#Duke Ellington is old

[thespamman24]

What your favorite jazzer says about you!

Louis Armstrong- You don’t know why I’ve just broken into your house and asked you at gunpoint what your favorite jazz artist is, as you don’t listen to much jazz.

Miles Davis- You’re basic.

Bill Evans- You’re racist.

Chett Baker- You want to have sex with Chett Baker. 

Sun Ra- As a kindergartner, you were reprimanded for eating paper, an event that has haunted you for life. A career as a very unique artist awaits you. Also, you can name every species of preying mantis, all 51 of them. 

Pharaoh Sanders- You don’t know shit about preying mantises. 

Alice Coltrane- You’ve been trying to find Satchinada for the last 20 years, but it continues to allude you.

Phelonois Monk- Your favorite kind of sandwich is peanut butter and jelly.

Peter Brotzmann- You didn’t stop eating paper at kindergarten. In fact, as you read this, you’re currently eating the stuff. You do you, I guess.

João Gilberto- You constantly carry around a fanny pack full of important provisions such as trail mix. You’re disappointed that no one wants to use your Netflix password.

Wayne Shorter- Everyone laughs at your pointy shoes. “What are you some kind of elf?” they ask. Then, you kick them. They aren’t laughing after that.

Duke Ellington- A prestigious career of drawing of drawing furry smut awaits you. I salute you. 

Ryo Fukuri- You keep a shotgun beneath your bed in case someone with tattoos comes too close to your front lawn.

Max Roach- You’re wondering if I may have switched those last two. No, I did not. Shut up. 

Charles Mingus- You wear a bald cap wherever you go because it increases the chances of being slapped on the head- the most enjoyable aspect of living.

John Coltrane- You’ve been kicked out of eighteen Whole Foods stores, and you plan to make that number in the triple digits before you depart this green earth. Nothing brings you more satisfaction than opening the nut dispensers and watching the waterfall of cashews descend onto the ground.

Art Blakey- Fuck if I know. 

[spyboy2000]

ᴅᴜᴋᴇ ᴇʟʟɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ (sᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ) ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴜɪs ᴀʀᴍsᴛʀᴏɴɢ New York City, 1955, by Irving Penn.

[citizenscreen]

Duke Ellington with his band at Paramount Studios during production of BELLE OF THE NINETIES (1934) starring Mae West and based on her original story, “It Aint No Sin.”

Mae West fought to have Ellington in the movie. “I want Duke Ellington in this picture. You haven’t got anybody here that can play like this man.’” - West to Paramount execs

[jazzdailyblog]

Cab Calloway: The Hi-De-Ho King of Swing

Introduction: Cab Calloway was a masterful entertainer whose charisma, innovative music, and larger-than-life personality earned him a permanent place in the pantheon of jazz legends. From his iconic “Minnie the Moocher” to his trailblazing work as a bandleader and cultural pioneer, Calloway brought energy, humor, and sophistication to the world of swing. His career, which spanned over six…

[jazzreloaded]

Play On! By Talawa Theatre @Belgrade Theatre 26 / 09/ 24

Review by Vidal Montgomery

The press night performance of Play On! - A Broadway Blues with a twist on "Twelfth Night" - was not undersold in terms of bums on seats ( because it was a full house, and based on this showing it deserves a full house everywhere it goes!), but in terms of spectacle; because for the near-three hours running time, it was thoroughly engaging, spectacularly entertaining and, despite dealing with some serious subject matters ( such as how a misogynistic Harlem resists change, made all the more relevant with the recent revelations around Music Moghul Sean Comb's recent indictment), it was joyful for the audience from start to end, evidenced by the raucous laughter, gasps and applause throughout.

The title "Play On!" may also refer to the four year development process to get a work of this magnitude and depth and craft and intimacy and nuance in front of a live audience; it is no mean feat that this splendid work of Ellingtonian excellence by Liam Godwin and Benjamin Burell is finally in front of an audience, and with a truly magnificent cast from top to bottom:

Although the dramaturgy obviously has its focal characters, the dancers / understudies / supporting cast acquit themselves equally well, and the audience is gifted with over a dozen amazing voices ( of which Lifford Shillingford was my personal favourite ), who perform comparably, shouldering the responsibility of energetic dance, tense drama and soulful song, and carrying the narrative along. This for me is the most captivating thing about this show. Tanya Edwards as Miss Mary and Llewellyn Jamal as Jester deliver stylish and soulful performances late on into the second act just I thought the show had probably reached its peak - boy was I wrong!

The core story of Play On! revolves around the day Duke Ellington loses his muse, and the lengths- and distance! - one lucky lady will go to to help him get it back; Earl Gregory, Koko Alexandra, Tsemaye Bob Egbe, and Cameron Bernard Jones play the four pillars of the love quadrangle that is "The Duke", his old flame ( lady Liv ) , his new muse ( Viola "Vyman" ) and Rev, the manager of the Cotton Club clutching at straws and clasping his hands in his hopes of keeping the four together as exemplars of Ellingtonian Excellence - and also keeping the show on the road...

Sadly the live band - directed by the unassuming Ashton Moore and delightfully driven by the delicate drumming of Empirical's own Shane Forbes - are not featured as characters in their own right - I am sure that later productions in the three month run will attend to this oversight.

Despite this, the mix of moods and blues and beats and grooves from the bandstand become the main character, and for me ( as a musician! ) this is the star of the show: Ellingtonian Classics like Mood Indigo, I got it Bad, It Don't mean a thing, Black Butterfly Rocks In My Bed and In a Mellow Tone are turned inside out and taken back from the trash heap of Abersold Appropriation,and are played in a way that suits the strengths of individual artists, and balances temperaments of their characters as a whole as they play moves towards reaches its climactic reveal; at this moment the only other disappointment was that the band was not as big as, say, the English Touring Opera's for the recent run of "The Rakes Progress" : With this amount of dramatic tension in the stage, and with the audience in the palm of the band's hands the Ellington Big band, really needs to be a BIG band.

As it was, on the night Kaz Hamilton and Alexander Polack acquited themselves very well, making a myriad of moods that were both historically authentic and stylistically de jour. And the commitment to shared seat of Chris Hyde / Josh Vadivello on Double bass ( NO electric big band era please! ) brings gravitas authenticity and sensuality to the greatest american songbook in a way that only a Double Bass can. This show is all about that bass!

Having recently sat through the often turgid and salacious KAOS, a reworking of the mythology of Orpheus and Euridice, ( which was not a patch on Marcel Camus Seminal 1950's classic ) and also attended the afforementioned reworking of Igor Stravinsky's "Rake's Progress" ( often not my sense of humour, albeit markedly less turgid and salacious than Charlie Covell's Netflix Production ) I was far from convinced that , per se, " A reworking of Twelfth Night " was going to as vivacious, contemporary , and nourishing to the soul as it turned out to be. But on this occasion I was rewarded for my bravery ( And by "bravery" I mean only braving the inclement British weather ) , and I will forever regard Play On! as somewhat of a late birthday present - ( or maybe early Christmas gift? )

Ironically, whilst sipping free Prosecco and listening to a(nother) jazz function band in the reception area after the show , I had the good fortune to speak with one the trustees of the Talawa Theatre and we discussed how important it may be to not label Play On! as ( simply ) a "jazz show", because of how many people may miss out on an amazing contemporary socially and culturally relevant human experience, simply because they do not know or have not yet been sold the depth and breadth of the jazz canon.

But Play On! is "Jazz Hands" in safe hands. And I can say with confidence that Talawa Theatre have a winner on their hands; it is Black Joy. And "Black Joy" may turn out to be a better euphemism for the vibrancy we expect "Jazz" to bring to us. Congratulations on the fully immersive experience that Director Michael Buffong brought to the Belgrade Theatre tonight.

PS: As with many theatre shows, the stupidly difficult train schedule doesn't really support the 2+ hour format, but I can only say that on this occasion it was worth missing our last train to catch the "A Train" one more time...

Talawa’s Black Joy season presents:

Play On!

