything he did reason to convulse them with laughter. Months later “Let’s have a laugh” became the code for “Let’s get stoned.”

Paul was overwhelmed with the momentousness of the occasion. “I’m thinking for the first time,” he said, “really thinking.” So certain was he of uttering gems of wisdom, he demanded that everything he said that evening be recorded for posterity. He had Mal Evans follow him around the hotel suite, writing down every thing he said. (Mal Evans kept these notes—ludicrous pontifications in retrospect—with him up until the time of his death in Los Angeles in 1976. They were confiscated by the police and lost with some of his other belongings.)

The evening was the start of a long, albeit intermittent, friendship with Dylan, and they made arrangements to see him again when they passed through New York at the end of their tour.

[howlingday]

Time Travel AU with Winter? She also got the maiden powers so things are bound to get wild, no?

Winter: I have returned.

Ironwood: Winter?! What is the meaning of-?!

Winter: (Raises hand) Silence, fascist!

Ironwood: (Frozen in block of ice)

Winter: Now, where is the punch bowl? I require refreshments of the fruitest of beverages.

Neptune: Uh, over there, Miss.

Winter: ...Thank you. You shall live one day more.

Winter: Everyone else, you are on thin ice.

Yang: I thought I was the one who made puns?

Blake: Other people can, too. In fact, other people should.

Yang: So harsh. You probably need a cat-nap, don't you?

Nora: What's she talking about?

Blake: Yeah, Yang, what ARE you talking about?

Yang: Ah, crap... Well, uh...

Winter: Your friend is a Faunus.

Nora: Really?

Blake: What the hell?!

Winter: Now, if you wish to keep your little secret, you will kiss for me.

Yang: Well, if you say so~.

Blake: Ugh...

Winter: Not you two. You two!

Nora: Huh?!

Blake: What?!

Winter: Yes, you two! Make out with each other, for my amusement~.

Blake: I-I'm not going to-

Winter: Do it, or the bunny dies!

Velvet: Where did you come from?! Blake, help!

Blake: I-

Nora: Uh, just think of something pleasant!

Blake: What? Nora, I don't- MMH!

Winter: Yes... Just like that~.

Velvet: (Drops) Oh, thank god...

Jaune: Velvet! Are you okay?

Velvet: I'm fine. I-

Winter: You, in the dress! Come here!

Jaune: Me? No! You hurt my friend!

Winter: So brave, and so noble, yet so graceful and beautiful. Yes, you are perfect.

Jaune: Perfect? Perfect for what?

Winter: To be my bride, of course!

Jaune: Be your what?!

Winter: Yes, it will be a beautiful Atlesian wedding, set in the dead center of billowing snow and chilling wind.

Pyrrha: Jaune, is everything okay?

Jaune: You're crazy! I'm not marrying you!

Winter: Oh, and on what grounds do you- Hohoho... Of course, how foolish of me to make a wife of a husband.

Jaune: Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess.

Winter: Then we shall exchange words no longer. You there, Nikos!

Pyrrha: Eh?!

Winter: I wish to ally myself with you so that we may share the same lover.

Pyrrha: I don't- What?

Winter: If you agree, then I shall allow you to continue your affections with your husband, and I shall only bear mine when you have completed yours.

Pyrrha: What do you mean?

Winter: Share Jaune Arc with me, and I shall simply warm your shared bed whilst you are away.

Jaune: You're insane! There's no way Pyrrha would agree to-

Pyrrha: DEAL!

Jaune: PYRRHA?!

Winter: Excellent! Our triad of lovers shall be established in the coming post-autumnal season.

Jaune: I- what?!

Pyrrha: She means winter.

Jaune: What?

Winter: Me. I am Winter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with the music man. (Turns) YOU THERE, DISC JOCKEY!

[bondshotel]

July 6, 1964 - The Beatles' first feature film, A Hard Day's Night, had its première at the London Pavilion.

A Hard Day's Night is a 1964 British musical comedy film directed by Richard Lester and starring the Beatles—John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr—during the height of Beatlemania. It was written by Alun Owen and originally released by United Artists. The film portrays 36 hours in the lives of the group.

The film was a financial and critical success. Forty years after its release, Time magazine rated it as one of the all-time great 100 films. In 1997, British critic Leslie Halliwell described it as a "comic fantasia with music; an enormous commercial success with the director trying every cinematic gag in the book" and awarded it a full four stars.[The film is credited as being one of the most influential of all musical films, inspiring numerous spy films, the Monkees' television show and pop music videos. In 1999, the British Film Institute ranked it the 88th greatest British film of the 20th century.

