#I’ve never seen a band rouse a crowd so completely

[thavron]

Holy shit the Goo Goo Dolls are fucking sublime live.

[moonlights-inkwell]

I’m Weak, My Love (And I am Wanting)

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,525

Summary: After a night of drinking, you dance with a stranger. Jaskier is jealous. Jealous enough to do something extreme

A/N: Two Fics in one day? Who is she? I have no idea.

This fic is dumb and super unbeta’d but oh well, sorry for any bad writing and junk. I’ve mentioned Jaskier being jealous before and wanted to write something to go with it.

Title from Her Sweet Kiss.

Warnings: Public Sex, slight degradation, Reader is drunk, Jaskier is insecure. 

You feel the eyes on you before you even really understand what they are, hairs on the back of your neck standing up on end. It’s distracting as all hell.

“Fuck!”  

The word comes out loud and slurred as you stumble over your own feet mid-dance. You’re drunk, or if not drunk then tipsy enough to know that you soon will be- the feeling is more than welcome. Working, fighting as you have been, it leaves little time these sorts of festivities, the kind that reminds you of home. The rush from guzzling down tankard after tankard of sickly-sweet apple cider is unrivalled in its ability to make you feel girlish and giddy. And so, you’re dancing. Or were, as it may be, before you tripped. 

Your compatriots don’t join you, but you rather expected that before abandoning the table. Geralt seldom allows himself to indulge in such luxuries- like smiling, or engaging in pleasantries, so you assume that dancing is far beyond his capabilities. He doesn’t even tap his foot when Jaskier performs catchy, often bawdy songs, in his honour, so this music, pretty but lacking in lyric or any type of familiarity is unlikely to rouse him to his feet. Besides, crowds are hardly something the White-haired man enjoys, standing out like a sore thumb amidst all of the mundane people of the village you’re staying in.  

Jaskier, however, Jaskier staying at the table is a little odder. The bard adores crowds, feeds off of the energy that a group of people exudes and is able to talk to anyone, a trait you find intriguing and intimidating in equal measure, but he's sat. The tavern has a band of bards, all playing in unison to form something overwhelming and beautiful, so there is no chance for him to perform, to wink and sashay about while strumming his lute and lapping up attention. That had rather taken the wind out of his sails when he realised, souring his mood to a point where he isn’t even trying to dance with you. It had been upsetting at first, how he had essentially ignored you in favour of scowling and fingering the frets of his lute like the strings will make the other musicians disappear.  

Ever since meeting the bard, you’ve thought him beautiful. Not beautiful, beautiful isn’t quite the right word. He's amazing. The kind of person for whom a natural sort of charm radiates from them, who would be attractive from personality alone, even if he wasn’t one of the most attractive men you have ever laid eyes upon. Ever since the two of you began... whatever it is the two of you have been doing, he's done his part to act as if you’re the only person in tge world to him, but right now? He only has eyes for the band. The coin that he could have earned would have been a godsend, but you don’t care about that right now, all you want is to dance with the bard. He's just. Sat there, scowling and sitting instead if dancing with you.  

It’s such a simple thing to bring so much pleasure; dancing, especially when coupled with somewhere to do it, and this tavern certainly feels like an appropriate place for it. It’s heaving, overrun with people you assume must b locals, all laughing and chattering like they haven’t a care in the world. Perhaps they don’t, their only troubles coming in the form of what ale to drink and who they should dance with. You envy them that. Truly, you can’t remember a single one of your concerns from before you packed up and abandoned your life go travel with a wandering Witcher and his Bard. Logically, you know you must have had them, but not a single one is important enough to linger in your mind. Any domestic issue pales in comparison to fighting beasts, arguments about corsets and how near you may go to the woods forgotten in lieu of how best to fell a Wyvern or exactly where to hit any man who means to do you harm. It’s selfish to envy these people their lives when you know that you wouldn’t trade the life you have chosen for all the gold in the world. Mid-stumble, you catch yourself, and stand upright once more, bringing your tankard to your mouth and draining it before moving to place it on a table, only to fall over your feet once more, flinching for fear of impact with the ground. But it never comes, instead a pair of arms wind about your waist and tug you up to the body of one of the boys who had been dancing around you. He’s a pretty thing, a mop of blonde curls hanging about wide green eyes that stare at you like you’re a prize that’s fallen into his lap, and you grin up at him gratefully. It takes less than a second for him to tug you closer still and begin another dance, hand on your waist and the other gripping your hand; it’s nice, nice to feel wanted, even if it’s only for a night, a dance- there are worse ways to spend a night than hanging off the arm of some pretty stranger. Serves as a nice distraction from the bard as well. Well, it would be nice, if not for the feeling that you’re being watched, that has you craning your head to see who it is that is staring. Then, your eyes meet a gaze all too familiar.  

Jaskier.  

His eyes are narrowed into slits, brows knitted together and mouth downturns in a look that you don’t recognise on his face, but know all too well. A scowl. Jaskier doesn’t scowl, that’s a look used by Geralt or yourself, but right now he's scowling at you, glaring daggers into you and gripping the neck of his lute so tightly it looks as if it might break.  

“Something wrong, Pretty Lady?” The blond asks playfully, making you turn your gaze away from the glowering man across the room to meet the eyes looking down at you.  

“Oh. No. No, I just. Thought someone was looking at me.”  

“The man in the red?” He asks, looking straight at Jaskier before chuckling, spinning you about and causing you to fall against his chest once more. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”  

“What?” You ask incredulously, eyebrow raising. It's such a weird thing for him to say about a complete stranger, and you can’t really understand what he means. Jaskier is scowling, yes, but you assume it’s because you’re able to enjoy yourself while he cannot perform.  

“He looks like he might murder me.” The boy tilts his head and leans his head in, mere centimetres from your face in such a way that has you thinking that he might kiss you. “Your husband?”  

His question flusters you, only serving to make your cheeks flush bright red and a nervous laugh to escape your lips. Jaskier? A Husband? The idea of him being wed is so alien, even when applied to you. You spend too many nights with him curled about you, but you aren’t even courting, never mind being anywhere close to marriage.

“No!” You say the word a little too forcefully, and your dancing partner grins. “We're traveling partners, he is not my husband.” You don’t know what you are. You kiss, settle in his arms like it’s where you belong, spend far too many nights with him bucking up into you and swallowing down your moans, but you aren’t courting. He isn’t your gentleman caller. Your lover, yes, your friend, always, but you have no clue how to articulate that to this stranger, and so don't.

“The look on his face has me thinking he might wish to be more than traveling partners, Pretty Lady.” He says teasingly, lips brushing against your own with each word. You are more than that, but the alcohol has you tongue tied. You want to kiss this stranger. Well, that’s not entirely true, you want to be dancing with Jaskier and to drag him down into a kiss, to lean in and close the gaps between your lips, but you'll settle for trying to forget the man behind you who cares far more about music than spending time with you. He seems to have the same thought as you seeing as he kisses you suddenly.  

Its soft, sweet, but... felt like nothing. It’s just skin on skin, no different from how his hand on yours feels, and you can’t help but feel disappointed. You’ve only ever kissed one man before, never felt a need or want to either, only ever really wanted a bard who is too tied up in himself currently to kiss you, but every kiss with Jaskier is a world stilling experience, the sort people write songs and poetry about and this feels like absolutely nothing at all. No sudden surge of desire, no need to fling your arms about him, no want for anything at all.  It’s deeply disappointing to say the least; like something inside of you is broken, or at least dampened by the alcohol raging through your system. The man kissing you, however, seems to feel something if the quiet moan he lets out is anything to go by, and pulls you closer, but you remain still. You can’t bring yourself to kiss him back, so instead just stand there stock still. Well, stood stock still until you feel a hand firmly grasp your wrist and tug. Hard. The pull sends you stumbling blindly backward, barely able to realise what is going on when you see Jaskier pushing the blond man backwards.  

“Get your bloody hands off of her!” He says, words dripping with poison, audible above the music. The people dancing around you stop their movements and stare at what is going on, at the Bard standing in front of you like a guard dog.  

Your dancing partner opens his mouth to argue while surging toward Jaskier who clenches his fists into balls, but stops when you quickly say Jaskier's name. This is the closest you have ever seen him to a fight, watching hands that daily cradle a lute clenched to punch someone is so unnatural.

It’s embarrassing, to say the least, to be gawked at by such strangers and turned into a spectacle, and so you reach out to the bard, hand brushing against his back.

“Jask-” You begin, and he turns to you quickly, eyes initially full of anger, but softening slightly when they meet your own; his hand flies out once more and grabs your arm, painfully tight.  