A new Jazz musical

Based on Shakespeare’s

“Twelfth Night”

Conceived by Sheldon Epps

Book by Cheryl L.West

Music by Duke Ellington

Produced by Talawa Theatre Company and The Belgrade Theatre

Co-produced with Birmingham Hippodrome, Bristol Old Vic, Liverpool Everyman & Playhouse, Lyric Hammersmith Theatre and Wiltshire Creative

Artwork by Feast Creative

For the full programme, click or scan the image below:

[discogodmother]

Duke ellington, 1927

[hibiscusbabyboy]

[gregpoppleton]

Al Hibbler Blind Singer and Activist - Phantom Dancer 14 January 2025

Al Hibbler was a blind baritone who sang with Duke Ellington’s Orchestra and then was a solo artist. Hibbler is seen as a bridge between R&B and traditional pop. He is your Phantom Dancer feature artist this week. The Phantom Dancer is your weekly non-stop mix of swing and jazz from live 1920s-60s radio and TV every week. LISTEN to this week’s Phantom Dancer mix (online after 2pm AEST, Tuesday 14…

[expeditiemuziek]

Highlights of jazz

Want to experience the highlights of jazz? 5 posts on my new website ‘Music: Listen, Look and Enjoy’ (hermanvandenbosch.com) are about five main representants.

Louis Armstrong

Duke Ellington

Dizzie Gillespie

Miles Davis

John Coltrane

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello lovely <3

Can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad run in with infected on a patrol and then when Joel comes home to find her all panicked he comforts her, gets her cleaned up and into bed .etc. ??

Thank you🥰

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

contains non-explicit nudity

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary After a brush with death while on patrol, Joel assures you and himself that you're still here as you wind down for the night [outbreak, fluff, 3.3k]

A/N Thank you so much for this amazing request, anon! This is my first fic of 2025, and I appreciate your patience as I took a little break to transition into the new year. I’ve decided to make this fic a part of the From Here on Out universe. I hope you guys enjoy! 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Chatter and swells of laughter rest at a minimum amid the Tipsy Bison. Only half the usual Friday night patrons have trickled in so far, peppered around the establishment with drinks in hand. The air is thick with the scent of sharp spirits and stale beer. String lights cast everything in a dim, warm glow. 

Beneath the clunk of Joel’s booted footsteps, the floor is sticky. A few nods are directed his way as he saunters towards the bar, which he returns with a tip of his cowboy hat. In the ten months since he arrived in Jackson, he’d built up a reputation for himself. One that was revered and feared all the same. Fading into the background wasn’t an option anymore. 

If folks still didn’t know his name, they undoubtedly recognized him when he walked into the room. That easy, measured stride. Those brows oftentimes furrowed in thought. Those dark, knowing eyes that were humble enough to know he had a lot more to learn. 

The older man wiping down the counter tosses the rag over his shoulder as Joel approaches. Old stains are splotched down the front of his white shirt. But he’s happy to see Joel. A quiet, jazzy piano melody flows from the billard room. 

“Howdy Clyde,” Joel drawls as he sits. A few barstools down, a pair of friends talk over beer. “You hiding Duke Ellington back there?” 

The man snorts with a shake of his head. “Good ol’ Dennis. Does this a few times a year,” he says. “Comes in, drinks, plays like it’s paying.” 

Joel gazes through the archway to where a couple people shoot pool. Dennis and the piano are just within sight.

“He ain’t too shabby,” Joel says. 

“Not at all,” Clyde agrees. “‘scuse me for a second.” 

Joel listens to the piano as Clyde goes to refill beers. 

He knows you’d appreciate Dennis’ playing. You were drawn to live music like a moth to a flame. Joel realizes then that he misses you. It’s a peculiar feeling that always seems to compound by the end of the day after being apart. You patrolled together when you could, but he’d been on the roster to volunteer at the community stables today. 

It was good, honest work. Peaceful too. There was no need to be on guard, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone unless someone was particularly keen on striking up a conversation. Being with the animals did a lot more for him than he’d ever expressed out loud. 

Back in front of Joel, Clyde braces his thick weathered hands on the counter, “So how’s Alamo? Came bearing good news for me, I hope.” An attentive furrow has formed between his bushy brows. 

Alamo, Cldye’s Stallion, was recovering from what the veterinarians diagnosed as a mild case of the flu. 

“He’s doing much better,” Joel assures. “Got him to eat and drink more than yesterday. He let me lead him around the corral for a couple laps.” 

Clyde’s eyes are grateful. “Thank God. I don’t know how you do it, man.” Joel smiles at the man’s relief.  “What can I get you?” He quirks his thumb to the wall of bottles behind himself. 

There’s a decent selection. Moonshine, applejack, mead—whiskey, which always sounds particularly good these days. 

Joel purses his lips in brief consideration before saying, “I’m okay tonight. Gotta get home to my lady.” 

Clyde hums in understanding. “Smart man,” he says. “I’ll catch you later.”

Outside, it’s cold enough for Joel to see the frost of his breath. People bundled in coats, hats, and scarves mill around because, despite the chill, it’s just another evening in Jackson. Snow still covers the ground from last week’s snowfall, and more is due any day now. The sky is white with promise as the last of the sun’s light lingers near the horizon amid dustings of pink. 

The community center buzzes with life as he passes by. A few people talk outside, and multiple heads can be seen through the windows. Just as he’s about to avert his gaze and continue on his way, his brother bursts through the doors. 

Tommy lifts his hand to signal him to wait even though Joel doesn’t intend to keep walking away. Relief is etched all across his face. 

“There you are,” he claps his gloved hand onto Joel’s shoulder. “You’re a hard man to find when you wanna be.” The slightly frazzled tone of his voice contrasts the casualness of his words. 

Worry stirs within Joel as he meets his brother’s gaze. “Hey. What going on?” 

Tommy wets his lips as he considers how to phrase the news. “Before you freak out, everybody’s alright,” he starts. “Just a bit shaken up.” 

Joel swallows the lump in his throat. He already knows it’s about you. He wishes he were wrong, but wishing never changed what his gut already knew was cemented in time. 

“Your girl and her patrol partner had a run in with some Clicker’s earlier this evening while they were out,” Tommy continues, and Joel’s jaw tricks. “No bites, thank God. And they managed to take ‘em all down.” 

An avalanche of guilty, frustrated, and relieved thoughts crash onto Joel all at once. Tommy loosely follows after him as he takes a few composing steps away to run a hand down his beard. Heat has risen in his face to the point where it almost doesn’t feel cold anymore. He can hear his heart in his ears.

“Where is she?” Joel finally asks. It almost sounds like there’s a small ball of cotton stuck in his throat. 

“At your place with Ellie. Her uncle Nate dropped by too,” he says. “She was askin’ for you, and I told ‘em you were on the way.”

It’s days like this that make Joel wish you hadn’t rejoined the patrolling rotation. With or without him. 

He’s is about to walk away, when Tommy adds, “She handled herself mighty fine out there. Both of  ‘em did.” 

•••

Death was no stranger to anyone in Jackson, but you’d never stared so directly into the face of a being that embodied such a definite, unyielding sense of finality. Never seen fungal decay so intimately that it made your skin crawl from the inside out. 

There had been four Clickers earlier that evening. Three taken out by your partner, Langdon, and the final one by you after tumbling to the ground. 

In your struggle, chunks of snow had crept into your jacket and dusted across your face. The bitter chill hardly registered from the moment your back hit the ground. Neither did the sound of your pistol firing as the hulking, distorted figure begin to crawl overtop of you. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat like a heavy tribal drum in your ears. Endure, survive, endure, survive. 

Only after Langdon drug you from beneath the limp Clicker, and hauled you to your feet, did you realize you were releasing frantic sob-like whines with every exhale. 

The entire scene won’t stop playing in your head. Electricity still hums beneath your skin. 

“Joel should be here soon,” Ellie assures again, in part for herself. 

He was always better in situations like these. Always knew what to say because he’d lived these same horrors himself, not a handful of times like she had, but countless since 2003. When it came to providing comfort, she always felt as though she was blindly grasping for the next right thing to say or do. 

But you were grateful to have her here all the same. If nothing else, she knew how to sit and be present. And after being asked to share an account of what happened by countless members of the patrol board, being with her as you wait for Joel is the peace you need. 

When you notice the worried way she’s chewing on her lower lip, you reach out for the glass of water she’d sat on the coffee table for you. You take one shaky sip and realize you’re a lot thirstier than you though you were. You drain it in a few big gulps. Ellie straightens up with a sense of having something right. 

“I’ll go get some more,” she says, taking the cup from you. 

Creaks arise on the porch soon after she heads to the kitchen. Then comes the faint jingling of keys. Joel pushes through the front door with a concerned furrow between his brows. It smooths when his eyes fall on you sitting in the living room. 

You look as small as you feel.

Aside from the absence of the sparkle that usually shone in your eyes, you seem as alright as you can be. Which is a much better than the image he’d conjured up in his head, despite Tommy insisting you’d made it back in one piece. 

