#Glasgow Deep house

[carlosnilmmns]

New & recent releases

A new track for Laurent Garniers record label Cod3 Qr.

ORDER/LISTEN

Out now!

ORDER/LISTEN

My second composition for Laurent Garnier's Label.

ORDER/LISTEN

decks.de "DEEP HOUSE MASTERPIECE"

ORDER/LISTEN

My first composition for Laurent Garnier.

ORDER/LISTEN

A Tribute to the legendary Soul Of The Makossa Man.

ORDER/LISTEN

My Loft Mix for the Soul Of The Makossa Man.

ORDER/LISTEN

My latest release for the respected Berlin label.

ORDER/LISTEN

[australmixing]

AUSTRAL MIXING #108 - OOFT

[fucktheglorydays]

EPISODE062 OUT NOW

Known for his in-depth music library and exquisite tastes across various genres - Glasgow based gangster Andy Piacentini will take you on a bumpy wheelie via his point of view. Nothing beats playing a deep house, ukg number in the middle of a fucked up world. 🏍️💨🚓

Listen MIXINO#62 > here

[sgt-tombstone]

When Johnny asked Simon to come home with him on leave, he had never expected… this.

Johnny’s flat in Glasgow was a tiny thing, barely large enough to fit one, much less two massive soldiers. They made it work well enough, as long as neither of them minded being constantly wrapped up in each other, always within reach, and neither of them did. Their last mission had gone to hell in a heartbeat, and the 141 were lucky to be alive; Price had sent them all home on mandated medical leave, and Simon and Johnny were taking full advantage of the time off base to reacquaint themselves with each other being present and tangible and alive.

That didn’t change the fact, though, that his flat was only slightly larger than a postage stamp, which was fine for a few days, but he had sensed Simon getting antsy, feeling caged in, and had suggested visiting his parents for a couple of days, if only to get out of the house. It wouldn’t be any less oppressive—the MacTavish family was massive and overbearing on the best of days—but it would offer some reprieve from the near-constant contact and the stifling city.

Which was how Johnny found himself staring down at his lieutenant, his partner, curled up on his back on his parents’ couch, fast asleep, a green dinosaur stuffed animal clutched against his chest.

It didn’t look particularly comfortable; Simon was too tall, his legs too long, to be able to stretch out completely, so his knees were hiked up, his socked feet flat against the cushioned armrest. His neck was at an odd angle, resulting in his chin nearly touching his own shoulder, his unmasked cheek squished slightly where it was pressed against the leather. And the stuffed animal…

Johnny had bought it as a gift for one of his nephews, a toddling bairn who had struggled with nightmares, and the shopkeep who sold it to him had assured him that the little beads in the dinosaur’s tummy would provide enough weight to be a comfort without being dangerous. Evidently, his nephew had taken one look at Simon Riley and decided that the scarred soldier needed it more than he did.

Both of Simon’s arms were wrapped around the soft toy, squishing it against his chest, rising and falling with every slow, deep breath. He looked at peace in a way that Johnny hadn’t seen him look in a long time. They had spent the day surrounded by fussing family members and babbling children, their attentions split between warm homemade meals and whatever trinkets had caught the toddlers’ interest. Johnny would’ve felt bad; he was long used to his family’s antics, had grown up surrounded by siblings and cousins and extended relatives. But Simon had taken to it like a duck to water, effortlessly shifting focus from one person to another, treating each with equal sincerity and devotion, the same way he did in the field. It had been a delight to watch, especially when his mam and sisters had taken advantage of Simon’s distraction to shoot Johnny knowing glances.

“Gonna stand there all night, sergeant?”

Johnny startled, not enough to move, but enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing. He recovered quickly though, too well trained to do anything else. Simon hadn’t moved, hadn’t even opened his eyes, and it would’ve unnerved him if he hadn’t spent the last two years cementing himself as a permanent fixture in Simon’s life and, therefore, becoming incredibly used to his partner’s uncanny sense of perception. Even, apparently, while asleep.

“Just wonderin’ if Gaz’d ever believe me if I told him, sir.”

“Take a picture,” Simon grumbled, his voice deep with sleep. “It’ll last longer.”

Johnny snorted a quiet laugh, already imagining the look on his fellow sergeant’s face. He didn’t pull his phone out, though, just like Simon knew he wouldn’t. These moments were for the two of them alone, raw and bare and soft.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he whispered, reaching out to run his hand through Simon’s hair. It was tangled from the grasping of tiny, fisted fingers throughout the day (Johnny’s nephews had never seen blond hair before and, as such, had been absolutely enraptured by Simon’s head of golden hair), and he didn’t mention the way Simon pushed into his hand, seeking touch and warmth like a cat. He also didn’t mention the way Simon continued to hug the stuffed animal to his chest as he unfurled his long legs, stretching slightly, his knees popping, before drawing himself up to his usual towering height. His eyes were half-lidded with sleep, soft in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, the green dinosaur tucked safely in his arms as he followed Johnny upstairs.

In a week, they will be back on base, back to their tactical gear and their sidearms and their razor-sharp focus. They will be shipped out to some foreign soil, either sweltering heat or numbing cold, either dry deserts or soaking rainforests, and blood will be spilled, probably their own, definitely their enemy’s. They will once again be hardened soldiers, products of war, and there will be no room for such softness. Which was why Johnny reveled in the way Simon curled around him now, in a bed two sizes too small for two muscular men, a warm blanket blocking out the worst of the Scottish chill, a green weighted dinosaur stuffed animal clutched in two massive arms against an equally massive chest.

He tucked his nose against the nape of his partner’s neck, one arm thrown over Simon’s hip, and drifted off to the quiet sound of breathing, of comfort, of peace.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? ��I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

[the-kr8tor]

Speed Drive

🎉500 celebration fic🎉

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 6.2k

Synopsis: You come along with Hobie on a road trip to Glasgow. Aka the fic where I squeezed in multiple dream dates of mine lol

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mention, reader is a history nerd (definitely not projecting), the reader can't drive, sunshine! Reader. Suggestive content, lovestruck Hobie, Established relationship. FLUFF.

A/n: I did some research on the places they went to, if there are any inaccuracies on the geography/ information, please note that I've never been to any of these places, I'm only basing my knowledge on what I've researched and what I've studied in uni.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy and pasted on any ai software*

Navigation

Masterlist

You grunt as you lift the heavy amp, back straightened so you don't accidentally sprain yourself. Waddling towards Hobie's van, amp sitting heavily near your waist. The sun is just about rising on the horizon, painting the pavement deep blue. The water laps at the house boat's side, the sound familiar, adding to the relaxed atmosphere where you and Hobie are the only ones awake in the entire city. The early morning air nips at your skin, leaving goosebumps on the back of your neck.

Suddenly, strong familiar arms wrap around the amp. "What are you doin'? Told you I've got them" Hobie clicks his tongue, taking the amp from you.

He's annoyed but not at you, he's irritated that he got the short end of the stick, ending up waking up early (too early) to load the instruments. You don't take it to heart, knowing his annoyance isn't because of you. It would've been better if he just helped his band mates load them in, but lady luck wasn't on his side. Unfortunately he also got driving duties, now he has to drive seven hours to get to Glasgow for the band's very first big gig. Leaving the rest of the band to take (a very comfortable) train ride at a later hour. Hobie's a bit jealous on that end, he would've liked for you to see the sights on a train instead of sitting on his old van that creaks when he steers a little too far to the left.

The only silver lining about the impromptu road trip is you. Seven hours on the road with just you is pure bliss, if only he didn't have to wake up in this ungodly hour, he would've been in a better mood.

"Sorry, you were busy loading in the drums. Thought I would help" you look up at him through equally tired eyes. A cloud of breath escaping when you talk. Hobie zips your jacket further up, keeping you warm.

He heaves the amp on one arm, effortlessly carrying it. "Don't be, you're just trying to help." Hobie feels guilty for clicking his tongue at you. He holds your cold hand, sharing his warmth.

"You're definitely not a morning person" you squeeze his hand. "grumpy" bringing his hand to your lips, you leave a chaste kiss over his knuckles. "Is that the last one?"

"Think so," he looks around the area, finding nothing else to load inside the van. "Don't forget to bring in the thermos, you're turning into an icicle"

"Okay, I made us sandwiches" you smile at him, swinging your intertwined hands.

"What kind?" He stomps down his grumpy demeanor at the sound of breakfast.

"Lots!" You grin excitedly at him, Hobie wonders where you got your sudden burst of energy.

"Fuckin' hell, no wonder why you were up so late. You made every conceivable sandwich in the world" he jokes, your happy energy spreading to him.

You chuckle, "not every single one. You have the first pick for waking up so early"

"Yeah? Even though you threatened to splash me with water?" He raises a pierced brow, a smile curling on his lips.

You wince, "yeah, sorry. It finally got you to wake up though!"

"Yeah, yeah, and here I thought you would wake me up with a kiss"

"I did! Like five fucking times. You wouldn't even stir, I got desperate, okay!" You laugh, it echoes around the silent neighborhood.

"I believe you, can you get our bags from inside? I'll warm up the van" Hobie reluctantly lets go of your hand. You feel cold already.

"Get it nice and toasty for me?"

"What are you? Banana bread?"

"Funny" you point at him playfully, walking backwards.

"Don't forget the bloody Thermos!" He yells after you, following you with his gaze, making sure you don't trip because you decided to walk backwards.

You wink at him, "okay, dad!"

"Lil shit" he says with a smile.

—

Munching on your sandwich, Hobie cranked up the heating, you're now warm and toasty in your seat. The leather squeaks when you move to feed Hobie a bite of your sandwich. He *insists that he prefers yours even though you made an identical one. Hobie's free hand is glued to your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, making sure you don't fall asleep on him.

Hobie keeps his eyes on the road, trying to take a bite of the sandwich that you've teasingly moved a few inches away from his waiting mouth.

He bites at air, "Oi, what the fuck" you snicker, biting your lip. Hobie immediately figures out what you're doing, "don't make me swerve this fucking car into that ditch"

"Jeez, okay!" You laugh, leaning closer (as much as the seat belt would allow you to) Hobie takes a generous bite, "you're still grumpy? Do you need more coffee?" You rub at the corner of his mouth with your thumb, cleaning the bread crumbs. He hums appreciatively.

"I don't think that coffee's workin' too well" he says while chewing. "We're not even out of the city yet" Hobie huffs.

"Do you want me to drive for a bit?" You wait for his reaction with a tiny smirk.

"You haven't got a license," He says matter-of-fact, "you don't even know how to drive" he doesn't sound condescending or making fun of you, his voice laced with endearment. He makes a mental note to teach you once you two get back home. His fingers pinches you through your pants.

"I'm a fast learner" you joke, Hobie cracks a sleep deprived smile, oh he's definitely not a morning person. "Give it time, you basically drank the entire thermos. Maybe some music could help?"

"If it's your music, I'm gonna fall asleep on the wheel" He squeezes your thigh, just in case you didn't get his joke.

"If it's your music, It's going to burst my eardrums this early in the morning" you quip back.

"Nice. Sandwich me, love" he opens his mouth, darting his eyes from the road to you before his gaze goes back to watching the road.

You lean again, holding up the almost finished sandwich. "Do you know who invented the sandwich?" Hobie eats the entire thing in one bite, almost taking your fingers off. You glare playfully at him.

He chuckles, mouth full. "No, who?"

"Lord Sandwich, the fourth earl of Sandwich in the eighteenth century"

"You're fucking with me" Hobie takes a left turn, the van creaks, instruments in the back sliding a bit. You watch his hand turn the steering wheel, mesmerized by how his large hand grips the wheel. His rings don't help, you tilt your head, watching intently.