The movie's strange title originated from something said by Ringo Starr, who described it this way in an interview with disc jockey Dave Hull in 1964: "We went to do a job, and we'd worked all day and we happened to work all night. I came up still thinking it was day I suppose, and I said, 'It's been a hard day ...' and I looked around and saw it was dark so I said, '... night!' So we came to A Hard Day's Night."

PLOT

Bound for a London show from Liverpool, the Beatles escape a horde of fans ("A Hard Day's Night"). Once they are aboard the train and trying to relax, various interruptions test their patience: after a dalliance with a female passenger, Paul's grandfather is confined to the guard's van and the four lads join him there to keep him company. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr play a card game, entertaining some schoolgirls before arriving at their desired destination ("I Should Have Known Better").

Upon arrival in London, the Beatles are driven to a hotel, only to feel trapped inside. They are tasked to answer numerous letters and fan mail in their hotel room but instead, they sneak out to party ("I Wanna Be Your Man", "Don't Bother Me", "All My Loving"). After being caught by their manager Norm (Norman Rossington), they return to find out that Paul's grandfather John (Wilfrid Brambell) went to the casino. After causing minor trouble at the casino, the group is taken to the theatre where their performance is to be televised. After rehearsals ("If I Fell"), the boys leave through a fire escape and dance around a field but are forced to leave by the owner of the property ("Can't Buy Me Love"). On their way back to the theatre, they are separated when a woman named Millie (Anna Quayle) recognizes John as someone famous but cannot recall who he is. George is also mistaken for an actor auditioning for a television show featuring a trendsetter hostess. The boys all return to rehearse another song ("And I Love Her") and after goofing around backstage, they play another song to impress the makeup artists ("I'm Happy Just to Dance with You").

While waiting to perform, Ringo is forced to look after Paul's grandfather and decides to spend some time alone reading a book. Paul's grandfather, a "villain, a real mixer", convinces him to go outside to experience life rather than reading books. Ringo goes off by himself ("This Boy" instrumental). He tries to have a quiet drink in a pub, takes pictures, walks alongside a canal, and rides a bicycle along a railway station platform. While the rest of the band frantically and unsuccessfully attempts to find Ringo, he is arrested for acting in a suspicious manner. Paul's grandfather joins him shortly after attempting to sell photographs wherein he forged the boys' signatures. Paul's grandfather eventually makes a run for it and tells the rest of the band where Ringo is. The boys all go to the station to rescue Ringo but end up running away from the police back to the theatre ("Can't Buy Me Love") and the concert goes ahead as planned. After the concert ("Tell Me Why", "If I Fell", "I Should Have Known Better", "She Loves You"), the band is taken away from the hordes of fans via helicopter.

From beatlesbible:

The première was attended by The Beatles and their wives and girlfriends, and a host of important guests including Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon. Nearby Piccadilly Circus was closed to traffic as 12,000 fans jostled for a glimpse of the group.

“I remember Piccadilly being completely filled. We thought we would just show up in our limo, but it couldn't get through for all the people. It wasn't frightening - we never seemed to get worried by crowds. It always appeared to be a friendly crowd; there never seemed to be a violent face.”

~ Paul McCartney, Anthology

It was a charity event held in support of the Variety Club Heart Fund and the Docklands Settlements, and the most expensive tickets cost 15 guineas (£15.75).

After the screening The Beatles, the royal party and other guests including The Rolling Stones enjoyed a champagne supper party at the Dorchester Hotel, after which some of them adjourned to the Ad Lib Club until the early hours of the morning.

[star-shard]

Take Five

Premise: Elvis is starting filming on his first movie: Love Me Tender. As an extra in a crowd scene you’re expected to get all riled up by him. You never thought it’d go this far. 

Warning: Y/N fic, NSFW, female stimulation/edging, teasing, implied virginity 

Note: 1956!Elvis (don’t have to have seen the movie for this fic)

__

Hollywood was always your dream. The drama, the romance, the action, it had captured you from radio shows to the big screen watching leading ladies wrap themselves up with their leading man. Stars, why couldn’t you be one?

Of course, to get up there, it required persistence. You’d done a few advertisements in voice work and were now getting noticed. A few headshots later and here you were, standing in a crowd of both the seasoned and the hopeful. You were officially an extra in a major motion picture. 

But not just any picture. Love Me Tender, staring the rock and roll famous: Elvis Presley. 

It was a post civil war drama, involving Elvis as the main character’s younger brother. His character would go from gentle and loving to a crushing decent into jealousy and violence. It was a meaty roll for a first one, and you swore you could already hear the higher ups already lighting their cigars at the films success. And you were all only half way through filming.

You’d heard Elvis before on the radio, how could you not? Any disc jockey worth his salt knew what drew in listeners, and his records had sung out on of various speakers in parties you’d been to. You knew he was good at singing.