“Hey,” he greets, carefully, like he’s talking to animal seconds away from curling in on itself. Like that’s all the bass he can muster into his voice.

“Hi,” you murmur, eyes tracking him as he shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it up. His hair is curled at his ears and a little disheveled when he takes his hat off. 

The floor creaks under his footsteps as he walks to occupy Ellie’s former place. Without uttering a single word, he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You press your nose into his shirt like there’s no other place it belongs. He smells faintly of sweat, but mostly of the outdoors. Like air and earth. Breath and constance. Life. So warm, you forget all about the chill that has crept into the room. 

Ellie’s relieved to walk back in to the sight of Joel sitting with you. Your eyes have fluttered closed, so you only hear the sound of the refilled glass being set on the table. Joel meets the girl’s gaze with an appreciative nod. Thanks, kid. You did good. 

“I’m supposed to volunteer at craft night, but I can stay,” she offers. 

You peek up from Joel’s chest. “It’s okay.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks, and you nod. 

“Thank you,” you say honestly. 

“I’ll make you something cool,” she promises. 

When the door clicks shut behind her, silence settles between you and Joel as you rest in his arms. You focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the faint, steady beating of his heart. It says he’s here, you’re here. 

Even with your body cradled in his arms, the thought of losing you haunts his consciousness. Makes tension root through his shoulders, until he takes one long inhale and lets it out. As if shedding the remnants of fear, and dispelling it from his being. 

You can feel him letting his anxiety go, only for it to manifest as guilt within your own chest. 

“We were being careful,” you say, then swallow because the next words are harder to get out,  “They—they came out of nowhere.” 

Apology plagues your tone, and he knows he’s the reason why.  

On more than one occasion, perhaps to his own fault, Joel expressed that he’d rather you not patrol. There were countless volunteer opportunities around the commune, but after meeting him, you expressed your desire to start going out again. 

For the first couple months, you were only ever partnered with Joel because he insisted. It became something you did together, getting to protect the people you love and absorb the beauty of Jackson beyond the commune limits. 

Slowly, he came around to the idea of you being partnered with different people as he picked up other volunteer work.  

Now that you’d had your first close call, you can’t help but consider the possibility that Joel had seen a certain weakness within you all along. Maybe you aren't as vigilant as you thought, or a skilled shooter, or truly capable of holding your own. If it had been Joel, the Clickers probably wouldn’t even of made it within a thirty yard radius before they were shot down—

“Sweetheart? Hey, look at me,” he pulls away so he knows he has your attention. Except, he hasn’t exactly pieced together what he wants to say. 

After releasing a breath, he meets your gaze with an apologetic look of his own. 

“I know you were careful.” His tone is warm with sincerity. “You ain’t gotta justify anything to me.” When you don’t say anything, he keeps talking, “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” His dark eyes are earnest, hopeful as they flit across your face. 

You nod, and he wants to believe you’ve let his words sink in. 

“There ain’t a single person in this commune who knows what’s gonna happen when they step outside those gates,” he says. “Best thing anyone can be is prepared, and that’s exactly what you were out there today.”

Joel’s not expecting a response, but he can tell he’s finally gotten through. 

He takes your hand in his and presses soft kisses over your knuckles. After letting go, he eases off the couch to kneel at your feet. You admire the slight hunch of his shoulders as he moves to untie your boots, the delicate way he handles the laces as if they’re somehow a fragile extension of you. 

When he’s done, you angle your feet to make it easier for him to pull the boots off. Even then, he doesn’t stand up. He stays on his knees so you’re eye to eye. 

“How’s a shower sound?” He gently squeezes your knee and waits to follow your lead. 

It’s an illusion of control he’s offering for your sake. Really, it’s all him. After everything today, all you want to do is let go. Follow someone you know you can trust. Someone who always knows how to lead the way.

•••

Joel gets the shower started and, before long, both of you have stripped to your undergarments. He watches as you begin to pull your sports bra over your head, and helps you on the tail end because the strong elastic won’t set you free. 

You don’t meet his gaze again until after you’ve stepped out of your panties. Joel’s eyes rove over you with a quiet, fond attentiveness, and you realize he’s looking for bruises or any sign you’re in pain. 

“I’m okay,” you manage a small smile. 

“Okay,” he says, then runs a hand through his hair as if he still hasn’t quite accepted that you are. His bicep flexes as he does. The expanse of his chest is broad, dusted with dark hair. 

“I promise.” 

Finally, he nods like he believes you. “Go ahead and get in. See you shivering.” The bathroom hasn’t quite warmed up yet, and the window is drafty. Joel makes a mental note to get it resealed. 

You waist no time doing just that. A deep hum escapes you as the water meets your skin. 

From behind the curtain, you can make out the outline of Joel’s figure as he pushes his boxers down his legs. Over the sound of the running water, you can just barely hear him gathering your clothes to go put them in the hamper. 

When he joins you, there’s a gentleness to the way he lathers your body with soap. A diligence. The steam lifting around you carries the light, earthy scent of lemon balm. You let him run the bath sponge along your arms as the warm spray of the shower patters onto your back. 

When he’s done, you wrap your arms around him so the front of your bodies are pressed together. Without pause, he graces the sponge across your shoulderblades before gliding it down your back. He continues all the way down the curve of your backside. You pucker your lips against the front of his shoulder in a pert kiss. He kisses your forehead in return. 

It’s a miracle your legs have held you up thus far. If you were to let yourself go limp, a small part of you likes to believe you’d somehow float. That’s how relaxed you feel. But you have half a mind not to test the theory. The thought makes you chuckle, and Joel peeks down at you with a budding smile of his own. 

“What?” he asks lightly, but you shake your head and close your eyes. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

“‘M’not,” you murmur. 

Joel hums in feigned disbelief.  “That doesn’t sound very convincing.” He puts a hand on your hip in a silent request for you to turn around. 

When you do, he snakes an arm around your waist. Behind you, he’s a promise. All muscle, warmth, and wet skin. He runs the sponge over your breasts before dipping down to gently run along the undersides.

Your eyes flutter closed again, just as he presses his soft lips to the pulse beating beneath your ear. The shiver that tumbles down your spine makes you lean back into him, and he’s right there holding you up, getting you clean, weaving you so surely into the fabric of the present. 

He lets you do the same for him. Allows himself to relish the gentleness of your touch. 

Touching his forehead to yours, his voice is thick as he whispers, “Glad you’re okay.” 

The two of you stay in the shower long after you’re clean. 

Until the water runs cold. 

•••

The mattress dips as Joel crawls into his side of the bed. Per your request, candles burn on both of your nightstands, bright enough to provide a glow to see each other’s faces. His warmth is behind you before long, chest to your back as he drapes an arm over your waist.  It’s a reminder that he’ll never let go. 

The room is quiet aside from your breaths and the occasional creaks of the walls. You rest a hand over Joel’s to run your thumb over his skin and along the bumps of his knuckles. 

“I’m terrible,” you say all of a sudden. Joel shifts behind you, prepared to counter even without the full context, but you you continue, “I never asked about your day.”

Joel gives you a squeeze. “Probably would’ve bored you to half to death anyways.” 

A small smile buds on your face. “Half alive is better than nothing,” you say. 

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating straight into you. You’d wage wars to hear that sound. Cross oceans to reach it again. Joel feels you shake with a small laugh of your own, and it further solidifies that you’re going to be alright. 

“Let’s see,” he decides to humor you after a brief moment of silence. You turn around in his arms and touch your feet to his beneath the sheets.

“Everything went well at the stables,” he says. “Alamo's doing a lot better. Stopped by the Tipsy Bison to tell Clyde on my way home.” You can here the tiredness in his voice, making it gruffer. 

“Aww, really?” 

Joel hums and places a hand on your hip. He draws smalls circles with his thumb. 

“He’s such a beautiful horse,” you think aloud. His coat is as black as the night. 

“I’m starting to notice a pattern,” you slip your hand beneath the hem of Joel’s shirt to splay over his side.

“What might that be?” he asks. 

“You making everything better. People, animals...” 

Joel huffs an amused breath through his nose, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe not everything, but he sure as hell knows he’ll never stop showing up. 

You scoot closer to him and allow your lips to find his amid the candlelight. Slow and steady like you’ve got forever. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

Check out the From Here on Out Masterlist for more of this reader and Joel.