He pinches your thigh, getting your attention. "Hey, where'd you go?"

"Sorry, I was trying to recall the rest of the fact" you blink back to reality.

"Will you be like this the entire trip? Watching my bloody hands, you perv" He read you like an open book.

"What– I wasn't, okay! I was–" you fumble with your words.

He has a playful smirk on his lips. "You were what? Fantasizing my hands wrapped around your–"

"Stop!" You hold his hand that's on your thigh, so he could stop his teasing.

"What? I was gonna say 'wrapped around your hand', honestly what did you think I was gonna say?" He asks you playfully, shoving your shoulder lightly.

"it's too early for this shit" you mumble with a playful pout, intertwining your fingers with his.

He laughs, eyes crinkling into a smile. Hobie brings your hand to his lips, placing a quick peck on your warm hand. "Ah, too early for it? Maybe later then?"

You groan but your smile and the twinkle in your eyes says otherwise.

"What were you talking about? 'Bout the sandwich bloke?"

"John Montagu, he invented the sandwich because he didn't have time to eat a proper meal while he was playing cards and working."

"Bloody rich lord" he grumbles with malice.

"Hey, if not for him you wouldn't be eating one of my Sandwiches"

"I love eating your sandwich" he raises a teasing brow, proud of his innuendo.

"What is up with you this morning?" You laugh, playing with one of his rings, twirling the metal around his index finger. "Seriously, did I accidentally make you coffee with something in it? Is that why it says 'special' in the packaging?"

Hobie laughs loudly, echoing around the van. "You think they'd put an aphrodisiac in coffee?" He lets go of your hand for a bit while he steers the wheel with both hands. "Like ginkgo biloba or somethin'?"

You reach for his free hand immediately after he lets go of the wheel to lay it back on your thigh. "No like pistachio nuts or–" you try to think of another example, "— crab" you giggle when the word escapes your lips.

"Crab?!" He rides with your bit. "Must be some expensive bloody coffee, lovey" Hobie rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. "No wonder I tasted something fishy in that coffee"

You gasp, feigning offense. "You did not!" contributing to the bit.

"Now who's crabby this morning, huh?" He chuckles.

You roll your eyes at his pun, "argh, can't believe I have to endure seven more hours of this" teasing him, your sentence has no ounce of truth in it whatsoever. More than happy to accompany him on the trip.

"It'll be the best seven hours of your life, sweets" He looks at you through the rearview mirror with a smirk.

You can read him like a book too. Narrowing your eyes, you can just tell he has something planned, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

"You've got something up your sleeves? Spill it, Hobart"

He sideways glances at you, hiding his knowing smile. "Don't know what you're on about" Hobie clears his throat, playing it cool.

"Nope, I know you, babe. That fucking smirk of yours, I know it!" You lightly poke at his cheek.

"Lovey, I haven't got a scooby doo. I'm just here drivin' trying to get us to Glasgow"

"You get very detailed when you're lying. I know your tells!"

"That so?" He makes a mental note of what you've said, which might be handy the next time he has a surprise. Hobie opens the radio, cd already inside, it plays a loud tune, drowning out your questions.

"Hey!" You yell through the loud music. Hobie almost gives himself away with a laugh, he bites his lip to stifle it. "Whatever– wherever you're planning to stop at some backroad tourist attraction, we better not be too late for the show!"

Hobie cranks the volume up, "What? Can't hear you through the music" he gestures towards his ear.

You press the 'volume down' button, covering your ears. Now you're definitely both wide awake. "You're an ass, you can't have any more of my sandwiches" huffing, you grab a ziplock of sandwich just to tease him more.

Banter fills the van, laughs and flirty words entertain you until sleep comes back to haunt you. Unexpectedly falling asleep, Hobie lets you snooze away in his passenger seat. Avoiding potholes, slowing down when passing a speed bump. He even uses his arm to act as your second seat belt whenever he turns sharply, hand cradling your head so you don't fall off the headrest.

Hobie has the urge to wake you though, but he needs you at full energy for what he's planning on taking you. Eyes drifting to the van's console, he gazes at your camera, taking a mental note to remember to give you the extra roll of films he bought for you.

—

Hobie shuts off the engine, eyes bleary, he clicks the seatbelt off of him. He has the urge to close his eyes and join you in slumberland. One look at your sleeping face almost pushes him off the edge.

He leans closer to you, hand cupping your jaw, he taps your face with his thumb. "Love" you don't stir, eyes still closed. Hobie's so attuned to you that he knows you're not faking it.

He kisses you chastely, warm lips puckering to wake you up. Hobie calls your name this time, poking your cheek. You still sleep, lips slightly parted. He's absolutely jealous of you right now. Peppering your face with kisses, he fully intends to wake you up. Defeated, you still lay asleep.

A bright idea pops up in his mind. Pulling away, Hobie grips the steering wheel with both hands, arms length away from him. He screams bloody murder like he's about to hit a wall.

You jump away, yelling for a second before seeing the parking lot bare, van parked safely. You clutch your chest, eyes now wide awake. Slapping his arm, you glare at him. Hobie has a shit-eating grin on his face, arm raised to shield himself. His laugh echoes.

"You fucker!" Slap "I could've" slap "gotten a heart attack!" You huff with a pout.

"I'm sorry, c'mere" he tries to hug you, standing your ground, you cross your arms on your chest. "You wouldn't wake up! I'm sorry, please?" Hobie flexes his fingers, face apologetic.

"Are we here? Did I sleep the entire time?"

"No, lovey. We're at a stopover" he points outside with his head. "'m really sorry. If there's any consolation I think you'll like this place"

Your eyes zero in on the sign, reading it loudly, "Stratford Upon-Avon?!" Screeching excitedly. You click off your seat belt with urgency, with the intention of leaving Hobie hanging as revenge. You'll kiss him thank you later anyway.

Opening the door, you step off, stretching your legs and breathing in fresh air. Warmer air greets you, a much kinder one from a few hours ago. Trainers bouncing off in excitement. Greenery and old timey Houses fill your vision, adding to your eagerness.

Hobie joins your side, your sling bag over his broad shoulder. Hiding his disappointment from your lack of hug, he only blames himself for scaring the crap out of you.

"Y/n." The lack of the term of endearment alerts you, whirling around, you see his shoulders slumped, face clearly hiding his true feelings behind a straight face. You know he'll feel worse if you don't try to reassure him. So you do, hand signaling him to hold yours.

He blames the early morning for making him all lovesick, if it was the later hours, Hobie would've stuck to teasing you about your reaction. With a sigh and a weak roll of his eyes, he steps in your arms instead of just holding your hand, head resting on your shoulder, yawning as you knead his aching back; you indulge him.

Good thing it's still too early for tourists to flock the area, save for a few scattered ones looking for a place to have breakfast at.

"Apology accepted," leaning back, you straighten the knots on his forehead. "You need better coffee" you scrunch your nose at his closed eyes.

"Or sleep" he grumbles.

"Do you want to sleep for a bit inside the van?" You feel bad for sleeping the entire time. "I'll stay with you don't worry. I won't fall asleep this time."

He shakes his head, slapping his own face to wake himself up. Jumping up and down with you still in his arms. You don't question it, jumping along with him. Metal accessories clinking together, boots thumping hard on the pavement.

Spluttering, he shakes his head vigorously. You giggle at his face.

"Alright, 'm good. Let's go get coffee"

—

You lead a very sleep deprived Hobie by the sleeve of his hoodie, too warm for his leather one yet too cold for just a t-shirt. He lets you drag him along, not because he's disinterested, sleepiness just got the best of him.

Gasping, you point at a unique streetlight. Little statues of a donkey and a man sitting on the metal sides, a curious owl placed on top, looking down on the street.

"Look at that donkey with a guitar!"

Hobie squints through the haziness, "think that's a lute. Kinda looks like you." He still finds the time to tease you even with heavy eyes. A smirk playing on his lips, watching you closely.

"You're the owl then" you let go of his sleeve, taking the camera from your bag, positioning and angling it for the best lighting. He watches your face full of concentration with a faint endearing smile.

Click.

"Got it" you smile, spotting a stand full of maps and information about the place. "Oohh" skipping over the display, you take one. "Hobie, look! Babe?" You look up from the pamphlet when Hobie doesn't reply back.

He walks towards you at a snail's pace. Grunting back in acknowledgement.

You wince, practically feeling his tiredness ooze out of him. "Let's get that coffee. There's a café near here."

"Overpriced coffee" he could only mumble out a protest. While you guide him towards the shop for some much needed refuel. It's not like he has any other choices, all the coffee shops near the area are unnecessarily expensive, save for gas station coffee– which is too far to get to right now, he might fall asleep while driving to it.

Hobie can't let himself drive through the fog of sleep, especially that you're with him. So he surrenders with the promise of getting his pep back so he can drive you safely to the next destination.

—

After gulping down two cups of coffee that made Hobie seethe after hearing the price, he leaves you on the table to go to the loo, your eyes glued on the leaflet, absorbing every word and information on it.

Hobie makes his way back, now wide awake, he watches you put too much milk on your cup, too distracted with reading– it overflows, spilling the hot liquid on the table. He has never loved you more when you jump in your seat, quietly yelping, clumsily wiping at the table with a napkin. He shakes his head with a fond smile and soft eyes.

Hobie asks for more napkins from the cashier, promptly heading towards your table. He helps you wordlessly, wiping, avoiding spilling any more expensive tea.

"Sorry" you expect Hobie to chastise you for spilling your drink, instead, he looks at you with concern and fondness.

"You alright? Didn't spill any on you?"

You smile softly, thankful eyes staring back at him. "I'm okay, it's not that hot anyway"

"Sure?" He takes his tea stained finger on the tip of your nose, leaving a wet patch over it. Green tea wafts your nostrils. "There's some on you"

"Ack!" Wiping it with a clean tissue, you roll your eyes; faint smile telling him otherwise.

"That's how it is then?" He chuckles, satisfied with your reaction. He sits down next to you, drying his hands on a napkin. Arm instinctively flying around your shoulder, holding you close. "Where to go next?"

"Hmm?" You hum, drinking what's left of your tea, "I thought you had it planned?"

"I planned on stopping here, thought you got the next part since you've always wanted to go here, y'know planned the entire trip in your head before"

For a second he thinks that you're disappointed in him for not planning ahead. The thought stops the second you beam at him, hands on his shoulder to anchor yourself on him. lips puckering to kiss him on the cheek quickly since you're in public. Hobie doesn't protest, leaning towards the kiss, angling his face so that your lips just about graze the corner of his lip. You know exactly what he's doing, you let him, moving slyly closer to his lips.

"Oh, you know me so well!" You say excitedly, pulling away, shaking his shoulder for emphasis. "First stop! The river Avon!"

—

"The ferry's closed" you come back to his side with a frown. Gusts of cool air rushes past, rustling your jacket, the leaves on the trees whisper and rustle in the wind, big fluffy clouds providing shade. The river laps at the dock, adding to your downturned lips. "The employee also said Shakespeare's house and the other houses are closed since it's too early"

"We'll just have to come back on our way home then" your frown turns back into a smile, poking his sides teasingly.

"You'll take me back here?" You say with a smirk, playful eyes smile back at him, finger poking his waist. "Ohhh, you're so smitten"

He takes your poking finger with a roll of his eyes, hiding the growing smile on his lips with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. Where to now, tour guide?"

"The butterfly farm is open early. Is that okay?"