But of course, you were very focused on your career. You didn’t have the time to fixate on anything else…

That is, until you saw him work.

It was a musical scene. Elvis’s character: ‘Vance’, was to give a mini concert on his acoustic guitar to a group of southern townsfolk as a part of charity to build a school house. You were dressed up in an old timey type. The type you’d only worn before in vintage western photo booths at your local fair, you had to admit it was exciting to be in full costume and make up. 

You’d seen him on set briefly only once, but here it’d be full view. As the scene began, as action was called, you naturally fell into your acting self but… that didn’t last long.

Handsome was an understatement. His eyes smoldered, the heat was practically jumping off of him. He mumbled a thing or two to the director, his eyes flitting out into the crowd and catching your gaze. You’d never felt like a fish in a net before. And when the guitar came fitted on his chest like armor before going into battle, you saw those blue fire eyes burn even hotter.

What happened on that stage was something aspiring performers could only dream of achieving. The man was a firecracker, his body moving in a way you’d only seen in dusky clubs in dark hours of the night. His lip curling, his voice warbling, his legs sprawling as if they were inviting any lady watching to enjoy the view. It was like going to church in a whole new way. 

It didn’t take long for your acting to get method, for your little yelps to be real. And as he scanned the crowd through his little show, they kept catching on you. Once, twice, by the time he made dead on eye contact, it wasn’t a coincidence. He was looking at you. 

By the time the scene was done, your once perfectly fitting costume not felt all too stuffy. Your perfectly curled hair was looking more tossed. It wasn’t until ‘take five!’ was called out that you remembered yourself. You couldn’t help the nervous laugh with your fellow extras, they too had enjoyed the little show. But of course you had to collect yourself. This was a filmset, not a concert.

But… there was nothing wrong with complementing a fellow actor’s work, right? 

“Excuse me, Elvis,” he was in-between the scene, pressing a handkerchief against his brow. Even when his hair was undone it was still just right, you were both attracted and envious. “That was, great, that scene, I’d never seen nothing like that.”

Elvis peered up at you from his seat, his leg stretched out, his guitar leaned against him, “I was just thinking something similar,” he drawled, a soft smirk reaching his lips. He seemed proud to put a blush on your face. 

“Oh,” you couldn’t help your smile, looking away from his gaze but only because you didn’t want to be caught giggling like a school girl, people were watching after all, right? “Never been to a rock concert before, thought that guitar might have just caught fire.” 

“Burning up, honey?” He asked in your direction, and you nodded. Absolutely you were. 

He could see you were a little shy, not used to being around someone like him, maybe even a little too keyed in to the wandering eyes around you, so he approached it nice and easy.

“Sure is different on this set, different from touring that’s for sure… usually I gotta find my own kinda space to cool down… good thing I got that trailer,” he gestured to the white boxed trailer just near by with a star baring his name. His stare now beckoned yours. 

__

Elvis Presley’s trailer, of all the places you thought you’d be. It was well furnished, all the trimmings needed for a superstar. It felt a little darker in here, but you didn’t need the outside light at a time like this. He’d called you in, put a hand in your hair as soon as the door shut. “What if someone knocks?” You ask, your breath hitching as your back now leans against the door that you pray is locked. 

“Then I’ll answer it,” Elvis said simply, his hand going from your hair to your neck. “So lets keep it professional, hm?” You nod as his thumb brushes up to your lip, asking for a sound that you gladly give to him. You’d never been with someone like this before. In the middle of work, but he was so very soft and gentle like he’d done this a hundred times before backstage. “I saw how you watched me… like you were holding yourself back. No need to hold back here now, is there?”

“N-No,” you find yourself stuttering when his hand ventures lower now to just above your chest. 

“Shhh, just breathe now…” The next thing your breathed in wasn’t air. It was him. His lips on yours, moving in time and you felt yourself relax into it, allowing your hands to reach out to his waist. He rewarded the touch with a nip to your bottom lip. As his hand curled on your breast you gripped his sides which just made him hum. You really did feel like a schoolgirl right now. “Anyone ever touch you down there?” He asked, curious and clearly seeing an air of inexperience in you. 

Before you could answer you felt your costume getting pulled up. The top layer, the frills, all getting raised up to your stomach for better access. You were wearing bloomers right now, still covered. But you never felt so exposed in your life as his fingers curled in-between your legs, beckoning out something you didn’t even know you could feel. 

Your toes curled in your shoes and your knees bent to make you a few inches shorter. It must have been amusing to him because his kissing turned into a smile against your neck, planting a few bites with every sound you made. It was so hard to think as he touched you but when he pulled down those frilly frocks you had on your legs, you were now completely naked from the navel down. And with that, came the press of something different than fingers, a sort of bulge from Elvis.