“Come on, Little Miss,” He says coldly, walking towards the door to the pub and dragging you along behind him. You drag along behind him, and hear the music start up once more, making you scowl at the prospect of missing out on dancing. There goes the chance at nostalgic bliss you had been enjoying. You’re in the street before you really know what is going on, and Jaskier curses under his breath into the darkness of the evening.  

“Shit. Where is the fucking inn...?” He mutters, craning his head about to try and get his barings once more. This isn’t where you recall entering, and assume that you must have left through a side entrance, you’re in some side alley, not the main street. The iron grip on your arm is growing painful and you try to pull it free, Jaskier's grip doesn’t falter. The air is uncomfortably cold, especially against your warm cheeks, and standing like this is doing little to warm you.  

He’s trying to work out where you go from here, and you’re wondering the exact same thing; just not about how to get back to the inn. He’s gripping you like he wants to bruise you, wants to leave his mark on you and you don’t know what there is you can say to make his jaw unclench or his hands soften. There are no words. Though you aren’t courting, it’s been quite implicit between the two of you that whatever it is you have, it’s exclusive; he and you are not to be... toying about with other people. You don’t flirt with men hoping for free drinks or cheaper rooms anymore, Jaskier doesn’t bed or even flirt with other women, and between the two of you? You fell at the first hurdle, he has remained loyal to whatever this is, and you let some stranger kiss you. Famous flirt and serial seducer, Jaskier, has not tried to romance anyone but you but with a little ale in you and the high of dancing rushing through you, you let a stranger kiss you; not just kiss you, but kiss you in front of Jaskier. There’s nothing you can say that will change that.  

“I’m weak, my love, and I am Wanting.” The lyrics come from your mouth unconsciously. You don’t sing, it’s not something that comes readily to you, but with the ale and discomfort around you, it’s a that you can think to do. Singing is Jaskier's skill, and while drunk you can hardly carry a tune, but you simply need to fill the silence and a song will do. His song too. It feels like an insult, but he turns to you with a smile- all teeth and gums. Like a wolf, a beast, and it’s exciting. Jaskier doesn’t look like a beast, he’s all sweetness and light but given what he’s seen, you suppose it makes sense. You blink slowly at him, and feel him tug you toward him once more, body making contact with his chest and driving all of the air from your lungs.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” You ask, a little more harshly than you expected it to come out. “I was having a good time-”  

“A good time? Is that what you call letting a little toad like him near you?” He seethes, towering over you in such a way as to make sure you must look up at him. You feel like a child being chided, not someone talking to a man who had until this night been seen as your equal.  

“We were only dancing, Jaskier. I fail to see how he was taking advantage of me by dancing. You and Geralt were hardly going to stop your brooding and be my partner.” You try to argue, but your words come out stilted and unnatural. Arguing with him isn’t natural: Geralt you can argue with until blue in the face, everything said is forgotten within an hour or so, but Jaskier? He remembers everything, pulls it out at a second’s notice and is a wordsmith. He knows how to build up or tear someone down with nothing more than his words, and well at that. Your argument is childish and nonsensical too- acting as if you were only dancing is an obvious lie. You know what happened, he knows what happened. You cannot deny what he's seen with his own eyes and to try is to insult his intelligence.  

He pushes you, and the rough brick of the inn presses into your back, rough and painful enough to warrant a noise of complaint, which dies on your tongue when Jaskier's hands bracket you in place. You let out a gasp, from the sharp pain of the bricks and the fact that he's pushed you and is so near. With him so close, you can smell ale on his breath that you hadn’t seen him drink. Is that your breath? The proximity of your lover so close combined with the alcohol has your head spinning in a way that makes you worry you might just sink to your knees. He looks beautiful. He always does, but somehow, now with chestnut locks falling into his eyes and glaring at you in a manner that is just on the right side of feral, he has your knees shaking. You've never been attracted to dangerous men, but in this moment, with him having all but punched a man over you, you understand how so many women can fall over themselves for men like Geralt.  

“You weren’t just dancing, were you, Little Miss?” He growls, leaning in until his face is but a centimetre away from your own. “You let him kiss you.”  

“He kissed me.” You attempt to correct him before realising you've basically said the exact same thing he did. Jaskier growls at that, and slams his mouth into yours. It hurts a little, his kiss pushing your head back into the hard wall, mouth working harshly against your own and tongue prying its way into your mouth, world’s away from his usual way of kissing- all sweetness and light replaced by something darker. Almost possessive. You try to move your hands up to grip the satin front of his doublet only to have them pinned to the wall at either side of your chest. His lips leave your own to move down to the column of your throat, not quite kissing but more nipping at the skin.  

“You let him kiss you.” He says darkly against the skin, warm breath fanning against cold skin to make you shiver.  

“I didn’t kiss him-"

“You didn’t stop him either.” The words are almost a snarl, and your heart all but stills in your chest.  

“I didn’t know how! And I didn’t kiss him back, Jaskier, we both know I wouldn't...”  

“I don’t believe in sharing.” Funny statement. He’s made a name for himself by bedding married women, but the woman he isn’t courting being kissed is somehow a punishable offence? What’s the difference, you ask yourself, while his lips ghost across your neck, how is some man kissing you any different from what he used to do? Teeth graze sensitive skin and you bite back a moan when a thought enters your mind. Those women weren’t his. They were another man's wife, not someone he shares a bed with, spends his days beside. He hasn’t ever needed to concern himself with the aftermath of adultery, save for running from nobles- never been jealous of who looks at a woman that he cares for.

At once, everything falls into place. All night makes so much more sense, how he had tried to keep a grip on your hand as you slipped from his grasp to the bar, never to return as you joined the fold to dance, the constant watching, the scowling at your dancing partner. No sign of his usual animated chatter, no annoying Geralt, just watching. Unending watching. He wasn’t angry about the other musicians. No, no, it was something completely different all together.  

“Are. Are you jealous?” You stammer out which only makes the Bard growl and all but bite your neck, sucking on the skin in such a way that has you certain that there will be a bruise there in the morning. A strange concept indeed. Jaskier is all lover and no fighter, so the thought of him bruising your skin even through kisses is something else.  

“Am I jealous of some ugly prick?” He raises an eyebrow and slowly raises to his full height once more, his knee slotting between your thighs and grinding oh so slowly against your sex. “No. What I am, is fucking angry. That some bastard is touching My Little Miss, that you would let him-"  

“Y-Yours?” You stammer out as the meat oh his thigh rubs against your clitoris.  

“I spend my days singing to you.” He nips at your neck. “My evenings holding you.” He laps at the bite with the flat of his tongue. “My nights fucking you.” His hands release your wrists, one moving up to grope your chest while the other moves down to tug your skirts up past your waist and slides into your undergarments to press the tips of his fingers to your sensitive pearl, letting out a ghost of a laugh upon feeling your fluids covering his digits. “I kiss you; I sleep with you, I live and breathe you and use my mouth on you until you can't even breathe. I think that rather makes you mine.”  

He says it in a manner that is so matter of fact that it makes your head spin. His. Logically, you know you should be angry at him for being possessive- you aren’t his partner, not his wife, not anything more than a bed partner- but the way he says it has you dripping, walls clenching around nothing at all while his leg grinds against your cunt. His. It leaves no room for argument or discussion, just a claim of ownership that can’t be disputed, not that you would if your traitorous mouth would allow you to form words. You like that, as much as you know you shouldn’t. It makes you sound like a pet or some kept whore, and the affectation in his voice only serves to remind you that he must be some rich cunt and you should slap him for implying he could ever own you, but really, all you want is for him to breach you with his calloused fingers, make your thighs quake. To be owned by him, at least right now, sounds perfect- to be filled with him until you know nothing but his name and how his cock feels within you.  

“You're soaking.” He mutters, dragging his nose against your skin. “Is this for me? Or that prick?” He sounds so smug, but there's an undercurrent of anger running under his playful tone.  

“Please... Please.” You whine out, biting your bottom lip so hard you taste blood. He chuckles, fingers deftly circling your clit without ever moving further.

“Please what, Little Miss?” He asks, his smile all teeth. “Please...? Please stop touching you? Please let you go and be touched by that disgusting little-"  

“Finger me.” You cut him off earnestly, back arching off of the wall and pressing your chest into his. Melitele, it’s sad how wanton you’re acting, begging to be touched in a place where anyone could walk past the two of you. Quiet is needed, discretion to keep prying eyes away, but you don’t care who hears you as long as he stops playing these games and does what you both want him to do.  

“Me or-"  

“Gods above Jaskier, please. Please, Jaskier.”  