GENERAL MASTERLIST

[adragonprinceswhore]

Tell Me You Missed Me

Tom Bennett x Reader

Summary: Word around the street is that you went on a date with someone else? Tom Bennet, fresh of the navy vessel, is not happy to hear that.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, P in V, orgasm denial, excessive teasing

Word Count: 3000

A/N: From my old blog, a request by @humanpurposes! ILY Gee 🫶

———

The smooth tones of Duke Ellington echo through the narrow alley leading to your house. 

Tom knows what that means.

You’re alone.

Your parents despise jazz, leaving you no choice but to play the two records you’d worked all summer to afford in solitude. 

He grins to himself, stopping right by the front door to run two hands over his sailor suit, smoothing out any possible wrinkles. 

“Fuck, didn’t bring any flowers or nothin’”, Tom curses himself inwardly as he brings one hand up to knock on the crummy door of your family home. Impatient as always, he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he pushes the door open with one hand. 

“Oi, could you keep it down, miss?”, he half-shouts as he enters your house, grinning widely as his eyes immediately find you, seated at the dining table only a few paces from the entrance. 

Your eyes go wide as you take him in. 

He’s back. 

The cigarette that’s been dangling between your red-painted lips falls down to the table as your mouth opens in surprise. 

He’s alive. 

“Tom”, you breathe out, voice no louder than a whisper. 

When he left to join the Navy, you were sure that he’d never come back. Yet here he is, in your house, smiling just as brightly as before he left. The sparkle in his eye is there too. 

Just like you remember him. 

He steps forward, kicking the door closed behind him before taking two long strides towards you. He reaches down to pick up the still glowing cigarette on the table, taking a deep drag. 

“Take it you didn’t miss me then?”, he teases as he looks down at you, his broad-shouldered frame towering over your seat. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back”, you reply honestly, eyes still wide with disbelief as you look up at him. 

It was easier to assume that any young lad being sent away would never come back. Then the inevitable heartache wouldn’t hurt as much. 

“That why you went dancing with Mike Jones?”, he asks. The glimmer of mischief in his eyes seems to disappear as they narrow in accusation. 

“How’d you know about that?”, you answer, unable to shake the surprise from his sudden visit. Still wearing his uniform and hair neatly combed to the side, you’d guess he came straight from shore. 

“Word goes ‘round, y’know”, Tom states with a shrug, an attempted display of indifference, eyes trailing from your dumbfounded expression down your body. You suddenly feel like the form fitting everyday dress you’d thrown on in a haste earlier today was far too revealing, making heat crawl up your chest, neck and onto your cheeks. 

“Well, I’m here now. Dance with me”, he requests, a large hand reaching for yours resting on the table. 

“Tom, I-“, you stutter as you pull your hands away from him. 

How long will he be back for? 

How has life been at sea?

Did he miss you? 

“H-, how long are you back for?”, you stand up as you ask, one of your hands coming up to briefly touch his cheek. 

To make sure it’s really him. 

That he’s real. 

His expression looks sterner, jaw tightening as he snatches the hand you touched his cheek with, pulling you closer to him. 

“Dance with me”, he repeats, this time as a demand. 

You let him lead you, the hand not holding yours settling comfortably on your waist as both of your bodies sway slightly to the fast tones coming from the gramophone. 

“Suddenly you’re a dancer?”, you inquire playfully as you look up at his face through your lashes. He isn’t really; his pace does not match the rhythm of the song in the slightest and he barely lifts his feet as he sways in place with you in his arms. 

“Apparently”, he answers with another shrug of his shoulders. Your eyes flicker down to take him in once more. You’ve never seen him this dapper before; uniform highlighting the broadness of his shoulders, blue collar matching his eyes, and not a hair out of place. 

“An awful one”, you continue to tease him as the hand you’ve placed on his shoulder squeezes him softly. 

He hums humourlessly at your jab, the hand placed on your waist slowly travelling down your side, squeezing your hip and stroking your thigh over the fabric of your dress. 

Just as you're about to grab his hand and tell him to behave, he moves it under your skirt in one swift, quick motion; letting his palm roam across the soft skin. 

“Tom!”, you yelp as you try to push him away, stepping back quickly so that his hand can’t slide up further. 

“You liked that stuff before”, he says indifferently, grip on your hand still tight so that you can’t back away further. “Or is it Mikey Jones that touches you like that now?”

His tone is much harsher than before; his attempts at remaining carefree failing as cracks start to appear in the nonchalant mask he’d put on. 

“Tom, I was lonely and didn’t think you’d come back.. He took me dancing once, nothing more”, you try to reassure him. 

There’s so much you want to know; to ask him. How’s life in the navy? Is he eating well? Can he sleep? Does he get seasick? Has he received your letters? 

But all Tom seems capable of is obsessing over the fact that you took pity on Mike Jones from down the street and let him take you out. 

It’s your turn to take command, stepping forward to rest both of your arms around his neck as you look up to meet his stern glare.  

“Did you get my letters?”, you attempt to change the subject, fingers playing with the short, sandy hairs at the base of his neck. 

He hums again, reluctant to properly answer you though he pulls you closer to hold you in his arms. 

“I thought about you all the time, Tommy”, you say before getting on your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

He pulls you even closer, mouth meeting yours in a sudden, passionate kiss that almost takes your breath away. He presses his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance to deepen the kiss, practically bending you backwards as he devours you. 

The act is incredibly dizzying; it leaves you breathless, exhausted and in the need for more. 

This time, when his hand moves to squeeze the soft meat of your inner thigh, you don’t step back. Instead, you push your body closer to his; your soft curves pressing into his sturdy chest. 

His impatient fingers soon move inside the fabric of your underwear, stroking your folds experimentally before letting two fingers part them. 

“Already wet?”, he grins as the tip of his fingers finds your bundle of nerves, drawing quick circles. The calluses on his work-worn hands scratch slightly against your sensitive skin and the sting of pain somehow amplifies the pleasure he’s giving you. 

Tom remembers exactly which kind of touch you like; how to make you putty in his hands. His tall frame still looms over you as he speeds up the pace of his hand, eyes watching your reaction intently.  

Your legs tremble as pleasure fills your being, peak hurtling towards where you stand in Tom’s embrace. One strong arm around you, keeping you in place, as his fingers move in and out, palm repeatedly pushing at your pearl. If not for the hold he has on you, you’re sure you’d be on the floor by now, legs almost unable to stand by themselves. 

“This what you thought of?”, he asks, eyes narrowing when they meet yours, fingers continuously working you towards release. You're standing so close together that your noses touch, breathing in and exhaling each other's air. 

You moan in reply, holding onto his shoulders like they’re your only anchor in a sea of all-consuming pleasure. With the last bit of strength you have left, you tilt your head up to ask him for another kiss. To your surprise, he denies you by moving his head to the side, mischief once again dancing in his eyes. 

Just as you’re about to peak, Tom stills, hand inside your knickers but unmoving. You whine in protest, glassy eyes looking up at him pleadingly. 

“What do you want?”, he questions with a wink, clearly pleased at how incredibly fast he’d reduced you to a trembling mess. 

“Make me feel good Tommy”, you request breathlessly, sounding way more desperate than you’d like. His lips stretch out into a wide grin, revealing his dimples. 

“Don’t know what that means, love”, he retorts, amused voice matching the cheeky curve of his lips. 

His smug demeanour is entirely infuriating, knowing that he’s already got you wrapped around his finger. It was always like this with him; he’d offer you bliss but only on his conditions. 

“Please make me peak”, you mumble, humiliation making you feel even hotter. He knows how embarrassed you get from your sporadic trysts, preferring to revel in how good he makes you feel than to think about the true nature of your filthy encounters. Your lover’s different, however. 

Tom chuckles at your plea, lowering his face to place a wet kiss on your cheek. 

“Nah, you’re not gonna get off on my fingers”, he says contemplatively, pouting mockingly at your tearful expression. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you do that”, he concludes and you wince at his crude language. He was so crass sometimes, it sent anxious waves of embarrassment through your stomach. 

You wish he could be like the romantic lead in one of the American pictures screening in town, full of promises of eternal love while placing lingering kisses on his lover's hands. But your Tommy wasn’t. 

The ache between your legs makes you lose all composure, so when he leads you to the dinner table, seating you upon it, you don’t protest. 

He stands between your legs, the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist as his hands move to drag your underwear down your legs. When you see him pocket them, you reach for his hand in a feeble attempt to take them back, but he just clicks his tongue as he swats your hand away. “These stay with me”, he grins as he pats the pocket of his trousers twice. 