You looked to him and when your eyes met, those burning eyes had cooled to something touchable. You wondered, ‘right here? Right now?’ But he seemed to have caught the question on your face because he just chuckled, his rut against your body was enough to make you reach out to pull down his zipper but he caught your hand, “come on now, baby… gotta be professional remember?” He hovered your hand over his clothed dick, the teasing almost too much, but he wouldn’t let you touch. Only feel the warmth. 

“Elvis, please,” you let out a whine as his other hand gave your clit a little attention.

But as you said that, the knock at the door you formerly anticipated rang out, startling you. “Elvis, we’re ready on set for take two!” A gruff voice said on the other side. 

 Elvis continued to stroke your pussy. “Go on now, answer the man.”

You couldn’t believe him, he wanted you to say something, right now? It was clear Elvis meant his command when a finger went inside of you. “He’ll, be out in, just once second!” It was more of a yelp than a sentence and it was only when you heard the gruff man mumble something and wander off that Elvis released you, your skirt falling down and him still pinned up right there with you.

“Take two, right?” He mused, enjoying your mild disorientation. “I might just mess up the next take feeling like this… could take five takes, maybe ten,” he shrugged, “you’ll have to see now won’t you.”

That flutter in your body that had been begging for more but you wouldn’t get it just right now. Even as he stepped out of his trailer, his hand giving your ass a squeeze on his way out, you knew you’d both be back here. Elvis was an actor willing to take time with his work after all. Even if it took all day. 

[singeratlarge]

MONDAY MATINEE MUSIC VIDEO: “Something About Suburbia” by Tim a.k.a. Chris Andrews 55th Anniversary Video Edition! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGbYBpyaANs  In May 1968, this was the B-side of a single that disc jockeys favored over the A-side—perhaps because they wanted to live in the ‘burbs. Written by Rod Thomas, the sing-along-song puts British music hall with mod pop. He wrote it as “a young man working in a steel works in Cardiff while living some eight miles away in a quiet village.” On a cosmic jukebox it would play next to Herman’s Hermits, The Kinks, and The Monkees. The recording session (at Abbey Road) put Tim together with the talented Paul Korda, who’d become Tim’s musical partner for the next couple years. Paul produced this track with orchestration by Cy Payne (Brotherhood of Man, Idle Race). The song also appeared in the 1968 film “The Tyrant King” and it became the masthead for the 2013 Cherry Red compilation CD that celebrated the music of Chris/Tim and Fleur de Lys.

If this is your introduction to Chris Andrews, he’s a British singer-songwriter and recording artist whose songs have been covered by Roger Daltrey, David Essex, and Davy Jones (Monkees)—with whom Chris worked with for years (Davy could’ve sung this song). Under the name Tim Andrews, Chris was a champion of late 60s psychedelic pop and (later), as Kris Ryder, he released New Wave synthpop sides in the 80s. Chris was also part of the seminal freakbeat band Fleur de Lys. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGbYBpyaANs  

#chrisandrews #timandrews #suburbia #britpop #musichall #flowerpower #hermanshermits #thekinks #raydavies #themonkees #davyjones #paulkorda #cypayne #fleurdelys #tyrantking #film #video #music

[ntls-24722]

ok so @arachnid-disc-jockey's lil djmm brought me the wonderful inspiration to just... roleswap? or sizeswap? DJMM and the little windups

he has a windup light inside of him that is on it's last thread of life but still blinks!

There's also DJ Music Man, with giant CDs instead of cymbals!

She's also based off of starry night octopi rather than spiders, as she, instead of having a tunnel system, can simply contort and squish into small spaces like a freak. Horrible!

She has accidentally flung windup into oblivion while he was riding on one of her CDs.

[mysticalibra1994]

Naranja/Uva Academy Students (birthday headcanons)

Okay, so since I have a notebook that I've been taking some notes on for Pokemon Scarlet/Violet (mostly "Violet" for me) to get ready for it (especially the Mid-Term and Finals). And I couldn't help but hypothesize about the students (including the Team Star members) about their birthdays by using the dates of their special interests. [Florian/Juliana's birthday is my birthday since the Playable Protagonist's birthday mirrors the player's birthday, so they're excluded from this hypothesis. (this also includes their special interests)] [Mela's birthday was a bit of a challenge due to not having the game yet (I planned on buying it for my birthday).]

1.) Florian/Juliana - October 12th Special Interest: Taking notes. This is non-explanatory, but it's also what I've been doing to get these pieces of information.

