#Famous Jazz Photographers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hadesrise · 21 days ago

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## one true love !!

summary──── ben feels true love with you, his enemy, and finds himself able to break from the toxic masculinity he surrounded himself with.

pairings──── soldier boy / benjamin x anti-hero!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, porn with too much feelings, fluff, slight angst, foul language, probably (very definitely) ooc soldier boy, top!reader, sub!bottom!ben, gentle love, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vibrator, pet names ( love, baby, pup, etc. ), short oral ( r. receiving ), love-making, mating press, missionary, riding, aftercare, light D/S dynamics, pillow talk, a lot of vulnerability, ben proposes to reader unexpectedly, enemies in forbidden love, internalised homophobia, morally grey!reader, possessiveness, homophobic slurs, canon typical misogyny, reader’s anti-hero name is lucifer, reader has magical powers

author’s note──── i might’ve made him too soft and vulnerable, so forewarning that he doesn’t show much of his asshole side in this fic. the ooc warning already says much, i guess?

MINORS DNI !!

Peaceful jazz music and well dressed crowd fills the grand hall decorated in gold curtains, men and women from different wealthy families flaunting around their riches with drinks in hand. Adorned in nothing but expensive attires that feeds off of the poor were most guests that have been invited to celebrate another success of Vought-American with a superhero movie that starred its own team, Payback, while the heroes themselves remained in their pretty little costumes for the publicity and fame.

Cameras, photographers, and journalists lurked in the corner section of the hall, where they’ve been assigned to fulfil their destiny of capturing significant moments that are interesting enough to be written on headlines or shown on television.

Nights like this were when Soldier Boy wanted to beat the shit out of Vought employees for their incapability in making celebrations entertaining. The lack of excitement and chaos infuse Ben with excessive boredom that just gives him the urge to shoot himself in the head, all of its professionalism becoming nothing but a burden and straight up pain in the ass. He’s been hardly enjoying the night, having to put up with Crimson Countess attached to his hip at all times to keep appearances, which he admits is worse than fucking a loose cunt. It didn’t make him feel better that Stan fucking Edgar was watching, making sure things are under control.

The jazz music suddenly stops short with a loud screeching sound that has everyone covering their ears in pain, startled murmurs filling the air as all eyes turned to the stage where a famous band stood, confusion also plastered across their faces. One of them repeatedly presses down on the piano’s key, frowning when it does nothing as if it lost its function all of a sudden. Sensing the panic slowly rise among guests, Stan opens his mouth to speak, only for his words to die in his throat when the lights begin to flicker.

“You know, I’m quite displeased to not have received an invitation.” Deep, resonant, husky voice littered with confidence and cockiness erupt out of nowhere as the flickering lights return to normal, an utterly familiar figure making themselves known.

Gasps, of either excitement or fear, falls from everyone’s lips to your powerful presence that almost immediately caused a shift in atmosphere. Soldier Boy’s breath hitched, feeling his throat dry as he cleared his throat and swallowed.

You don’t miss the quick look of surprise and panic flashing across Stan’s face before they were hidden behind his casual mask of greedy businessman, making the corner of your lips twitch up.

“You’re simply not welcome here, Lucifer.” The man uttered with barely contained irritation despite his best efforts to remain calm, spitting your antihero name — given by, not Vought, but the public themselves — in distaste.

Amusement emerge on your expression, completely unbothered by the antagonistic perspective Stan sees you with.

There’s an underlying overconfidence and arrogance to the way you hold yourself, a man who clearly knows how influential and threatening your own existence is and isn’t even apologetic for it. It wasn’t just for a show — you knew you mattered, knew exactly your worth, and didn’t hide behind the fake persona of a beloved public figure that pretends they’re enjoying a single bit of what they’re doing. Your ego and pride seemingly rivals that of Soldier Boy’s yet yours come more naturally, like you were born with it without the need to develop them in amidst of your life to trick yourself into feeling more relevant. You held charisma, a charm that seems to pull people closer to you despite the dangerous, deceitful, fucking jackass attitude you had that’s supposed to be driving them away. It makes Ben want to either punch your face or suck your cock like a fag whore.

“Fair enough,” You shrugged. “But I certainly make parties more fun. You could learn a couple or two from me.”

Stan’s eye twitches in annoyance at your arrogance; it’s much worse that he can’t use anything to stomp on it because your ego wasn’t fragile like the others. While most men, supe or not, wrap their self-importance in toxic masculinity in order to feel superior than they actually are, you were fully comfortable with yourself. Your emotional capacity was extremely high that developed you to become invincible against criticism or rejection. He can attempt to hurt your feelings, manipulate you, use your own ego against you all he wants — none of it will force you to surrender or submit no matter what because you, quite simply, loved yourself too much to be under power hungry maniacs.

When Stan can’t seem to muster a snarky remark, you smirk and invite yourself in, walking further into the grand hall as you snap your fingers, the white bright lights turning into colourful disco lights with your magic.

You stared at the band members on stage, eyes glowing red, and forcefully overtake their minds to play an upbeat party worth music instead of the boring jazz they did. It’s not that you dislike jazz music, it’s peculiar and beautiful on its own, you’re just not really fond of formal parties where everyone’s required to be in their good behaviours, barely having the time of their life if not to shove their riches down less wealthy people’s throat, which you don’t particularly find amusing or fun at all.

It seems to excite the guests, some of them even beginning to bop their heads to the catchy rhythm, moving their previously still bodies along with the beats. Energy surges through them, life revealing itself within their eyes that was filled with misery before you barged in.

“Let go of the fucking formality, ladies and gentlemen.” You grinned wide with your arms spread open to your sides. “It’s time for a true fun party!”

Ben was in awe when all cheered at your declaration, how quick you were able to turn this entire place into your own playground despite the hosts — authorities — being present, how much of a natural you were at gaining people’s faith and attention without doing more than show up and be yourself.

It should be making him envious; he’s doing all these heroism, model, actor bullshit and hiding behind a perfect macho-man façade to be loved and paid attention to for fuck’s sake, and yet it’s so easy for you to bend people at your own will just by being yourself. He should be pissed as he always did when others get the spotlight more than him, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to.

How the fuck is he going to be pissed when you look so disgustingly hot doing all of it?

“He’s fucking doing it again,” Countess seethes through gritted teeth, glaring at you. Her little tug on his arm snaps him out of daze as he shifts his gaze to her. “Taking all the attention away from you. With the rate he’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he interrupts everything you’re in.”

Ben had to pretend to irritably clench his jaw, and smiled with sarcasm. “As if I’d let him. Fucking asshole needs to be put in his place.”

He knew you heard him when the corner of your lips pulled up in a smirk, one of your brows raising to shoot him a challenging look. It sends a thrill down Ben’s spine as he scowled, giving you a death glare that everyone sees for it is; rage, hatred, despise.

“Pleasure to see you here, Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess.” You greet in a feigned enthusiasm, swiftly taking a cocktail from the waiter that just passed, and approach them in all your glory.

“Fuck you,” Soldier Boy quickly snarled as Countess spits, “Get the fuck away from us.”

Amusement instantly cross your face, nearly making both of them want to punch you. “So much for greeting lovebirds in clown costumes,” You dejectedly say with a hand over your chest for dramatic effect, in contrast to the mocking way in which you spoke. “C’mon, I just made this boring, useless party worth your precious little time. At least now you can stop being a pussy hiding behind an awfully constructed television personality.”

That strikes a nerve in Soldier Boy as his face hardened and a cold look appeared, stepping forward warningly, “I’d choose my next fucking words wisely if I were you.” Countess tugs his arm in a nervous manner while scanning their surroundings, taking notice of people watching your interaction.

You meet his glare with a calm yet daring look and leaned closer, “I wouldn’t. I know I can beat you.” Your eyes glowed in red once again as you grinned confidently.

Ben’s hand twitched, but before he could make a move, a woman approached you from behind and tugged on your elbow, interrupting the little rivalry you had going on. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we dance and have fun for a bit?” She shyly but bravely asked you, not even sparing Soldier Boy a glance.

An unimpressed look flashes in your eyes that only Ben took notice of, the subtle annoyance to the woman for cutting into your rather hostile conversation. You, however, plastered on an emotionless smile within a split second, not giving anyone the chance to see through you. “I’ll lead the way,” You barely looked at him before walking off with her to the centre of the hall where bodies swayed to the beat.

It takes everything in Ben not to square up and make a mess of this party when you started dancing with her, your body dangerously close to hers as she stares at you with a look that made him want to strangle her slim neck. As if you’re a divine sculpture created by Gods, like you’re the entire universe, most precious being to ever exist in this planet, like she knew everything about you when she, in fact, absolutely did not. But he does.

And Ben knows he’ll be screaming your name, holding you impossibly close to him, digging his nails onto your back as you grind into him — everything she wished you’ll do to her — when all of this shit show is over.

At the end of the day, no slut or pussy fucker would come home to you but him; you’ve chosen him despite the countless amount of people throwing themselves pathetically at you, and Ben will make sure he’ll forever be the only one who does.

Lewd squelching, sucking sounds fill the dimly lit bedroom of your home as the stench of sex and arousal surround the air, more prominent due to your and Ben’s enhanced senses. You sat comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed with Ben in between your legs as he sucks and slurps your cock, taking it as far as he can in his mouth and gagging. Tiny muffled moans or groans escape him occasionally, hips grinding against the mattress to stimulate his own aching dick while the vibrator you bought for him nestled deep inside his prepped hole.

“You love my fuckin’ cock so much, don’t you?” You chuckled hoarsely, almost degrading, and Ben shudders. “It’s alright, love. m’not goin’ anywhere.” Your fingers tread through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp, making him groan as his hips stutter.

Maintaining eye contact with you, Ben inhales a deep breath through his nose before taking your cock further down his throat, tears gathering in his eyes when he nearly gagged. A genuine smile adorns your face when he looks at you expectantly, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen holding desperation and self-doubt. Pleading expression that he shows only to you.

“You want me to praise you, pup? Call you good boy?” He whines in response — God, that fucking sound you know he’d rather die than let anyone else hear. Ben doesn’t have any idea how much it affects you, the fact that you’re the only one whom he allows a vulnerable side of him show.

Realising he has to earn what he yearns for, Ben gently wraps his hand around the base of your cock where it didn’t fit and starts to bob his head. You moaned softly, throwing your head back; the sight being such a blessing to Ben’s eyes that makes his own cock throb and needy. He swirls his tongue on the underside of your shaft, his free hand gripping your thigh for support.

“Doin’ so good, love. You’ve gotten better at this,” You cooed, petting his hair and gently thrusting up into his throat. Ben closed his eyes, a blissful look appearing on his face as he relaxed and allowed you to move instead.

The trust and faith Ben has in you makes something explode within your chest, heart swelling in love and adoration at your troubled yet adorable partner.

Building a healthy and trustful relationship with him was more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before, considering the absolute bigotry his father forcefully fed into him and all the unresolved issues he had with himself. Despite the tough and harsh exterior he constantly put on, you had seen right through him when you first met — those broken spirit that yearned to be loved or needed by people hiding behind his douche, Soldier Boy persona, a man that his imbecile of a father always wanted him to be. It amused you as much as it squeezed your chest; one of the first strongest superhero being a fucking attention starved bastard was undeniably funny, but pitiful. It’s also why you fell in love with him.

You’ve accepted that Ben was always going to have a deep rooted homophobia in him, that there won’t be a day where you’ll be seen in the public with him holding hands like star-fucking-crossed lovers, that he’ll always be too much of a pussy to be fully himself — but you never expected him to be so open, comfortable, with you like this to the extent of willingly trusting you with a needy and desperate version of himself.

Benjamin is laying his heart out bare for you to take, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to make love to him or fuck his brains out. You decided with the former.

Confusion settles on Ben’s expression when you gently pushed his shoulders to make him pull away, a sudden worry if he’s done something wrong, but all thoughts flies out the window after you passionately smashed your lips against his and guided him on your lap. Ben gasps when you pulled the vibrator out of his hole and replaced it with your thick fingers, hooking his arms on the back of your neck.

“So good, love. Lookin’ all pretty for me.” He moans at your praise, the compliment making his heart flutter rather than boost his ego.

“s’for you…” They come out in whisper from his lips, littered with slight reluctance around the edge, but you hear it loud and clear. “All for you. I— fuck… just for you,” He grinds on your fingers, crying out when you curled them just right to stimulate his prostate.

You almost feel dizzy for his words that he’s never uttered before.

The utmost pride he upholds made it difficult for Ben to completely submit to you, often being a disobedient brat that needs to be put in his place or a quiet, reserved man that’s embarrassed to be loved by another man which causes him to be tense for the first half of this activity — so seeing him like this, hesitantly yet openly letting you in to his comfort zone, spilling the thoughts he’s always been fearful of admitting, holding you tight to him as if you’d slip from his grasp if he let you go, was pleasantly surprising. Your heart flutters, butterflies filling your stomach as the urge to protect and gently take him apart piece by piece runs like electricity through your veins, fuelling your desire for Ben.

You thrust your digits with gentle pace, Ben’s hips moving on its own to chase the pleasure. “That’s right, baby. All f’me, yeah? My pretty darling?”