"Why not?"

"We have to walk there, it's a bit of a trek" you shrug, "it's okay if we don't have time for it"

He calculates in his head, if you only stay an hour more, you two can be right back on schedule; just on time to get to Glasgow without being late for the show.

"We've got time to spare"

"You sure? I don't want us to be late" toe to toe with Hobie, finger still encased in his hand, you ask him anyway even though you know what his answer will be.

"Yes, let's go before people flock this place"

Hand in hand, you take in the sights, stopping from time to time to shoot pictures of the historical houses and buildings. Hobie becomes your model, posing like a natural in front of the lens. He wrangles the camera from you to take your picture right in front of Shakespeare's home and school. Shyness slowly edging away for a while as Hobie hypes you up. Instructing you to pose here and there.

You ran out of film before reaching the butterfly garden, stopping right in front of the royal Shakespeare theatre. The red bricks and dome like structure looms overhead.

"Aww, I think we used it all"

"'ve got more" he takes an extra roll of film from his pocket. You stare at him like he just did magic right in front of your eyes.

"Where'd you get this?" You say, bewildered.

"Brought it with me" he says nonchalantly like he didn't do the sweetest thing just for you.

"Have I told you lately that you're really amazing?" You load film inside the camera, quickly snapping a picture of his smug face.

"No, maybe you should say it often"

So enamored, chest filled with love, you agree. "Mm-hmm, maybe I should. Now, can you stand right there while I take a picture of your amazing face"

—

You finally make it to the butterfly garden. An arch with a large colourful butterfly display greets you. Inside is a beautiful glass greenhouse with a dome ceiling, it shines brightly in the early morning sun, adding to your excitement.

Once paid for the tickets, you and Hobie head inside, you're practically jumping off the glass walls. Hobie's hand leads you inside, preventing you from sliding on the gravel and breaking your ankle on the rough ground.

You're in complete awe of the place, it looked beautiful outside but nothing compares to it once inside. The sun glows brilliantly, bouncing its rays on the glass ceiling and walls. Flora and greenery as far as your eyes could see, strategically placed around the massive greenhouse. The flowery and sweet smells entranced you to explore the entire place, not to mention the colorful butterflies in all shapes and sizes fluttering all around you. Birds make their morning sing-song adding to the fantastical atmosphere.

The look on your face makes waking up a few hours earlier than scheduled makes it all worth it for Hobie. He softly smiles at you, hands clasped comfortably over yours. Eyes sparkling, mirroring yours, he guides you further inside. You let him, neck craned up, watching as butterflies swirl overhead.

Gravel crunches under your footsteps, Hobie stops walking. You almost bumped into him, he tugs at your hand, pointing down on the shrubbery.

"What is that?" You squint, jumping when something green slithers further away from you two and into the thick greenery. "Woah!"

He chuckles at your reaction. You fumble for your camera to capture a photo of the iguana lounging in the warmth, scales as green as the leaves around it.

Click.

"Look, it's you!" You point at its sharp spikes, looking at Hobie with a teasing smile.

"Careful, he bites" he taunts back, making you retract your finger back.

Strolling around more, you take so many pictures, the film Hobie gave you is almost full. You've even snuck in candid pictures of Hobie, and by god, he looked great in all of them. While all your pictures looked like you were at a field trip with your parents, posing with a goofy smile on your face as a butterfly lands on your shoulder.

It's been almost an hour of exploring, so you hold his hand again to tug him towards the exit with a promise of going back, without a time constraint next time.

Crisp air greets you two, hand in hand, you walk by the river, watching as ducks and swans swim on the surface. Their quacking and honking gets louder and louder as they notice you, asking for food.

"Maybe we should've brought rice with us" You mumble, looking at the birds with an apologetic look as if they can understand you.

"Do you think if you fall in they'll eat you?" Hobie asks with a serious look on his face, a small smirk curling on his lips, the only indication that he's fully joking.

"I don't think they'll like me very much, I'm full of bread, which isn't nutritious for 'em" you playfully quipped back, squeezing his hand. He chuckles at your comment.

Hobie slyly moves you away from the river, just in case you actually fall in. He guides you to his right, so that he's the one nearest to the water instead of you. Hand holding your left one, you lean to his side, full of affection in your chest, you softly kiss his shoulder. Whispering softly a 'thank you'

—

You've been quiet for an hour, Hobie side eyes you from time to time. The sudden silence makes him concerned, moreso when your face has contorted into a grimace, eyebrows furrowed, you bite your lips with a sharp inhale.

He's worried since you've been extremely chatty an hour ago, voice filling the van, you help him stay awake. Well until he hit a speed bump that made you squeak out.

"You alright, lovey?" Hobie asks with a squeeze of your thigh.

You sit with a fluffy blanket over your lap, a neck pillow under your head. You look comfortable enough, so why do you look like you're in pain?

You exhale, looking at him through the corners of your eyes without moving your neck. "Mm-hmm"

"Mm-hmm? What's wrong? Is the seat not warm enough?" Hobie looks at you through the rearview mirror, seeing your knitted eyebrows.

You ball the blanket under your knuckles. "I'm okay"

He nods, unconvinced.

After a few moments of smooth driving on the highway, cars drive past, you squeeze your thighs together. Controlling your breathing, you try not to think of water.

"Love" he calls for you, "did you see that car with the flame decals on it?" Chuckling softly, he places his hand over your thigh again. Hobie feels the tight muscles under your pants, eyebrow raising in question.

"Y/n" he snickers under his breath. Hands kneading softly at your thigh. Hobie translates the squeezing of your thighs together and your elevated breathing, "I swear if you're hot and bothered, I can't park right here–"

"I need to pee" you say embarrassed, avoiding his eyes. Only finally admitting it so he doesn't actually think you're aroused for some reason.

Hobie laughs loudly, hand slapping the steering wheel. "I told you to go before we left"

"Hobie," you whine. "Not funny, I've been holding it for so long"

"Alright," he clams up, still smiling at your predicament. "There's no gas station near here, love. We're too far away to turn around but we're thirty minutes away from Manchester. We can stop there"

"Thirty?!" You're in agony, hands tucked in between your legs in an attempt to tamp down the need to go.

Hobie moves his hand from your thigh to the back of your neck, kneading softly. He presses the gas, if he hurries you can make it in twenty five without breaking any traffic laws. He makes a joke about you peeing in a bottle which you only glared in return.

Twenty minutes later, you're folded in half on your seat, head layed on your lap, trying to distract yourself by counting the threads in your blanket.

"Almost there, love. Hold on" Hobie pats your head in reassurance. You groan out a reply.

—

You jumped from your seat after a second of Hobie parking the car in front of a gas station. Hand tightening around your travel sized toilet paper.

Hobie patiently waits for you outside the door. Fingers fiddling with his web shooters tucked under his sleeve.

The door creaks open. His neck cranes up to meet your relieved face. "Success?"

"Remind me to not drink anything until we make it to Glasgow."

"You still need to drink some water y'know" he walks back to the car with your pinkies linked together.

"Are we still far?"

"A bit, let's stop by Liverpool to eat lunch" he opens the passenger door for you. You smile sweetly at the gesture.

"Thank you, sorry for being annoying" You hug his waist with one arm briefly just before you hop to your seat.

"Not annoying, tell me next time, yeah?"

"Okay" you lean down to press a kiss on his lips, savoring the moment. He hums into it, his hand right over your shoulder so that you don't fall off.

—

As the van passes through Manchester, you spot the canals, houseboats parked on the side, you get reminded of your shared home.

"Look! That one looks like ours, same color too"

"Missing home already?"

"Kind of. Wish we could stop here, they've got the oldest library in Britain" You lay your head over the window, watching as landmarks pass by in a blur.

"They also have a serial killer too"

You scoff, "in this day and age?" Looking at Hobie's face, you don't see any lie to his comment. Your face falls, "wait, you serious?"

He shrugs, side eyeing you. You have absolutely no idea if he's joking or not, Hobie's good at acting like that, especially if he's teasing you.

"Hobie, you're joking right?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there actually a killer on the loose here?" You instinctively check the door locks.

He doesn't respond, adding to your fear. You completely miss the mischievous look on his face though.

"I don't want to stop here anymore" you mumble.

"We could always take a detour right now–"

"Nope, no thank you" you answer lightning quick.

He hides his smile behind his hand. Maybe he'll tell you all about it on the return trip.

—

An hour later you're sitting down outside a local restaurant in Chinatown, waiting for your food to arrive. The air blows softly, fluttering your lashes. You close your eyes, head resting on your hand, elbow over the table. You can see the faint outline of the Liverpool cathedral underneath the fog. It's gotten a few degrees colder since you've arrived, the streets shine from the earlier rain, petrichor wafts your senses.

Two bowls of warm noodles are placed in front of you. Side dishes, dimsum and xiaolongbao makes your stomach rumble at the sight and savory smell.

"Thank you," you smile at the waiter.

Wondering where Hobie went, lo and behold, he emerges, walking towards you with a paper cup of convenience store coffee. "Food is here, you still need coffee?"

He sits down across from you. "Yeah, needed another boost" Hobie scrunches his nose before standing up again, moving his chair right next to you, avoiding it from scraping the concrete. He sits back down, arm thrown over the back of your chair.

You look at him with a fond smile, heart eyes staring back at Hobie.

"What?" He challenges you with a raised eyebrow and faint smirk.

"Nothin'" you shove him lightly with your shoulder.

"Hm" he hums, you translate it to an 'obviously'

You eat with content, letting him steal some of your broth from your bowl, in exchange, he gives you a dimsum from his share.

—

You do your best at reading the booklet about Liverpool that you've bought before leaving the city while the vehicle moves.

"The guy who designed the cathedral is the same person who designed the red telephone box"

Hobie listens intently with coffee coursing through his veins, stomach full of food, he's properly fueled to drive for more than four hours to Glasgow. His band mates better be there already when you two arrive or he'll wring their necks.

There won't be any more stops until you get to the destination since there'll only be the highway to drive on. It stretches far, cars whirring past. With Sprawling green hills, and mountains curved around the highway makes the drive much more serene. Powerlines on the sides ground you, making it all seem familiar. The weather is foggy, blanketing the England to Scotland border.

The van rattles as Hobie swerves the car to the right. He plants his hand back in your knee, palm circling the curve of it affectionately.

"Ohh, they've got a beach" you stare at the picture of the nature reserve with its sandy windswept dunes, and grassy knolls.

"Add that to the list"

"Okay" you take out a pen from the glovebox, biting the cap off with your teeth, you scribble it on the back of the booklet where there's an empty space. Using your thighs as a table, you add the destination on your little list right under 'old thatch tavern'

"There," you hum happily.

"Is there anything on there 'bout Glasgow?" He kneads your knee with his knuckle.

"A tiny bit" you flip to the back, "they've got a mural trail, we might pass through it on the way. Ooh they also have a glasshouse."

You two pass the time by giving him facts about the places you've passed. Hobie listens in, adding his own knowledge to the mix. An hour later, you're both jamming to his music cassette. You try to make him laugh by banging your head to the song. Whipping your head too hard, you end up banging it on the dashboard.

With wide eyes and laughter threatening to spill out, Hobie comforts you with his palm over your forehead.

You two chat about with you feeding him crisps in between, exchanging stories and playing 'I spy' Hobie ends up winning with his enhanced vision, you challenge him again with a huff. He still wins the second and third round. His prize? Hobie tells you he's gonna hold onto it until you reach Glasgow.