2.) Nemona - February 27th Special Interest: Pokemon battles. According to the real-life timeline of Pokemon, the first Pokemon game (Pokemon Red) made its first debut in Japan on February 27, 1996. In chronological order, it was the game, trading cards, manga, and anime.

3.) Arven - December 29th Special Interest: Making sandwiches. Due to the shape/size of the bread, I assumed that it would be "Subway bread", but due to the location of Paldea and its real-life equivalent of it (Spain, Portugal, and Andorra), it wouldn't make sense historically. So, I had to do some research on the Sandwich (which is based on the Bocatas or "bocadillo") and it was a little touch and go for a while, but I thankfully narrowed it down... According to legend, a general named Tomás de Zumalacárregui (12/29/1788-6/24/1835) invented the tortilla de patatas during the Carlist wars. When the bread was added, the bocadillo was born!

4.) Penny - February 14th Special Interest: Machines/computers. According to Penn Today (no pun intended), the world's first general-purpose electronic computer was introduced into the world on February 14, 1946.

5. ) Giacomo - December 15th Special Interest: Music, Rock (DJ) Albert James "Alan" Freed (12/15/1921-01/20/1965) was an American disc jockey (DJ) who helped spread the importance of rock and roll music throughout North America.

6.) Mela - September 23rd Special Interest: Flashy costumes. So, here's the reason why this was a challenge; there were no specific dates on when "flashy costumes/outfits" were a thing. So, I had to look a bit deeper at her attire for easy clues. Luckily, there's her boot! More specifically, her "over-the-knee boots". In the Autumn of 1962, Balenciaga had a collection that featured "a tall boot by Mancini that covers the knee". To get the month and day, I had to look up the Autumnal Equinox of that year.

7.) Atticus - November 16th Special Interest: Vintage. This was a little bit of a challenge like Mela's. But after digging, I came across the one article of clothing was that known as the birth of vintage... The raccoon coat. More specifically, the issue of The Saturday Evening Post featured an illustration of several college men sporting raccoon coats on 11/16/1929.

8.) Ortega - January 19th Special Interest: Engineer/Mechanic. Okay, so before I read about Ortega being a mechanic/engineer for the Ruchbah Squad, at first I thought that his thing was Fairycore. Ever since, after a little bit of research, the man named James Watt (01/19/1736-8/25/1819) was a Scottish inventor and mechanical engineer.

9.) Eri - February 12th Special Interest: Wrestling. Okay, so this may contain a pun, but it's a part of Japanese history. John Graham Chambers endeavored to introduce and promote the concept of a style of wrestling that he denominated "the catch-as-catch-can style" of wrestling (aka Catch Wrestling or "Professional Wrestling").

[therecordchanger62279]

"I Drove Slash To the Car Show"

(or "It Seemed Like A Big Deal At The Time")

     I suppose we could file this post under autobiography. I don’t really do that here as a rule. Whatever I choose to reveal about myself slips out in bits and pieces in the context of other subjects. But I worked in the retail record business for close to 30 years, and my first job out of high school was as a disc jockey at a small radio station in Ohio. The radio gig was ironic, really, because I don’t have the kind of personality where I would ever want to be in the spotlight. I picked radio because I loved music, and enjoyed playing it for people. But that’s not what radio is about – certainly not now, and it really wasn’t then either.

    After about 9 months, I jettisoned my radio career for retail – specifically, the records side. I worked nearly 30 years either in record stores, or in record departments of big box stores. And in the course of doing that, I had several memorable brushes with celebrity. So, I thought I’d collect them all (or as many as I could remember) in this post. After all, this is my blog, and it’s probably going to be the only thing that survives me after I die. So why not get it on the permanent record?

     I should say, first, that I never worked in a big city, so the celebrities here were not always household names. But there were a few who are or were at the time. My instructors at radio school were all local disc jockeys who had programs at stations in Dayton, Ohio where I attended school. Most are likely forgotten today. But before we graduated, the school brought famous Cincinnati Reds pitcher and broadcaster Waite Hoyt in to speak to us. He entertained us with stories from his long career in baseball and radio. And we shook hands before he left.

     The next name was someone I actually worked for. The radio station where I was a disc jockey was WMVR AM/FM in Sidney, Ohio. That station was owned by an Ohio native, actor Dean Miller who was a member of the cast of a popular TV series called December Bride that ran from 1954-1959. I only met the man one time, and that came near the end of my tenure at the station. He showed up one morning for a staff “pep talk” designed to scare all of us into doing our jobs better so the station could be more successful. But it was the only station in a small town, and nobody was ever going to get rich from it – not the owner, and certainly not the employees. A DJ’s pay was beneath poverty level – even by the standards of 1976. In any case, his attitude towards all of us put me off, and as I’d already been considering leaving the radio business, I figured that might be the time to make my exit. Before the month was out, I moved on.