The gentleness of your whispered voice and your eyes staring at him with pure love sends shivers down his spine; Ben holds your face and nods, pulling you in for a kiss. You can feel his suppressed fear through his desperate lips, the doubts that lingers in his mind that you might see him differently for being so vulnerable like this, and you quickly silence his thoughts by slipping your tongue inside his mouth.

Ben mewled when you add another digit in him, now having three fingers penetrating his hole, as he breaks the kiss to breathe for air. There’s a hazy look in his tearful eyes when he meets your gaze, “Take care of me, please.”

You groan at the plea, immediately pulling your fingers out to instead align your cock with his entrance. Ben must’ve been waiting for so long because he doesn’t hesitate to sink down on it almost in an instant, a loud collective moan escaping the two of you. Your hands gripped his hips while he rested both hands on your shoulders, and fuck he felt so fucking good. The way his warm, tight velvety walls deliciously clamp around you as if swallowing your cock whole, the way his divinely beautiful body perfectly fit against yours like he was made for you.

“fuck… you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” You praised, kissing up his throat as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Completely mine, so is Soldier Boy. Everythin’ about you, Ben. It’s all mine.”

Ben nods vigorously, gripping the back of your neck and starting to ride you at a perfect pace, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. Slipping his fingers through your hair, he gently tugged on them just enough that had you groaning, and laid his forehead to rest against yours. “Y-yours- ah… Yours as… as much as you’re fucking mine,” He grunts out, possessiveness hanging onto his every word that shot excitement through your body. “No one gets to f-fucking have you… oh fuck—!” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan when you snapped your hips up.

“Yeah? Not even that slut that danced with me on the dance floor?” You teased, smirking.

His bright green eyes seem to darken as he sinks even further down on your cock, forcefully stretching himself out, hissing at the delicious pain. You moaned, wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your chest. “Fuck, especially her.” Ben almost growls, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, feeling you throb and seemingly get bigger inside him due to it. “You… belong to me, o-only me.”

You hum, moaning softly when he squeezed your jugular just right. “Always, my love.”

Relief washes over his entire body as he begins to roll his hips and move again, leaning down to suck and kiss on your exposed collarbone. “Oh fuck… It’s— a-agh…! Tell me- tell me, please…” He whined desperately.

Ben needed to hear you say it, have the promises of you completely belonging to him nailed into his brain so he’ll never feel insecure or doubtful again. He’ll never admit it, but you always know every little thing that goes on inside his head, those haunting words of his father that seems to have a tight grip over him. You’re the only one that could see right through his soul; someone exactly opposite from his father, someone who fearlessly challenges the normality or ancient traditions, someone who actually have their shit together that enabled you to be mature, wise, unapologetically yourself.

You were extraordinary in every way possible, and Ben knew his inner vulnerable — not quite the man his father wanted him to be — self was safe with you. Always secured. Never judged nor ridiculed, instead embraced perfectly by your strong and warm arms that shields him away from the mental, emotional harm.

He knew you would catch him when he falls. You would keep him and his treasured thoughts safe. You weren’t afraid to love him loudly, wholeheartedly, and Ben allows himself to be brave just this once without thinking about his fears.

Trailing one of your hands up his nape, you pull him back to a searing kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Ben melted, his hand on your throat loosening as you gently twist your bodies around to lay him down on the bed without pulling out. He whimpers and chases you when you detached your lips from his, which nearly made your heart explode.

“I belong to you, my love.” You whispered, kissing down his neck and chest, thrusting your cock sensually slow inside him. Nothing quite like the animalistic sex you two usually have due to your powers, but it was more right than ever. “My heart, my body, my soul, my spirit. All for you, belong with you.”

Ben feels as if his heart would hammer right out of his ribcage from how rapid it was beating.

Your soothing yet powerful presence all over the place, hovering over him and embracing every bit of the damaged part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. There’s resistance gnawing on his skin, the unhealthy urge to push you away and guard himself again with a thick wall despite being the one who willingly showed vulnerability, but Ben uses all of his ability to shove it down. He wanted to listen to your overwhelmingly romantic and gentle words that he’s been taught men should never utter, he wanted to be held with so much care like he was your most prized possession, he wanted to be actually loved. For once, he wanted to allow himself to not be drowned in the toxicity his father had force-fed him with.

It doesn’t take you a second to notice him relaxing even further underneath your body, practically leaning onto your existence as the pretty noises escaping his mouth seems to gradually get louder, like he stopped holding himself back.

An awe surrounds your expression, genuinely taken aback by him letting everything go, and a soft sigh of pleasure falls from your lips. “That’s it, baby. You make the most prettiest sound. Don’t hold back,” Cooing gently, you adjust your hips and rolled into him, brushing his prostate at a perfect angle.

Ben keened, arching his back. “Fuuuck… oh, please. Deeper.”

You obliged, keeping the same slow and sensual pace but pushing further inside. “You’re made for me, aren’t you? Just as I’m made for you,” You sharply snap your hips once to emphasise, and he cries out. “We’re one, my love. No one can have me, I come home to you and only to you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, the pleasure and your words sending explosions of euphoria into his brain, nodding mindlessly at your promises. “Y-yes, fuck… I’m- I’m yours, too— ah, hng…” Tears spill from his beautiful green eyes as he spread his legs more wide, one hand grabbing your wrist that was propped beside his head to stabilise your body, almost clinging onto you while the other scratched against the mattress. “F-fucking Christ, always- always yours.”

“I know,” You softly acknowledged. “Always mine, no matter how much some part of you can’t accept it. I can see right through you, love. I understand everything about you.”

“I- oh yes! There, fuck!” Ben sobs when you start picking up your pace, hips bucking against you. “Y-you do… God, you a-always fucking do.”

That causes a grin to spread across your lips before you leaned down to devour him again.

Truth be told, Ben was afraid of how much you saw everything he’s been trying to hide all his life. It takes a bit of his soul every-time he learns to be indifferent, more sick and twisted. The innocence in him had died out long ago, but the desperation of a child never vanquished — the pathetic, ruined and heavily deprived of any love someone that he always forced himself to forget or get rid of, was seen entirely by you without much effort. He didn’t need to say anything, you always understood all the hidden insecurity, longing, pain, and fear nested deep in his mind. You also understood why he was the way he was, why he does what he does, who he had to become.

To be loved is to be seen and understood, he guesses.

A love he’s never thought he’ll ever experience from anyone, let alone his supposed enemy. You gave it to him, though. All so willingly, happily, like he was meant for it, like he was always meant for you.

Strangled, loud moan was forced out of him when your hand wrapped around his achingly hard dick, making him feel dizzy from all the overwhelming desire and pleasure. Every bit of love that emits from your touch sends a frying electricity through his veins, fulfilling his inner thirst that was supposed to be unquenchable.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—!” Ben wails, arching his back and digging his nails on your forearm as your thumb rubbed his sensitive slit and smeared precum all over. “C-close… oh, Christ! Cummin’, cummin’, please—”

“It’s alright, Ben. I got you,” You purred, slamming your hips down on him. “Let go, cum for me.”

As if that’s all the permission he needed, Ben instantly tumbles over the edge with a loud breathy whine as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sticky loads shooting out from his cock to his stomach. Body spasming and head thrown back, letting his mind-blowing orgasm wave right off of him, still clinging onto you. You gritted your teeth when his hole tightened impossibly around you, feeling yourself throb and ache to release.

Ben — in spite of his cloudy, mushed state of mind as well as hazy and cock-drunk look in his eyes — suddenly wraps both strong legs around your hips to keep you in place, which forces you forward to bury yourself deeper inside him, eliciting a growl of curses from you.

His mouth splits into a dumb, shit-eating grin. “Inside, baby. Fill me up… give me all you got. I need you.” He moves his hips and squeezes down like a fucking expert prostitute, and it’s enough to have you let out a guttural groan as you spilled inside his tight hole.

Ben released a shattered breath, moaning delightfully at your warm cum that taints his insides, his hand that was gripping your forearm moving down to caress his belly where he could feel you finishing.

It makes your breath hitch; the action sparking a deep hidden desire and possessiveness within you that you’ve had shackled for so long in order to not be too greedy.

But Ben, oh your precious Benjamin, pressed down on his perfect belly and whined so brokenly that tugged the strings of your heart, as if he wanted something so unreachable. He attempts to bury his face on the pillow in what you recognised as shame and you quickly hold his face to keep him from hiding from you, subtle concern glimmering in your gentle eyes.

“What’s bothering your mind, love?” You whispered with such carefulness, afraid speaking too loud would break the bubble of sensitivity that surrounded the two of you as you pressed a light kiss on his temple. “You can tell me, Benji. It’s not embarrassing nor shameful.”

Ben’s heart swells at the way you cage him in your protective arms and words, the back of his eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to come out. He doesn’t deserve you; he never did, but you’re so good to him and he doesn’t think he can live without you. No, he knows he can’t live without you.

What would he do without your captivating eyes looking at him with so much passion no one ever gave him before, your gentle voice uttering such carefully crafted words that embraces rather than cut through him, your big and muscular yet warmly protective arms holding him like he was a treasure to behold, your soul healing and rebuilding every damaged bit of his spirit like it was your purpose? What would he do without you?

And fuck, everything would be so much easier if he wasn’t a fucking man. If he wasn’t such a pussy who’s afraid of risking everything.

You gently roll your hips against his, slow and steady, as if to comfort his nerves and overthinking thoughts with a soft pleasure.

Letting out a quiet, breathy sigh, Ben holds your face close and internally fights back against the restraints that wanted to keep him from opening his soul up to you. “We’d be… We’d be so much happier if I wasn’t a fucking man,” His whispered voice breaks at the end.

His heart ached and so did yours, a realisation dwelling on you of how serious Ben actually was with your relationship. It comes off as an unexpected admittance. While you knew he did love you like you love him, you didn’t think it was to this extent of imagining the countless possibilities if either of you was a woman instead, much less he’d think of himself to be the woman. It was odd and so unlike him — true love brings out something within people, you suppose.

Tears glimmered in his green eyes that’s filled by storm of emotions.

Ben hated this, hated you for making him such a crybaby and a pussy, but he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts. He doesn’t know what triggered him to be an annoying, pathetic, insecure loser the moment you held him. God, he’s Soldier Boy for fuck’s sake!

Then, you look at him with so much tenderness like he hung the moon and was the only thing that grounds you down to earth, and Ben realises it’s this.

“You’re such a fucking fool,” You affectionately cursed with a tone barely above whisper before pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have spared you a glance if you weren’t. Women never captivated me, love. Only you.”

Wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face on the crook of your neck, Ben inhales your scent as you gently rock your bodies together. “Love me more,” He almost demands, voice low and trembling.

You smiled, “Of course, Benji.”

Pressing a sweet kiss on his head, you grab the back of his thighs and push them to his muscular chest, Ben’s flexibility despite his well defined physique making it easier for you to fold him. In a swift motion, you slam down on him, beginning to pound away the loud thoughts that made home in his mind. Angelic, high pitched sounds escape Ben’s mouth with each rough thrusts, bordering on pornographic. The blissful look across his face enhance his already ethereal features, and you can’t help but stare intently at him.

“You look so beautiful like this, love. Taking me in so well, letting me cherish you.” You praised, earning a needy whimper from the love of your life. “My Benjamin… my brave soldier.”

At the unexpected pet name, Ben’s body jolts and a choked sob erupted from his throat, suddenly pushed over the edge as he cums undone on his stomach. “F-fuck!”

“G-god, baby…” You groaned, shuddering in pleasure at the way his gummy walls spasms around your girth. “Drivin’ me insane, y’know that? Cummin’ with just my words alone? Shit, wanna fuck you hard and love you at the same time.”

Digging his nails on your back, Ben attached his lips on your collarbone with an intent to leave several possessive marks, making you jut your hips forward. “D-do it, fuck me.” He mumbled breathlessly.

That’s the only permission you needed to let go of your own self-control and just rut into him like an animal, thrusting your cock with more vigour and roughness that forced the headboard to repeatedly bang against the wall. Feeling the way your shaft practically drill into and rearrange his guts that brought immeasurable ecstasy, Ben finds himself finally unable to make out a coherent thought as drools drip down his chin. The two orgasms you milked out of him already left him sensitive enough, his thighs quivering under your grasps.

Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelches filled the room, accompanied by feral noises of both of your moans and grunts.

It’s nearly incomprehensible how you’re able to quickly switch between loving him and treating him like a slut next, a perfect balance to Ben’s constant yearning for admiration or appreciation and his tendency to always be an inconsolable brat that needs to be put back in his place.

He feels so complete and whole, so loved. And so so fucking dumb for your cock. He could stay like this forever without heavy expectations weighing over his head all the time, just taking you whole and letting you ruin his body, looking all pretty and beautiful for you. Yeah, he can do that. Being pretty and sexy has always been a talent of his, after all. He can even learn to cook for you like a fucking perfect, pretty housewife, maybe you’ll stuff him full of your cum again while at it and tell him to keep them in. Fuck, he can do that too. He wants to do that.