He smirks at that, and you force yourself forward to slam your mouth against his. The vibration against your lips lets you know he has more to say; always has more to say, is never silent. Normally, his voice is something you revel in; how it manages to make even the most mundane thing sound melodic, but if kissing him will keep him from talking more about the man inside then you can deal with him not speaking. Thankfully, though, he ceases his circling to instead push what feels like two fingers into you and your eyes water at the sudden movement. It’s not the first time he’s done this but it is the first time he’s done it with such intensity, thrusting his fingers with such force you're almost afraid it might bruise your cunt, the worry is short lived when the pleasure of it hits you all at once. He’s good with his hands, you’re reminded when you notice the neck of his lute bobbing with each movement of his arm. Musicians’ fingers, calloused from the fruits of his art and not labour, play you like he plays his lute and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from making a sound, just to spite him. He loves it when you make noise, said once that it makes him sure that he's actually pleasing you, and it’s normally a sign that you two can afford the privacy to be so- there is no privacy here, in an alley outside of a busy tavern where one loud moan could alert anyone of what the two of you were doing. It’s embarrassing how much the proximity makes you want to moan, and almost definitely why he's doing this here. Wants everyone inside, but mostly the blond man, to know how little it takes for you to fall apart for him. That travelling partner definitely isn’t the right term for what he is to you, even if you don’t know what the right words to describe him are.  

“Come now, Little Miss.” He coos quietly, fingers on the hand not currently working you into a stupor tracing the visible edges of your teeth. “Sing for me.” His face shifts to your neck and presses a soft kiss to it, before nipping at it, nipping turning to biting and sucking as soon as it had started. His fingers gather more momentum when a third breeches into you and then crooks into a spot that has you seeing stars. A noise that verges on a scream, masked by a sudden burst of loud music and cheering within the pub, escapes you which makes Jaskier grin and peck your lips before retracting his fingers all together.  

“Jaskier-" You hiss, eyes narrowed to slits, but stop when he drags your hand to his trousers and places it on top of his cock. The dark had done enough to conceal it from you, but with it beneath your hand you can feel it, hard and throbbing beneath the fancy fabric. It’s good to know that, jealousy aside, he isn’t angry enough to not want you. Dark lashes brush against his cheekbones and his head slumps to the wall beside your head as soon as you touch him, letting out a wanton little moan. “Oh Jask.” Your voice turns tender and your grip on his member tightens as much as it can through his pants and you work it up and down the shaft, feeling how it twitches with every movement of your wrist. The first time this had ever happened, both of you drunk on ale that tasted like piss and hidden away in some cupboard in an inn, he had chuckled at how gentle your touch had been, going so far as to grab your wrist to guide your movements into something more pleasurable: but now he chokes out a moan of something that sounds like your name, hips stuttering in staccato thrusts to chase your hand. You drop your grip of him after a pump or two more, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to the exposed underside of his jaw. It’s little by means of an apology, but you see his lips turn up in a smile while he heaves out a sigh, hands sliding down to his trousers and unlacing them at a speed that reminds you of his strumming.  

“Part your legs.” It’s spoken like a request, but you know it’s a demand and even if it wasn't, there was no way you could deny him. With an awkward sort of shuffle, you push your undergarments down to step out of them best that you can before leaning back against the wall and letting your legs part. The skirts still cover you, but you feel so exposed like this. In the near pitch, you can hardly make out anything save for how his arms move to shove his trousers down. Darkness hides too much, you think, as you can’t even make out how his member even looks in this light, but Melitele you feel it against your thigh when he steps closer to you. A cold hand slides your skirt up once more and Jaskier steps between your legs, holding onto your thigh and guiding it onto his hip.  

“Can I-"

“Fuck me, Jaskier, or I shall scream.”  

The moan that escapes your lips is louder than you would like, but he chuckles and it’s enough to make your heart swell: lips landing on your and moving gently against them as he thrusts into you. He's big, big enough to make your cunt feel full to bursting point each time he enters you, and you can’t help but make noises when he does.  

“There we go, Darling.” He murmurs against your mouth, making you wonder how he can string together a coherent sentence in moments like this. “Gods, you’re so tight.”  

Thrusts grow faster and with each movement your moans grow louder even against his lips, you can feel them curl around yours. He tugs back from you after a little while and rests his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily.  

“You’re so good to me, Little Miss.” He breathes, grip turning to iron on your thigh. “You’re... perfect. My Little Miss.” He speaks so much that his words feel so much more natural than silence, more natural than anything in the world; bird songs, trickling streams, Jaskier’s words. “You’re beautiful, and he wants you... everyone wants you. I can’t lose you...”

“...You know I want you, don’t you?” You ask, voice cracking. The noise that he makes is somewhere between a moan and a sob, breathing shakily against the skin of your throat. “I can't imagine being without you, Dandelion. You... You have no need to be jealous of some stranger who tries to kiss me.” He whimpers, hips stuttering. He's close, far closer than you, but in this moment, you don't care at all. This isn’t about you. This is about him, and letting him know how much you care. Care in such a way that words alone will never be able to express.  

“You want me now.” He sighs, thrusts slowing and hand moving to rub your clit once more. “I know that. But you'll change your mind, Little Miss. Everyone does. I ought to savour the time we have...” He thrusts hard at the word savour, and you see white as his cock head hits that spot deep within that makes you weak. “But I know you’ll soon change your mind.”  

Oh. That, that was not what you anticipated at all- you had expected some sort of talk about how he wants you too, but this self-depreciation is new. Jaskier is always so confident and this is alien to you. There isn’t a time you know when he isn’t self-aggrandizing, preening and strutting like some fancy song bird, all too aware of how wonderful he is.  

“I'll always want you.” You whisper and his head rises from the wall once more and instead rests his forehead against yours. “You. Just you. Wonderful, amazing you.” You mean it too. He'll probably believe it to be drunken ramblings come morning, but you mean every word. You love him, love him, love him.  

You love him. Have for far too long, really, far longer than is right to go without saying. It’s impossible not to love him, he’s a breath of fresh air, a beacon of light in a doublet, a lullaby you didn’t know you had forgotten, nostalgia for a life you've never known before. Jaskier. Wonderful, foolish Jaskier, who sings away each day and talks to you like he cannot imagine speaking to another soul, and does his best to stitch up your wounds while chiding you about how you worry him so. Jaskier, who has carried you on his back when he thinks you're limping behind, and sleeps with his arms wound around you and head burrowed between your shoulder blades. You love Jaskier. The thought overwhelms you, and you have to bite back the words to keep them from coming out. You seek his lips out once more, kissing him chastely.  

“I'll always want you too, Little Miss.” He admits, he thrusts hard into that spot and presses on your clit and your vision blurs as you moan so loudly your voice cracks, pleasure overtaking you and ensuring you can’t feel anything but pleasure and the rush of his seed flooding into you.  

“I mean it, you know.” You say when the world settles once more, Jaskier pulling himself free of you and tucking himself back into his trousers. “About wanting you, I mean.” I mean it. I shall want you till the day I die, till each star burns out and the nights no longer follow the day, till spring doesn’t come. I want every part, every facet and secret, every regret and mistake and treasured memory- and to make a million more. I want to show you each scar and hear every song. I love you. I have never loved anyone as I love you, I will never again love as I have loved you. You make a poet out of me, steal my senses, my very soul; and I want you to keep them until the day you are no longer mine to keep, and then keep them a thousand days beyond so I cannot feel your absence. I love you. I want you.

“You mean it now, Little Miss.” He says simply, hand taking yours. “Now is enough.” He continues and squeezes your hand.  

Now is enough, you think, but forever is all you want.  

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Dimension Jumping pt. 1

The Fellowship of the Ring x Reader

But a lot of the stories are about the reader falling into Middle Earth…. what about the other way around? If you wanted to do all the characters, you could do a point after they left Rivendell, before they split up?

Like for example, after Gandalf ‘dies’, and it could be something sweet and cute or whatnot where the reader helps them grieve a bit, give them a bit of a rest before continuing on their journey?

—

Weekends have always been your favorite time of the week. 

No responsibilities, sleeping in, more time, freedom, the list goes on and on. 

Your weekends are usually spent idly doing things you enjoy, like sleeping, and lot’s of stress free activities. 

Not this weekend though, for when you got home after a grocery run, you were met with quite the surprise. 

A total of 8… people? lay strewn about in your living room seemingly unconscious. They are dressed in odd clothes, holding medieval looking weapons, and they look rather raggedy and dirty. Four of them are extremely small, and if it weren’t for their older looking faces, you would’ve thought them to be children. There’s also a handsome blond with pointy ears, a short red headed, bearded… man, and two semi-regular looking tall dudes.

Your groceries fall from your arms and land on your carpeted floor, but you barely pay that any mind since you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the pile of people in the middle of your damn living room.