At hour three, the car makes a metal groaning sound in the middle of the highway, you and Hobie looked at each other in fear for a second, silent and waiting for the van to keel over. You both sigh in relief after a few good minutes of silence with the car still running smoothly. Good thing it did because you have no idea how you'll make it to Glasgow if it did decide to just die in the middle of the road.

Before you know it, Hobie parks the van near the venue. Clicking off his seatbelt while you stretch in your seat. Hobie leans towards you, elbow right over the center console, he helps you with your seatbelt before promptly moving his hand to your cheek to face him.

"Can I help you?" You giggle, pecking the tip of his nose. "Are you claiming your prize?"

"This isn't my prize, lovey." He softly says against your lips. "That'll wait for later"

"Okay," you feel like your cheeks are on fire.

"This is my thanks" He meets your waiting lips, moving with yours. Cupping his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheeks, you breathe through your nose so the kiss would last longer yet it still leaves you breathless. You feel his hand around your nape, deepening the kiss further.

Hobie pulls away, seeing your pupils completely dilated, chest heaving for air.

"Thanks for what?" You ask breathlessly.

"Comin' with me" with his finger, he wipes the sheen off your lips, it stays there for a second, savoring, longing. For everything.

"You could've asked me to go anywhere and I still would've gone. As long as it's with you."

He answers with another kiss, laced with so much love and thankfulness, you feel it all through it.

A sudden knock has you pulling away, Hobie clicks his tongue at the intrusion. Turning around, he spots his bandmates whistling and wiggling their eyebrows. One was making a gesture that made you hide your face.

"You fuckin' wankers!" Hobie opens the door, slamming it on his friends' faces, they scatter, hooting and hollering, taunting him.

You watch as Hobie play fights with them, arm choking his bass player. With a lopsided smile on your face, excitement bubbles in your chest, the return trip and his promise makes you excited more than anything.

A/N: this fic is long overdue that we're at 700 already! Thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my little stories! Love all 700 of you ❤️

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Natural Born Killer (Ghost/Reader)

CW: Murder, Implied DV, Blood, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Cunillingus, Mild Choking, Cheating on a Murdered Boyfriend

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 3.7k

The car rumbled as we drove across a dirt road. All we’d seen were trees and grass for the past half hour. Maybe a flock of sheep or two. Ahead, the sun was setting over the horizon, turning the sky a cotton candy color. I looked over at the gas meter. Nearly empty. I curled my knees up to my chest, praying for the first time in years that we’d find a place to fill up. 

The smell of stagnant tobacco filled my nostrils. I never liked it when he smoked in the car, but it wasn’t worth the fight tonight. Despite his refusal of a map, he was already agitated that we’d gotten off track. 

“Hey, look at that,” my boyfriend pointed to the road. In the distance was a run-down shack of sorts. The tin roof was rusted. The shutters were falling off of the windows. I pursed my lips, swallowing my judgment. It was either stop and ask for gas, or risk spending a night in the freezing cold. 

The hum of the engine came to an abrupt stop as he pulled the key from the ignition. I watched as he quickly stepped out of the car. With a sigh, I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed. The gravel crunched under my feet as I walked around the car. 

He had already stepped up to the front porch by the time I stepped forward. 

“James!” I said in a hushed voice. He shook his hand, dismissing me. I crossed my arms over my chest, glancing around at the piles of rubbish that adorned the gravel plot. James rapped his knuckles against the front door.

A large clatter drew my attention. Standing at the door was a tall, imposing blonde man. He wore jeans, worn and ragged around the knees. His biceps were covered in black ink, indescribable from my distance. I watched as he looked my boyfriend up and down. 

“What d’ye want,” he asked with a grunt. 

“We, uh, ran out of gas. Do you happen to have any?” I could tell by the break in his voice that James was intimidated. I watched as he slipped his hands into his pocket, shifting onto the balls of his feet, and back again.

“Got a jerry can somewhere,” the man responded. 

“Perfect! And do you care if I use your bathroom?” James added. The man simply grunted and stepped aside. James disappeared inside of the house. 

My eyes widened as the man’s gaze settled on me. I watched as he picked up a Jerry can from the front porch and slowly stalked over to the car. His face was marred with scar tissue. White streaks adorned his cheeks in a sort of Glasgow smile. Over his brow was another. He glanced at me with his deep blue eyes.

“Americans? What’re you doing out here?” He asked as he flipped open the fuel cap. 

“Vacation,” I stated simply, glancing up at the front door. 

“Vacation here? In the middle of nowhere?” The man laughed as he began filling the car up. 

“He didn’t want to use a map. We were trying to go to Inverness,” I explained. 

“You’re about two hours out,” he huffed. “Good luck getting back without a map.”

I sighed and leaned my back against the car. It was already getting cold enough that my sweatshirt wasn’t even enough to keep the chills off of my skin. I couldn’t imagine what sleeping in a car would feel like. 

“Thanks again, man.” I glanced up at James, who was sticking his hand out for the Brit. With nothing but a grunt, he kept filling up the tank. 

The man pulled back and screwed the gas cap back in. 

“You need to turn around. Nothing up here but trees and dirt.” He said, stepping forward. The gasoline gently sloshed as he moved. 

“You got it,” James said as he pulled his keys from his pocket. Suddenly he leaned in, pushing my shoulder. “You talk to him?” He asked, gritting his teeth. 

“Friendly banter, not a big deal,” I mumbled, looking out across the dirt road. The sun was almost completely gone. The sky darkened with every passing minute. 

“Fuckin’ told you not to go talking up other men, didn’t I.” He took another step forward. I flinched, bringing my arms up to my face. He grumbled, muttering something under his breath. I watched as he spun on his heel and started towards the driver's side door. With a sigh and internal words of encouragement, I stepped into the passenger seat, closing the door behind me. 

The engine started to life. I gave one last glance to the run-down shed as we pulled out into the road, heading back to where we came from. The headlights were turned on, illuminating the dirt road ahead of us. 

We were twenty minutes down the road. The soft chirping of crickets filling my ears. Rocks cracked underneath the tires as we rolled down the road. 

The car jolted abruptly with a loud bang. I sighed, knowing one of our tires had blown. I glanced back at the trunk, silently thanking whatever deity that we had a spare, even if the salesman was a bit pushy about it. 

We rolled to a stop. Muttering under his breath, James shifted into park and pulled off his seatbelt. He stepped out onto the road, slamming the door behind him. I sighed and pulled out my phone from my pocket. In the depths of the Scottish wilderness, I didn’t have a single bar of service. 

Glancing up, I watched as James backed away from the tire, scratching his head. A glint of silver caught my eye from behind him. 

In one swift motion, an axe embedded itself in the side of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound, pulsing with the beat of his heart. He let out a gargling scream, blood flooding his larynx. His eyes, once vibrant, glazed over as he fell limp to the ground. With a creak, the axe was pulled back from his head. I watched as another glint of silver caught the headlights. Another swift chop, another squelching noise. I screamed, quickly throwing off my seatbelt. I clamored out of the car and took off into the woods, dodging brush and branches. From the corner of my eye, I saw a masked figure slowly stalking toward me. 

I grunted as sharp brambles sliced my arm. I pushed the pain to the back of my head, along with the burning in my lungs. Each thud of my foot shot a jolt of pain up my knees. I hadn’t run this far in a while. 

The moonlight was shadowed by the thick canopy above. I held my arms out, pushing past tree trunk after tree trunk. I glanced over my shoulder and squinted, praying he wasn’t following. 

Pain blossomed in my brow as I rebounded off of a tree. With a muffled groan, I landed on the forest floor amongst a pile of pine needles. 

Arms wrapped around my body, holding me still. A hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the scream I let out. I writhed against the man, thrashing my legs about and sinking my teeth into his hand. He cursed, pulling his arms away from me. I lurched forward, breaking out into another sprint, however I was stopped. Fingers held onto my ankles, dragging me in. My legs stilled under the force of his grip. 

“I’m not going to fuckin’ hurt you-” the man sputtered. 

I froze. The voice was familiar. My heart pounded in my ears, the swooshing of blood drowning out every other sound. It was the man from earlier, donning a mask now.

I glanced over my shoulder. I was met with the same deep blue eyes I’d seen earlier. Without any resistance from me, he dragged my body closer. His clothes, black, had dark spots, blood. His mask and the skull plate that was sewn to it were splattered in red. 

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, pushing his hands away. 

“I saw the way you flinched. Heard what he said,” he responded. Cautiously, he reached his hand out. I glanced down, watching as he rested his hand atop my knee. “Bears’ll come by and snatch up his body. No need to worry about cleanup.”

“Thank you.” The words spilled out of me. It felt wrong to thank him. Wrong to validate a murderer. But part of me felt as if I would’ve ended up in James' position. A corpse on the side of the road. 

Without another word, he stood, holding out his hand for me. 

He parked my car behind his house. Its exterior was deceiving to say the least. The interior was cozy, insulated from the cold outside. I watched as he stood in the kitchen. His hair was dripping wet from the shower he’d taken. 

The smell of citrus and bergamot permeated my senses. The patches of dirt that coated my skin were now long gone down the drain. He dressed me in a pair of sweats, far too big for me. I sat on his couch, waiting for him to bring out some food. Perogies, he said. Perfect for a chilly night like tonight.

He stepped forward, holding out a plate for me. Without a word, I took the food from him, nodding my head in a silent display of gratitude. The couch shifted as he sat beside me. 

I glanced at his hand. The skin of his thumb was scarred, marred with deep teeth marks. I reached out, gently grabbing his hand and lifting it. I brushed my thumb along the mark. He winced, pulling his hand away from me. 

Without another word, I began eating the meal he’d made for me. I snuck glances at him through the corner of my eye. He shifted, nursing the can of beer in his hand. I flinched, feeling his fingers graze against my arm. He pushed up the sleeve of my shirt over my shoulder. My gaze followed his, landing on my shoulder. A mauve-colored bruise blossomed on my skin. 

His fingers gently grasped my wrist, slowly turning my arm. On the inside of my forearm was another bruise, this time a color between green and yellow. He frowned, gently stroking over the old bruise with his thumb. 

My jaw went slack as a pair of hands roughly wrapped around my neck, squeezing tight. With every second of air taken, I felt the vessels in my face burst. I reached out, pushing my thumbs into his eye sockets. His face was burned into my retinas. A singed vision that shone through the haze. He faded to white, pains swelling behind my eyes. 

I awoke with a jolt, clutching at my throat. I kicked off the blankets. I quickly glanced around the room. My gaze flicked from the bookcase to the nightstand, to the window. Sitting back onto my calves, I sighed, chest heaving as I strived to catch my breath. 

The bedroom door creaked open. Brown eyes flicked over my sweaty frame. I couldn’t come up with a single thing to say. Instead, I stared at the man, lips parted. He spun, slowly stalking toward the door. Without thinking, I spoke. 

“Sir. I’m really sorry to ask, but could you stay with me?”

With only a nod, he stepped forward. If it were anyone else, I would’ve been intimidated by the way he looked down on me. His brown eyes were nearly pitch black in the low lighting. He seemed stiff. And with his stature, it seemed natural to feel scared. Any hesitancy broke as I watched him slip below the covers. He laid on his back on the other side of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t spare me even a glance.

I couldn’t help but stare at his face, illuminated in the moonlight. Faint traces of scars lay across his temples. Just thick enough to notice. On his neck were sparse patches of razor bumps. Specks of red across his fair skin. I shifted onto my side, pushing the blanket down my shoulders with my elbow.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. Even in the dim lighting, I could tell when a dusty pink blush had settled on his cheeks. I reached out, gently placing my hand on his biceps. I traced my index finger along scar tissue, running up and down a thick, linear cut. He turned his head away from me. I could feel his chest rise abruptly and feel the way his breath hitched when I touched him. My fingers slid up his biceps, to his shoulder, and across his clavicle. He rolled over, facing me. 