“Oh fuck, Ben…” An almost pornographic, low growl rumbles from your chest when he squeezed down on you, his warm walls fluttering against your girth from the imagination. The coil in your stomach tightens as you twitched inside him, too close to your high.

“I- ah—! Please, pleaseplease—!” He babbles, one hand shifting to press your ass and push you in deeper, syllables slightly slurred from how cockdrunk he was.

Understanding his wordless signal, you increase your pace with an angle that drives your instincts wild, a chill running through your spine from the overwhelming pleasure. Seeing Ben completely fall apart and surrender underneath you gives your ego an infinite boost, the powerful man such a sobbing, wrecked, pretty little mess just because of your cock. Drunk in every little euphoria and precious love you feed him. Oh, how fucking adorable and gorgeous he was.

Before long, Ben feels you throb inside him and pulls you in with what little willpower he had left, clumsily slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming you with different sensations of his body against yours. It’s enough to have you harshly ram your hips down in one swift motion and empty yourself inside him, a loud wail of your name leaving Ben’s lips as he finishes as well. You feel his body tremble violently due to overstimulation, breath stuttering.

“You look so fucked out,” You laugh breathlessly, hips softly grinding to ride out your climax. “Still fuckin’ hot when you’re all dumb n’ mindless.”

Petting his disheveled hair, a soft contented hum leaves Ben as he closed his eyes and nuzzled to your touch. The entire erotic sight of his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, tears staining his cheeks, hazy look across his eyes, and swollen lips sends amusement and satisfaction through your veins — you definitely fucked whatever self-loathing thoughts he’s had out of his head.

Having completely spilled inside him, you moved to pull out only for Ben to groan in protest. “Stay the fuck in,” He grumbled, panting to catch his breath.

“I need to clean us up, love.” You gently say, but kept yourself sheathed inside him as your lips attach to his neck. “Wanna take care of you properly.”

Ben quietly sighs in content, “You already do.” Before he tilts his head to capture you in a passionate kiss. You slowly pull out of him in amidst of the moment, holding his face and reciprocating with equal passion.

He breathes low and heavy when you start to wipe him up with a wet towel you magically conjured up, running it across his body gently as your other hand massaged his sore hip with such tenderness. Your eyes taking in every part of his physique feels much more innocent now compared to before, deep appreciation and subtle awe flashing across your irises the more you stare, which causes his cheeks to tint slightly. You find it adorable how shy or embarrassed he gets whenever you look at him like he’s something born out of the stars in contrast to the overinflated cockiness he displays when others compliment him; it just proves he feels different, more special with you.

You shoot him a gentle smile that makes his brain shut down and his heart jump.

Christ on a cross, just what did you fucking reduce him into?

“Will you marry me?” The words had left his mouth before he could even process.

You froze, eyes wide as you snapped your gaze to him at the same time his own widened in shock. Fuck, did he just say what he thinks he did? After you fucked him ‘til he couldn’t even speak properly? God, his legs feel wobbly after all that delicious pounding of your dick in his tight little—

His distracting thoughts were interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. There’s a bit of doubt lingered across your expression, worried that you mistakenly heard him, and Ben’s gaze softened. “Will you marry me?” He repeats quietly this time with genuine emotion, wiping away your worry.

Excitement and happiness seem to explode within you as you beam; “Yes! Fuck, yes, I’ll marry you.” However, your smile slowly deflates and a foreign look of insecurity replaces the joy surrounding you. “Are you… are you sure? You’re not pushing yourself?”

Confusion spreads across his face, “Why would you think I am?”

“It’s just not that easy to break away from all the homophobia, love.” You softly remind him. “You’re still having a hard time accepting it, could barely even call yourself the right term. You’re afraid, and that’s fine. We can continue on like this. You don’t have to marry me because you feel obligated to.”

Ben frowns, his hand pulling you down to the mattress at his side as he props up on his elbow and stares at you incredulously. “You think I wanna fucking marry you just ‘cause I’m guilty about hiding this? Did it ever occur to you that I actually fuckin’ love you?”

You smile to yourself; what a long way it took for him to just be able to admit that. At least he’s letting himself know he can be vulnerable with you now, compared to when he was convinced you’ll despise his inner self — a big fucking pussy, he says — and completely shut himself off in the beginning.

“Hey,” He grabs your chin to make you pay attention. “I know I still don’t do enough to show you, but I do. I really fucking do, baby.”

You look into his captivating green eyes for a second before releasing a deep breath, “I know. Trust me, you don’t have to do enough to show it, I can already tell. And I love you too.”

Ben nods and kisses your lips, lying down beside you. Your hand instinctually attaches to his waist, caressing his soft skin and shooting warmth throughout his body.

He can’t help but stare at your features, the way you look different now from how you looked at the party you crashed earlier. A certain amount of coldness, hostility and displeasure usually lurked your expression in a daily manner — hidden behind the undeniable charisma and obnoxious arrogance — directed at others that told exactly what their worth to you was; nothing. Ben hasn’t seen a day you were even remotely pleased by someone in the long years of knowing you, the people who attempted to get in your good graces often ended up screwing everything up instead and irritating you enough to kill them off.

But with him, you wouldn’t even spare him a cold glance. Your gaze twinkling with a pleasant spark, always warm, always comforting, always proud. God forbid you look at him with hatred like you’re supposed to. So affectionate for a man who’s been named after the Devil by the idiotic public that only sees what you let them see.

It is then had Ben realised; to him, true love is you.

True love is when you embrace a part of him that he deems undesirable, mend his broken soul, and melt the ice of deep rooted trauma surrounding his heart — it is when Soldier Boy doesn’t drive you away from seeing Benjamin, an ordinary boy from South Philadelphia who desperately wanted to make his father proud. You see them as one, as equally significant parts of him.

Good fucking Lord, he was a gigantic imbecile if he didn’t want to marry you, even if the idea still makes him feel quite… odd. Fuck’s sake, he really needs to learn how to deal with this homophobia bullshit, doesn’t he?

Ben licks his lips anxiously, reluctance plastered on his face. “I… I actually got the rings,” He hesitantly admitted.

Your eyes widened. “You did?”

“I- Jesus Christ, of course I did! I know I don’t fucking do shit like that, okay?” He snapped before quietly muttering, “Just wanted you to believe me when I propose.”

“I do,” You don’t miss to give him comfort, grabbing his hand. Ben’s nerves soothes at your touch. “I just thought we still have a long way to go and you need more time to figure yourself out.”

He shakes his head, “Gotta claim you before some fucker decides you’re free for them.”

“Yeah?” You smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Could’ve gone with a collar, y’know. It would get your point straight across. Plus, it’s more visible.” Tapping your neck to emphasise, which made Ben swallow.

Yeah, you’ll look good with a collar in his colour. You can even wear both. That’ll definitely get his point across to anyone that even looks at you. Maybe next time, he decides.

A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, “That’ll fucking work best. Think I could put a leash on you too?” He teased, letting out a chuckle and sliding his hand up to your neck and hold you there.

“Mhm, fuck yes,” You almost purred from how pleased you were at the idea.

Ben laughs, lightly squeezing your neck in affection before turning around to rummage through the cabinet on the side of your bed, pulling out a velvet box that’s in the shade of his green. You could tell he was enthusiastic and overwhelmed with emotions from the way his hands slightly trembled, though you made no mention of it to avoid bursting his adorable bubble.

His grin was as bright as the sun on a sunny day when the ring perfectly fits around your finger, already snuggling comfortably on your skin and bringing a weight of new purpose in life. You slip the other ring on his as well, feeling the entanglement of your destiny with one another, the red strings of fate on both of your pinky fingers thickening. It’s a sacred oath that ties you to each other forever.

Warmth spreads around your chest at the fact it’s his first time giving you a gift and it’s something so unexpectedly intimate. A silver engagement ring with a ruby in his shade of green and his name engraved on the inner side; practically a part of his soul, settling itself home around your finger. You shift your gaze to the one he wears — the same silver ring but with a dark red ruby instead, your signature colour, and you assume also have your name engraved on the inner side as well.

A big, significant step for a man who’s constantly afraid of what others think about him, and you couldn’t be more prouder.

Lying back down on the bed together, Ben turns his back on you and scoots closer to your chest, making you smile when he grabbed your wrist to pull your arm over his torso. He always loved being hugged by you from behind despite the fact he’ll never admit it out loud; as much as it sounds pathetic and unmanly, he doesn’t argue with himself of how it gives him safety and protection from the harsh judgmental world. Being in your arms always dissipated the cruel words of his father carved in his mind.

You gently pulled him closer to your body and pressed a kiss on his shoulder blade. “Don’t have to rush about coming out, love. It’ll take more than a simple courage to be open about something considered taboo by our society. You’re still dealing with personal issues, we’ll focus on that for now.”

Ben’s heart warms at your consideration, unable to resist the urge to stick to you like a glue as he leans back on your chest. “How the fuck did you do it? This feels like a pain in the fucking ass,” He muttered disdainfully, though there was a hint of willingness in his tone, like he’s willing to make an effort just for you.

You shrugged, “m’not exactly shaped by my childhood trauma, Benji, and I didn’t like my parents that much. Never really gave a fuck about somethin’ that has no benefit to my life whatsoever.”

“Entitled asshole,” He laughs.

“So are you,” You teased, making you both erupt in loud laughter.

I could get used to this, Ben thinks as genuine happiness glows bright in his heart, your love anchoring him and providing a solid land for him to stand on. Dealing with his own problems doesn’t sound so bad when you’re there for him every step of the way. With your protective arms around his body, both Soldier Boy and Benjamin knew their heart will always be safe with you.

For once, Ben believes he can finally learn to create a family of his own.

Until disaster struck and life suddenly decides to not be fair on someone as fucked up as him — ripping his world apart into shreds in the form of coward, betraying bastards known as his fucking teammates.

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thelastairsimblr · 11 months ago

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Family Pack #4

I’m happy to share some sims with you all today! In this post, you’ll find 12 households (40 sims total), each with their own stories and biographies. All of these sims have additional Everyday outfits, skills, bonus traits, Likes and Dislikes, sexual orientations, pronouns, family dynamics, and Lifestyles. You can find them all on the gallery under my Origin ID: TheLastAirSimmer or in the tray files linked under the cut! As always, feel free to tag me if you end up using them.

Abreu

A respected food critic, Maria’s opinion is highly valued by all as the towns’ baked good connoisseur. Her husband Joaquin, a renowned pianist, is no exception; he worships the ground she walks on. Together, they project their creative outlooks onto their sons. Santiago, the eldest and a romantic, has the full support of his parents and wants to become a professional wedding photographer. Even though young Rémy feels he didn’t inherit his parents’ imagination, he still wants to make them proud.

Naval

Aparna owned her own restaurant while raising her two girls alone. Hema was able to help out when she was old enough, allowing Aparna to find success and receive critical acclaim by publishing her own cookbook. Today, Hema is focusing on her engineering studies while trying to find love; she’s very smart and sincere, but a bit naive. Ridhi is chasing a riskier path; she wants to be a famous musician. And while Aparna hopes that this is just a phase, she supports her youngest daughter anyway.

Monaghan

As young parents, Stefan and Marianne sacrificed a lot. Stefan became a cop to support his family, but still gets caught up trying to relive his youth from time to time. Marianne longs for the day that she can quit her job at the local diner and become a singer. Soren feels pressure to please his parents, but really just want to play videogames all day while Tatum and Aria constantly bicker, not at all concerned with their parents’ feelings or the wellbeing of Hunter, who just wants attention.

Larson

Quite the jazz singer in his day, Clive is desperate to find ways to stay relevant in the ever-changing music scene. Fiona, longing for the authentic soul who serenaded her years ago, knows she can inspire him again; she’s stood by him through a lot. But until then, you can find the melancholy art critic drinking to yesteryear at the bar. Jade dropped out of college to pursue a career in social media (much to Fiona’s discontent) while Candice is following the artistic path her parents paved.

Agawa

Ever the class clown, Yuto knew that he had a knack for entertaining people. This was only confirmed after he went viral on Social Bunny for the first time! When he told his parents that he wanted to pursue a life in the public eye, they saw it as further evidence that he couldn’t take anything seriously. He makes a decent living streaming video games and his eccentric personality is pure internet gold. Though to be fair, he should probably be a bit cautious with what he says and does online.

Hollifield

As a teen, Whitney’s future looked bright. But she forfeited a lot of opportunities to pursue a whirlwind romance with a boy who had a dangerous edge. They were happy for a time, but it didn’t last and the only thing she kept from that relationship was her daughter Emma. She now works a lowly job in fast food while taking classes at Britechester, hoping to find a career in social media. Her days are busier as a working single mom, but Emma keeps herself entertained by befriending her neighbors.

Catton

Following the loss of her son to avoidable circumstances, Dottie found herself in the care of his two children. Filled with regret for not doing more for her son, the college professor watches the kids like a hawk! She’s keen on using her connections to better their lives. Temperamental Owen does well to make her proud with his grades, but he has an artsy side that he only shares with those closest to him. His little sister Bonnie would rather spend time making friends than studying though.