     By 1982, I was an assistant manager for the National Record Mart chain in Toledo, Ohio training at the North Towne Square Mall location. There was a musician I worked with there for just a few weeks before he exited for a very successful career as a New Age musician. His name was Tim Story, and he left the same year he released his In Another Country album for a small independent label. Five years later he was recording for New Age giant Windham Hill Records. He's still active today, has a website, a social media presence, and his discography lists 50 titles to date. I didn’t know him well, but I do remember he was a really nice guy, and I enjoyed working with him. I’m happy he was able to make a career making music.

     In 1985 I became the store manager at a National Record Mart store at the Salem Mall in Dayton, Ohio. There were two factors that were key to my several encounters with musicians while I was there. First, there was a very popular concert venue just up the street from the store named Hara Arena. In the 1960s, 70s, and 80s, most of the biggest names in Rock played there when they toured the country. The other factor was that several months into my tenure there, our store became a Billboard Reporter. What that meant was that Billboard magazine called the store weekly for a list of our best-selling albums, and singles. This was during the dark ages before Soundscan was introduced, and tracked sales electronically. We got sent all the new releases, and I spoke with countless marketing companies, and record label people each week about how their product was selling.

     In the course of doing that I spoke on the phone with Ozzy Osbourne. He was calling stores to promote his live Tribute album to the late guitarist Randy Rhoads. At first, I was sure someone was pranking me, but it didn’t take long to realize it really was Ozzy on the line. (He was slurring every word.) It was brief. We exchanged pleasantries. He thanked the store for its support, and I told him we all loved the album, and played it daily in-store. I also spoke on the phone several times with singer-songwriter, guitarist Carla Olson who was working a part-time gig for an L.A. marketing company while recording, and touring with her band The Textones. I’d spoken to her a couple of times before she mentioned she was a musician, and when she told me her last name, I couldn’t believe it. She was very surprised that not only did I know her name, but I already owned her band’s first album. When the second was released, she autographed a copy, and sent it to me. She later went on to a solo career, working with both ex-Byrd Gene Clark, and ex-Stone Mick Taylor. She’s still touring, and recording today. Wonderful lady.

     Dayton is famous mainly as the birthplace of The Wright Brothers. But Dayton also birthed some of the best, and most famous Funk and R&B musicians in the world. I was working at the store one morning in 1986 when Shirley Murdock walked up to the counter to buy some albums. I recognized her immediately because her debut, self-titled album on Elektra was one of our best-sellers. I confess to being a bit star-struck in the moment. Not only did we play her record in-store all the time, and loved it, but she was stunning to look at. I remember saying to her, “You’re Shirley Murdock aren’t you?” She shyly nodded she was, and I told her how much we all loved her record, and how well it was selling. She thanked me, and shook my hand. She couldn’t have been sweeter, and more unassuming. No star trip happening, and no ego either.

     We had company conventions every summer in Pennsylvania, and there were always acts booked to play, as well as “meet and greet” sessions with musicians promoting their latest records. I met a number of them, of course, but the two I remember very well were Lyle Lovett, and Roy Buchanan. Lovett was there for his first album release on MCA. He was very shy, and I shook his hand, and told him I knew the album would do well. He asked me if I’d heard it already, and I had because the MCA rep in our area was promoting it as if Lovett was his best pal. He was surprised, and very happy to hear that.

     Roy Buchanan was signed to blues label Alligator Records, and he’d been booked to play our convention to promote his When a Guitar Plays The Blues, his first album for Alligator. I didn’t actually meet Buchanan, but I was at a party the second night of the convention, and the managers were all mingling and trading stories with one another when Roy popped his head in, and asked, “Anybody got any blow?” You could’ve heard a pin drop. This wasn’t the NY or L.A. crowd. This was a group of managers from a Midwestern record store chain based in Pittsburgh. When he realized there was none of that particular drug to be had, he quickly ducked out. Played a great set, though. Maybe he found some after all?