He steps forward, standing so close to you your noses knock together, his lips ghosting over yours as his warm hands once again slide up your things. One of his fingers slips under the buckle of the garter belt you’re still wearing and playfully snaps the band against the meat of your inner thigh. 

Your lips part as you gasp at the sting and Tom takes the opportunity to kiss you, tongue coming out to lick your bottom lip slowly. His kisses before he left for the Navy were always hurried; quick and aggressive. But the way he kisses you tonight makes your knees weak; slow and sensual, one strong hand coming up to hold the back of your neck to secure you against him. It leaves you feeling dizzy; mind foggy from the want you feel for him. His lips travel from your mouth to your cheek, jaw, and neck, smearing saliva all over your heated skin. 

As his hands push your thighs further apart and he begins to undo his trousers, he whispers against your skin, “This the table you have tea at? With your mum and dad?” 

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, so caught off guard you almost push him away. But you don’t.

“I don’t want to think about that now, Tom”, you reply sourly, though your voice sounds breathless, too filled with desire. 

“But I do. What would they say if they knew what their little girl was up to now? With the neighbourhood’s nuisance at that”, he says and you can feel him smile against the delicate skin of your neck. 

As you're trying to come up with a coherent reply, he starts to suck on the spot right below your ear and the retort at the tip of your tongue is replaced by the loud moan you let out. 

You feel him take a step backward, though his face stays hidden against your neck. You angle your hips slightly so that he can enter you easier, all you want is for him to finish what he started with his fingers. 

“Fucking her on their table”, he groans out as he pushes inside you in one swift motion. 

The sudden stretch and sense of fullness feel so overpowering you moan out again, longing for him to continue to work you towards the release you so desperately crave. 

As he snaps his hips against yours, his pelvis makes contact with your swollen pearl and you throw your head back in pleasure at the stimulation. 

Pushing your palms into the wooden surface underneath you, you bring your hips up slightly to meet each of Tom’s thrusts. He curses under his breath, gripping your hips tightly as he drags his length through your slick walls. 

It’s been so long. 

You’ve missed him so much. 

The sudden realisation that he's actually back, that you’re together again, paired with the familiar tightening as pleasure ascends inside of you, makes you clench down on him harshly, causing you both to moan in unison.

Tears of relief well up in the corners of your eyes as the climax you were previously robbed off seeks you out again. 

Tom continuously rolls his hips to meet yours, his length finding that spot inside you that makes you feel like you're floating. You wonder if all men are capable of this; of making young, sharp women into whining tarts. Or if it's just him. 

He once again slows his pace as your walls clamp down on him in a staggering rhythm, denying you the pleasure you so yearned for. 

“Tommy, please! I need release”, you sob, one frustrated tear falling down your flustered cheek. 

“You don’t need anything”, he scolds you, though he still has that cocksure smirk hiding behind the stern tone. “You just want a quick shag and for me to be on my way, s’that it?”

“No, no”, you shake your head in denial. 

“Then fuckin’ enjoy it”, he chides, ducking his head down to offer you another slow, breathstealing kiss. 

You want to enjoy it; enjoy being with him once again, but you can’t stop the ache between your thighs from consuming your senses.

Tom, knowing you better than you know yourself in this state, takes advantage of your dwindling gumption. 

“What do you want”, he asks again, one large, heated hand coming up to grab your chin. 

“I want you to make me peak”, you repeat, this time with a bit more confidence. You’ll play his silly little games, you don’t care about sounding vulgar anymore. 

Tom nods in understanding, feigning contemplation as he cocks his head at you. 

“You want me to fuck you?”, he clarifies and you immediately winch at his choice of words. 

Wasn’t he already?

You stay silent, shame, arousal and want making your inner monologue incoherent. 

“Tell me what you want. You want me to stretch out this tight cunt of yours?”, he inquires as he once again rolls his hips against you, causing his length to hit that spot that makes you weak. 

“Yes”, you whisper in defeat, nodding slightly in confirmation. The fingers holding your chin press into your skin harshly, “I can’t fuckin’ hear you”, Tom bites back. 

“Yes, I want you to fuck me”, you repeat, voice still low and filled with shame. He’s gotten what he wanted; he’s won once again. 

“Such an indecent little thing”, he muses as another boyish grin appears on his face. Feeling high on the rush of victory, Tom takes pity on your miserable state.

“Hold on to my shoulders”, he instructs as he picks up the pace once again. You follow his directive mindlessly, sweaty palms grabbing the fabric of his uniform harshly, surely ruining the crisp attire representing His Majesty's Servicemen. 

Tom’s lips find yours again, kissing you softly while the movement of his hips are anything but. He pushes you down onto the table, and you wrap your tired, shaking legs around his waist with the last strength you can muster. The new position allows him to enter you deeper as he consumes you fully, making the table underneath the two of you creak loudly with every slam of Tom’s hips. 

You feel the wetness between your thighs trail down your buttocks, dripping onto your family’s dining table. The thought makes you clench around Tom’s length again, aroused by the depravity he’s led you into. 

One of his hands moves down your stomach, lowering to swipe his thumb against your bundle of nerves. You whine at the brief contact, desperate for more. You’re so close now, you can feel your peak approaching again.

“Who’s the only bloke that gets to fuck you?”, he asks, thumb resting on your mound, waiting for your reply. 

“You, Tommy”, you answer instantly, voice whiny and shrill from despair. If he denies you release again you’ll surely combust from the tension restricted inside of you. 

“That’s what I thought”, he triumphs, thumb awarding your submission by granting your pearl stimulation. 

You peak within seconds, the tension inside of you erupting in an internal explosion of bliss, causing your hands to curl into fist, legs shake and breath get caught in your throat. Tom, seeing your face scrunch in pleasure as your walls tighten around him, climaxes with a loud grunt on top of you, body stretching taunt in pleasure before his arms give in, body sinking down to heavily rest on top of yours. 

You're still breathing heavily when he pushes himself up on both arms again to lock eyes with you. “Tell me you missed me”, he commands quietly, making it sound far less patronising than his previous demands.

You lift your head up to kiss him again. “I missed you”, you reassure him, smiling at his fleeting display of insecurity. 

How could you not? 

———

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[citizenscreen]

Jimmy Stewart with Duke Ellington on set of ANATOMY OF A MURDER (1959) #DailyStewart

[allmyocsarebritish]

Domestic bliss <3

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings (?): Fluff, old timey dancing, the song I imagine they were listening to is linked at the end!!

The soft jazz of Alastor's radio accentuated the cozy atmosphere, as rain pattered against the glass of your window. Streaks of red light infiltrated the room, basking it in a warm scarlet glow. The scent of pine and the taste of fresh, woodland air emanated from the marshland that spread over half of your shared hotel room.

With a short sigh, you rose from the mahogany desk, wandering over to Alastor, who crouched beside the radio, fiddling with the dials. His coat was draped over the back of your classy chair, the sleeves of his button up rolled back and fastened in place, exposing scarred, slender forearms, which faded from his skin tone to ebony black. He reached out a hand to you, soft smile playing on his black lips as he rose from the floor.

"Shall we, my dear?" He offered, to which you intertwined your fingers with his own.

"Of course, love."

He brightened, free hand delicately resting on your waist, testing the waters to ensure you were comfortable. You leaned into his touch, your own arm draping over his shoulder. Together you waltzed and swayed to the gentle rhythm of the song, and, as the music continued you drew closer and closer towards eachother. Alastor's clawed fingers lightly traced grounding circles across your back, sending slight chills gracing your spine at the gentle sensation.

The drawl of Duke Ellington became nothing but background noise to Alastor's rhythmatic and comforting humming. It drew your attention away from the radio, capturing your undivided attention onto him and him alone. Where it belonged, entirely captivated and enthralled.

Slowly and almost tentatively, as if expecting him to jolt away, you laid your head on his chest, feeling the vibrations in time to the song. But instead of pulling apart as you expected, Alastor leaned further into you, hand separating from your own to soothingly stroke at your hair. Your own arm came to rest on his hip, hugging his waist. The two of you swayed in time to the beat, parting on occasion as Alastor twirled you, which left you giggling and flustered each time before swiftly joining back together.

Eventually, when the music began to fade and the song drew to a close, Alastor's humming also ceased, leaving the room feeling still and silent. You sighed your contentment, though your breath hitched in your throat due to surprise as you were jolted upside down unexpectedly, your back folding over his arm in a dip. He chuckled at your shock, and you chimed in upon catching your bearings.