Qian

After founding a groundbreaking app, Shirong found a place among the company of the rich and powerful. His charming wife Meifing, quite the schmoozer at elite parties, is constantly looking for funding for her next big venture (while also being the go-to-girl for all the neighborhood gossip). Nuo chose to move home after grad school to save money, but is ready to leave and start her own law firm. Her younger brother Haoyu adds to her restlessness by barraging her with his antics.

Sullivan

Atticus’ dad Clifford, a retired veteran, supported his sons’ musical dreams fully, having raised him alone after his wife died. While roaming the world, Atticus met Elisa; a fashion guru with a fiery disposition. The pair had three children and Clifford moved in to help with the newborn. Like her dad, Lydia also wants to be an artist (whether if it’s for her love for acting or a desire to be in the spotlight remains to be seen) while Malicia, afraid of being unseen, finds relief in her friends.

Kingsley-Ramirez

Jaime and Paxton met/moved in together before they could actually get to know each other, both having been new to the city at the time with zero connections. They found themselves compatible not only as roommates, but eventually boyfriends as well! Jaime always puts others before himself; it shows in the passion he has for social justice causes he advocates for. Meanwhile, Pax works a parttime job at a small coffee shop, but is intent on putting himself through school to become a veterinarian.

Tanaka-Murdock

Nigel and Shannon met at Foxbury and developed feelings for each other during study sessions. Though Nigel was the only one to graduate, he admires Shannon for making the decision that was right for her. He enjoys being the breadwinner while Shannon follows her artistic instincts, though he wishes he had his wife’s free spirit. Shannon is quite hard on herself and works tirelessly until she makes something she’s proud of while their son Kason, while a quick learner, really just wants to play.

Miyake

Even if he’s never been the most social person, Kenzo is a loyal and fierce friend to those lucky enough to make it into his circle. A patron of the sciences, he cares deeply about precision and perfection. However, when it comes to raising his son Akira, he wants the boy to follow his own path, even if it’s not exactly the one he would choose for himself. Akira seems to be doing just that; far more sociable than his father, he never fails to leave a lasting impression on anyone he meets.

#the sims 4 #TS4 #sims 4 #sims 4 cc free #sims dump #sim dump #sims 4 vanilla #family dump

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crepesuzette2023 · 13 days ago

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That Klaus Voormann Interview where he says he might have been a better bass player for the Beatles than Paul

I got curious about this after reading this post about Klaus and Paul by @thewalrusespublicist. I saw that there was some interest in the interview in the comments, but that people hadn't been able to find it.

Original article (German) here (Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2010)

Quick & dirty translation into English by: moi

• Humor translates poorly, especially without audio. I tried my best, but can’t guarantee I captured the tone perfectly.

• Apologies for the n-slur in the quote from Klaus’s grandmother. I left it in because it illustrates Klaus’s background and the spirit of the times.

• Speaking of: context is important, so I decided to translate the whole thing.

• Klaus is 5 years older than Paul — I must have known this, but didn’t realize how it must have impacted their relationship in Hamburg before now.

• I wasn’t able to find other English translations, which is why I did this one, but if you know of any, or have done one: let me know and I will add a link. And sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone’s work.

------

Klaus Voormann: I should explain something right away: I have a real problem with dyslexia.

SZaW: Reading the menu?

Voormann: I have to read it out loud. I have to hear it to understand it. If I say "Knoblauchspeck mit Hausbrot" out loud, it’s there right away, and I won’t forget it.

SZaW: Is it an artists’ affliction?

Voormann: I don’t know. But it caused many hang-ups and problems I’m still carrying around with me.

SZaW: Were the 1950’s that bad?

Voormann: It was bad for me in the sense that none of my teachers realized I was dyslexic. The teacher said, “read from the book,” and I wanted to disappear from the earth. Chemistry didn’t interest me, historical dates didn’t mean anything to me, but the teachers wanted to beat it into you.

SZaW: But then you quit school to go to Hamburg, where, in the autumn of 1960, you discovered an obscure band from Liverpool called “The Beatles.” You can’t have been twenty yet [he was 22], I believe George Harrison was only 17. Stupid question: What were they like?

Voormann: Loud. I heard this noise from a basement at the Reeperbahn, and followed it. It grabbed me right away, because this was music I could hear and see right there in Hamburg: not a disc, no radio, but real people playing! I was amazed by the momentum they unleashed with only three instruments.

SZaW: And you just went to them?

Voormann: During the break, I went to them and introduced myself. They looked incredibly strange: Studded jackets, hair in a DA, the boots [with the fur, just kidding]. Back then, I worked as a graphic designer for Hörzu und Kristall, but I wanted to design record sleeves. John Lennon pointed me to Stuart Sutcliffe and said, “talk to him, he’s our artist.”

SZaW: You wouldn’t expect studded jacket music to appeal to a coddled boy from the Berlin upper class.

Voormann: According to my mother, it was boogie-woogie, “negro music,” from the jungle. But to me, the Beatles were a revelation, as if I’d suddenly learned to roller skate or race on a motorbike. Up to that point, there’s been jazz on the one side, classical music on the other. Suddenly, something fresh entered the scene. You could tell they didn’t speak for the elite, but for the simple people: the toilet cleaner getting off in the back [???], the pimp who thinks it’s hot, or a famous photographer who’s obsessed with it.

SZaW: Your family back home must have been pleased. Rumor has it your grandfather owned a whole district back in Berlin.

Voormann: My grandfather basically owned all of Heiligensee. He had shares in oil companies and South African diamond mines. Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him. He died before the inflation of 1923.

SZaW: Lucky for him.

Voormann: That depends.

SZaW: So, all that money became worthless inflation-billions?

Voormann: As children, we were playing roulette with the bills.

SZaW: A pastime fitting your class.

Voormann: My grandmother used to go to Monte Carlo to gamble.

SZaW: With real money?

Voormann: Back then it was real. I would have loved to know my grandfather; he was a great guy. There are stories about him throwing gold coins in the air because he enjoyed the girls screaming and jumping, trying to catch them. He liked to go out, and he had other women. When he came home, he brought back a silver plate of oysters for my grandmother, his “little dove.” My grandmother got angry and kicked the plate out of his hand, and he said, “my little dove, I didn’t know oysters could fly.” Then they made up.

SZaW: It must have been a better world. Obviously, you diligently followed your piano lessons as a child.

Voormann: I played Chopin, performed in concerts, and I might have become a good pianist. But at the time, it felt too risky. My parents didn’t want it, and ultimately, I didn’t, either. And so, it was decided I should become a graphics designer.

SZaW: Coming from this world, entering the sweaty cellars of Hamburg must have felt like a descent into hell.

Voormann: Of course. It wasn't a protest, per se, but I went away, went to art school in Hamburg, and broke free from my family bonds. This music thing wouldn’t leave me alone, this love came from the gut. The Beatles added the heart.

SZaW: The Hamburg Beatles were a five-piece band, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe and the drummer, Pete Best. Times must have been rough. Albert Goldmann writes in his biography that John killed a sailor on the Reeperbahn. And Stu Sutcliffe’s sister keeps saying Lennon killed her brother.

Voormann: Of course there were fights where Stuart got beaten up, not by John, but by blokes whose girlfriends liked Stuart.

SZaW: And Lennon was supposed to be a closet case, who had an affair with Stuart . . .

Voormann: Complete nonsense. The two of them knew each other since they went to school together in Liverpool, after all. I liked Stuart, too, and we, as guys, would hug each other from time to time. He was a charismatic artist, that was all. In my whole life, I never met anyone who saw and perceived as much as this little boy—no matter if it was a bird or the sound of a train.

SZaW: And why was this good-looking boy so ashamed on stage he stood with his back to the audience?

Voormann: He wasn’t ashamed of his looks; he was ashamed he didn’t know what he was doing on guitar. Not that rock’n’roll has a lot to do with actual music. "Tutti Frutti," for instance, has three repeating chords, and all the bass needs to play is the root note. Great musicianship isn’t part of it. For Stuart, it was difficult, because not only was he not a musician, he didn’t want to be one. Still, his love of rock’n’roll was enormous, and his charisma was on par with Elvis Presley. [KLAUS!!!!]

SZaW: Stuart was posing, whereas George Harrison practiced until his fingers bled.

Voormann: George had a very ambitious way to make licks his own. He couldn’t improvise chords on the spot like Eric Clapton; he had to craft them and put them together. If anyone fit the type of lead guitarist, it was Paul McCartney.

SZaW: Before he became the bassist, Paul played second guitar back in Hamburg.

Voormann: Most of the time. Later, in the "Top Ten" or in the "Star Club,” he also played the piano, simple stuff.

SZaW: Because rock'n'roll isn’t real music.

Voormann: Well, it isn’t.

SZaW: And yet, you wanted to play rock’n’roll at all costs?

Voormann: At some point, I bought Stuart Sutcliffe’s bass for 200 DM, because he wanted to paint. Later, I actually turned out to be a good bass player.

SZaW: because you spent a lot of time watching from the audience?

Voormann: I had the tools from my classical training, but I had no idea how to play on a stage. I played the songs I heard on the Reeperbahn at home, by myself.

SZaW: Stu Sutcliffe couldn’t, and didn’t want to play. Did you want to take his place?

Voormann: Maybe. During their final show together, I went to John and said, “Well, John, would it be possible for me to play bass?” And he said, “Sorry, Klaus, Paul already bought a bass. He’s going to be our new bassist.”

SZaW: Close, but no cigar.

Voormann: Hm.

SZaW: You came close, but when world fame started, you weren’t on board. Is that a good way of putting it?

Voormann: Hm, yes it is.

SZaW: Do you regret it?

Voormann: It would be interesting to know what would have happened. They wouldn’t have been with four, but with five. Would it have worked? Would I have fit in? The Stones were a five-piece.

SZaW: A six-piece, originally. They fired piano player Ian Stewart, because he wasn’t pretty enough.

Voormann: They certainly couldn't have accused me of that.

SZaW: Ex-Beatle Pete Best sometimes goes on revival tours, and still feels cheated.

Voormann: And if he lives to be a hundred years old: Pete Best is not a good drummer. He simply didn’t have the charisma for a band this powerful. Maybe I lacked that charisma, too, but it was Ringo who got things swinging.

SZaW: Like Pete Best, you narrowly missed your chance.

Voormann: If you look at the musical roots of the Beatles, I would have fit better, in some ways, than Paul.

SZaW: Ja?

Voormann: Many people will take this the wrong way if I'm saying it here, but I approach bass playing completely differently. I would have stood for something primitive, earthy. If I’d been in the band, I would have used my influence to push for more rhythm and blues.

SZaW: For the Hamburg cellar dwellers.

Voormann: I know that John could have been closer to these roots, that later came through in a few numbers. But from the moment they became Lennon-McCartney, that disappeared completely—"Please Please Me", "She Loves You", "Help" and everything. They took off towards a completely new style of music, and I probably would have been an obstacle.

SZaW: Unlike Paul McCartney, who seduces the camera with his puppy eyes in Let It Be.

Voormann: The charlatan.

SZaW: But important, because of the girls.

Voormann: Without Paul, Beatlemania wouldn’t have happened. Paul is an entertainer; he can handle an audience. Different from John, who wasn’t a front man.

SZaW: He could be very forward on the Hamburg stage, when he greeted the audience with "Sieg Heil!"

Voormann: He was joking.

SZaW: Nazi jokes.

Voormann: All of that was unprofessional stuff. Professionalism came from Paul.

SZaW: Is it true John and Paul brought the mop top haircut back from Paris?

Voormann: They were there, but still: Stuart had the hairstyle first.

SZaW: Who cut his hair?

Voormann: Astrid Kirchherr. But I don’t want to revisit that story, it’s so embarrassing.

SZaW: Why not? Hamburg’s only contribution to the world’s cultural heritage.

Voormann: I was the first to have his hair cut in this style by Astrid, and then the others wanted it, too.

SZaW: Where is Stu Sutcliffe’s bass guitar now?

Voormann: I needed money at some point, and had it auctioned off at Sotheby’s for thirty- or forty-thousand Mark. Stu’s sister bitched and complained, theft, etc., and that’s why I only got a couple of thousand Mark. I wish I could undo the sale. I would like to have the bass.

#klaus voormann #the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #stuart sutcliffe #george harrison #ringo starr #pete best #astrid kirchherr #context is important #my favorite line is when he says the Beatles wouldn't have fired him for not being pretty enough tbh

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phantoms-world-and-more · 1 year ago

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So Danny is a famous best selling author in the multiverse (DP universe is different from the DC universe), he has written several books. Ghostwriter is his editor, publisher and distributor.

Jazz got him to start writing a journal to help with his mental health and to let his feeling out in a safe manner. He liked it so much that he decided to write some actual books

One of his books is part autobiographical and part self-help for heroes. Including chapters about having mad scientist for parents, being cloned by supervillain, having met an evil version of yourself from the future, why your rogue gallery can be so weird, Dating its complicated, etc.

He co-wrote a few books with Dani, one was about what is like to be a clone and having a clone, another is a travel guide to the Infinte Realms

Another book is meant to be humorous and is about die and being dead. A lot of death humor. Death and Dying for Dummies.

Maybe an Art book filled with photographs of space that he took pictures of. Some not being possible to view from Earth.