My heart pounded in my ears. Heat rose to my cheeks as he extended his hand. His palm rested on my hip. His fingers curled underneath the hem of my shirt. And then he let go, choosing to slide up my side, over my shoulder, and to my cheek. His movements were slow as if he was letting his fingers feel every inch of my side. 

The pad of his thumb stroked my cheek. His other fingers carded through the hair at the base of my neck. I watched as his deep brown eyes flicked from my eyes to my lips, and back up again. He leaned in closer. His hot breath fanned over my face. I closed the distance, pressing my lips to his. 

His lips were chapped. Jagged bits of dried skin poked my lips. I sighed against his lips and leaned in closer. His hand slid to the small of my back. He pulled me closer. My chest was pushed flush against his. Warmth emanated from his body. I slid my arm over his side, basking in the feeling of his heated skin. 

His lips moved to my cheek and down my jaw. Opening my eyes, I watched as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my pants. His hand stilled, almost as if asking for permission. I placed my hand on his wrist, gently pushing him to continue. 

He gently sunk his teeth into my neck. A pounding heartbeat grew in the pit of my stomach. My skin grew heated as my arousal overtook me. I gasped as his tongue lapped against his teeth marks. He skidded the palm of his hand across my bare hip, sliding underneath my sweats. 

Without a word, he threw my leg over his hip, giving him better access to my core. I shuddered, burying my face in the crook of his neck as I felt his index finger swipe against my clit. He began slowly circling my clit, teeth sinking into my shoulder. My hips jolted, thighs quivering against his body. He chuckled, sliding two fingers up and down my core. My breath caught in my chest as he sunk the digits inside me. 

“There you go. Open up for me,” he mumbled next to my ear. I clenched around his fingers, feeling a rush of heat in my cheeks. He steadily began thrusting his fingers, brushing his thumb against my clit. I whined against his neck as he curled his fingers. I clenched my fist in his shirt, tugging tightly at the material. My breath hitched, growing unsteady with every twitch and stroke of his fingers. My core tightened as he slowly inched me toward my climax. My grip on his shirt grew bruising. The seams creaked as I pulled him close. Drool spilled from the corner of my parted lips. My thighs trembled as I drew further and further into my pleasure. 

“Come on, cum on my fingers.” His voice was barely a whisper. The deep rasping words rattled in his chest. With a couple more thrusts and a swipe against my sensitive clit, my muscles began to tense and jerk. My toes curled, and my eyes squeezed shut as he slowly rocked me through my orgasm. The thrust of his fingers slowed and then stilled. He pressed his lips to my sweaty cheek, easing me out of the haze that had taken over my limbs. 

By the time my vision had gone back into focus, he was holding me close, looking down at me with his dark eyes. 

“Sorry, it’s been a while…” I said, looking away to hide the embarrassment on my face. 

He pushed me onto my back. I stared up at him with wide eyes, watching as he settled between my legs. My hips jolted as he roughly tugged my sweats down. His eyes darkened as he laid his sights on my bare body. I held my hand up by my mouth, hiding the way my lips trembled. He hooked his arms underneath my thighs and slung them over his shoulders. I could feel the heat from his breath brushing over my cunt. 

A sharp pain drew my attention. He sunk his teeth into my inner thigh, then gently licked over his teeth marks. Inching closer, he pressed a kiss to my skin. On my other leg, his fingers slowly trailed up my skin, toward my core. 

I watched as he kissed across my stomach, gently and methodically, before dipping down and brushing his tongue against my clit. My back arched up off of the mattress. The palm of my hand muffled a moan rising from my throat. He rapidly flicked his tongue against my clit, moaning into my cunt. I gripped onto his short blonde hair, tugging hard at the strands. He wrapped his lips around my clit and began to harshly suck. My fingers went limp. My grasp on his hair faded as he pushed me closer to a second orgasm.  

And suddenly he stopped. With a whine, I watched as he shifted onto his knees. He eased the waistband of his pants over his hips. My eyes fixated on every inch of bare skin he revealed. His cock sprung free from its confines, already flushed and leaking. I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel inside me. A burning heat rose to my cheeks as he stepped out of his pants and slowly crawled toward me. He settled between my thighs and began gently caressing my thighs. His brown eyes were locked onto my half-naked body. 

“You want it?” He asked, moving his hand to his cock. I watched as he slowly stroked himself.

“Please,” I mumbled. 

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?” He chuckled, “taste good too.”

He pushed my knees back against my chest. Using his hand, he guided his cock to my entrance. Gently pushing in. I closed my eyes. My jaw went slack as I felt him slowly sink inside me. He inched forward, gripping my waist tightly. I couldn’t help but notice how full I felt, and the slight burning in my tendons as he folded me in half. 

His hips stilled as he bottomed out. He reached up, pushing my shirt over my chest. I gasped when his lips wrapped around one of my nipples. My ankles crossed behind his back, keeping him close to me. He propped himself up on his hands, brown eyes flicking over my body. I whined as he began slowly rocking his hips back and forth. 

One of his hands moved to my throat. His fingers gently pressed on my carotid arteries. The pressure wasn’t overbearing, but a reminder that he was in control. 

His pace was rough, deep, and slow. He took the time to get to feel every inch of my insides. I could already feel a haze settling over my thoughts, deepening with every thrust. I looked up at him with unfocused eyes, biting down on my lip to conceal a whimper. 

“Tell me you like it,” he grunted, thrusting his hips forward. 

My response was an incoherent stream of praises, punctuated with whines. He smirked and began tightening his hold on my neck. My brows furrowed, lips forming an o shape in a silent cry.

His pace increased. The mattress began creaking with every jolt of my body. And then the pressure around my neck subsided. He let go, instead opting to grip my hip with a bruising strength. 

He leaned down, pressing sloppy kisses to my neck, and grunting against my skin. I gripped his biceps and whined as he sunk his teeth into my neck. 

“Fuckin’ squeezing me.” He groaned as he ran his tongue across my bruised neck. 

“Harder” I choked out. His pupils dilated, turning his deep brown eyes nearly black. I could feel his cock twitch inside me. 

He shifted to his knees and brought both of his hands to my hips. With every thrust of his hips, he pulled my body back onto his cock. I gripped the pillow behind my head as a barrage of moans flooded my mouth. My back arched off of the mattress, and my breath grew ragged and erratic. He cursed under his breath, teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip. 

I thrashed as I reached my climax. My stomach tightened, clenching around his cock as he rocked me through my orgasm. A flash of cold washed over my body, followed by pins and needles pricking my limbs. I went limp in his grasp.

After a couple of arrhythmic thrusts of his hips, he came, flooding me with warmth. His breath hitched, nails digging deep into my skin as he came down from his climax. 

With another jolt of the mattress, he laid down beside me. His chest heaved as he strived to catch his breath. I turned onto my side, pressing my back into his sweaty chest. He laid his arm over my waist, keeping me close. I chuckled as he began pressing kisses to my neck. 

Somehow the absurdity of the situation had just set in. I’d slept with the man who murdered my boyfriend. Brushing off the thoughts that swirled through my head, I placed my hand over his, sighing as I closed my eyes. 

“The name’s Simon, by the way,” he spoke up, breaking the silence that fell between us. 

“Oh, so now you tell me…”

[scotianostra]

November 9th 1903 saw the birth near Pittsburgh of Margaret Fay Shaw, the American writer who did much to record the music and culture of South Uist.

Margaret Fay Shaw was one of the most notable collectors of authentic Scottish Gaelic song and traditions in the 20th century. The arrival of this young American on the island of South Uist in 1929 was the start of a deep and highly productive love affair with the language and traditions of the Gaels.

Shaw was also an outstanding photographer, and both her still pictures and cinematography contributed to an invaluable archive of island life in the 1930s. She met the folklorist John Lorne Campbell on South Uist in 1934; they married a year later and together helped to rescue vast quantities of oral tradition from oblivion.

She came of Scottish Presbyterian and liberal New England stock. The family owned a steel foundry in Pittsburgh and her parents were cultured people. Margaret was the youngest of five sisters and her early years were idyllic. Her first love was for the piano and she continued to play throughout her life.

By the age of 11, however, she was orphaned and obliged to develop the independence of character which was to lead her into a life's work far removed from her upbringing. At the age of 16, she made her first visit to Scotland at the invitation of a family friend and spent a year at school in Helensburgh, outside Glasgow, where she first heard Gaelic song.

Wanting to hear it in its "pristine" state, in 1924 she crossed the Atlantic again, this time engaging in an epic bicycle journey, which started in Oxford and ended at the Isle of Skye, where she remained for a month. It was during this trip that she began to use photography to earn a living, selling prints to newspapers, and magazines such as the Listener.

But it was not until she arrived on South Uist that she found her spiritual home. She was invited to the "big house" in Lochboisdale for dinner, and two sisters who worked there, Mairi and Peigi Macrae, were brought in to sing for the company. Margaret had never heard singing like it. For the next six years, she became their lodger and dear friend. They shared with her all of their immense stock of oral tradition which she faithfully transcribed, learning Gaelic as the work proceeded.

Her most important published work was Folksongs And Folklore Of South Uist, which has never been out of print since it was first published in full by Routledge and Kegan Paul in 1955. Not only was it a scholarly presentation of the songs and lore which she had written down during her sojourn on the island, but also an invaluable description of life in a small crofting community during the 1930s.

This classic work was undoubtedly the centrepiece of Shaw's career, though she also wrote several other books, including an autobiography, From The Alleghenies To The Hebrides.

On the neighbouring island of Barra in the early 1930s, an extraordinary social set - a kind of Bloomsbury in the Hebrides - had developed around the presence of Compton Mackenzie. One of his closest collaborators was John Lorne Campbell, who came from landed Argyllshire stock and had developed his interest in Gaelic at Oxford.

The two patricians set about producing The Book Of Barra, a collection of the island's history and traditions, to raise funds for an organisation called The Sea League, which they had established to campaign for the exclusion of trawlers from Hebridean waters.

Hearing great reports of an American woman's photography on South Uist, Campbell crossed over by ferry to seek her involvement in illustrating The Book Of Barra. He walked into the Lochboisdale Hotel one rainy evening in 1934 and found Shaw sitting at the piano; a suitably romantic initiation to a relationship which was to last for more than half a century. They married the following year and made their home on Barra until, in 1938, Campbell bought the island of Canna, where they lived for the rest of their scholarly lives. The island was given to the National Trust for Scotland in 1981, and John Lorne Campbell died in 1996.

There was nothing dry or academic, however, about Shaw. She travelled regularly to America until her late 90s. The fearsome ferry journey between Mallaig and Canna was regularly undertaken with equanimity, and she fortified herself to the end with the finest Kentucky bourbon. Her love of the Hebrides was, above all, for the values and lifestyle of the crofting people, and, particularly in South Uist in that 1930s heyday, it was deeply reciprocated. It is there that she will be laid to rest.

During her latter years she stayed at Canna House until her death at the grand old age of 101 in 2004.

[ghostlylittlemoths]

Jackson!Ellie x Reader

Wc: more than 3 words Cw: Fluff, friends to lovers, talk of past violence, kissing, reader has lip piercings bc why not, Glasgow smile(look it up), use of y/n like once, reader has an accent, beginning takes place when Joel and Ellie first make it to Jackson.