Alastor pulled you back up in a much more elegant fashion, tugging you in close, your still-heavy breathing matching pace. Your cheeks were flushed and eyes were wide, staring admiringly and adoringly into his own, half closed as ever, to which you were met with the smallest foreign glimmer of emotion.

Affection.

To most it wouldn't be remotely noticeable, but to you, it may as well have been a dramatic love confession. Domestic moments such as this with such a powerful overlord did nothing if not secure your love towards the radio demon. The softening of his smile, the way his tail (which was never exposed to anyone else) wagged in contentment, the occasional slight flick of his ears. They were all permanently ingrained into your memory, as cherished as an age-old family heirloom. This was the way you intended to spend the rest of your afterlife, blissful and content with the one you loved.

Song link:

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Kim Novak (Vertigo, Bell, Book, and Candle)— She fought as much as she could to be able to preserve her own identity within the crushing hollywood system. She refused to change her czech last name and fought for a higher salary once she discovered her male counterparts were getting payed significantly more, which was an incredibly risky thing to do. She went through so much hollywood bs like she was forced to drop her affair with Sammy Davis jr. She played her iconic role in Vertigo thinking about her own oppressive and significant changes she had to undergo in order to fit in the tight hollywood mold which i think is partly why the movie is so beautiful and timeless. She is a gorgeous soul and a great artist.

Fredi Washington (Imitation of Life, The Emperor Jones)—She was a beautiful woman whose movie career was struck short because she refused to pass as white, but she did get to star with the greats like Cab Calloway, Hattie McDaniel, Paul Robeson, Duke Ellington, Louise Beavers, etc. Being a person of moral and conviction is hot. Also, she knew ballet and was a beautiful dancer in general.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Kim Novak:

Fredi Washington propaganda:

Short Hollywood career for being too light-skinned to play maid roles, but too brown to be cast opposite a white man in the time. Civil Rights activist. Worked with Paul Robeson to create the Negro Actors Guild. Heavy work in theatre and the NAACP.

[blackynsupremacy]

THERE’S SOMETHING

ABOUT YOU.

CHAPTER 2

pairing: smallville!clark kent x blackfem!oc

fandom: smallville (2001-2011)

guest starring: aaliyah haughton as lyric james

also starring:

angela bassett as crystal james

rick fox as joseph james

summary: ever since lana lang has moved in with the sullivan’s, clark kent’s nightly telescopic views of the galaxy and daily glimpse of the sunrise tend to get lonelier. that is until a moving truck, a wandering amicable feline, and her frustrated owner, lyric james, makes her debut in his life as her family are the new owners of the old potter house next door. things between the new neighbors start to shift as clark is tasked as her personal tour guide at her new school. one little slip is all it takes for her to learn he’s more than meets the eye in this small town.

contains: lots of words, friends to neighbors, use of gifs for visuals, tooth rotting fluff, a bit of angst, lyric and clark getting closer, mild swearing, cute moments, slow burn, main audience is black readers but everyone is welcome. lyric’s thoughts, clark’s thoughts.

taglist: @zombiehe4rt @ellethespaceunicorn @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @rosiestalez @sabrinasopposite @tryingtograspctrl @simply-the-best23 @gxuxhdjdu @afrowrites @afrogirl3005 @paisholotus

important a/n: for my black smallville girlies, i have created a smallville x black reader tag, so please if you have any content for any smallville characters idc if it’s a rant, fanfic, or meme, put it under that tag because we deserve that space and i want to see more than my stuff on there!

please read: CHAPTER 1

it was sunday afternoon and the james family were now officially moved in. furniture, clothing, and appliances were all accounted for and every necessary document for a citizen in smallville. lyric’s parents went next door to meet the kents to properly introduce themselves before venturing out to find the local market to freshly stock their kitchen with food and have their first meal together as a family in their new home. lyric stayed back, claiming she was tired from all of the lifting, moving, and organizing. she sat on her bed with her legs crossed and a sleeping noir on her lap as her thumbs pressed on the right arrow button of her digital photo album. she always saw it as a hobby, but her friends back home were always impressed with her photography skills. lyric adored to capture the realness and beauty of her city. she appreciated that it didn’t have to be a large garden or a gigantic skyscraper for it to be art. her album included graffiti painted murals, street musicians sharing their talents, or a child’s beaming smile as they indulged in an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. these photos brought her nostalgic bliss until she clicked upon a picture of her and omar. lyric felt such a twinge of pain that bit at her chest and a suffocating tightness in her throat that she inhaled and simply shut off the device. she picked up noir in one arm to get off her bed and place it on her desk next to her computer. if she didn’t do that, the thing would’ve thrown and smashed into the wall.

there was one thing that could make this feeling go away: a vinyl. lyric placed noir on the floor to roam around the room as she pleased before crossed over to her shelf that her record player atop of it. obviously being the year 2002, a lot of people her age wouldn’t care for them now, but this was a family heirloom that her grandpa, joseph “jojo” (as she affectionately called him) sr., passed down to lyric for her to enjoy music of the past and present. the brown skinned girl made the adjustments that the player was ready before she squats down to find a suitable album to listen to. hmm. beatles? nah. duke ellington? not today. whitney houston? maybe. lauryn hill? yes! lyric slid “the miseducation of lauryn hill” vinyl from the album cover to gingerly place it on the turntable. her fingertips grip the tonearm to maneuver the needle that gently descends onto the spinning vinyl, a soft crackle is heard in the room, indicating the start of one of lyric’s favorite songs. the sultry notes of " ex-factor” filled the room, lyric lost herself in the moment as she turned the dial to increase the volume. she grabs her hairbrush from her vanity to lip-sync as if she were on a world tour with her audience of noir who seemed to enjoy the impromptu performance of her owner swaying her hips to every rhythm. lyric felt the vibe hit differently as she sang along with the breakdown.

(care) care for me, care for me

I know you care for me

(there) there for me, there for me

said you'd be there for me

(cry) cry for me, cry for me

you said you'd die for me

(give) give to me, give to me

why won't you live for me?

care care for me, care for me

you said you'd care for me

(there) there for me, there for me

said you'd be there for me

(cry) cry for me, cry for me

you said you'd die for me

(give) give to me, give to me

why won't you live for me?

(care) care for me, care for me

you said you'd care for me—

“LYRIC RENEÉ JAMES!”

just as she hit a high note, crystal’s voice boomed as she burst through the door. lyric halted to turn around to see her mother’s facial expression change from a feigned stern look to one of amusement and laughter in her voice. lyric sheepishly giggled as she walked to the player to lift the needle off the vinyl to stop the music.

“hey, mama! what’s up? did the store have the frosted flakes?” she asked stumbling towards her mother. whenever lyric was caught like that, she attempted to take the attention off herself by changing the topic of conversation.

“girl, you and that record player! i’ve been calling your name for five minutes, but it looks like you were selling out stadiums on your world tour like you’re a child of destiny or something.” crystal quipped as she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“ma, it’s destiny’s child and i’m sorry. i just wanted to kill some time until ya’ll got back. is there anything you need me to do?”

“don’t get smart, girl. yes, get dressed. we’re going to dinner!”

“oh, for real? ya’ll found a restaurant out here that fast?”

“it’s not a restaurant, child. we’re just going next door. that nice family of that sweet boy—uh, honey, what’s his name? he found noir for you yesterday.”

“clark—clark kent?”

“yeah yeah, him! his family invited us to have dinner tonight, so start getting ready before we leave you.” crystal demands before she saunters out of her daughter’s room.

“you couldn’t leave me if you tried, ma!” lyric jokingly called out with a chuckle.

“try me and find out!” crystal responds a sound of her bedroom door opening and closing following suit.

lyric giggles while shaking her head before she goes to her closet to assemble the attire of a cropped black top with long mesh sleeves, khaki colored jeans, a sleeveless army patterned vest with a zipper, and combat boots. within the next thirty minutes, she did her hygiene, got dressed, and briefly primped herself in the mirror until her she deemed her final look presentable for the evening ahead. once her signature hoops were on, she kissed noir on the head and warned the cat to be on her best behavior before going downstairs to find her parents at the front door waiting to make their journey to the kents. she noticed her mother holding what looked like a boxed dessert of some kind before they walked out the door. it was a mild autumn temperature with a light breeze. the sun was starting to set painting an array of vibrant colors in the sky and setting the stage for the moon and stars to take their role for the night.

the family reached the kent house and stepped onto the porch. joseph glanced at his watch that indicated that they were ten minutes early and used his index finger to ring the doorbell. jonathan and martha answered the door within a second, amicably greeting the family with pleasant grins, hugs, and handshakes before they were cordially welcomed in the home. lyric’s eyes perused the classic, american interior of the living room, wooden staircase, and the multitude of family photos. lyric found it all so endearing her trance was broken when she heard a male voice speak her name with a friendly tone, it was not as deep as her father’s nor mr. kent’s.