#fic prompt #daily prompt #dc x dp #dp x dc #funny #Author danny #The heros enjoy reading dannys books

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theother-victoria · 2 months ago

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LOVE IS CONCOCTED FROM ESTERS AND KETONES- CH.02: ROBIN

SYNOPSIS: you’ve been commissioned to make a perfume that tells the life story of the universe’s most beloved idol. don’t let her down now.

CHARACTERS: robin, mentions of sunday, gopher wood, jade, and welt

TAGS: robin character story spoilers, mild gore (descriptions of a gunshot wound), mild angst, CRASHOUT ROBIN REAL WE ALL CHEERED (potentially ooc), 5.7k+ wc (I got carried away... sorry not sorry :3)

TAGLIST: @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @flowery-jazz, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @lxkeeeee, @mewnekoice-mecha, @nariism

NOTES: i love women give me a "hell yeah" in the comments if u agree

special thanks to pookies @wystiix, @tragedy-of-commons, and @papiliotao for proofreading!

M.LIST | FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Paparazzi in front of your store isn’t uncommon, but for a crowd like this so early in the morning- it’s already giving you a headache.

It hasn’t even been a half hour since you flipped the sign on the front door to “open” when you hear the squeal of tires pulling up to the curb. Several of them, in fact. The voices of reporters and paparazzi meld into one jumbled mess that grates on your ears, growing even louder when a car door opens and shuts.

Yeri and Aika glance over from where they are.

“We haven’t had a crowd like that in ages. Wonder who it could be.”

The flutter of camera shutters going off one after another is so loud they’re heard even inside the store. Camera flashes practically blind your poor shop assistants as they shield their eyes and draw the blinds shut. The cameras go off even more frantically now, desperate to get a few last shots in before the blinds shut entirely.

You hear the front door slam shut and a loud sigh of relief. Yeri and Aika both gasp in shock, and that catches your attention. It must be someone really famous then, or someone they idolize to elicit that kind of reaction.

You peek up from the counter and instantly realize why the paparazzi went insane. Lilac-silver hair, fluttery wings behind her ears, a halo with flowers at the ends that resemble angel’s trumpets…

It’s Robin. The Robin, in the flesh. In your store.

You’re no stranger to having famous people in your store, but you’ve never had a singer on her level of renown and you find yourself becoming strangely nervous. Two burly security guards flank her sides. She meets your gaze and bashfully smiles and waves.

“You must be (Name). I’ve heard many good things about you and your store.”

Her voice is even more angelic in person…

She extends her hand out for a handshake and you accept. The smooth silk of her glove brushes against your hand and you can hardly believe your luck right now. You’ve had your fair share of famous people in your store. Movie stars, politicians, celebrities, and the like tend to be a common sight in your store. Greetings range from a handshake to a hug to even a kiss on the cheek. But the thing is that they tend to be lax on a no-touching rule or don’t have one outright, often being photographed hugging their ardent fans. However, Robin has a strict no touching rule at her concerts and fan meet and greets. She will never touch someone of her own accord unless it’s a close friend or family and if a fan gets too bold… Well, her security is there for a reason.

“Do you mind if I just walk around? I don’t really have a scent in mind- or rather, a story that I want to tell. I’d like to see what you have to offer.”

“Not at all. Just call me over if you have questions or need any help.”

She walks around the store, occasionally stopping to sample some perfumes. She likes many of your perfumes, as evidenced by how her eyebrows raise in pleasant agreement almost every other bottle. But she looks rather… disinterested. No, disinterested isn’t the right word. More like… unsatisfied. Like she hasn’t found what she’s looking for just yet.

She checks her phone and her eyes flash in panic as she sees the time.

“Oh, it’ll be unbecoming of me and your shop’s reputation if I leave here without something. Quick, pass me a perfume you think I’ll enjoy! Money doesn’t matter. I have more credits than I know what to do with.”

You scan your store and hand her the first feminine perfume that catches your eye. It’s in a pretty pink bottle with a vintage atomizer. It’s sweet, sugary, and fruity. No surprise that it’s one of your best-sellers among young women, with top notes of juicy fruits and sparkling alcohol before drying down to a sweet vanilla with powdery aspects. You don’t doubt that she has a million other perfumes that smell similar and it’ll probably be quickly forgotten about in her undoubtedly already-extensive perfume collection, but it’s a crowd-pleaser and it wouldn’t hurt to add another bottle.

She swipes her card quickly and leaves, but not before looking back at you with a promising glint in her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon. And without the paparazzi.”

In your experience, that usually means a client wants a personalized perfume. Meaning they’re going to be divulging aspects of their past they don’t want anyone else around for.

Aika wanders over to your side when she’s out the door and the paparazzi have left. Yeri is in the back on the verge of fainting, mumbling something about her lucky stars having blessed her for a lifetime.

“What was that about? Seems like a wasted trip to me.”

You shrug and make your way back to the lab.

“Beats me.”

Weeks come and go. You handle clients as per usual, but you can’t get her out of your mind. And as you’re thinking about her while opening for the day, she shows up- albeit you don't recognize her at first. There are no outrageous paparazzi and she doesn’t even have her security with. She’s wearing a big tan trench coat that hides her svelte figure and instead makes her look like a shapeless mess. Her silver hair is hastily shoved into the hat atop her head and when she removes it, her halo also springs up, bobbing up and down a bit before stilling. The wings by her ears flutter and twitch as she stretches them out after hiding them in what was surely an uncomfortable position for so long.

“Good morning,” she greets with a gentle smile.

“Good morning,” you greet in return. “It’s nice to see you here again. Anything I can help you with today?”

“Yes, actually. I’d like to get a perfume custom-made.”

You tell Yeri and Aika to handle any customers that come in through the door before leading Robin to the back. Next to your lab is a small office where the business side of things are handled, and it’s where you negotiate commissions from clients. You unceremoniously brush aside a stack of credit card receipts and clear the desk space. You ask Robin if she’d like some snacks and tea. She declines the former but accepts the latter, and as the kettle boils atop the mini fridge in the corner, you get down to business.

“I’m happy to custom-make a perfume to your needs. Let’s get the necessary details sorted out first, and then we can move onto the fun stuff.”

You rattle off your rules regarding payment, as well as a rough timeline of production and when she can expect updates from you. She nods when she has to and you can see the same impatience in her eyes for the fun to begin.

After confirming with her and seeing the astronomical down payment go through, you can finally get into the part you enjoy the most.

“So, what would you like your perfume to smell like?”

“I’d like it to reflect my life story.”

Not an uncommon request. Probably one of your most common ones, actually. Consultations for these types of scents tend to be the longest, as clients pour out their life stories to you. They’d often bring a variety of items for you to smell to get a better idea, such as rags that belonged to someone dear a long time ago or locks of hair tied together with a yellowing ribbon. In this case, you wonder what the illustrious Miss Robin would bring.

The kettle goes off and you make some tea for the both of you. As you fill her cup, she looks around nervously.

“Will… anyone overhear this?”

“Don’t worry. The walls are soundproof here and you need the right key to unlock the door. As for my shop assistants, well…”

You mimic zipping your lips shut and throwing the key away.

“Client confidentiality has always been our utmost priority. Alongside a quality product, of course.”

You shoot her a wink and she laughs, her voice sounding like tinkling bells. The tension has visibly dissipated from her shoulders and she eagerly gets started.

“If I were to describe my life as a song, then the beginning of it was dark and solemn. A Stellaron invaded my homeland and took my mother from me. The chords were dissonant and the melody was unpleasant.”

Your phone buzzes and you see she sent over several voice messages.

“Transcripts of an exclusive interview I did a while back,” she explains. “One of the first and only times I opened up about my past. But since these are already out there, I wouldn’t want to waste your time. Instead, I’ll be telling you things that no reporter has heard before.”

She skips to when she first started studying music soon after she arrived on Penacony.

“My fingers still ache every time I think about the countless hours and late nights I spent alone in the practice rooms,” she says, lightly chuckling at the end as she surely recounts many memories. Then, her smile fades a bit.

“At the time, I had the support of my brother and friends, but right outside, there were people already disapproving. We were taken in by Gopher Wood, head of the Oak Family. You see, there’s five lineages that make up The Family, each handling different affairs,” she explains. “The Oak Family is in charge of political organization, whereas the Iris Family oversees the entertainment industry. Thus, many people, especially those of the Iris Family, cast doubts on whether I could make it as a singer when I ideally should’ve been learning how to handle political affairs.”

Robin sighs and looks out the window, fingernails drumming against her still-steaming mug of tea. Your phone continues to record and you hurriedly scribble down notes in your notepad.

“But I made it, despite what they said and their stake in the entertainment industry.”

“If you could thank only one person for their support, who would it be?”

“Why, my brother, of course!”

“Please tell me more about him.”

Her eyes light up and the wings by the side of her head flutter rapidly. It’s clear she loves her brother dearly as she excitedly gushes about him.

“Sunday made many sacrifices to support my dream. From when we were children, he never faltered in his support. In fact, the tipping point was when I put on a concert soon after I had just started taking music lessons. It was in our bedroom with him as the only audience member. There were no fancy acoustics, cheering fans, or even a mic. It was just me, singing my heart out as he clapped along. Thinking back, it was… something for sure! As I had just started taking music seriously, I had yet to grasp the basics. I was off-key, would flub several passages because I forgot the lyrics, and wouldn’t be able to hit all the notes.”

She winces and shakes her head as if to chase the thoughts away. Her wings puff out and droop from embarrassment.

“It must’ve been an awful listening experience for him. But Sunday never showed it. After the concert was over, he stood up and clapped as if demanding an encore and I’ll never forget the look on his adorable face,” giggles Robin. “I’ve rarely seen him look so proud as he did back then.”

You picture a starry-eyed, baby-faced Sunday, a far cry from the dignified and solemn image of the Family head and giggle along. Robin’s eyes glint conspiratorially as she divulges for a moment to show you his baby photos on her phone. Here, you learn that he has a massive sweet tooth and that the dentist was his worst nightmare as a child.

When she sets her phone back down, there’s still that joy in her eyes that only comes from discussing her brother.

“When I went off to university, Sunday continued to show that same level of care, even with his ever-increasing responsibilities. He never missed a concert, never missed a call, and never failed to send me care packages when I needed them the most. However, he faced scorn from other Family members for my career choices when he was still a leader-in-training and lacked the grace to handle such situations.”

The joy falls from her eyes and her smile slips a bit. Her wings droop even lower this time.

“Looking back, it must’ve been unimaginably hard on him. Not only was he worrying about how to lead The Family, but was also worrying nonstop about me. He must’ve been so stressed… But if I try to bring it up to him and apologize, he won’t give me the chance to.”

Robin lets out a forced laugh. You sip your tea and pretend to be very occupied with your notes, giving her a moment to collect herself before she moves on.

“After I graduated, my fame steadily increased until it skyrocketed after I released two singles- ‘If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking’ and ‘On That Most Beautiful Day’. I still remember waking up and seeing they had jumped to the top of the charts across the cosmos almost overnight and stayed there for ages. My manager was overjoyed and I could hardly believe it. It felt as if all my hard work and everyone’s sacrifices had finally paid off. I was no longer Robin the budding singer and little sister, but Robin the cosmic songstress now… it was a bit bittersweet, I’ll admit.”

She fiddles with a strand of hair.

“As you may be aware, around this time I decided to take a break and devote my time to philanthropic work instead, much to the confusion of everyone.”

She shows you the photos she took during that time. Her standing in front of schools she had helped rebuild with, singing to a crowd of shell-shocked soldiers, holding up scores that would’ve been lost to time if not for her efforts, teaching children how to sing, and more.

“I won’t deny that I was purposefully putting myself in dangerous situations. But to me, it was worth the risk. If I could save one child, provide an education for a child the way The Family provided one to me, or inspire someone to pursue their passion regardless of the obstacles standing in the way… then it would’ve all been worth it. Even this.”

She removes the violet collar around her neck and points to a spot on her neck. It’s a patch of skin lighter than the surrounding area and you realize it’s scar tissue.

“I was shot during this time,” she gingerly says as she fastens the collar around her neck again. It’s then you realize that you’ve never seen Robin without something covering her neck. A scarf, furs, necklaces, there’s always something there. “This is something that only my brother and the late head of the Oak Family know about. The bullet had just barely missed my vocal chords. I made a full recovery, but I was terrified for a long time after that. Still, I found the strength to keep going and thanked Xipe every night that I had survived with my voice unscathed.”

You’re writing notes down furiously, and Robin pauses to give you some time. When you’ve jotted down all your ideas, you look down at the page and frown. Your notepad looks like a mess right now. Ruined childhood: strawberry, sugar, praline, bubble gum, cotton candy, violet, datura(????). War: BLOOD, GUNPOWDER, leather, smoke, pomegranate, METALLIC NOTES, animal notes. Stardom: marshmallow, cake, rose, raspberry, vanilla, caramel, amber, almond, SoulGlad (what does it even smell like…? ) MAGNOLIA, jasmine. Brother: sandalwood, lavender(??? Might throw everything off), skin.