     In the summer of 1987, the best-selling album at the store was the second album, Pride, by the American-Danish hair metal band White Lion. Their label, Atlantic called to tell us the band would be in town to play Hara Arena, and asked if we would do a wall display to help promote the record, and the show. None of us were White Lion fans, and one evening I was working with one of my part-timers, and I put up the White Lion display behind the counter. The show was the next evening. Atlantic hadn’t given us much notice, and the part-timer I was working with objected to a display for such a second-rate, no talent hair metal band. But I told her we were doing the label a favor. Business was slow that night, and she was bored, and asked me if she could deface the poster? I said no, but after she told me what she had in mind, I let her do it. The poster was a B&W photo of the band with the name, and album cover in the corner. She took a black magic-marker, and painted each member with a lion’s nose, and mouth that aped the sketch on the album cover (Google it.) It looked great, and everybody got a good laugh out of it. But about an hour later in walked two guys who were certainly musicians, and as it turned out, were members of White Lion who were already in town. Bass player James LoMenzo, and drummer Greg D’Angelo spent some time browsing, and when they came to the counter, LoMenzo spotted the poster, and said, “Hey, why’d you guys mess up our poster?” And D’Angelo started laughing, and pointed out to LoMenzo that our in-house artist had made Lions of them. The lightbulb went on over LoMenzo’s considerable mane of hair, and both musicians thought we were paying tribute to them, and thanked us. Then they had the nerve to ask us for a discount! I told them that I wasn’t allowed to do that, and since their album was in the Top 10 nationwide that I was pretty sure they could afford them without the discount.

     The next act of note at the venue up the street was the latest edition of Chrissie Hynde’s Pretenders. They were touring their Get Close album, and Hynde was making headlines for firing band members. By the time they played Dayton, a couple of them had been sacked already. Again, as was our custom, we put a display behind the counter to help promote the show and the record, and pacify the label. Feeling ornery one evening, I took a paper shopping bag from under the counter, got the scissors, and cut out small paper bags, and taped them over the heads of the two members depicted on the poster who’d gotten sacked. I was pretty certain Chrissie would not be visiting our store before the show. She was probably busy learning the names of her new bandmates. But a pair of Pretenders roadies did come in the night before the show, and spotted the poster. They both cracked up laughing, but warned us that if Chrissie did happen to stop by, she wouldn’t find it at all amusing. I left it up, and we never saw her. Good thing, too. My wife and I attended the show, and Iggy Pop opened. Pretenders came on, and someone spit on the stage and just missed Chrissie. She warned those down front that there’d be no more of that, or else. I always thought Chrissie Hynde could best even a killer one-on-one. I’m glad I never tangled with her.

     Before I left NRM, I was given tickets from the Columbia Records rep to see ex-Bangle Susanna Hoffs open for ex-Eagle Don Henley at Riverbend in Cincinnati. There was a post-show “meet-and-greet” arranged, and I took a couple of CD booklets to have autographed. I did meet her, and spoke briefly with her. She signed the booklets, and then another fan snapped a photo of me with my arm around her waist (she was so tiny, my arm went almost completely around her). He told me to give him my address, and he’d send it to me after he had the roll developed. Of course, I never got it, and I’m sorry I didn’t take a camera along. She was gorgeous, and I’m still a fan all these years later.

     By 1991, I was already working for a small indie shop in Dayton called Gem City Records. One Sunday morning I drove to our main location downtown for some supplies before we opened, and as I was leaving, Slash from Guns ‘N’ Roses came walking into the parking lot with a female on his arm, and he asked me, “Hey! Is the store open yet?” I turned to the store manager, and said, “Dale, Slash wants to know if the store is open yet?” Dale thought I was kidding until he saw Slash come walking up. Of course, he invited him in before opening so he could shop privately. Slash asked for a particular album, and Dale told him his store was out of stock, but I mentioned my store had it, and I offered to drive to get it for him. I was back within the half-hour, and a grateful Slash signed a copy of Use Your Illusion II for me. I was just about to leave when he asked me if I knew where the car show was being held. I said it was at the Convention Center a couple of blocks over, and as I was going that way, I’d be happy to drop him, and his lady friend. He thanked me, we got in, and I drove them to the car show. That night Guns ‘N’ Roses played The Nutter Center in Dayton. I was home. I didn’t hit him up for tickets. I wasn’t really a G ‘N’ R fan, but Slash was a good guitarist, and a very nice guy. And until I sold my maroon Mazda, from that day forward, I called it “The Slashmobile.” (A postscript to the story: when Dale ran Slash’s credit card for the stuff he bought, the card was declined. But he ran it through again a few days later, and it was approved. I guess his business manager was late paying the bills. And Slash’s real name is Saul Hudson. That wasn’t common knowledge at the time.)

     In 1992, Mick Fleetwood was on hiatus from Fleetwood Mac, and he put a band together with Billy Thorpe, Billy Burnette, and Bekka Bramlett called The Zoo. They played a small club here in Dayton, and I went with a friend of mine. We took CD booklets for autographs, but weren’t certain the band would be available after the show. As it happened, though, Mick, and Bekka did come out and sign autographs, and posed for pictures. (I’d have posted them here, but I don’t have digital copies.) Mick was a real gentleman, and shook my hand, and thanked us for coming. One of the CD booklets I’d brought was an early Fleetwood Mac album with Peter Green. He was delighted to see that. Bekka Bramlett was a real sweetheart, signing autographs, and posing for pictures as well. Of course, she later was a member of Fleetwood Mac for one album. And, like her mother Bonnie, she was a belter, and could really sing.