“hey, lyric!” the girl’s head turned and her earthy eyes ascended to meet his of sky blue and an award winning smile on his lips. lyric could definitely peep his simple, classic farmhouse style of a red plaid flannel with jeans and boots, but he looked well put together nonetheless and not to mention of his clean, fresh scent.

“hey! what’s up? how ya’ doing, clark?” lyric addressed him with a dimpled smile, standing with one leg in front of the other and placed her hands in her back pockets. she wasn’t really sure what to do with her hands at the moment, she’s already shaken his hand when they first met, but she didn’t want to be too forward to give him at least a side hug.

“i’m good—well, great! i’m glad you guys could make it. you look really good, by the way. i like your outfit!” clark was trying not to stutter as his cheeks turned a bit red because he was telling the truth. it wasn’t a lie that he thought lyric was pretty, but to not come off as a creep and secure a potential friendship with his new neighbor, he complimented her fashion style that was also eye-catching. it was comfortable, simple, but it stood out from the rest with both neutral and vibrant colors.

“thanks, clark! i appreciate the invite and you don’t look bad yourself. you clean up real nice.” lyric honestly reciprocates the compliment. he’s too sweet. who needs to eat when your ego’s been fed?

all of the conversations were halted as the kents took the initiative to lead the james family to the kitchen. they gathered at the table and the husbands respectfully sat with their wives while clark pulled out a chair for lyric to sit next to him. with a soft voice and a smile of gratitude, she utters a thank you to the boy before taking her seat. the meal consisted of chicken fried steak and a spread of fresh farm to table cuisine that tasted like tlc was injected into every bite they took. as the families got to know each other, they conversed about the smallville community such as people they should (or shouldn’t) meet, places to go, and things to do. lyric was piqued at the mention of a meteor shower that previously happened in the fall of 1989, but saddened to learn that there was destruction, trauma, and long lasting effects, but the people of smallville had eventually learned to move on.

“oh my goodness, that’s awful!” crystal gasped with an appalled expression.

“it truly was—life altering, but not all was lost that day because we gained a son. that was the day when clark came into our lives and i wouldn’t change a thing.” martha responds with fondness as she places her palm on her chest and glances at her son earning smiles from everyone at the table.

“aww, that’s so sweet, mrs. kent!” lyric cooed as her chest swelled with warmth. she was a sucker for a happy ending.

“ah, mom. please don’t get too emotional! not in front of our new neighbors.” he jokingly pleads in slight embarrassment as his cheeks flush to scarlet causing the rest of the table to chuckle. mr. kent mentioned a man by the name of “luthor” lyric forgot his first name, but he’s a wealthy ceo of his own company. he’s originally from a city called metropolis, but moved into a mansion in smallville. the james family discovered that clark actually saved his life and they became friends ever since, hence his connections to the kents. lyric was amazed at the farm boy’s bravery, but she also detected in mr. kent’s tone that there was some mixed feelings about this dude. clark would chime in to come to this man’s defense. meteor showers, rich guys, clark being a hero. maybe this town does have some interesting stuff going on.

after dinner and with their parents’ permission, clark and lyric were excused to go to his loft in the barn to continue to know more about each other. it was already dark outside, but the many stars in the sky set the scenery. clark gave lyric a short “tour of his fortress of solitude”. lyric thought of clark to be lucky to have this huge, private space and she found it thoughtful that he at least felt comfortable with her enough to share it with her. he guided her to the telescope by the open loft window. she leaned forward and peeked her earth toned pupil through the eyepiece and he made sure to adjust the focus to capture all of the captivating spots that inhabited with galaxy. lyric felt the warmth of clark’s towering figure behind hers and she listens to his passionate, tenor voice as he educates her about the cosmos and eagerly answers any questions she has. it sounds like he wants to be up there. maybe he wants to be an astronaut after graduation.

a light bulb goes off in lyric’s brain before she moves back from the telescope and her two fingertips lightly tap his forearm to which clark’s eyes are immediately on hers.

“hey, clark?” she questions.

“yes, lyric?” he responds.

“i got an idea.”

“what might that be?”

“you wanna play 21 questions? i know it’s kinda lame, but it’s a good way to know each other if we’re next door neighbors and going to the same school, right? so are you in or are you out?”

“i’m in! do you wanna sit?” he offers gesturing to the sofa. lyric nods in agreement and they seat themselves on the cushions.

“bet! i’ll start with something basic. what’s your favorite color?”

“mostly blue and red. what part of new york were you from?”

“brooklyn. i’mma get this out the way—how tall are you?”

clark chuckles before answering.

“6’3. what’s something you love doing the most?”

“taking pictures with my camera! especially things that give me inspiration. i wish i had it take a picture of these stars…what’s your favorite food?”

“pizza. i can’t live without it if i wanted to!”

“get outta my head, that’s my favorite, too! there was this place back home called tony’s and let me tell you, they had the best new york style pizza on the block. they’d make the slices so big that you gotta fold it like a taco to get one bite and you’ll never finish it the day you get it.”

“sounds like my kind of place! i’m never one to back down from a challenge, so i’ll take your word for it, lyric. oh, right! the game— i wonder how’d you get to know noir?”

“that’s an interesting story. well, there was always this cat in my neighborhood just going on about its business, but some people were superstitious and thought she was bad luck because you know, she’s a black cat, so they would yell and curse at her like she was something evil. i was 12 years old and she was so cute to me, so i always fed her a little treat or just gave her a bowl of milk. one day it was raining, and i was in such a rush to get in the house that i didn’t see that i left the door cracked and she followed me in. i knew my parents wouldn’t feel too excited about any animals in our house, but she was cold, wet, and shivering, so i did what i had to do. i took care of her and it took two weeks of begging and my parents let me keep her because i was showing them that i was mature when i took care of her and the rest is history.”

“that was very kind of you, lyric. noir’s very lucky to have you as her owner, you’re basically her hero when everyone made her feel like an outcast.” clark’s lips formed a small smile and commended her as he peered at her side profile. lyric just sheepishly smiled as her dimpled cheeks radiated with heat.

“i think it’s the other way around! you would’ve done the same. the last i checked i didn’t save a rich dude from drowning, so you’re more of a hero than me.” lyric and clark chortled before she resumed the game with a question,

“what do you wanna do when you graduate, clark?” lyric quizzically awaited his answer, her eyes boring into his as her elbows rest on her lap with her chin resting in her palms. clark sits in thought for a few seconds to honestly get the answer from his brain through his mouth.

“i think i want to go into journalism. there’s something fascinating about getting a fresh scoop on something and you jump down the rabbit hole to get all of the facts from all of these different sources. the only downside is the possibility of invading someone’s privacy, breaking someone’s trust, and proofreading an article.” he states before they both chuckle at his joke.

“oh, really? for a minute, i thought you wanted to work for nasa with the way you were talking about the stars. it was like you were giving me a tour of your hometown, but it was the galaxy. journalism is cool though. clark, you could be on tv if you wanted to! it sounds to me you got it down to tee. you’ll do numbers, trust.” lyric shift her leg over the other and placed her elbow on the back edge of sofa, leaning her head in her palm.

“i’ve never got a chance to ask you this, but i really like your name. it’s unique. what gave your folks the inspiration?” he questioned and wittingly pretended to hold an invisible microphone with a playful smirk curving on his lips and a piqued glint in his eyes as he pointed his hand towards her lips, awaiting her answer. clark’s smile grew wider as lyric giggled and clasped her hands together.

“aha! i hear the journalist popping out now. we’re really doing an interview, huh? okay, well, my mama loves music. she used to play piano and write poetry as a hobby, but back then, her parents wanted her to do something more…practical and she went on to be a nurse. of course she loves what she does, but she told me that when i cried for the first time after i was first born, i was like the lyrics to her song of her life, so yeah, that’s why they named me lyric.” both teens simpered at the thought of their mother’s affection towards them.

“i can tell that you and your mom are close like my mom and i.”

“you’re not wrong, your mom speaks fondly on a day of tragedy and chaos because of you! there’s no doubt that she loves you a lot, clark. it must’ve been hectic giving birth during a meteor shower.”

there was a beat of silence.