“Um… this fragrance won’t exactly be wearable. Would you like for me to-”

“I don’t care about wearability. I have too many pleasant-smelling perfumes. Show me artistry,” she demands.

You feel the familiar thrill of excitement run through you that comes with having free reign to do whatever you want without your client getting pissed.

You can tell you’re nearing the end now when Robin moves onto her brother and his fate after recent events. Now this, you know of, but you were surprised by how big of a role Robin played in toppling his plans. Faking her death, using the power of the Harmony to unite everyone under a song to lead the fight against him, striking a deal with a crafty IPC businesswoman, and for it all to have been successful. Or well, as successful as a plan of this magnitude can be.

You realize this little bird is just as cunning as her brother, even if she doesn’t look the part. They really do share the same blood.

“I love my brother, I really do. He has a bleeding heart and hates to see those around him struggle. Of all the decisions he could’ve made in a position of power, choosing to protect people from suffering was one of the best. However, the way he went about it… I just couldn’t let myself turn a blind eye and do nothing simply because he was my brother. By trapping everyone within a dream to form a collective Order… that’s no way to live.”

She bunches her hands into fists.

“This is something that we’ve disagreed on for years. He wants to shoulder humanity’s pain and give them an idyllic, painless life where no one has to think no matter the cost, whereas I believe that although pain is an unavoidable part of living, people are more than strong enough to push through that pain and make it something worthwhile. Take me, for instance!”

She suddenly stands up. There’s a blazing conviction in her eyes that makes you flinch a bit. Her fingers are splayed out across your desk as she leans forward.

“I sacrificed so much to pursue my dream of becoming a singer- time, money, energy, and blood! Sunday doesn’t know this, but I’d cry myself to sleep many nights during university, wondering if I could even make it in this field overcrowded with talent. What if I couldn’t? I have no other skills and I’d be forced to rely on him, which as much as I love him, I don’t want. I don’t want everything handed to me on a silver platter just because of his position! And he knows this! He knows of the impossibly high standards I hold myself to!”

Robin takes a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself. Reign it in. The Harmony preaches unity, not dissonant outbursts. But it doesn’t work. She hasn’t felt this angry in a long time. Or perhaps it’s all the repressed emotions finally bursting forth after suppressing them beneath the smile she always has on.

“Let it all out. You deserve to.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

“I get that we’re siblings and that we’re always going to disagree, especially on something as subjective as our beliefs in humanity but how is he not only blind, but also deaf with his eyes and ears everywhere? He’s seen the lengths I’d go to, all in the name of music. He was one of the first to receive the news that I’d been shot, but did that dampen my resolve at all? No! If anything, it only encouraged me even more! It was all so painful, but it was all so necessary and worth it in the end. In fact, if you told me to experience all that pain again because it would push me closer to that envisioned ideal world, then I would dive in headfirst without hesitation! And dare I say who does Sunday think he is?” she exclaims, her voice steadily rising. “His ideals are a reflection of himself. Is he saying that he doesn’t believe his sacrifices- my sacrifices- to have been worthwhile because according to him, I could’ve gotten here without even lifting a finger? Don’t even give me that! That’s not a life worth living at all!!”

Robin deflates and flops back into her chair as if a balloon had suddenly popped. Those are all the words she wishes she could’ve said during their heated arguments as of late, but will never get to. At least someone finally heard her anger, as ugly as it may have sounded.

“I’m surprised he even thought you’d be willing to listen to his plans,” you gently comment after refilling her teacup. The warm liquid soothes her throat on the way down and she finds that she’s able to speak again after a few sips. She shakes her head in response. She barely has the energy to even move right now.

“No, he knew I wouldn’t even hear him out. That’s why he kept his true motives concealed for the longest time. Someone else actually figured it out first by reading deep into his words. Were it not for him, we’d be in a very different situation right now. What was his name again…? Ah, I can’t remember…”

Robin sighs. Her head rolls back to look out the window.

“Like how birds must learn to fly even if it means tumbling from the nest or encountering a dangerous predator, so too must people face hardship and struggle against the odds. Only then will a bird be able to freely spread its wings and will people see the world of possibility ahead of them,” she quietly whispers, voice hoarse from her earlier outburst.

A heavy silence sinks into the room. Robin looks down and fiddles with her hands. You stare blankly at your notepad, her words echoing in your mind.

Her phone breaks the silence by suddenly going off. Robin picks it up and sighs when she sees the caller ID.

“I have to go now. Security’s calling and messaging me in a panic since I snuck out without them knowing.”

She gathers her belongings in a hurry and checks her appearance before leaving to ensure she’s as flawless as always.

“Before you go, why did you decide to commission me to create a perfume for you?”

She stops just short of leaving and looks over her shoulder.

“I’ve long since heard of your artistic flair and your ability to tell lifelong stories through scent alone.”

“And what is your reason for being fine with receiving an utterly repulsive perfume, even if it’s the pinnacle of artistry?”

She goes silent for a few moments as she thinks.

“I suppose… It's to remind myself of just how far I’ve come and how much work I still have left to do to achieve that wish of mine. That wish is why I sing.”

And she’s gone. You lean back in your chair and sip your tea. Her half-empty cup sits across from you with a pink lipstick mark left on the rim. An open-ended perfume, huh? Most perfumes that are meant to reflect a client’s life story are in reality meant to encapsulate one perfect moment that they wish to relive every time they uncap the bottle. But to create a perfume for a singer of such renown that’s not only meant to reflect her past, but also her boundless future that carries years’ worth of hope and aspirations…

You flip open your notepad again and add another section. Conviction: pink pepper, saffron, musk, cloves, tonka bean, chocolate.

After stretching, you get up and head to the lab next door. It’ll be a challenge, but one you think you’re now equipped to handle.

For the next few weeks, it’s all you focus on. The exclusive interview and your audio recordings of your time with her loop on repeat for hours on end as you go back and forth between the lab and the drawing board. Accords are scrapped and tweaked or even tossed out the window to fit the vision in your mind as it changes by the day. Soon, it looks like a tornado went through your lab with every bit of counter space covered with labeled bottles and lab equipment. Bottles of SoulGlad are shipped to your door as you attempt to replicate the scent as closely as possible. Dozens, if not hundred, of attempts are made before the scent is indistinguishable from the original.

Yeri and Aika are enjoying the free soda, but you notice they’re sleepier than usual and it’s only then you remember that SoulGlad is an effective sleep aid too. Dammit.

Robin is always quick to respond to the updates you give her as well, despite her busy schedule. From when the custom bottle arrived to when you finally perfected the scent of SoulGlad, she always sends words of encouragement your way, as well as expressing her excitement over seeing the finished product slowly come together. She always sends a cute sticker or two at the end of each message as well.

Several months later and after a final all-nighter for the finishing touches, it’s finally complete. You text Robin that it’s ready for pickup before you go to sleep and the next morning, she’s already outside the door, waiting for you to open. It seems she wasn’t able to sneak out this time, as she’s flanked by two security guards.

“Good morning. You’re here early,” you greet as you unlock the door.

“I couldn’t sleep since I was so excited,” she admits as she watches you go about setting up the store for the day. The lights are flicked on, air purifiers are turned on, and you motion for her to follow you back into the office. Her two security guards start to follow her, but Robin gives them a look that tells them to stay put.

You disappear into the lab next door to return with a white box tied with a pink ribbon. The office door locks behind you and she feels a thrill of excitement run through her at what’s to come. With a light tug, the ribbon comes undone and you remove the lid to reveal an iridescent bottle that scatters the early morning light peeking through the blinds into rainbow-colored fractals. It was carved and blown to look like a bird taking flight (you distantly recall the exact species to be a Charmony Dove. Her request.) and the bottle cap resembled her halo. The curved golden metal is polished to perfection and little flowers are attached to the ends.

“It’s already a work of art,” she marvels as she gingerly lifts it out of the velvet-lined box and holds it up, admiring the workmanship from all angles. Without any further hesitation, she takes off her glove and sprays it onto her exposed wrist.

Robin’s eyes widen in delight at the first whiff. It’s a gourmand, sugary delight. Bubblegum, cotton candy, praline and raspberry practically dance on the tip of her tongue and she almost wants to take a bite out of her own arm because of how good it smells. There’s a floral aspect too with a strong violet note coming through. Blood orange and lemon pierce through the overwhelming sweetness, the astringency of the two fruits preventing her nose from becoming overwhelmed. She inhales again and sighs in bliss. Like her brother, she has a sweet tooth and finds this perfume to be temptingly delicious. It also reminds her of a dessert she had a long time ago. Strange, she can’t quite remember the taste or name of it… It must’ve been a dessert she and her brother enjoyed when they were children then.

The scent composition is beginning to change now. Robin inhales again, but this time her eyes fly wide open and her nose scrunches up in a mix of disbelief and disgust. The delicious fruits, which previously smelled juicy and ripe, are now overripe. They’re cloyingly sweet now, with the unmistakable odor of something rotting that makes her feel nauseous. There’s a weird, musty odor now that she attributes to the flowers in the scent decaying. It smells awful now. Revolting. Robin wouldn’t be caught dead out in public wearing this, but it was never meant to be wearable or for the public to smell it anyway. She paid for artistry, and she got it.

“Oh, Aeons,” she whispers as the scent changes even more. It went from bad to worse to horrible. The sugary sweet and floral aspects are still there, but there’s something new that emerges. It smells like war, she realizes. There’s the unmistakable stench of iron- blood- and metal. Smoke and gunpowder waft up from somewhere within and her hand flies to her neck, right above where the gunshot wound scar is. The dull pain from the gunshot throbs. Robin isn’t sure if it’s actually hurting again or if it’s her mind playing tricks on her. The blunt pain spreads across her throat and she feels a strange chill rippling out from the wound to the rest of her body. She shudders violently.

A moment passes. Then another. It starts off as a faint tingle before escalating into a searing pain that paralyzes her. She feels like her vocal chords are on fire now. Her hands fly to her throat. Burning, twisting, and eating away at the bands of muscle that give life and hope to so many, including her. She cries out for help, but nothing comes out except for a scratchy version of the plea and a hot, wet gurgling sound that she recognizes as blood dribbling out of the wound- though the sound is muffled as if someone has shoved cotton into her ears.

Robin feels something wet staining the fibers of her gloves and she looks down to see a deep red seeping into the silk and spreading until it covers her entire hand. It’s her own wet blood, still hot to the touch and she reaches up to the back of her throat where the bullet exited. Blood trickles down her back from the ruptured flesh and she gingerly presses a finger to the wound. It doesn’t hurt, strangely. Or maybe the pain is just overwhelming her senses to the point where she’s become numb. This doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real.

It’s as if someone forcefully shook her awake from a nightmare. Her pupils are blown wide and hair is plastered to the sides of her head and forehead from being drenched in a cold sweat. Her hands are still around her throat. The gunshot wound has long since healed. Her vocal cords are unscathed. Robin slowly peels her hands away and looks down. Her silk gloves are pristine.

It was just a memory. A far too vivid one, though.

You pass her a bottle of water and she eagerly takes it, chugging it in record time as she recovers. Robin thinks back to your notepad amidst the horrible memories of war that resurface. Spoiled childhood. War. You really hit the nail on the head. Truly, your storytelling ability through scent alone was unparalleled. Case in point: cake and something berry-like are present- pomegranate, maybe?- but they smell expired and rotted, like they’ve been trampled underfoot while fleeing in a panic. How did you pull it off?

“So, what do you think?” you ask as she waits for the base notes to emerge.

“Disgusting. And horrifying.”

You both laugh in unison.

“Then that means a job well done.”

The memory of war fades and something more neutral emerges. A sweet vanilla, one of her favorite scents, with woody notes. She immediately recognizes sandalwood. Sunday. It’s a favorite of his. There’s a nutty smell that emerges and she thinks of her brother again. One of Sunday’s favorite desserts was one topped with almonds and drizzled with syrup. This almond leans more bitter instead of warm and toasted, but the similarities are still there. Sticky caramel is present. Sunday loves those little caramel candies that practically melt in his mouth, she thinks. I should pick some up for him next time I go back.

Oh wait. I can’t go home now. I almost forgot, he’s not there anymore.

It smells like her brother now, and her heart aches. Will she ever be able to see him again? Strange. You’ve never met Sunday before- at least that’s what she thinks. How did you get his scent down almost perfectly then? But there’s also a surprisingly spicy kick in there that isn’t reminiscent of him. She likes it though.

She swallows down the lump in her throat and clutches the bottle tighter.

“Thank you,” she whispers. You simply nod. There’s nothing else that needs to be said.

She collects herself before leaving. It’s now approaching afternoon and there’s more people on the streets now. They stop for a double take when they realize it’s Robin, eyes going wide and jaw going slack. Whispers follow her, she sees phones being pulled out and soon, she’s surrounded by fans asking for a photo or an autograph, despite her security’s efforts. She’s used to this by now- mindlessly signing objects and donning the same smile every time for photographs. Robin the graceful, Robin the elegant, Robin the cosmic songstress who always looks flawless no matter what.