Your floofy white dog Penny is sniffing around them, but she doesn’t seem to be alarmed nor agitated by their presence, so that’s good at least. She’s an excellent judge of character after all. Eventually she settles down next to the tall guy with dark brown hair, and though you don’t like that she’s next to these strangers, you allow it.

The sound of your things falling to the ground seems to rouse them, and you watch as the man wearing dark clothing with dark hair opens his eyes and groans quietly. At first his eyes scan around the room, then they fall upon you. 

He sits up slowly, still eyeing you as he glances down at his small child-looking friends. A look of relief passes his expression before he looks at you once more, saying nothing while the rest of his merry band of crazies begin to sit up.

This is supposed to be your fucking day off, and this shit happens? A bunch of renaissance weirdos laying in your house, making your clean carpet dirty. 

“You know what, no.” You state loudly, successfully startling the dark haired man, “This is my weekend off, and I am not dealing with this. Whatever this is." 

You turn on your heel and begin picking up your groceries, though you remain vigilant incase one of them intends to try something. 

Once you’ve gathered all your discarded things you stand again and look behind you, seeing that most of them are on their feet and looking at you and your home as if you’re some alien in a structure unknown to them. You quickly look forward again and go to your kitchen, placing everything on your counters while you try to decide how the hell you’re going to deal with this. 

You look over your counter at the still staring people and ask slowly, "Does… anyone want a snack?”

Two of the small blonde men perk up when you say ‘snack’, so you take that as a yes and begin preparing apples, celery, and peanut butter for everyone to eat. 

By the time you’re done cutting up the apples you’ve only got two left, but you just sigh and bring out a tray with the snack and place it on the coffee table. 

The two blond… boys? run over to it immediately, but are halted by a sharp “No.” from the brown-haired guy. 

Said brown-haired guy is looking at you distrustfully, and you feel your blood begin to boil with his distrust (even though HE is in YOU home). 

“Okay dude, I get you don’t know me or whatever but you guys literally broke into my house, so if anyone is supposed to be cautious here it’s me. M. E. Me. I’m offering your… children…? Adult babies? Boys? Food, and damnit if they want it then they’re gonna eat it.” Your little outburst gets you several shocked looks, but you’re so FUCKING tired, you’ve just got no energy to deal with this. 

“We 'broke into your house’?” He repeats slowly, “I have no recollection of our relocation to your… house, and I’ve never seen someone of your caliber, nor a place so… odd, before. So forgive me if I am skeptical of our suspiciously willing host.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and it successfully ruffles your self control. 

“Now you listen here Mr. Broody, I’m not about to get sass in my own home. By god if Penny didn’t seem to love you so much I would vaporize you where you stand!” Big talk for such a small person, yes, but you stand by your statement. 

Only you don’t get the reaction you were expecting, because suddenly everyone looks horrified. 

“You can do that?” One of the small blond boys(?) gasps, scooting closer to his look-alike. 

The guy you were mouthing off to grabs the hilt of his -is that a fucking sword?!- weapon and steps in front of the small guys. The tall blond dude, other actual human, and short ginger haired man do the same, and suddenly you feel a lot less satisfied. 

“Woah there fellas, It’s a figure of speech!” You say quickly, raising your hands in a surrender motion. 

Penny senses your sudden distress, so she bounds over to you and presses her nose against your knee in a way meant to gather your attention. You glance down at her and visibly relax before looking back up at the still tense men in front of you. 

“Tough crowd…” You reach down slowly and pat Penny’s head, watching as their eyes follow your movements. “Okay, look. I’m not going to like, poison you or whatever you’re afraid of. How about we start with introductions, hm?" 

The same guy from before nods his head slowly (it seems he’s the leader here) and tells you a little hesitantly, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. A Ranger, also known as Strider by most." 

What in the ever loving hell did he just say?

You can’t even stop the laughter from bellowing out of you, because this is just so god damn ridiculous and completely baffling. You grasp your stomach and double over with laughter while everyone else just watches silently and confusedly.

Eventually your laughter begins to subside when your sides start to hurt, so you stand up a bit straighter and wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, "Ahaha, ah… wow that’s good. But really though, I’m not looking for stage names bud, I’m being serious here.”

This 'Aragorn’ doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you do. “Stage names? No, I believe you are misunderstanding.”

The smile on your face drops and you suddenly don’t find it as funny either. “So… your name is actually Aragorn then?” Well, maybe not all of them have weird names, “Right, then what about the rest of you?" 

The other guy who looks like an actual human speaks up next, "I am Boromir, son of Denethor and Captain of Gondor.” Oh heck. 

Blondie comes up next, “I am Legolas from the woodland realm.”

Shortie #1, “Gimli Son of Gloin." 

The small dark haired man child comes forward, "I am Frodo Baggins, and these are my friends Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck." 

"What the-” you pause and cover Penny’s ears, “Fuck is all of this?" 

It seems your actions amuse the taller dudes because their stand-offish demeanors diminish as they seem to deem you harmless (I mean who covers their dogs ears when cursing? Clearly you’re pathetic).

"I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you.” Mr. Aragorn states. 

“Well, start with where you come from, maybe?”

They all share a look before 'Legolas’ states, “We come from Middle Earth and have just traveled through the Mines of Moria." 

You literally don’t know what any of that means.

"Well, alright. Right now, I can tell you that you’re on Regular Earth and in my living room.” You don’t mean to be so sarcastic, but both the functional and rational parts of your brain are failing you big time, “Do you know how you got here?" 

You get 8 respective no’s, and while you expected that, it’s no less frustrating. "Shoulda seen that one coming, I guess." 

The Gimli character looks you up and down and asks in his gruff voice, "And what about you, you’ve not told us who you are." 

"Oh, right, my bad. I’m Y/N, and this cutie,” you reach down and pick up Penny’s front paws from the ground and wave them at the group, “Is Penny. She is the softest, sweetest, and cutest doggo you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. Disrespect her and there will be consequences." 

You stand back up and pat Penny’s head, watching as they all nod their understanding and appear rather nervous suddenly.

"That was also a joke.”

Most of them relax.

You tap your foot a few times and seem to think over your options, looking away from them and out the window. 

Clearly there is something very wrong going on here, so you can’t just throw them out, but at the same time you don’t have enough energy to deal with this today. And there’s the very real possibility that they could be psychos. But there’s also the fact that they seem to be a little worse for wear, some of them have puffy eyes, and is that blood?  Their disheveled and tired appearances tug at your heart strings, and you find yourself wanting to help them. 

“Okay, against my better judgement I have decided that I’m going to welcome the lot of you into my house until we can figure out what the hell is going on here.” This seems to surprise Aragorn and his two tall besties. “I don’t know why… but something is telling me that I should help you out, so I guess that’s what I’m going to do.”

Two of the small blond ones smile brightly, but you haven’t finished yet. 

“But!” Their smiles drop and everyone seems rather serious again, “If any of you try anything funny or start any trouble, I will kick all of you out. I don’t know any of you, and you all have weapons. So if I’m gonna let you stay then you’re going to have to behave.”

“Miss Y/N, you do not have to-” Aragorn begins, but you put up your hand and shake your head. 

“It’s fine. Just please don’t break anything, and if Penny wants head pats you had better give them to her." 

It seems your rules are fair enough, because you get 8 more head nods.

The two small people attack the snack you made finally, and you find that you can’t help but to laugh a bit. 

A thought then strikes you, "Oh!" 

Everything pauses and every looks at you again, more alert, but you just roll your eyes at how on edge they are.

"I was just going to say that I have two bathrooms is anyone wants to wash up.”

[jojoreadwhat]

yeah, maybe that could be our thing; What do ya think? / honey & smoke - m.h. x OFC story

Warning: Sexual Content.

Lucy's POV.

I turned down and around the wall of North wing. The cafe's seating filled with the many students cramming in studying and overdosing on coffee. Which I seen myself doing in the comforts of my room later on.

I scanned the room till I seen that boy running through my mind. His light blue denim jacket lounging on the back of the wingback. His hair bunched into a bun with his thin rimmed grandpa glasses resting on brim of his. Watching him sigh when his black and white striped shirt roused from his chest.

Sitting at the window where I would find myself glancing out of with his lips beginning to latch onto the rim of his coffee. His black holy knee crossed over the other, finally looking back into the direction where I was walking towards him. Sharing the same smile at sight and maybe the butterflies that fluttered under my sweater.

"Hey there" He smiled, straightening up his posture as I sat down. My bag making a big thud to the blue carpet we stood on.

I smiled shyly, then. "Sorry. Professor Helm caught me in the hall." Bringing out the book for our class together. His warm chuckle lighting up the tardiness before setting down a paper cup.