“well— i’m actually adopted. my parents adopted me when i was around three years old and they raised me ever since. i’m not ashamed of it of course because they only want what’s best for me.” clark uttered as he cleared the air of awkwardness when he noticed lyric raise her brows in awe.

“oh-ooh, i’m so sorry, clark! i shouldn’t have assumed, it’s just—ya’ll are so tight, so i couldn’t tell. never be ashamed because blood doesn’t always mean family. as long as you got people in your circle who truly care for you at your best and at your worst, that’s family.” her hand slowly reaches toward him to place her palm on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring touch which clark receives with a small smile.

“thank you, lyric.”

“don’t mention it, clark.”

clark places his hand on top of hers for a brief moment and they both pulled away before things got too awkward between them than it should. for the next several minutes they continued with their inquiries about their lives, interests, favorites, and pet peeves. the parents were about to go their separate ways and made their way out to the porch to fetch the kids, but what they heard was laughter and a good conversation echoing from the open window in the barn. they all found it endearing, but joseph and crystal had to be up and at em’ the next day for their first days at work and lyric, her first day of school. jonathan and martha insisted to the james’ that lyric can hang for a few more minutes because they enjoy lyric’s company for their son and the kids would eventually tire out from their activity. knowing their son, he would bring their daughter home safely in one piece. crystal and joseph pondered on it and decided it would be okay, but they all agreed that if lyric wasn’t home by nine, one of them would pick her up. they bid each other a friendly goodnight and the james couple walked down the path and retired to their home.

lyric and clark stood outside the barn. it was pitch out, but the sky was still scattered with the soft shining light of the stars. her laughter mingling with the cool evening breeze. clark stood at her side with his hands stuffed in his pockets and an easy smile on his face, both of them reluctant to let the night come to an end.

“i swear, my parents be playing with me like that! of course they’d leave me if i don’t haul ass in time.” she chuckled, kicking a pebble to the side and glances over her shoulder to the familiar path that led to her house. clark laughed, a warm sound that filled the space between them.

“i wouldn’t be surprised. they’re the type of people that when they’re ready to go, they’re ready to go, even if you’re not. ,” he teased, his azure eyes sparkling. the connection between the teens felt easy like a sunday morning, it was a kind of chemistry that made them forget their mundane worries all together, but as the stars twinkled with every second passing by, reality crept back in.

“ugh, i gotta go home. god forbid i oversleep on my first day tomorrow.,” with a sad smile, lyric sighed glanced at the path again.

clark straightened his posture, his smile dimming just a touch. “i’ll walk you home, lyric.” he offered without missing a beat.

“thanks, clark!” she replied and they started their journey.

as they strolled side by side, the air was thick with a comfortable silence momentarily, but they resumed the stories of themselves and their friends. with each giggle and chuckle, it what seemed like a brisk two minute walk, felt more like a five mile stroll to her house. when they reached her front door, it felt too soon.

“goodnight, lyric. it was great seeing you again.” clark said, the volume of his voice diminished as he took a small step back. he didn’t want to make a bad impression by waking her parents.

“goodnight, clark! i can’t thank you enough. i’ll meet you at that bus stop where you showed me in the morning.” she utters, her heart fluttering a bit and a tickle in her throat. as her knuckles were about to knock on the door, clark called her name, his tone almost hesitant.

here it goes, it’s now or never.

“hey—um, how about we meet early tomorrow to watch the sunrise? it’s really beautiful out there and maybe it would spark inspiration for you to take pictures on your camera. that’s if you’re okay with it of course! ,” he suggested, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

he could see lyric’s toffee toned face light up at the idea. “yeah, i’m down for that. i don’t usually like waking up early, but you’re good in my book, so why not?” she responded, her smile beaming and she turned briefly to knock on the door to signal for parents to answer. joseph came to the door and graciously thanked clark for getting his daughter home in time.

as lyric stepped inside, she glanced at clark one last time to give him a wave and after he reciprocated, she disappeared behind the door. she didn’t realize the dopey smile that was stuck on her face as she walked in, but joseph did. with an amused grin, the older male crossed his arms and quipped,

“what you smilin’ about, lil’ girl?”

lyric stopped and cleared her throat, embarrassed that she was in such a trance that she didn’t realize her facial expression.

“uh—n-nothing just had a good time, daddy.” she stammered and twiddled her fingers.

“mhm, sure didn’t seem like nothing. get some rest, baby girl. it’s your first day tomorrow.” joseph chuckles and bids his daughter goodnight with a kiss to her forehead and ascended up the stairs to join his wife in bed. lyric playfully groaned, rolled her eyes at her father’s antics, and followed suit to change out of her clothes to her nightly attire and silk head wrap. she gathers her already sleeping onyx kitty in her arms, but doesn’t forget to adjust her alarm clock to a decent, but early enough time to get ready and meet clark before school. her eyelids close to begin her slumber.

as clark walked home, he was excited for his meeting with lyric and for her to meet his friends at school, but he felt a twinge of guilt. he felt he was betraying his loyalty to lana because watching the sunrises would be their “thing”. sure, he loved her, but it wasn’t like she’s his girlfriend. lyric was just a (almost) friend, all he wanted was to make her feel welcome, and that thought warmed his heart. clark really hoped that she would come through in the morning. he didn’t see any harm at showing someone the beauty and wonders of his hometown especially if they came from a whole different setting. once he got home, clark helped his parents tidy up the kitchen, bid them goodnight, and rested his body for the following day.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Chucho's Records // Javier Peña // Secret Springs

it's a warm night in secret springs when you step into javier peña's record store.

half an hour before closing time, you step over the worn threshold to the chime of a bell and the soft croon of a saxophone, duke ellington gliding through the dust motes to greet you.

a tired looking man looks up from his book behind the counter towards the back of the shop, a cigarette cradled between two fingers. you stop short at his appraisal. the way his eyes roam over you, the way his tongue wets his bottom lip.

he's handsome. so very handsome. lovely dark hair swept over his forehead, pouted lips parted beneath his moustache. his eyes warm and serious, alight with a curiosity.

'looking for anything in particular, cariño?'

his voice, low and inviting, breaks the spell. you smile, and he places his book gently down on the counter, cigarette crushed into an ash tray by the old register.

you accept his help at first, before he leaves you to peruse the records alone. you're lost to the feel of them beneath your fingers - music lost to time, voices you have yearned to find but couldn't anywhere else. you wonder whether you'll have to invest in a second suitcase to bring them home in, almost forgetting the quiet man here with you.

when he flips the sign hanging on the back of the door from 'open' to 'closed', you're pulled from your reverie, turning to face him as the sunset cools through the glass.

'it's okay,' he says, 'there's no rush.'

time slips by easily in javier's company. he passes you records to turn in your hands, places them on the turntable for you to hear. the shop is lit with a warm glow as he pulls a second stool out for you to sit at by the counter, and between glasses of whisky, you swap tales of places you've been, where you've come from. he's lived a dangerous, remarkable life, but doesn't like to hear your wonder and amazement. he's a man who believes in morality, rights and wrongs. a man looking for a fresh start.

he's a man awash with so much sensuality, you don't even realise how much time has passed with you staring at his lips, wishing to taste them.

it's dark outside when he checks his watch, and your belly swoops with disappointment. you follow him with your eyes as he turns lights off, silences the voice floating through the speakers. you step with him into the cool night, and he locks the door behind you.

you gladly accept when he offers to walk you home.

the streets are quiet, secluded as you reach your holiday home. the closeness of the evening is intimate, romantic, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

when you turn on the doorstep, he is so close. you can see the flecks of grey through his dark hair, crows feet in the corners of his eyes. smell the leather of his jacket, the scent of his cologne.

there is no surprise when he leans in to kiss you. soft, plush lips against yours - chaste. mint and smoke and something sweet. one large, warm hand cradles your jaw, the other squeezing your hip.

when he pulls away, you're breathless. his pupils are blown, eyes searching your face for something. for everything he's been looking for.

he presses his lips to your forehead as he wishes you goodnight, and when the door closes behind you, you press your hands to the heat of your cheeks, giddy.

sleep is fitful, strangely lonely. you promised you'd go back again tomorrow, but when you open the door to a knock the next morning, it seems natural for him to be stood there.

blush pink roses in the same hands that held you, that smile, those eyes.

'i couldn't wait,' he says, 'there's so much more to show you.'

@secretelephanttattoo <3

divider from @saradika-graphics