But as the last of the fans run off and as she’s sitting in the back of her chauffeured vehicle, heading to the next item on the agenda, she finds herself wondering if there’s even more she can still do. The bag with your store’s logo on it tempts her and she lifts the box out, unwrapping it again to admire the bottle. She won’t spray it- she’s not subjecting her poor security guards and chauffeur to that smell- but she finds herself thinking back on the same questions she’s always asked herself.

Why do birds fly? Does my song serve any purpose?

She thinks these are questions she’ll spend a lifetime chasing the answers to. Realistically, Robin knows she won’t ever arrive at one. She’s no philosopher, but how many times has the former been asked? And as for the latter… that’s a subjective one that’s up to her to decide.

But her song saved her brother in the end. And that’s more than enough for her.

PERUME NOTES:

TOP: strawberry, sugar, praline, bubble gum, cotton candy, raspberry, lemon, blood orange, violet, black elderberry, datura, soulglad (I hc it to smell like coca-cola)

MIDDLE: blood, leather, gunpowder, smoke, rose, pomegranate, incense, cake, metallic notes, marshmallow, magnolia, jasmine

BASE: vanilla, skin, bitter almond, caramel, amber, sandalwood, chocolate, tonka bean, cloves, saffron, pink pepper

INSPIRATION: Toskovat Age of Innocence, Toskovat Curtain Call, Toskovat Born Screaming, Ariana Grande Sweet Like Candy, Juicy Couture Viva La Juicy, Lattafa Yara

enjoyed this? the taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

#—stellaronhvnters.#victoria.writes #honkai star rail x reader #hsr robin x reader #hsr #hsr robin #robin hsr #honkai star rail robin #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #hsr angst #robin x reader #robin x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you

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newyorkthegoldenage · 1 year ago

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Lester Young outside the Five Spot Jazz Club, the Bowery, 1958.

The first jazz musician I ever photographed, Lester Young performing at The Five Spot Café, on the Bowery, 1958. Now here was a quiet soul, someone who let his music speak for him. I took this shot outside before the show, Lester being greeted by an unknown admirer or so I believe. I've never been able to identify this person. The famous pork pie hat at a slight—and cool—angle.

—Herb Snitzer

Photo: Herb Snitzer

#vintage New York #1950s #Herb Snitzer #Lester Young #jazz musicians #saxophone #saxophonist #b&w photography #Five Spot

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rhapsodynew · 3 months ago

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#On this day

#happy birthday

On November 10, 1928, Ennio Morricone was born, an Italian composer, arranger and conductor. Grand Officer of the Order of Merit of the Italian Republic. Winner of two Academy Awards: for outstanding achievements in cinematography (2007) and for best music — for the "Disgusting Eight" (2016), 9-time winner of the Italian National Film Award "David di Donatello" for best film music, three-time winner of the Golden Globe Award, 6-time winner of the award BAFTA and many others.

Ennio Morricone was born in Rome, the son of professional jazz trumpeter Mario Morricone and housewife Libera Ridolfi. Ennio was the eldest of five children. When he was 12 years old, he entered the Conservatory of St. Cecilia in Rome, where Goffredo Petrassi became his teacher. At the Conservatory, Morricone received 3 diplomas — in the class of trumpet (1946), instrumentation and composition.

When Morricone turned 16, he took the place of the second trumpet in the Alberto Flamini ensemble, in which his father had previously played. Together with the ensemble, Morricone worked part-time playing in nightclubs and hotels in Rome. A year later, he got a job at the theater, where he worked as a musician for one year, and then as a composer for three years. In 1950, he began arranging songs by popular composers for radio. He worked on processing music for radio and concerts until 1960, and in 1960 began arranging music for TV shows.

He began writing film music only in 1961, when he was 33 years old. He started with spaghetti westerns, a genre with which his name is now firmly associated. He became widely known after working on the films of his former classmate, director Sergio Leone. Later he worked with the largest Italian film directors — Bernardo Bertolucci, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Dario Argento, Salvatore Samperi and many others.

Since 1964, Morricone has worked at the RCA record company, where he arranged hundreds of songs, including for such celebrities as Gianni Morandi, Mario Lanza, Miranda Martino.

Having become famous in Europe, Morricone was invited to work in Hollywood cinema. In the USA, he wrote music for films by such famous directors as Roman Polanski, Oliver Stone, Brian De Palma, Mike Nichols, John Carpenter, Barry Levinson, Terrence Malick and others.

Ennio Morricone is one of the most famous composers of our time and one of the most famous film composers in the world. During his long career, he has composed music for more than 400 films and television series in Italy, Spain, France, Germany, Russia, and the USA.

As a film composer, he was nominated for an Oscar six times, and in 2007 he received an Oscar for outstanding contribution to cinema. In addition, in 1988, he was awarded a Grammy Award for the music for the film "Untouchables". In 1996, Morricone, together with photographer Augusto De Luca, received the "Cities of Rome" award for the book "Our Rome".

Contrary to popular belief, Morricone created not only soundtracks, he also wrote chamber instrumental music, with which he toured Europe in 1985, personally conducting the orchestra at concerts.

Twice during his career, he starred in films for which he wrote music, and in 1995 a documentary was made about him.

The American band Metallica has been opening every concert since the mid-1980s with the composition "The Ecstasy Of Gold" from the classic western "The Good, the Bad, the Evil". In 1999, she was played in the S&M project for the first time in a live performance (cover version).

Ennio Morricone was married and has four children:

Andrea — conductor, composer;

Marko works for the Copyright Society;

Alessandra is a surgeon;

Giovanni works for Universal.

He was seriously interested in chess, and repeatedly played with world champions.

Ennio Morricone died on July 6, 2020 at the age of 92 in a hospital in Rome, where he had been hospitalized a few days earlier with a fractured femur sustained as a result of a fall.

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"It always hurts me when talented people die, because the world needs them more than heaven."

Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

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charile0 · 30 days ago

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Capturing the Rhythm: Music, Dance, and Performance Photography

Music photography dance combines the beauty of movement with the power of music, capturing dynamic, expressive moments. Dance music photographers excel at highlighting the energy and emotion of performances, preserving every graceful movement. In the UK, orchestras photography and professional orchestras photographers focus on showcasing the majesty of classical music performances, while small music ensembles UK photography captures the intimate essence of smaller groups. Famous jazz photographers know how to immortalize the passion of live jazz, while a jazz photographer or photographer of jazz musicians brings out the soul of every performance

#- Music Photography Dance #- Dance Music Photographers #- Orchestras Photography UK #- Professional Orchestras Photographer UK #- Small Music Ensembles UK Photography #- Famous Jazz Photographers #- Jazz Photographer #- Photographer Jazz Musician #- Performance Photography #- Music Performance Photography #- Classical Music Photography #- Music Photographer UK #- Live Music Photography #- Jazz Music Photography #- Dance Performance Photography

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gen15gg · 8 months ago

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okay SO! these r a bunch of creloise fic ideas i came up w on the train ride home from uni bc am i not jus a girl who overthinks? w all the time in the world?? on a train???

so fair warning this is a LOT, but at least ik the old man sittin next to me was fairly entertained so u win some u lose some i suppose lmao 😭

- i def wanna see more 2000s or 90s AUs cuz duhhh i would love a little line ab them havin specific ringtones for each otha on their silly little flip phones (id cry if i saw this)

- OR OR OR clubbing scenes, meeting on the UNDERGROUND OMG!!!

(the trains that go under ldn for the americans idk if u lot kno what it is sorry, it’s like NYC subway??😭)

.. anyways cressida could always notice eloise reading something and tries to talk to her by either reading the same book or one journey jus offering the book “emma” (LIKE IN THE SHOW GUYS?!?) as a good read before she gets off on her stop OMDS and/or eloise always noticing cressida’s fashionable-ness for a fùckin 9-5 (yes cressida would be giving office siren absolutely) and maybe if the tables are turned, cressida is reading and eloise notices this and suddenly sparks up conversation bc she simply cannot shut her mouth (and replaying all the times she’s seen cressida in new outfits like the montage scene of anne hathaway in the devil wears prada LMFAO) n every tube journey they encounter each otha on, they go back n forth on their opinions on which eva book they’re reading atm OMGGGG n maybe on valentines one of them gives the otha a rose or a book before they get off SOMEONE RESTRAIN ME MY BRAIN IS WORKING OVERTIME 😭

- would also love to see more modern AUs in general like yes i loooove seein this pairing in different time periods, adapting to the ideas and limitations of that era MWAH to everyone who has been writing these i love you - let me kiss u on yo fùckin cranium MWAH !

- imagine a 1920s jazz girls creloise like idk who would be a jazz singer (maybe cressida??), havin them be in ‘flapper girl’ attire.. IDK id jus love to imagine them in that environment perhaps smoking from those thingies that held the cig itself

- not to stress this too much (i am) but i wanna see them as a 90s or def a 2000s famous pairing!! like both are singers!! i mean cmon cressida would hav an unbelievable stage presence w her amazing outfits we’ve seen in the show itself and eloise would be more punk-ish i suppose!!

or eloise remains a singer and cressida is a model?! but in both situations it’s like they despiseeee each otha or at least eloise does of cressida bc of her overall appearance and the message her looks send (i.e. similar to bridgerton era blah blah expectations etc)

but then they hav to date as a publicity stunt to push down rumours that they hate each otha or maybeeeee penelope is a news outlet they’re trying to get the jump on by going ‘noooo we don’t hate each otha we’re actually dating!’ (they do hate each otha but they fall in love obvs)

or penelope is one of their publicists and has set this up??.. or they’re forced to write a song together IDK this can go any which way but i was inspired by the song “maybe” by emma bunton as a song cressida would DEFINITELY sing OR “let me see” by Morcheeba

man idk Cressida jus gives me the vibe that in this AU she could be equivalent to kylie minogue or a brit pop icon of sorts regardless or Kate Moss if u went w the cressida as a model version AND MAYBE ELOISE AS A PHOTOGRAPHER??? IDK!!!!

- also NEED NEED. NEEEEED. a MR n MRS SMITH AU OF THEM!!!! like omdssss

(im referencing the original film w angelina jolie but go wild if one were to write this, which most like won’t happen but oh well 😭)

but omds the tension that would be between them both !!!! like eloise fits the playful goofy but intelligent character of mr smith, whilst i can most definitely see cressida in the role of mrs smith! trying her utmost best to keep things calculated and goin according to plan but (as u kno if you’ve watched the film) eloise will ruin this calculated streak she’s got 😭 OMDSSSS i can jus imagine their banter as they fight

- uhhh fuck me a surfer AU??? why not atp i’d love to see it where either teaches the otha to surf?? or it’s one where eloise is the one travelling around instead of colin (lmao #white girl goin on holiday to find herself) or w him as this would be a modern AU n she meets cressida somewhere in the mediterranean (bc cressida was sent away by her father) n yk sparks and whatnot ensue 🤭

or omds a rendition of that mermaid movie ‘aquamarine’ ??

- YES OMG A MERMAID AU GODDAMN WAITTTTT ELOISE ESCAPING PATRIARCHAL EXPECTATIONS BY PRETENTDING TO BE A PIRATE AND FALLING IN LOVE W MERMAID CRESSIDA OR THEYRE BOTH PIRATES??? LIKE ANNE BONNY AND MARY READ!!!

- jus had the biggest brain moment on this train ride me thinks… flowershop AU..

specifically an ‘imagine me & you’ AU. cressida had married some man ?? could be Debling to get her parents off her back but then falls in love at first sight of eloise the florist as she walks down the aisle to get married

omg i’m literally jus askin for creloise as ‘imagine me & you’ bc why not i think it’s adorable 😭

ANYWAYS!!! that’s ova but if anyone has any more ideas i’d love to hear them bc i hav serious brain rot from this pairing who will prolly not get togetha </3

#creloise brain rot real #very sorry this is so long #let me have fun #creloise #cressida cowper #eloise bridgerton #eloise x cressida #cressida x eloise #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3

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softedges · 1 year ago

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BLUE ; a fluffy one-shot inspired by this short film.

The clock read 7:o5 AM.

Right now, Taehyung would be waking up. He’d be rubbing the sleep out of his eyes while belting out a lengthy and husky yawn. Then, he’d lay in bed for a few minutes, scrolling through Instagram or TikTok before finally deciding to get out of bed and get ready for the day.

Part of you couldn’t help but cringe, feeling a bit embarrassed by having his routine memorized down to the very minute. You didn’t do it on purpose. It just came with being his roommate for the last five years.

You met him at a dinner party seven years ago. Back then, you guys were fresh faces in your last year of college with nothing but time on your side. He was going to be a famous artist and you, a prolific photographer. It’s why you decided to move in together. There was no doubt in either of your minds that this would be your last true year together before your careers and lives took you elsewhere.

How wrong you were.

Your careers skyrocketed but you found yourselves becoming inseparable.

Your first apartment was a hole in the wall. A tiny studio with an even tinier bathroom in the heart of the city. The only thing granting either of you space was a thin white sheet you put between your respective mattresses. As crappy as the first apartment was, however, it was important to you. It was the place where you realized you were in love with Taehyung.