Your pov

I sat in my room as I read a book on my bed. It honestly wasn't that good but it was better than nothing and I was bored. I was deep into my book when I heard a knock at my front door. Opening it to my surprise I see Tommy with a small smile on his face.

"Guess who is here? I talk about him a lot" Tommy said trying to hide his excitement. I thought for a second. Then it hit me, Joel. He talks of his brother Joel a lot.

"Is it Joel?" I say as a question even thought I was most likely right. "Yeah it is. I really want you to meet him. Aaand he brought a girl about your age and I thought you two could be friends. It would do you good to have a friend that isn't just Jesse." Tommy said matter-of-factly at the thought of me needing not than one friend.

"Well if it gets ya to stop saying I need friends I guess I'll meet her and Joel" I say as I play with one of the piercings on my lip and turn around to grab my hat that I never leave my room without. "Great we are gonna meet them at the Tipsy Bison so let's go." Tommy says as he walks away from my door and out of my house. 'This'll be fun...'

Walking out of the house, me and Tommy walked in silence all the way to the Tipsy Bison. Walking in I immediately notice I girl I had never seen and a guy I knew was Joel since I had seen his picture more times than I can count. "So this is Joel and this is..." Tommy said blanking out on the girls name.

"Ellie, my name is Ellie." The girl now known as Ellie said. "Ellie, that's right sorry I know you just told me" Tommy said as I shook Joel's hand and switch to Ellie's hand. "Hello I'm Y/n but y'all can call me n/n" I said with a smile on my face as I tried to make a good first impression. I looked at Ellie and I could tell she was looking at my mouth and I could tell she was trying not to ask about it. So she just gave me a small little smile.

We all sat and talked for what felt like hours when I looked at the clock and noticed how late it was. "Well I better get goin' I'm beat. I'll see yall tomorrow" I said as I stood up from my seat but before I could walk out Joel called out to me.

"Hey kid, could you take Ellie with you I'm gonna stay for a bit longer if thats okay with you?" Joel asked me as he looked at Ellie who had a 'what are you doing?' look on her face. I thought for a second before responding. "Sure as long as you tell me what house I'm looking for so I don't bring her to the wrong house" I say with a little snicker. Joel tells me what house to look out for and me and Ellie were off. The walk started off quiet but was soon broken by Ellie.

"So...how did you get those piercings?" Ellie asked as she looked at my bottom lip. "I did it myself 'bout a year ago as a little 'fuck you' to my dad" I told Ellie. "Oh shit, what did he do to make you do that?" She asked. "Nothin' I was just at a rebellious state I'm my life and wanted to do something to make him mad." I said with a short laugh as she laughed too. I could tell thats not what she intended on asking but I could feel her staring at my cheek.

"You can ask about it y'know." I said as I smiled at her and watched her take a small breath in. "I could feel you starin' all night" I said. "Okay... how did you get that scare on your mouth if you don't mind saying?" Ellie asked as she waited for a response.

"About 2 maybe 3 years ago me and my dad were ambushed my raiders for things we didn't even have. I fought back and I was pinned down by a girl maybe about 3 years older than me and she was sayin' things along the lines of 'give us what we want' and shit like that. I spat at her. Stupid I know and the next thin I know my mouth was forced open and she took a pair of big scissors and *kik* cut the corner of my mouth to the middle of my cheek." I finished as ellie looked at me with wide eyes.

"Damn.. sorry that happened to you" ellie said quietly. "Ehh its okay i don't really care about it. It happened and I moved on from it. Its wasn't the end of the world and honestly it didn't really bother me to begin with."I said as i tried to lighten the mood.

"Well here we are. Thanks for walking and talking with me I guess" Ellie said as she walked up the porch and I stood at the bottom of the steps.

"No problem its been a while since I talked with anyone that wasn't Tommy or my friend Jesse. Its a nice change" I said as a I gave Ellie a smile and she smiled back.

"Thats kinda sad but I won't keep you out longer so goodnight I'll probably see you tomorrow" Ellie said as she opened the door to her house.

"I know.. well goodnight to you too Ellie I hope we can be friends" I say as I gave her a small wave and walked away to go back home and to pass the hell out.

5 years later

2nd person pov

You woke up to the sound of banging on your front door. Half asleep you got up to put some pants on and ran to the door as the banging got harder and louder. 'God fuckin' damn im comin', fuck' you thought as you reached the door and opened it. You opened the door to see Ellie standing there with a smile.

"What the FUCK could you possibly want from me at this damn hour" you said coming off a bit more rude than you intended. "Well damn if I would have known you would be a dick I wouldn't have come" Ellie said crossing her arms at you pretending to feel hurt.

"I'm sorry. What do you need this fine mornin'" you say with sarcasm in your voice as you let Ellie in past you.

"Nothing really just wanted to hang out before we go out on patrol in 2 hours" Ellie said as she sat on your couch with a bottle of water she stole of your table. Opening the bottle you watched as she drank it.

Over the past 5 years you had developed a little crush on Ellie but didn't act on it in fear of messing up your friendship or making her uncomfortable if she didn't feel the same for you. You had dropped subtle hints but stopped after you didn't get any reaction from her.

"Hang out? Thats it? You were bangin' on my door like you were fuckin' dyin' or crazy." You said as you sat next to her facing her on the couch. You grabbed the water from her as she placed it down. Downing the rest of it and tossing it in the trash that was next to the couch.

"Yeah, unless... you want to do something more" Ellie said as she put her hand on your thigh and leaned close to your face. You back away slightly.

"In your dreams Williams" you say as you tilt your head back to cool the heat rising to your face. You hear her laugh and say something to herself that you didnt catch. Stretching your legs out on Ellies thighs you looked back at her noticing she had already kicked off her shoes and jacket as she rested her hands on your legs.

"We have come so far in just 5 years. Just think about it we only really became friends because Joel didn't trust me walking back to our house by myself. And the look on your face when he stopped you from walking out." Ellie said as she laughed at the memory.

You laughed out your nose at the memory and just looked at Ellie. She was just so pretty you always thought she was pretty from the moment you met her. You noticed a peice of her had fallen out of her little pony tail. Before you could stop your hand from reaching out you had already made contact with her hair and pushed it behind her ear. Ellie just looked at you.

"Shit sorry I dont know what I was thinkin'" you say as you pull your hand and legs from Ellie. But before you could full more away from her, she grabbed your hand, holding it in hers. You watch as Ellie opens her mouth so say something and as she closes it as if she didn't want to say what she was thinking about.

You had looked away from Ellie but you felt her move and you looked back only to be stopped by the feeling of something on your lips. You watch as Ellie pulls away from your lips. You watch Ellie quickly push your legs of her and stand up.

"Holy shit I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you uncomfo-" you stop Ellie from talking with a kiss to her lips. You can feel Ellie tense then relax against your lips. You feel her wrap her arms around your waist as she pulls you closer to her.

"God I have been waiting for this" you feel Ellie say against your lips. You kiss for what feels like hours. You pull away from her and you rest your forehead against hers trying to catch your breaths. You wrap you arms around her neck and you move your head to rest on her shoulder.

"I've liked you for so long but I didn't think you like me back hell or that you even liked girls" Ellies says as she rubs her hands on your sides. You pressed you lips to the side of Ellies jaw. The feeling of your somewhat cold piercings made her shiver.

"I thought the same 'bout you minus the likin' girls part 'cause I already knew" you say into her neck as you pull her closer to you.

"Can I officially say you are my girlfriend now?" Ellie asks with a small smile as she now rubs your back and kisses your shoulder.

"Gladly" you say with a smile as you give her another kiss.

That was longer than I expected it to be im not the greatest at writing but I was kinda just goin with the flow and kept writing i hoped yall liked it and give me any feedback on things I can improve also give me some requests on things I should write in the future

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Tess' Sharpuary - 27. Bric-a-brac

Aesop buried many things in fear of being reminded of his grief. His sweetheart unearths them again - and Aesop is not afraid.

chapter specific tags: established relationship, fluff, healing, comfort

relationships: aesop sharp x reader

27. Bric-a-brac (1.1k)

tw: mentions of grief

Aesop Sharp kept quite a sizable amount of memorabilia. After all, it was far from uncommon for a wizard or witch of a certain esteem to own and proudly display their own sets of dust-catchers. The ones he and Dinah in particular owned could sometimes be slightly… gruesome. Severed hands and taxidermied werewolves truly helped bring out the aesthetics, Aesop thought with an amused snort. Those were the things visible to many people, things Dinah used in her lessons, and items Aesop scared the potential unwanted guest to his rooms with.

However, the things he truly considered ‘treasures’, though they were anything but, were all hidden away safely at his home, oftentimes away from people’s eyes, even his own, occasionally hidden in plain sight, disguised as everyday items of little value. 

His ‘official’ Auror badge was displayed upon his desk in his classroom, but it was always the unofficial one he held in higher regard, that one that had the word Auror written on it in scraggly letters and with the R’s facing the opposite way. That was the badge his best friend gave him before the two of them knew how to write well. It was something that hurt him to look at, yet at the same time one of the things he grew panicked about when he couldn’t find it…

More items were like that; old photographs, little notes, useless little trinkets he didn’t have the heart to throw away, but wasn’t able to face them either. They held the past long gone, not only the events that transpired, but the kind of person he was, the kind of person he used to be. And they used to haunt him.

And then there were the things hidden in plain sight - one of which was an entirely ordinary tweed bunnet, hung upon one of the hooks in the hallway of his house. Visible to anyone and everyone who visited (though the number of such people wasn’t exactly high), but so inconspicuous, it tended to get entirely overlooked. There were only two people in the world who knew the true value of the simple headwear, and that was Aesop himself, and his dear mother. Only those two knew that this hat, bought in 1851 for 7 shillings and 10 pennies all the way in Glasgow was, in fact, priceless.

It had belonged to Aesop’s father, with whom Aesop was allowed desperately little time, but who nevertheless helped shape the child into the man ha was now, his presence, while fleeting, never truly leaving him, and his scent still lingering upon the bunnet, both like a sweet reminder, and a bitter regret. A number of his father’s clothes were given away to those who needed them, as Theodore Sharp would’ve liked, having been the kind man he was, and the rest got somehow lost along the way. Only the hat remained.

And it was his sweetheart who brought his attention to it after many years he, too, spent ignoring the fact it was even there.

She had a tendency to do that.

Her innocent curiosity, as well as the desire to know him better, prompted Aesop to fish out many of his secret little treasures to show her. Things that he was frightened to look at in fear of once more experiencing the horrible wave of remembering of what was, and what could have been. But with her… With her it was different. With her he wasn’t afraid.

Little by little, he felt safe enough to unearth things he buried well and deep, from those little trinkets, to his very first ‘Auror badge’. And once he explained to her the meaning they held to him, he found that he no longer wanted to hide them away. The sorrow was still there, but so was the love, and the joy he experienced when handling these items for the first time. Things he used to hide away started to get displayed alongside her own memorabilia. It was only fair, he’d decided finally - those were, after all, the items that shaped them and followed them through their lives.

And then, one day, she finally noticed the hat. 

A part of Aesop winced, unsurprisingly - It’s been very nearly four whole decades, and yet the grief was still there… He supposed it was something that would never leave, truly leave. However, what was surprising was that a part of him felt… elated. Like it’s been waiting for her to bring the bunnet up for a long time. A part of himself wanted to acknowledge one of the few things he still had left from his father. 