"Quite alright." He reassured, then. "Didn't want it to get cold." I blew a soft kiss before my lips met the warm liquid sleep. Looking down at my lap as I turned the page, as my other hand kept warm. Looking up at Matty's espresso eyes, the browns and golds dancing around the pupils in confusion.

"What?" I questioned, trying to figure what he was thinking. "What are you doing?" He asked, his loose curls falling as his eyes laid on my lap. "Going to study.." I replied skeptically as I noticed his books never came into view. Realizing that Matty was never going to pull them out either.

He chuckled taking the book from my lap, "You're quite funny, Lu." He said, then. "You're definitely not studying right now."  Closing it between his calloused fingers. "And definitely not tonight."

"We're playing at Moes tonight." He explained, "I want to see you there."

I sighed, "But I have so many exams tomorrow-" He shook his head, at my protesting "Yeah, and you're going to ace them." I was defeated, I had confidence I would. Just the more I thought about not analyzing the books till they were embedded under my eyelids kind of freaked me out that I'd lose that confidence.  

"If you come out tonight, I'll help you with notes." He said proposing his ultimatum. Already knowing that I would stay the night again without questioning and sincerity swirled in his eyes. I bit my lip, rolling my eyes as his face failed hardly to conceal a smile.

Just then Matty's tall frame sprouted from the wingback, bending down to kiss my temple. "I'll see you at 7." He exited with my textbook still under his arm.

"Hey, I need that!" I called out to Matty victoriously looking back. "You won't be needing it tonight."

++

Moes was your average bar in the middle of London. Walking into the musks of booze and over smoked cloves. Loud and packed wall to wall with people of ranging ages. Neon lights cascading and setting moods throughout. Admiring as the place was bouncing. Falling for Matty's voice at each note, but not as much as I was falling for Matty himself.

The noodle frolicking around the stage as he sang the chorus of Heart Out. Getting close to George's drums between lyrics, coming back to the center in full force. His eyes meeting mine with a wink as I sang along to the song he had burn onto a cd a week before.

Little did I know that the lines of each textbook I've consumed in the matter of weeks. Washed away from a wave of cool with each sip of rum and coke. My hips swaying from the bantering strums of Matty and Adam's guitars. My skirt rising like the twirl of a rose in the wind. I was living. My arms over my head, making friends with the space above.

The boys had closed with the contagious breakdown of 'Sex' leading the place barely steady and moving on their feet.

"Thank you! Have a good one everybody!" Matty closed, throwing a guitar pick before the boys and him had headed towards the back of the stage. Moving through the big crowd till the bar had come into view.

I caught the bartender ordering myself another drink, an older man possibly reaching my dad's age as greys played peek-a-boo through his brown hair. Nodding to the switch of the satellite trying to compare to the number the boys had made.

They were growing by the minute, the stage set becoming a bit more organized. The sound became more new and profound, I was quite a fan and not because I was the 'singer's girl'. Their sound held a soundtrack to need of adventure, fitting well with the aesthetic the boys had held too.

I was lightly mouthing the words to the classic sounds of Boston. When the familiar pair of hands wrapped around my waist and those soft pouty lips met my temple. A little giggled slipping from my lips.

"I like when you sing back to me." He whispered, then. His hands resting in my lap comfortably as the rest of the boys took stance on each side of us. Ordering a round, animatedly speaking of the turnout and how the bar owner was offering them to be house band.

Ross had other plans, discussing how there were boozes left over in the cabinet above the toaster. Soon finding ourselves walking the avenue till we turned down the little street where their flat was.

Having all intentions of sitting on the small sofa near the front window finishing the wine Matty poured for me. Matty held up his end of the deal, taking two bottles of wine off the buffet before slipping his hand in mine and leading me to his room.

++

I paced in front of Matty's bed. My hand clasping on the nearing ends of the wine bottle. My other holding onto the cliffnotes of Brave New World hidden in the back room, collecting dust as they were going to be put to use to pass this exam. That I was able to get passed Matilda's nose.

Sighing when the notes of a book I quite enjoyed started becoming a bit of a pest. I laughed at his frustration when he read along the lines of the textbooks, commenting how complete shit this class really was. Signaling that the past hour and a half of being cooped in here was beginning to drain.

"Break?" Matty suggested. I shrugged, pulling up the seat near his window till I sat it in front of his bed. Resting my feet on the edge of it as I watched Matty walk to his nightstand before pulling out a perfectly rolled spliff.

Taking a seat back in front of me before lighting the green wrapped in light brown. Admiring Matty's cheeks sink in as he inhaled, taking a few puffs before handing it to me. Feeling between my fingers. Inhaling as I slouched back in the chair, closing my eyes. Letting the thick smoke reel around my lungs before exhaling it.

Opening them, meeting the ember glass of Matty's who was smirking at me. "That was pretty." He remarked, placing his hand on my ankle that sent chills to my spine. Little did he know he was pretty one here.

His white barely buttoned shirt at the top as the words 'true love' and 'Annie' were visible. Hanging loosely over his small, yet toned build. His dark chocolate curls disarrayed from the repeated notion of his fingers running through it. His lips looking glossy after every graze his tongue made over them. I found myself staring, Matty not minding as he took hold of the spliff again.

With the mixture of notes jotting through my mind and the way Matty looked tonight. One question kept creeping into my mind, not giving any warning as it rolled off my tongue.

"Matty?" I called, a flat sound vibrating from his lips as he looked at me again.

I bit my lip, feeling my stomach beginning to turn. "Would you come to New York with me?" Leaving my mouth without second guessing. Watching Matty's eyes grow a bit wide and a light ripple slip from them.

I shook my head, a flood of many reasons filling to the brims of my thoughts. A light chuckle falling from my own as I felt embarrassed that I even asked. Not even thinking that he might have plans already or that was just far too much a rush of things.

"Sorry, you probably have some dinner with your family." I tried redeeming, taking a sip of the wine again.

Looking back at him as that same smile kept curl. "A lavished party with high end actors is not a family dinner, Lucy." Recalling all the late night talks about his family who were actors and lived a upper crust type of world. My small town world being one that Matty probably would never set foot into.

I was standing up now, gazing at the books along Matty's bookshelf. "What if they don't like me?" His voice pierced the silence that was lingering a bit. I chuckled at his cliche of a question, "They'll like you." I reassured, then. "My brother asked to meet you after I told him you were in a band."

"What about your dad?" He questioned again, bringing up a person I hadn't thought about when it came to this idea in the first place. Kind of wishing I never brought up the question to begin with. Subsiding when I knew how I was feeling for Matty and I didn't want to keep it hidden any longer.

"If you're worried that he won't like your tattoos. He has three." Trying to figure out why he was questioning all this in the first place, when all he had to say was no.

Matty let out another raspy laugh, "That's far from what I'm worried about." He remarked.

I turned around to face Matty again, his eyes gazing up at mine. "We all have skeletons in the closet you know." Walking towards him till I was standing between his knees.

"The difference is whether or not you invite them out to dance." I finished, my pink color nails running through his hair, pushing the curls that fell over his brow for them to move back again. His eyes closing to the touch.

Matty placed his hands around my waist, pulling me closer as they rested above my bum criss crossed. "Did you write that, blue?" He said, blush rising over my cheeks as my hands fell to his shoulders. Nodding.

"That isn't it either." He said a notch just above a whisper. Observing as he took his lip between his teeth. Following his eyes as they trailed from my blues. To my lips and my neck.

"Then what is it?" I questioned, beginning to feel frustration. I was just about to pull away when those same arms had my back meeting the bed. Matty's dark chocolate eyes peering down to mine as he hovered over me. His one hand resting on my hip as the other kept steady, watching me just as much as I was wondering what he had in mind.

His cool breathing hitting the cold tenderness of my neck, "Will he like me if I do this?" His lips slowly grazing as I began to feel my heartbeat step petal. The rush sending a chill through my body, like anytime Matty kissed there.

"Yes." I breathed, Matty's chuckle rippling against my skin as he kissed my neck again.

So caught up in the way that he lips trailed from that spot on my neck till they found my jaw, my lips and over my collarbones. I didn't notice where Matty's hand was. As it had found it's way under my skirt till I felt his calloused finger grazing my folds.

"What about this?" He suggested again as his fingered traced around until it began to part. His index finger slowly running over the center that was drenched and a gasp left my lips. Feeling my body become puddy. "What do you think, blue?" He asked again.

Closing my eyes a bit when a silvery moan slipped from my lips. My eyes meeting his again as a devious smile crept to his lips.

"That might be the problem." He said, then. His smooth antics configuring him, bringing into light the way he had with women. At any given moment thinking about putting it all to stop.

Just a little to late at the changing thought when my breath hitched as Matty's finger got acquainted with my clit. Beginning to feel myself sinking under his touch. "But what about for you?"