You and Taehyung spent many nights cuddled up on his side of the apartment, watching bad K-dramas, eating terrible junk food, and slow-dancing to Motown classics. On your side of the apartment, you taught him how to properly make mac-and-cheese, the choreography from the dance scene in ‘House Party,’ and playing the Brandy version of Cinderella until you both were reciting the lines out of context. That little apartment had become a little slice of heaven between two best friends.

Even though your careers had taken off and the cash flow was enough to sustain your own apartments, both of you decided to continue to live together. This apartment was an upgrade: two bedrooms, a studio, an office, and two and a half bathrooms. It was more than spacious but space wasn’t something you wanted from Taehyung.

You checked the clock again. 7:26 AM. He’d be getting out of the shower any minute now. It was time to put your plan into action.

This morning was going to be different. This morning, when you had your awkward bathroom run-in, you were going to tell him how you felt, and no matter the outcome, it was going to be great. Because even if he rejected you, at least you had gotten it off your chest.

Quickly, you rose from bed and began sifting through your closet and many drawers. What does one wear to a moment like this exactly? A robe? No. It looked too rehearsed, too staged. Lingerie? No, that looked even more contrived. Most women didn’t make it a habit to sleep in their extra-special-and-sexy lingerie. You looked down at what you had on: a simple white T-shirt and a pair of grey dolphin shorts. He had seen you in this a million times. You wanted to make a subtle statement. Something that would catch his eye but that wasn’t too obvious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it. You had nearly forgotten it was in your room. Taehyung’s favorite shirt: A baby blue Chet Baker shirt that you “borrowed” two weeks prior when you forgot to do your laundry. You quickly took off your T-shirt and slipped it on.

7:28 AM. It was time.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to see a very wet but very handsome man making his way back to his bedroom.

7:29 AM. You flung your bedroom door open.

He wasn’t there. The bathroom door was open but his was closed, and you could hear the faint sound of jazz music slipping from beneath the door. You had missed your chance. Defeated, you headed to the shower.

As the water rained down on you, you began to doubt yourself. It was a foolish, stupid, idea to tell him you were in love with him. Especially so early in the morning. No, you’d wait until tonight to do it. Over dinner. At least, that way, his rejection wouldn’t hurt as much. You could sleep it off and forget it ever happened by the time morning came.

Besides, were you really Taehyung’s type? The man was quoted as saying he liked women who looked like Lily Collins and you were the farthest thing from a white woman with a model-thin body. You had rich brown skin. Thick thighs. Wide hips. A voluptuous body. You two were just friends. If he had wanted to make a move, he would have by now. As you began to rinse off, a familiar voice floated through the air to you.

“Y/N?” Taehyung said softly. You’re too startled to respond. Your name falls from his lips again as you hear the bathroom door open slightly. “Y/N? Hey …”

“Yeah?” You call out from underneath the water.

“I’m stopping by the bakery before work. You want anything?”

“You.” The word climbs its way from your heart into your throat, through your mouth, and slips past your lips without your permission. There isn’t a word for how mortified you feel.

A silence followed. You wished for the ground to swallow you up.

“What was that?” Taehyung asked.

You shook your head. “Blue,” you lied. “A blueberry muffin. I’ve been craving one all week.”

Another silence. Taehyung eventually chuckled and said, “Of course. Anything for my favorite girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You leaned against the shower wall and cursed yourself for being so silly. Perhaps he hadn’t heard you at all.

After getting dried and dressed, you find your blueberry muffin and a paper cup of coffee sitting on the kitchen table. You grab your breakfast and head off to your first photoshoot of the day.

You think about Taehyung all day. You call your assistant by his name. You bump into a wall while daydreaming about him. You space out with thoughts of making love to him when he texts you, asking what you would like for dinner. You realize that you’re going to have to tell him.

But not tonight. You couldn't. It just wasn't the right time. The momentum had been lost.

He’s on the other side of the kitchen, at a counter, seasoning the steak you two decided on. You have your back turned to him on the other side, cutting up vegetables. Taehyung begins to revisit your old college days, how much fun the two of you had, and how you ought to reach out to some of your old friends. Just as you’re about to agree with him, five little words find their way out of your mouth instead.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart drops. Taehyung is silent.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Olive juice. I mean – oil. We need olive oil. We should really try cooking our steaks in that instead of avocado oil. Mind putting it on the grocery list?”

“Mhm,” he replies and you can hear the soft thud of his feet as he makes his way to the refrigerator, scribbling your request on the large chalkboard hanging from it before he excuses himself to the bathroom.

You didn’t dare to turn around. You couldn’t face him.

Putting the knife down, you head to the fridge to grab a carton of mushrooms when you notice what he’s written on the chalkboard. Olive oil is nowhere to be seen in sight, but six little words are.

‘I’m in love with you too.’

#kpop drabbles #bts #bts x black reader #bts x black girl #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x black girl #v x black girl #v x black reader #bts drabble #kim taehyung x black reader #ambw kpop #fanfic

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camisoledadparis · 2 months ago

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 24

1632 – Baruch Spinoza, the Dutch philosopher was born on this date (d. 1677). One of the great rationalists of 17th century philosophy, he laid the groundwork for the 18th century Enlightenment and modern biblical criticism. By virtue of his magnum opus, the posthumous Ethics, Spinoza is also considered one of Western philosophy's definitive ethicists. He was raised and educated in the Orthodox Jewish fashion, also studying Latin and was thoroughly familiar with European humanism.

What exactly is it that caused him to be excommunicated from the synagogue when he was only 24 years old? Many scholars have speculated that the horror Spinoza inspired in the Jewish community may have come not only from his espousal of advanced economic theories, but from his espousal, as well, of Greek love among impressionable students in the liberal circle where he taught. A Dutch physician, J. Roderpoort, wrote at The Hague in 1897: "Spinoza excites the youth to respect women not at all and to give themselves to debauchery." Was Spinoza merely teaching the Greek and Roman classics, with their inevitable passages on pederasty? What were Roderpoort's motives for discrediting the Jewish philosopher? Was Spinoza, in fact a pederast? It's all open to speculation.

1933 – A law was passed in Germany to allow surgical castrations as a crime prevention measure and a therapeutic treatment for homosexuality.

1930 – Albert Wolsky is an American costume designer. He has worked both on stage shows as well as for film, and has received two Academy Awards, for his work on the films All That Jazz and Bugsy.

Wolsky was born in Paris, France, but during World War II, he and the rest of his family fled to the United States to escape the German occupation. After graduating from the City College of New York, he served in the army from 1953–56, spending most of his enlistment in Japan. Once he returned to the United States, he began working in his father's travel agency. However, he decided to change careers and took an assistant's job with notable costume maker Helene Pons.

Wolsky became a well-regarded costume designer, working both on Broadway and in the motion picture industry.

His longtime partner was actor James Mitchell.

1933 – René Enriquez remembered for his role as the perpetually worried Lieutenant Ray Calletano on Hill Street Blues.

Born in San Francisco, California, he attended San Francisco College and San Francisco State University. He served with the U.S.Air Force during the Korean War. He was a member of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York from 1958. He was also the nephew of General Emiliano Chamorro, one-time president of Nicaragua.

As a film actor, René was known for Bananas (1971), Harry and Tonto (1974), Under Fire (1983) and The Evil That Men Do (1988).

He also appeared in episodes of Charlie's Angles, Benson, WKRP in Cincinnati and Quincy.

In biographies and intervies, Enriquez told of a wife who had tragically died. It was a lie. He was a homosexual bachelor who contracted AIDS in 1987. As he became more and more ill, he told his friends and fans he was suffering from cancer. He died in March 1990.

His publicist and long-time friend Henry Bollinger revealed, "René told me he was dying of pancreatic cancer. He never told me anything about a gay lifestyle."

The true cause of his death only became known when his death certificate was published. Cause of death was given as "cytomegalovirus enteritis due to Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS)"

The only people privy to René's terrible secret were his two sisters and his 25-year-old Hispanic lover.

1940 – Arthur Tress, American photographer, born. The uncompromising, poetic imagery of American photographer Arthur Tress is the stuff of dreams, called forth from the artist's reckoning with the world and his place in it.

A New Yorker, he began his photographic career at age twelve, making snapshots of dilapidated mansions and Coney Island decay. An introverted child of divorce, Tress moved between two worlds--his lower-class mother's neighborhoods and his nouveau riche, remarried father's more prosperous one, observing and eventually photographing both milieus.

As he recalls, from a very young age he was already aware that his sexuality was different from most of his classmates and he was drawn to subject matter that was similarly marginalized and different.

During his studies at Bard College, Tress explored painting and filmmaking but was ultimately committed to still photography. Although he worked in a documentary style, from the beginning his imagery was characterized by a surrealist sensibility.

After graduation Tress traveled the world, in part financed by his father and also supporting himself by making ethnographic and documentary images. During his travels he became increasingly influenced by his experience of other cultures, particularly in matters of spirituality and consciousness.

Tress's first book, The Dream Collector (1972), was an attempt to visualize children's dreams, often featuring children whom Tress had interviewed as models. His second book, Shadow: A Novel in Photographs (1975), showed "portraits" of the photographer's shadow and explored the idea that the shadow literally and metaphorically represented one's dark side.

Theater of the Mind (1976), which included an essay by his friend and mentor, gay photographer Duane Michals, explored adult fantasies and marked the introduction in Tress's work of overtly erotic imagery. As Tress explained, he sought to make "photographs [that] attempt to make explicit . . . sexual passions and ironies."

"Superman Fantasy"

Around 1972 Tress consciously began to include what he called "the more intimate spheres of a gay sexuality and homoerotic fantasy life." Facing Up (1977-1980), alternately titled Phallic Phantasy, was Tress's first explicitly conscious exploration of his sexuality in which he exclusively photographed male nudes.

"Groom with White Arabian"

Many of these images were included in Tress's homoerotic homage, Male of the Species: Four Decades of Photography of Arthur Tress (1999), which culls imagery from Tress's forty-year career of exploring the male body and sexuality. The sensual photographs, sequenced in a loose narrative of experience from youth to death, matter-of-factly infuse male sexuality with humor and irony.

In contrast, Tress's obsessive constructions made and photographed for the Hospital series (1984-1987) are a garish, nightmarish reckoning with health-related issues and death in the era of AIDS.

1954 – James Lecesne is an American actor, author, screenwriter, and LGBT rights activist best known for his screenplay of the Academy-award winning short film Trevor. He has written several books including Absolute Brightness and Virgin Territory, and is also active in the entertainment industry as an actor and producer.

Lecesne wrote the 1995 short film Trevor, which won the Academy Award for Best Live Action Short Film. He based the screenplay for Trevor on a character from his one-man show Word of Mouth. Also in 1995, Word of Mouth won the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding One-Person Show. Word of Mouth was directed by Eve Ensler.

In 1998, on the night Ellen DeGeneres hosted the television debut of Trevor on HBO, Lecesne co-founded and launched The Trevor Project as the first nationwide 24-hour crisis intervention lifeline for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning youth, including phone, in-person and online life-affirming resources such as Trevor Lifeline, TrevorChat, TrevorSpace, Ask Trevor and Trevor Education Workshops. The Trevor Project has been supported by a wide variety of celebrities, including Daniel Radcliffe, Neil Patrick Harris, James Marsden, Kim Kardashian, George Takei, and Anderson Cooper.

1984 – Wolf Hudson is a Dominican American film director, street dancer and pornographic actor of heterosexual, homosexual, and bisexual films.

Hudson started his adult film career in 2006 at age 22 in New York when he was cast by Michael Lucas in the Lucas Entertainment project Michael Lucas' Auditions Vol. 22. He moved to San Francisco in early 2007 to focus on his career in the pornographic film industry full-time and to work for gay pornographic film studio Factory Videos.

In August 2008, he co-starred in the GayVN Award-winning bisexual film Shifting Gears , directed by Chi Chi LaRue. The film stirred up controversy when the term "Straight-for-pay" (a play on word for Gay-for-pay) was coined to reference performer Blake Riley's first encounter with a woman (Shy Love) and liking it. Riley received most of the criticism, but so did Hudson and LaRue.

Hudson appeared in the third season of the Canadian TV show Webdreams , which followed Jet Set Men directors Chris Steele and Chad Donovan.

Hudson turned down an offer to appear on a January 22, 2009, episode of The Tyra Banks Show concerning Gay-for-pay performers. He expressed his reservations about appearing because of how the show could twist things around to make the guys look bad.

Hudson identifies himself as heterosexual, even going as far as to call himself a "sexualist" instead of gay-for-pay. He is quoted as saying, "I am not conventional. I am not fully straight because I do gay porn, but I'm not bi because I don't date men in my personal life. I define myself as a 'sexualist'. I think Chi Chi LaRue came up with that term and it works for me."

1991 – Freddie Mercury, lead singer for Queen, died of complications from AIDS. It was only the day before that he acknowledged that he had the disease. He left most of his estate to a former girlfriend, Mary Austen, who cared for him during his final months.

2015 – The Vietnamese National Assembly passes a law that allows those who have undergone sex reassignment surgery to register under their preferred sex. However, sex reassignment surgery is illegal in Vietnam. The law comes into effect in 2017.

On Gay Rights, Vietnam is Now More Progressive Than America

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