He slowly walked over to his sweetheart, and took the hat out of her gentle hold. Without thinking and without shame, he brought the headwear to his nose, his senses immediately registering the oh so familiar scent, and it was enough to make his eyes glisten. She watched him silently, mindful not to do or say anything that would get him to close up again, but much less so than she was in the beginning. However, Aesop could see there was something she was stopping herself from saying…

“What is it?” he asked softly, voice heavy with emotion. She smiled gently, but shook her head. “I want to know,” Aesop insisted, his free hand coming up to stroke her smooth, soft cheek.

“You should try it on,” she said, her voice so quiet only Aesop could hear it. His heart skipped a beat. He observed the bunnet in his hold, feeling conflicted. On one hand, he didn’t want to… break the strange spell the hat put on him, the knowledge that this was his father’s hat by wearing it, but on the other… On the other hand, knowing he was wearing something that belonged to his father other than his pocket watch held a strange sort of appeal. He always loved the bunnet, and he fondly remembered his dad plopping it onto his small head when he was but a wee lad.

His sweetheart gently took it from his hold, and, moving very slowly so that Aesop could stop her anytime, began lowering it upon his head. Aesop didn’t stop her. 

Instead, he gently grabbed her hands to help her, soon feeling the warm material sitting perfectly upon his head.

“Incredibly handsome…” she said, her smile soft and tender. Aesop decided to take her word for it, instead of going to look in the mirror. Without another word, he pulled her in for a kiss. 

She had a tendency to chase ghosts away, and leave only love in their wake.

---

Thank you for reading! ❤

[AO3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

[cherrylng]

UK ROCK BEST 100 ALBUMS - The 80's [CROSSBEAT (August 2006)]

80's The turbulent 80s, from New Wave to dance revolution

Continuing the trend from the rise of punk to post-punk at the end of the 1970s, up-and-coming bands burst onto the scene one after another, trying to break out of the established framework, and the 80s opened with new wave currents. Derived from the radical, highly artistic and experimental post-punk/art-punk (P.I.L., Gang of Four, etc.), New Wave "combined elements of other genres (electronic music, world music including Latin American and African music, funk and soul, black music such as jazz, etc.) into rock music, while breaking new ground". This includes electronic-pop (Depeche Mode, New Order, etc.) / New Romantics (Duran Duran, etc.), ska revival (The Specials, Madness, etc.), neo-psyche (Echo & The Bunnymen, etc.), positive punk/goth/dream pop (Bauhaus, The Cure, Cocteau Twins), industrial/noise, funka latina, and early neo-acoustic (Aztec Camera).

Although the New Wave originally started out as a non-mainstream movement, many of the bands with a pop and danceable side were caught up in the zeitgeist and gradually absorbed into the mainstream. By the mid-1980s, the controversial Frankie Goes to Hollywood and the sophisticated sound of the Style Council and Police had achieved international success.

Meanwhile, the 1980s saw the exponential growth of a number of indie labels that emerged from the D.I.Y. spirit of punk. These included 4AD, a decadent aesthetic label, Factory, which became the nucleus of the Manchester scene, Creation, which produced the revolutionaries The Jesus & Mary Chain with their violent noise and sweet melodies, and Rough Trade, which featured The Smiths, a group supported by the "social heretics".

The Smiths did much to elevate indie rock to the foreground and spawned many followers. However, as if to replace their break-up (1987), the central scene was dominated by house and other dance music. So-called 'C86' indie bands (Primal Scream, Wedding Present, Pastels, etc.), who mainly focused on guitar-pop, were steadily active in the underground scene. It was also around this time that US hardcore flowed into the UK, having no small influence on UK indie bands.

Against this backdrop, a new trend was emerging in Manchester that was different from the rest of the country. The city had always had a natural affinity for both dance music and guitar rock, and the Happy Mondays and Stone Roses, who frequented clubs and raves, blended the two effortlessly. In 1989, this led to the explosion of a major musical revolution known as 'Madchester' (indie/dance crossover). -Sumi Imai

Tin Drum Japan (1981) The greatest work of the band led by David Sylvian, who is now an electronica hermit. The sober negotiation sound with full-blown oriental taste has the chic of 'Wabi-sabi'. Eagerly awaits reappraisal. -Mima

Rio Duran Duran (1982) A big hit that successfully dispelled the prejudice that this band was just a band with good looks. The arrangements are still fresh today, with a rich variety of styles ranging from 60s pop to funk. -Kuroda

The Dreaming Kate Bush (1982) A masterpiece in which Kate, who debuted as a girl genius, transformed into a magical woman. The labyrinthine forest-like mystique of her perfectionist, meticulous sound and her uninhibited, magical voice is unique. -Hirokawa

You Can't Hide Your Love Forever Orange Juice (1982) A representative of the neo-acoustic group that emerged to put an end to the dwindling punk movement. Their deep knowledge of black music, insatiable pursuit of guitar sounds and naïve lyrics captivated young people. -Kuroda

High Land, Hard Rain Aztec Camera (1983) A masterpiece that made 'neo-acoustic', or rather 'music city Glasgow', a household name. Beautifully crafted with a meaty soul sensibility lurking in the folkiness, and later evolved from it. -Sawada

Construction Time Again Depeche Mode (1983) A perfect balance of hard elements and beautiful ennui melodies, including an early introduction of industrial beats. A monumental work that established the uniqueness of the Depeche sound. -Mima

Porcupine Echo & The Bunnymen (1983) The third Echo & The Bunnymen album, the quintessential UK New Wave record. Ian McCulloch's cool-headed gaze and sharp soundscape heralded the arrival of a new era that had broken away from punk. -Otani

Power, Corruption & Lies New Order (1983) A seminal work that attempted to 'break away from rock' by approaching New York house, but ended up having the influence to advance rock music itself. It was topsy-turvy at the time. -Mima

Synchronicity The Police (1983) The Police were actually a group of techie carriers who borrowed from punk. Each of their albums is "a perfection that you wouldn't expect from three people", but this last album is also a superb pop album. -Koguchi

Treasure Cocteau Twins (1984) Third album from the 80s 4AD representatives. This album pushed Elizabeth's voice out of the dark sound world and broke new ground filled with light and a sense of floating. Includes the classic song "Lorelei". -Yamashita

The Top The Cure (1984) The Cure's sixth album, which established a unique world with its pop sensibility and gloomy lyricism. Robert Smith's character became prominent from this time onwards. 'The Caterpillar' was a big hit. -Yamashita

Welcome to the Pleasuredome FRANKIE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD (1984) FGTH caused a stir in British society in 1984 only. The treatment of gays, politics, and sexuality is intriguing and Trevor Horn's sound is lively and too ostentatious, but in a way a symbol of the times. -Sawada

Café Bleu Style Council (1984) After the break-up of The Jam at the height of their popularity, Weller chose jazz and soul as his next design. What the bewildered fans heard was destructive anger and beauty in a cool soundscape. -Kuroda

Psychocandy The Jesus & Mary Chain (1985) Sweet, decadent melodies emerged amidst raging feedback noise. A shocking work from 1985 that had a profound influence on subsequent shoegaze and alternative bands. -Kuroda

Steve McQueen Prefab Sprout (1985) One of the finest albums by the mixed gender group led by legendary songwriter Paddy McAloon. Brilliantly produced by Thomas Dolby. -Kuroda

Cupid & Psyche 85 Scritti Politti (1985) The second album by Scritti, who at the time were a trio. Their sweet voices and pleasing sound were well received, and songs such as 'The Word Girl', which incorporated reggae rhythms, were big hits. -Yamashita

The Queen Is Dead The Smiths (1986) The Smiths are the charismatic band of those who turned their backs on the glamorous 80s. A masterpiece in which Morrissey's fanged words, heightened by criticism of the national anthem, and Johnny Marr's lyricism intersected at the boiling point. -Sawada.

Saint Julian Julian Cope (1987) Made in 1987 by the Phantom of Liverpool. Narcissism is still alive and well, but the artist aims to conquer himself with ever more straight-forward playing and singing. The artist's confident, robust expression is dependable. -Hirokawa

If I Should Fall from Grace with God The Pogues (1987) The Pogues' best work, combining the melancholy melodies of Irish trad with fun-filled beats. The indie spirit of the Pogues brought a breath of fresh air to the rigid UK scene. -Otani

The Stone Roses The Stone Roses (1989) A work that set the standard for the UK sound from the 1990s onwards, including the band's eclectic sense of combining guitar rock with acid house and the attitude of the band. A masterpiece under the sun that gave birth to Oasis. -Mima

Translator's Note: Haven't posted a series from this article for the last few days. I've only caught up now.

[algrenion]

do you think Still Wake The Deep make an accurate photo of scotland culture?sorry i do not know how to word this as my english is very not good, if it doees not make sense it is okay! but i would love to know thank you! :)

oh i'm sorry! i accidentally posted this to my drafts last night!

you made perfect sense! and yes, i think it might be one of the most true to life, no-nonsense depictions of Scottish culture i've seen. Not just in a game but in entertainment in general.

it felt like a love letter to Scottish dialects, behaviours, and places, and so lovingly crafted - like the developers wanted you to really feel every element of the way we live, down to mentioning street names

even the scenes that aren't on the oil rig, they've modelled the rooms you're in to look like a detached council house, the kind you'd see here in Glasgow

i think that's my favourite thing about it - there are a lot of Scottish characters and you can tell where they're all from, some Edinburgh, i'm sure there was a guy from Aberdeen voice acting too

but my favourite thing is how the protagonist is so, so Glaswegian, for better or for worse, and it really makes the story feel tangible... he's on the oil rig to evade the police after getting into a fist fight. Sadly, that feels like a very Glaswegian-Guy thing to do 😭☠️

i could not recommend it enough if you're interested in Scottish culture and language, it's a very intimate look into how we talk, poke fun at each other, handle stress, etc.

i hope this made sense, and that you try the game out, if you can! 💘

[3c1air]

[(Jeff the Killer: Info Sheet)]

Start: 07/09 — Finish: 07/09

Links: Overall Masterlist & Rules

DISCLAIMER!! Information from multiple sources to give an understanding profile on him - so some things may not be 100% accurate, however, I’m really trying to find “fact”.

|| NOTE: I’m making an Info Sheet on each character I write for so the reader knows what they need to know about the character.

——————————————————————————-

Title: Jeff the Killer

Real Name: Jeffery Woods

Aliases: Jeff, Jeffery the Killer, Joker Reject/Rip-off

Relatives:

Margaret (Deceased Mother)

Peter (Deceased Father)

Liu (Presumed Deceased Brother).

Occupation: Serial Killer.

Powers/Skills:

Hand-To-Hand Combat Prowess

Enhanced Senses

Athleticism

Inhuman Durability

Inhuman Stamina

Great Stealth

Status: Alive

Species: Human

Sex & Gender: Male & He/him

Hobbies:

Murdering people to satisfy his bloodlust

Stalking his victims

Goals:

End as many lives as possible (On-going)

Kill his parents (Succeeded) and his brother (on-going)

Kill Randy, Troy, and Keith (Succeeded)

Type of Pasta: Psychotic Serial Killer

Origin:

Jeff was a 13-year-old who moved to a new neighborhood with his brother, Liu, and their parents. On their first day of school, they were accosted by 3 bullies named Randy, Keith, & Troy, whom Jeff brutally beat up after they threatened them with knives. Liu took the blame for it and was arrested, sending Jeff into a deep depression. The bullies later attacked Jeff again at a party, and Jeff killed one of them, but not before getting covered in bleach and lit on fire by Keith. During this fight, Jeff's mind permanently snapped.