His question catching me off guard, "W-what?" I breathed again. Feeling dizzy as he circled and I was crawling for center.

"Do you want him to like me?" He asked again, his finger now partnering with the middle as they went inside. A moan escaping as he pumped and looked at me for answers, then. "Lucy"

I looked at him, trying to regain myself under his touch as I feeling myself climbing. "Do you?" His voice a bit more harsh now and I shook my head.

Matty peered a smile, "Good" before his lips smashed hard against mine. Fighting and now beginning to win a desire that they had both longed for. His fingers continuing their quest as they took charge in the way my body raised in heat. Hearing the zipper of the back of my skirt eventually hitting the wood of the floor.

++

My moans ventilating his room as he played and his lips latched onto my neck again. My legs becoming weak. Feeling Matty's hardness as it grazed against my thigh. Aching as I wanted it to replace his hands.

My hands latched themselves into his curls. Moving to his shirt with only three buttons clasped, throwing it behind him. His lips never leaving mine, tasting like the bud and red wine we had been enduring till it had come to this.

Matty's eyes trailing almost making me nervous, as I was lying there in my bra and panties.

His lips following along as they caressed down my body. His hands meeting the back of my bra, soon feeling the chills along my breasts being replaced when his hands cupped them. Nipping and fumbling them with his tongue at the tender skin. His plump lips continuing on their route as they kissed down my naval and above the band of my panties that were now saturated.

The slight chill of Matty's fingertips sliding under the band made me wince. Bucking my hips, eagerly as he removed them before standing above me.

I bit my lip at his length almost ripping through the fabric of his jeans, watching as he unbuckled them and a big thud hit the floor. His shaft fleeing free and my eyes widening. He was huge.

He grabbed at my ankle, moving my leg a bit. Crawling over me, centering himself. My breath hitching as his cock was close to my entry. His hand caressed my cheek, his thumb running along it before he planted a kiss on my lips.

He slid his tip inside, making a back and forth notion through my center before pushing himself in me. I winced as pain ripped like a papercut but only for seconds. Matty watching me as he was aware and waited for me to adjust to his hard vast cock. Taking his time, gradually wallowing out into pleasure and moans fell from my lips.

Matty's moans and groans were enough to set me to the edge before I was even close. My name sounding singsong off the tip of his tongue. His lips barely moving from mine. Swelling from the war they were losing. My nails running down his back proving the fight.

His pace slow at first till commands were made. Sensual, rough thrusts pouring into me as I was losing my mind at every second of it. "Matty" I breathed against his lips before they kissed mine again. Trembling under his touch, feeling my legs shaking before they wrapped around him.

Closing my eyes when ecstasy was nearing, my back rising as I arched it and his hands slipping behind. Bringing me closer, digging deeper till there was no more space. Generously hitting my spot, four letter words falling from my mouth as my chest heaved through moans.

He took me by surprise when he flipped us over, I was straddling him now. "Slow." He said, then as I obeyed. My hips grinding against his, never feeling such arouse like this. Never watching someone watch me so intently. His lips curling in thrill.

His hands went from my hips till they found my breasts. Arching my back again and leaning my hands back on his knees. His one hand trailing down when his thumb reached my clit, planting little circles on it.

I screamed. Piercing my own drums, I could've sworn someone heard me. So enthralled by the way he touched. So selfless and engulfed as his eyes never left. While I was feeling myself engulf into flames.

I reached for his hand, that met for seconds before he sat up. Moving them around his neck, his around my waist, guiding me as he kissed along my jaw.

"Fuck" He moaned against my neck before looking back at me, "You're so beautiful." One hand moving hair from my face when it cupped my cheek pulling my lips to his.

The light was nearing, my body shaking as it moved against his "I'm going to come." I moaned between breaths, bringing Matty's attention back to me when he watched the motion of our bodies.

"Let me help you" He said, like he wasn't doing enough already. His hands grabbing my back and flipping us over. Matty then moved one of my legs over his shoulder. Kissing me again before he thrusted into me, taking me by surprise.

Mixing in with the pressure of my peak reaching. "Oh my god" I moaned again, a bit loud as I went to cover my lips. Matty taking my hands and held them above me. "None of that, Lu." He breathed, "None of that." He repeated, then before his lips hit my neck.

Feeling his hands everywhere as he thrusted, "Come for me" His breath grazing my mouth, watching his eyes grow rich golds and browns around his dilated pupils as he nearing with me. His thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic, but perfectly hitting me generously. He was growing close, feeling his shaft quiver in the surroundings of my walls. Starting to feel myself boil as the tingles began from my toes. Intensity sky rocking as I came, screaming into the airwaves in pleasure.

My limp arms falling around Matty's neck as he spilled into me shortly after. Watching his brows furrow and his lips form o's before they formed a language with mine.

Moaning my name repeatedly against the nook of my neck before his lips branded it. I never had someone kiss me as much as Matty. Let alone let me go first and watch me as I did so. His thrusts riding us out before he removed himself and fell to the side of me and pulling me closer.

"He's never going to like me." His voice vibrating my ear as I laid on his chest. Listening to the beat of his ticker and his breath beginning to calm. Matty's fingers running along my bare back.

I leaned up to get a better view of this boy that I was falling two steps ahead for. His soft brown eyes now looking at mine as I ran my fingers through his curls fanned against his pillow.

I smirked, peaking his lips. "He's not going to like me either." I remarked, my eyes trailing to his tattoo that was now being traced by my index. "Why's that?" He asked, feeling him raise his brow.

"I think I might be late for class tomorrow." I explained, meeting Matty's gaze as a smirk curled at the ends of his lips.

"I believe you might be right." His hand reaching my cheek, before pulling me down to another kiss leftover lingering his lips.

Surely I was, amicably and utterly late for class.

[americanahighways]

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photos by Jimmy Faber

There’s something relaxed and comfortable about Hayes Carll, so that listening to his tunes sometimes feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans. He’s easy to get into, doesn’t chafe, and feels snug and familiar. After a while you start feeling like you could happily sit around with him all evening, just telling stories and shootin’ the breeze.

That’s partly because his chord changes and melodies really ARE familiar, since he borrows copiously — though nimbly and tastefully — from his Austin-area influences: Ray Wylie Hubbard, Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson and Guy Clark. He has also clearly studied the song-craft of folks like Bob Dylan, John Prine and Steve Earle — whose former -ex, Allison Moorer, Carll legendarily “stole,” to Earle’s dismay — along with other, younger Americana penmen like Todd Snider and Ryan Adams. Nevertheless, Carll’s is an original and invigorating voice rather than a merely derivative one.

Carll also has the kind of laid-back, drawling persona that can lull you into thinking he’s not going anywhere quick, when all of a sudden — WHAM! — it hits you that he just snuck another genius line or unshakeable melody deep into your subconscious, where it’s likely to sit and ferment until it hits you hard between the eyes.

He’s a sneaky puncher, that guy.

And then every once in a while his serious, more edgy, political side shows up to remind you that he has a less laid-back, more observant side, too. Though he’s only 43 years old, with just six albums to his credit, it seems like he’s been around (and been through) a whole lot more. In short, he seems like an old, wise soul at times, who has maybe gleaned more than a few nuggets of wisdom from his friend and mentor Ray Wylie.

Carll’s performance with his band The Gulf Coast Orchestra (featuring Travis Linville on steel, guitar, and dobro, Mike Meadows on drums, Geena Spigarelli on bass, and Cory Younts on piano, mandolin, and harmonica) at the Ardmore Music Hall on April 4 exhibited all of the above-mentioned qualities. His 22 song set (including three encore numbers) spanned his entire career, with a natural emphasis on his new album, What It Is.

Dressed in his customary blue, Western-cut workshirt, jeans and boots, and playing a trusty, scratched-up Gibson J-45, Carll choose to open the show with the train-beat propelled country honker “If I May Be So Bold.” Interestingly, No Depression had recently published an essay/statement of Hayes’ by the same title, in which he took a public stance with regard the country’s wide political divide. Though he felt uncomfortable about “being seen” in that way, he felt he finally had to do so after suffering an ugly on-line incident. (In brief: after Carll announced via social media that he would be playing a concert in support of Beto O’Rourke, “someone left a comment stating that he hoped I got shot on stage.” You can read his full response to the incident via the link provided below.)

In a way, starting the show with that particular song was like making a statement about a statement, saying in effect: This is who I am, take it or leave it. Or as he says in the essay, “I’ve decided I would rather be criticized for the things I believe in than be embraced for the things I don’t.”