     I had a couple more surprises when I managed the music department at Borders Books and Music here in Dayton. We were getting ready to open the store by September, and a couple of weeks before, we were putting the finishing touches on things, and trying to get all the stock to the sales floor. The lady corporate had sent to supervise this process (called “the sort”) was named Jill Lyon. My boss happened to mention to me that Jill’s husband was coming to town to see her, and to be sure I had everything looking good in the record department. When I asked why he mentioned that, he told me he was sure Jill’s husband would want to do some browsing. I said, “Her husband? Who’s he?” And he told me her husband was Southside Johnny Lyon of Asbury Jukes fame. I was stunned. I had no idea our Jill Lyon was Johnny’s wife. I was a huge fan of The Jukes since their debut album nearly twenty years earlier. I had all their records, so this was a big deal to me. I did, indeed, get to meet him that day, and told him how much I loved his music, and that I’d been a fan since the beginning. He was very gracious, and friendly, told me my department looked great, and wished me well.

     About a year later, still managing the records department at Borders, the store featured live music in our café every Friday night. As music manager, and manager-on-duty on Friday nights, it was my job to see to it that everything went as planned. The store’s manager in charge of planning those events had arranged for Randy Newman to appear as he was on the road doing a tour of retail stores promoting his Faust album. The rider in Randy’s contract had some pretty outrageous demands. It said we had to provide a small table with cheese and crackers, and some veggie snacks as well as bottled water for him! Oh, the horror!! No star trip for Randy Newman. No bowls of cocaine, or brown M&M’s removed from the M&M’s bowl. Just cheese and crackers, veggies, and water. Randy played a great set, sat at a table, and signed autographs, and there is a photo of me shaking his hand (again, no digital copy), and getting my Land of Dreams LP signed. He was surprised to see that, and said, “A vinyl record! Don’t see these much anymore. I miss vinyl.” And he graciously signed it.

     My last encounter with a celebrity came once again by phone, and happened in 2003 when my record store days were nearly at an end. I was back at Gem City Records at the downtown store here in Dayton, and due to some turnover of personnel, I was now overseeing our Jazz department. As I was doing some of the buying for that department, I would often talk either with label reps, or promo guys about new releases. One day the phone rang, and the caller asked for our Jazz buyer. Dale handed me the phone, and the voice on the other end introduced himself as Joel Dorn, founder of the Jazz label 32 Records. I said, “Wait a minute. Are you the Joel Dorn?” And he said, “I am. Have you heard of me?” And I replied, “Of course. There isn’t a serious Jazz fan in the world who doesn’t know your name or your work.” He thanked me, and then proceeded to tell me about the new releases his label was releasing. It was a genuine honor to speak with this legend who’d worked with The Allman Brothers Band, Bette Midler, Max Roach, Herbie Mann, Mose Allison, and Rahsaan Roland Kirk among others, and won two Grammy Awards for his work with Roberta Flack. I was genuinely saddened when I heard he’d passed away just four years later.

     All of these encounters were memorable ones, and nearly all of them make nice memories. I miss the record business. It was a great job while I had it, and I shudder to think what kind of drab work history I might’ve had if I’d gone down a different road. I guess I should’ve had kids so I’d be able to tell my grandchildren that I drove Slash to the car show.

© 2024

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John Sinclair - BAR, New Haven, Connecticut, September 28, 2003

Poet / activist / MC5 manager / disc jockey John Sinclair passed away a few weeks back and the always valuable Alex Butterfield Archives have provided us with a cool artifact to check out: Sinclair holding court with a loose, improvisatory trio in New Haven back during the Bush II administration.

"It's a weird time to be an American," Sinclair remarks at one point — and yeah, it was weird back then. And it's weird now! And it was weird back in the 1960s and early 70s, when John was being harassed by the FBI and getting thrown in jail for marijuana possession. Maybe weirdness is the permanent condition of this country? I don't know. But hey, Alex's tape is very nice, with Sinclair's backing group providing loose-limbed jams that frame their leader's poetically curmudgeonly musings on politics, music, drugs and beyond.

John Says: Turning people on was the core value of our whole thing really. We wanted to turn people on. We just wanted to turn ’em on to art, poetry, and jazz. Then we started taking acid, ya know — regularly, and in groups. And then you developed this messianic feeling: you wanted to turn everyone on to everything. And you’d say, man, this works, you know, you might really like to try this. What a trip that was.