When Jeff woke up, he was at the hospital and his head was wrapped in bandages. When the bandages were taken off, it was revealed that his face had become disfigured and ghastly pale from the burns, with bright red lips and a leathery texture. Jeff said that he liked his face this way and laughed hysterically, but the doctor foolishly thought that this insanity was merely a side effect of the painkillers and let Jeff go home.

Later that night, Jeff's mother found him carving his face into a permanent smile so that he would no longer have to exert energy to smile, as he put it, and burning off his eyelids so he could always see his face. Jeff's mother went to her husband to tell him that their son had gone completely mad and needed to be killed, but Jeff caught them and stabbed them to death. This woke up Liu (who was recently released), with Jeff telling him as he was about to plunge the knife into his body, "Go to sleep".

Jeff then went on a serial killing rampage, killing those who refused to sleep at night, and as the story continued, Jeff renamed himself "Jeff the Killer".

Appearance:

Jeff has extremely pale skin and burnt off eyelids, giving him an even more ghostly appearance. Jeff later got his most distinctive trait, the Glasgow smile that he had carved into his face. His build is commonly described as thin, but with some lean muscle tone at the same time, and reaching a height of around 5'10" to 6'0". In various fan depictions, he's typically portrayed in his late teens or early twenties. His clothing normally consists of a pair of black dress pants with a white hoodie, like described in the story, which is sometimes stained with fresh and old blood from his victims.

Personality:

Before being burnt alive, he was a quiet and fairly antisocial teenager, not that people actually knew him very well. But shortly after the incident, he became torturous, aggressive, bloodthirsty, and violent, making him one of the most dangerous serial killers in his hometown. Jeff is widely known for luring his victims to an eternal slumber, using a kitchen knife and eerie but soft tone of voice. Even though he prefers to murder his victims with knives, he is more than willing to use any weapon when placed in a desperate situation. He is an extremely stealthy and mischievous individual, able to break into victims' houses almost always without getting himself caught in the act.

[(§¥§)]

[urisk-factor]

FUCK IT JOHNNY TOPSIDE/SUBJECT DELTA HEADCANONS!

He's the middle child of three. He has an older brother and a younger sister.

He's half Greek half Scottish.

His mother is this tiny little Greek lady who would change the world for her family. She always wore trousers and these big fuck you boots and whenever Delta got in trouble at school she would come storming through. The school staff feared her.

His father was a six foot five Scottish guy from Glasgow. He worked very hard to make sure his family had a roof over their heads and food to eat. When he was home, he forced himself into a sort of house husband role.

Delta was such a mummy's boy. His sister was a daddy's girl and his brother was split equally between them.

That doesn't mean Delta didn't love his dad, who's name was Jonathan. Jonathan taught him how to just flick a bottle cap off a bottle in one go with his fingers. Delta later taught that to Eleanor.

Pre-Delta, he was really tall and lanky, getting his height from his Dad's side. His sister was built almost the same, but his brother is really short, a manlet if you will, and Delta and their sister never let him forget.

His brother and sister had more traditionally Scottish names, and he had a more Greek name. He can't remember it, other than it might start with an S.

They have a Mc surname, but again Delta can't remember what it is past that.

His Mum had the worst potty mouth. His Dad desperately tried to get her to not swear around the kids, but Delta very quickly picked up her language and was unable to drop it. The only reason Eleanor isn't as bad is because after he becomes Delta, while he kinda can speak, it's deep and rumbly and freaky and it kinda strains him so he just doesn't talk, and thus doesn't swear.

The only exception was when some splicers were shoving Eleanor around and talking about hurting her after she ran ahead and he broke through the wall like the cool aid man and bellowed "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MY DAMN DAUGHTER YOU FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT"

Eleanor went home that day and asked Lamb what "damn" "fucking" and "shit" means. Lamb was not happy.

He can take most of the suit off, but his legs are genuinely fused to it. He can pull it down to his waist before it won't go farther, and roll the trouser legs up to just below his knees. He can take his boots, gloves, sleeves, top half, and helmet off (though provided he removes the tanks, which he can't do on his own)

Unbeknownst to his Mum, he and his siblings have been having sips of alcohol since they were little. Between that, being a really big guy anyways, and everything he went through to become a big daddy, he can outdrink anyone and everyone. It would take like a week straight of almost nonstop drinking to get him drunk.

He decidedly has not given Eleanor any sips of his drinks on the very rare occasion he has any. He was explicitly told by many people that she's not allowed any, after someone figured out that Johnny Topside had a big of a scottish accent slip on occasionally.

He's so autistic. He loves the sea, everything about the sea, especially the creatures. When he first arrived in Rapture he once spent like five hours staring out a window and talking about the sea animals he could see.

He used to surf, and taught his sister to surf. She later taught Eleanor to surf, using the same board that Delta used to use.

He doesn't actually need to eat/drink or sleep. He still likes to drink, it feels nice on his throat. He only eats if it'll bring nostalgia, and he only sleeps when he feels safe to do so, which is almost never.

He likes to try keep his hair a little longer, because when he was a kid he didn't like anyone other that his Mum touching his hair. She didn't have the heart to keep it too short, but to make up for like school rules she would tie it back or braid it so it wasn't actually touching his shoulders.

He once took off his helmet around Eleanor for a rest, and she started braiding his hair, like how he would sometimes do for her. If he still could cry, he would've been openly sobbing.

He's a hugger :)

Delta was technically a nickname he's always had, mostly because a lot of teachers he had refused to use his actual name because it's "foreign" (he and his siblings were raised in America), and refusing to just give up his heritage, he just chose a random letter and said hey use this or don't address me at all. Unfortunately he was a bit of a prankster so they couldn't just not adress him, so Delta stuck until well into adulthood

He met his sister's future husband in college, and accidentally introduced them. He lived to regret it.

By the time his sister married her husband, their father had passed away. Their brother walked her down the aisle, and Delta had to give a speech in place for the father of the bride speech

He was also a maid of honour. He and his brother both wore kilts

His sister is forever grateful that he managed to keep his silliness under control for most of the day.

The only time it was let out that night was because his sister's PILs were being obnoxious and her husband only invited them to save face. They went up to him and said "please, get them out of here by any legal means possible"

Delta then woke up in the fountain outside the venue the next morning.

In the events of a very good ending au where delta fully survives the trip to the surface, he manages to reconnect with his mother and siblings. His siblings have children and he's delighted to be an Uncle. He's sorta like Grunkle Stan to them.

Eleanor is their cool older cousin, she dares them to commit minor crimes.

Delta's mother fully fucking knows that Eleanor is her granddaughter the moment she lays eyes on her. Delta doesn't even have to say anything and she's immediately cooing over Eleanor all like "are you eating enough dear?"

Eleanor is lowkey Delta's mother's favourite grandchild.

Delta has a step dad at this time and he just does not trust that guy at all.

Delta had the delta symbol tattooed on his hands long before arriving in Rapture, it was just a coincidence that he became Subject Delta.

A lot of the alpha series big daddies were meant to live for a really long time, but they keep getting killed before they can get to that point.

The little sisters that grow up and survive being big sisters and whatnot are also meant to live really long, including Eleanor, but she actually does get to live her time.

He and his siblings can speak greek and scots too, but are basically devastated they can't speak Gàidhlig

He has a joking hatred for ginger people (his brother (and technically father but the joke only starts after he passes))

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

DJ-Kicks by Kruder & Dorfmeister 1996 Downtempo / Trip Hop / Drum n Bass

Although they'd been primarily regarded as a talented remix and production duo, in 1996, Austrians Peter Kruder and Richard Dorfmeister revealed to the world that what they may have actually been even better at doing, all along, was making DJ mixes. That year, they put out a pair of terrific ones: a drum n bass journey called Conversions, and their super chilly magnum opus for German electronic label !K7's popular DJ-Kicks series. And that DJ-Kicks one, in particular, happens to hold a mythical status of its own, as it's been rated by many as the single-greatest DJ mix that's ever been made. Plus, like Conversions, DJ-Kicks had drum n bass on it too, but K&D also blended that dnb with blissful bouts of dub-infused downtempo and trip hop as well 😌.

But what I ended up listening to today wasn't actually that mix, exactly; instead, it was the *double-12-inch edition* of K&D's DJ-Kicks, which collected full-length, unmixed versions of seven of the songs that appeared on the mixed CD edition.

So, if you love loungey chillout music and/or spacious and atmospheric dnb tunes, not only is the DJ mix essential listening for you, but so are all of these uninterrupted versions of some of that mix's own tracks too. Glasgow's Paul Hunter kicks things off with a terrific head-nodder in "Living Free," which is then followed by UK artist Omni Trio's "Trippin' on Broken Beats," a sweet, shuffling dnb-type of groove that incorporates one of my favorite synthesizer sounds of all time: the Korg M1 Organ preset 02, which was famously featured in a bunch of club classics, like Crystal Waters' "Gypsy Woman." And after that, Germany's Hardfloor, the master manipulators of the Roland TB-303—the bass synthesizer responsible for producing the famous acid squelch sound that kickstarted the whole acid house revolution—grace us with a trip-hoppy collage of different electronic sounds called "Dubdope," which sees them far removed from the hard trance and techno that had made them such dance legends in the first place 😊.

Plus, the kings of the globally-quilted chillout sound, Washington, DC's Thievery Corporation, swing by at the end to deliver the ultra-satisfying "Shaolin Satellite" too.

So, since there isn't a single skip-worthy track on K&D's DJ-Kicks mix, it only makes sense that there wouldn't be one on its corresponding double-12-inch version either. As expected, a terrific, little collection of very well-crafted relaxational vibes here.

Highlights:

Small World - "Living Free (Soundtrack mix)" Omni Trio - "Trippin' on Broken Beats" Hardfloor - "Dubdope" JMJ & Flytronix - "In Too Deep" Shantel - "Bass and Several Cars" Tango - "Spellbound" Thievery Corporation - "Shaolin Satellite"

[guillotinna]

Ghostsoap angst besties. Enjoy 🫶

—————————————————

Everyone but ghost seems to realize that he and soap are it for each other. If you ask Soap, of course ghost is his person, he needs him like he needs air, his silhouette is the light at the end of the tunnel. There is not a single doubt in his mind, in fact he's confused at what the alternative could be. Ghost on the other hand sees things differently. It's not that he expects to find someone other than Johnny, hell, he didn't even think he'd find Johnny it's just that there's no way he's the person meant for soap. Someone as broken, ruined, wrong as him could never be the other half to a blinding light like Soap. Of course, he wants to be that person for his Johnny but deep down he knows. Knows he's too damaged, too monstrous to be the one Johnny grows old with. The one he sits with on a creaky porch in Glasgow with. The one he adopts a retired combat German Shepard with. No, as much as he'd love to be, that's not him. And this is by no means a testimate to the lack of love and attention he receives from the Scottsman, no this is a testimate to how God damn fucked in the head he is. Simon has never had a good thing last so why start now. He's too much of a coward to end things himself because lord knows that truly, with almost every fiber of his being, he does not want to. He wants to stay selfish forever and keep Johnny in the hole that takes up about 99% of his soul. He wants the dog and the house in scottland but he knows it's not his to have. That other 1% is screaming at him to quit wasting soap's time, quit ruining his chances of finding better. Maybe on an especially bad day, that 1% will win and he'll tell soap his most twusted, incorrect thoughts about their relationship. Maybe that will be the end. Of Simon, of them, who knows? Not Ghost. All he knows is after everything he's done in his pathetic, disgusting life, there is no way any God would grace him with John Mactavish without a price to pay. Maybe he is that price