Statement made, Carll proceeded to show his kinder, gentler side via ballads like “Nonya Business,” “In Times Like These” (which he introduced via a story about the time he and Allison Moorer made up a persona — a librarian — during a Southwestern Airlines flight), and “Jesus and Elvis” (about Lala’s Little Nugget, in North Austin). He interspersed those tunes with others highlighting his pointedly political side, such as the irony-laced “Fragile Men,” as well as his rowdier side with rockers like the joyous “Beautiful Thing” (from the new album) and the scorcher “KMAG YOYO” (an abbreviation for the military phrase “Kiss my ass goodbye, you’re on your own).

The band exited the stage after that last number, leaving Carll to accompany himself on the lovely “Beaumont” from 2008’s breakthrough Trouble in Mind, which he followed with his lilting, cheerful tale about the quirky courtship of Billy and Katey, “Girl Downtown.” Linville returned to the stage to accompany Hayes on dobro for the latter tune.

The rest of the band rejoined Carll and Linville and quickly picked up where they had left off with a rousing version of the Hubbard classic “Drunken Poet’s Dream.” They followed that with “What It Is” off the new album, which featured a tasteful dobro solo by Linville; the humorous “I Got a Gig” from Trouble in Mind, Carll’s rocking version of Scott Nolan’s “Bad Liver and a Broken Heart,” which drew thunderous applause from the crowd; “It’s a Shame,” solidly anchored by Spigarelli’s loping bass; and finally a kickass version of “Stomp and Holler,” which got the audience doing exactly what the title says.

Carll and company’s encore consisted of three tunes: the ballad “I Will Stay,” during which Carll held the audience completely in thrall (you could hear the proverbial pin drop as it ended); “Wild as a Turkey,” whose steady thumping beat was ably provided by Meadows, while Linville added another nice dobro/slide solo; and finally, Carll’s lyrical tour de force, “Sake of the Song.”

By show’s end the comfort level between Carll and the audience was beyond that of a cowboy and his favorite pair of jeans; it was well nigh down to the skivvies. Carll seemed particularly happy with the venue, noting that he usually plays “The type of place that has a mechanical sheep.” I’m not exactly sure what that means, but like the rest of the audience I enjoyed the casual, drawling way he said it.

—————

Ben Dickey, who opened for Carll and his band, was a bit more of an enigma to me. Like many other audience members, no doubt, I was intrigued to see how Dickey’s on-stage persona might align (or not) with his amazing on-screen portrayal of Blaze Foley in Ethan Hawke’s film “Blaze.” Despite his lack of experience as an actor Dickey absolutely owned that role and seemed completely comfortable and convincing in conveying the title character’s legendarily cantankerous, outsized personality.

He didn’t seem quite as outsized as a solo, live performer on stage, however, though his guitar chops were pretty darned impressive. Playing a black semi- hollow 1935 Gibson archtop through a chorus pedal, and at times running that combo through a looper pedal to stack multiple layers of guitar tones, Dickey provided a nifty nine-song set that culminated with a trio of tunes by John Prine (“Long Monday”), Blaze Foley (the unmistakable “Clay Pigeons���) and Townes van Zandt (“No Place to Fall”). Dickey sang that last tune with conviction, delivering its dark delicacy beautifully. Its legendary author no doubt would have approved.

Dickey seemed slightly more circumspect in delivering his originals, however. Perhaps it was nervousness in returning to the city (Philadelphia) where he’d struggled through some hard times, working feverishly as a chef at the fabled music club Johnny Brenda’s and experiencing “some kind of breakdown” after his band Blood Feathers broke up and a good friend died in a bicycle accident — this was before Hawke drafted him for the lead role in Blaze — but Dickey’s interactions with the audience seemed a bit halting at times. The only reference he made to his Philly past came when he mentioned the local phrase “down the shore” — “I never heard that phrase before I came here,” he said. No further comment was extended.

He was similarly reticent on the topic of portraying a songwriting legend like Foley. That experience was “really strange,” he said — “mystical and magical” — but he did not proffer any specifics about why, or what had made it so.

Which was just fine, as long as he was dazzling us with his nimble guitar playing and somewhat unexpected tunes. The chorus of the balled “Man with a Hammer” goes “Tallyhoo, time to go / Lay down your bones to be free, old soul,” which sounds rather old-timey; but when mated with chorus and tremolo effects pushed through a slowly distorting looper pedal, it became something else entirely. During an upbeat blues number with a strong affinity to Dylan’s “Highway 61,” Dickey shredded on a rockabilly style solo; another song had the flavor of surf music-meets-psychedelic rock, while a fourth featured a nifty bridge with R & B flavored stops.

The man definitely has some chops, and his voice has a husky, pleasantly Dylanesque quality to it. I’m hopeful that Dickey will begin to open up and establish even more of a rapport with his audiences, so he can convey the kind of breathtaking intimacy his portrayal of Foley delivers. He’s definitely a talent to keep your eyes on, whether for his acting or musical endeavors.

—————

Upcoming tour dates for Hayes Carll, along with videos, recordings and merchandise, can be found at: http://www.hayescarll.com

Carll’s essay “If I May Be So Bold” can be found at: https://www.nodepression.com/if-i-may-be-so-bold-an-essay-by-hayes-carll/

Americana Highways’ review of Hayes Carll’s What It Is can be found at: https:// americanahighways.org/2019/02/14/review-hayes-carlls-what-it-is/ and interview with Hayes Carll is here: Interview: Hayes Carll on “What It Is,” Reading More and a Sense of Humor

More info on Ben Dickey, along with tour dates, videos and music can be found at: https://www.bendickeymusic.com

An account of Dickey’s time in Philadelphia (entitled “When musician Ben Dickey left Philadelphia, he was depressed. Now, he’s a movie star”) can be read at: https://www.philly.com/entertainment/music/ben-dickey-ethan-hawke-blaze-foley-20190329.html

Americana Highways’ recent interview with Ben Dickey’s can be found at: Ben Dickey Releases “A Glimmer on the Outskirts”

Review: Hayes Carll and Ben Dickey: An Old, Comfy Pair of Jeans and a Bit of An Enigma @hayescarll @bendickeymusic @alleyesmedia @ardmoremusicPA photos by Jimmy Faber There's something relaxed and comfortable about Hayes Carll, so that listening to his tunes sometimes feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans.

[jazzviewswithcjshearn]

In Defense of Grace Kelly: Keep On Dancing-- How older jazz fans are pushing new fans away from the music

This article was originally conceived as a submission to Pitchfork magazine to beef up their jazz content, but the subject matter is probably a bit too obscure for their magazine, especially as a burgeoning writer.  It is largely a reaction to the views expressed on saxophonist Grace Kelly bringing new audiences to jazz by integrating dance and wardrobe choices commonly found in pop music on a popular internet jazz site.  She is bringing in people who aren’t necessarily jazz fans but enjoy the bounciness of the music, and that is only good because a selected few will check out the music on a deeper level.  Enjoy!

In Defense of Grace Kelly, Keep On Dancing: How jazz fans are pushing new fans away from the music

I have been a jazz fan all my life pretty much, I was incredibly blessed to be raised by a mother who played me lots of records that belonged to my father that he left behind after he got up and left  us when I was 2 years old.  Among the records I loved (and still love)  growing up were classic Blue Note records by Jimmy Smith, Art Blakey, Kenny Burrell and Horace Silver, CTI albums by Stanley Turrentine, Freddie Hubbard and the CTI All Stars, several albums by Count Basie,  the obligatory Breezin' by George Benson, and some things that haven't aged all that well by Chuck Mangione and Earl Klugh, things I no longer like.  From the time I was 8-18 years old I was a serious hard bop snob, and thanks to teachers in high school who were my mentors, they got me into Pat Metheny, Michael Brecker and others. I saw Brecker when I was 7 years old along with the Chick Corea Elektric Band on the same bill.  I didn't really get hardcore into Brecker though until my late teens when I wanted more adventurous stuff.   Metheny was my gateway to free jazz, and the many treasures on ECM.  Why all the background info?  I want to show I have a wide taste in order to discuss the main topic of this article.  Jazz fans preventing new people from getting into the music because of general snobbery.  In particular a bizarre uproar over saxophonist Grace Kelly on an internet jazz forum.

For the past 15 years I've been a regular poster on the Organissimo forums. Organissimo is a Michigan based organ trio headed by keyboardist Jim Alfredson, and they've always aimed to go beyond just the typical organ combo fare that is mostly lots of blues in F, bebop, a funk tune and some standards.  In 2003, a forum section of their website was created for expatriates of the Blue Note records forum which was taken down that same year, and I had been a part of that since the late 90's.  The majority of Organissimo posters are middle and older aged men who are primarily into classic jazz, basically the bebop era of the forties extending into the modal jazz of the mid 1960's.  Hank Mobley, Lee Morgan, Bobby Hutcherson, Grant Green (all favorites of mine, too) are long time heroes there, and there are always inquiries about what is referred to as the “train wreck” session by tenor saxophonist Tyrone Washington recorded in 1968.  Mosaic Records co founder and former Blue Note reissue guru Michael Cuscuna has unequivocally stated it's never coming out, by the way.  There are a few posters who are free jazz devotees, those who love ECM and various strains of European jazz, but largely what goes on the scene today, save for players who play bebop or hard bop based jazz are ignored.  A month ago a discussion was broached about alto saxophonist Grace Kelly, and as has happened so often there in the past, all hell broke loose.

Kelly has been on the scene for more than a decade, she first caught the attention of the jazz world as a 15 year old teenager where she performed with legends like Phil Woods and Frank Morgan.  In fact, some of her tone and phrasing heavily reflect the Woods influence, so that automatically gains her credibility as a “serious” jazzer right?  Wrong.   Not to the “O” crowd as we like to call it. Many forum posters chimed in that they never liked her playing and found it to be quite weak, and suggested that she may have gotten to where she's at due to marketing.  Some of that may be true, but she has paid her dues.  Something she's doing to increase the fan base and draw more people into jazz was causing many posters to go haywire:  she dances when she plays.  You know what? She's damn good at it and it's impressive, because her playing retains a high level.  Ms. Kelly has a Youtube channel where she has a series of videos playing saxophone to choreographed dance moves, some of them find her prancing along with fellow saxophonist Leo P. while other find her in a dance studio combining fancy ballet inspired footwork, and more popular dance forms while playing a bluesy etude.  Another video has her joined by a modern dance duo in an electronic music inspired fantasia.  All these things are ultimately great for drawing in new fans, the latter video has 18,000 views!  

It's important to remember that jazz has a rich history as a dance music, beyond just the swing era.  One of my very best friends, an excellent tenor saxophonist who is a veteran of the free jazz scene reminded me of how much Grace Kelly is adding to a long standing tradition.  One of his earliest on the bandstand apprenticeships was with alto sax free jazzer Luther Thomas,  one of the biggest names in that genre.  Thomas was into dancing, wildly swinging his horn, devising choreographed little steps, all things that have roots not only in R&B, but the swing era.  Daniel Carter, another free jazz icon also moves quite expressively and let's not forget Sonny Rollins.  John Coltrane's immortal “Chasin' The Trane” from his watershed November 1961 engagement at the Village Vanguard captured on The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings (Impulse! 1998) was so named because Rudy Van Gelder, the late, great pioneering recording engineer, was following Trane as he was testifying from his horn walking to and fro .  Coltrane was a veteran of the R&B bar walking scene, and many of his performances reflect that influence. Thelonious Monk got up and danced while Charlie Rouse soloed, Charlie Parker played standing stone still as trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie (always  an entertainer, coming from the Cab Calloway school) shouted and danced.  Jimmy Smith would often lean down and rest his chin on the organ keys, holding notes for an indeterminable amount of time, in another display of showmanship.  So none of what Grace Kelly is doing is out of the ordinary in jazz's rich history, it's all a matter of perspective.  Some folks like their musicians to stand fairly motionless like  Miles Davis soloing, then walk off the stage to give the others time to shine.  Others like musicians to have a great time, like Freddie Hubbard's (1938-2008) funny odd two step while other band mates solo.

The Organissimo forum is not the majority of jazz fans, it's an esoteric niche that just seems bigger because it's on the internet, and that demographic is not the one she is targeting.  She is not necessarily bringing hardcore jazz fans to the music either, maybe people who just like what she's doing and that's only a good thing.  In percussionist, R&B smash artist and producer Mtume's famous debate with critic Stanley Crouch,  Mr. Crouch insists music from the electric period of Miles Davis is woefully dated.  Mtume's curt reply is so witty: the generations of people who gravitated towards albums like On The Corner (Columbia, 1972) and Get Up With It (Columbia, 1974) are not jazz fans, but fans of other music who got what Davis was trying to say, and it guided them to jazz.  In much the same way Ms. Kelly is achieving the similar outcome, in my estimation.  Only a few will become rabid jazz fans, but through Kelly they will explore all the greats, eras and deep history, so why would old guard folks at an internet forum be upset? It's a win win. I believe it's the simple fact the saxophonist is drawing upon things that are used to market in the pop world, and with jazz's reputation as a musty museum music for much of the general public, for jazz fans it's bringing up a skeleton.  For years the music has struggled with keeping things strictly in the tradition while embracing contemporary trends in the marketing.  For the music to survive, ultimately this is necessary to adapt to contemporary trends.

I've seen many new posters never return to that board because of negativity they experience for their tastes.  Basic album recommendation threads devolve into demonstrations of minutiae  a casual fan has no clue about.  A Dallas based tenor saxophonist made probably the most sensible point in the entire 7 page thread on Kelly when he pointed out that although he doesn't care for her music, he more than applauded her dancing while playing, and hoped more people start doing that because it would create a whole new avenue for dancers to be integrated into the music.  Robert Glasper and Kamasi Washington, names that many young music fans know, are unfairly targeted on that board as well.  Those rampant dismissals prevent new fan bases from being created.  Why is jazz dead for many?  Because of a constant regurgitation of the past with little tolerance for what's going on now. The reason I'm so passionate about the issue is because when I was 18, I was in that camp, overly clamoring for bebop and hard bop to be the ultimate styles.

At that time I missed a lot of cutting edge stuff from the likes of Jason Moran and Greg Osby. I opened my ears, grew and today I keep my ear open to the micro innovations of musicians like Glasper, Chris Dave, Mark Giuliana, and fresh hip things happening from the likes of Bobby Previte, Wadada Leo Smith, Vijay Iyer, Hiromi, Roscoe Mitchell, Ben Monder, Steve Tibetts, Krisjan Randalu, Ayumi Ishito, Steve Coleman, Linda May Han Oh, Terence Blanchard, Thana Alexa, Satoko Fujii and so many others. Grace Kelly, keep on dancing, ignore the haters-- what you do is really fresh, intriguing and brings new blood to this music.

See the original thread below: http://www.organissimo.org/forum/index.php?/topic/81704-grace-kelly/&page=1

https://youtu.be/VMYNLwlepRM

https://youtu.be/5coo3HaUA8Y

https://youtu.be/5N7ATjmywL0

[houstonlocalus-blog]

U2 Brought The Joshua Tree Back To Life at NRG Stadium

U2. Photo: Daniel Jackson

  There are only one or maybe two concerts a year that are so worth making it out for that they bring back old memories or create new ones.  It might be a set at a festival, or a band that’s so mammoth that there’s only one space to house them. When it was announced that U2 was to tour their breakthrough album, The Joshua Tree as a 30th anniversary tour, I remembered thinking of it as a cash grab. However, as the weeks drew closer, I had to ask myself if this was something I’d ever get to witness before.  This wasn’t like the Zoo TV tour, or the PopMart tour that I had already seen. This was to be something that wasn’t likely to occur ever again, so I caved and decided to attend. As a guy who saw the band’s film Rattle And Hum in the theater for one of my birthdays, this would be a chance to hear those tracks that never get played in person. I wish I could tell you that they failed and that the concert was a bore, but I’d be a liar if I were to say anything other than U2 definitely brought their A-Game, and performed admirably in front of what’s billed as the largest high-res video screen ever used for a touring act.  

  U2 at NRG Stadium. Photo: Daniel Jackson

  Things began with the band finding their way down into the audience to perform on a small round stage. Through the darkness, Larry Mullen Jr. opened with the iconic drums of “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” The other members soon met him and performed a tight and cohesive version of the song, only to have lead singer Bono call out for an end to war. This would get followed by “New Year’s Day,” only to be followed by an energy heavy rendition of “Pride (In The Name of Love)” which would have the entire stadium singing the backing vocals of “Oh Oh Oh Oh” in the end. Of course, the band was here for another purpose, and so the large illuminated Joshua Tree was lit, and the band found themselves atop a much larger stage that spanned the width of NRG stadium. There’s always been a chill that the opening of “Where The Streets Have No Name” seems to give me, and this was only heightened by the large tree that was lit up before the film work of famed photographer Anton Corbijn showcased how strong those LEDs really were. The illuminated tree disappeared in favor of a film of a road in the desert that was such high quality, that it felt like we were riding in a car and seeing it in real time. However, the fact that the largest band on the globe was performing in front of it, brought the imagery back to reality real quick.  

  The Edge & Bono of U2 at NRG Stadium. Photo: Daniel Jackson

  The crowd would go crazy and keep their phones out for the iconic sounds of “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” before bringing the beauty of “With Or Without You” to life. There was something magical in how the screen seemed to transpire the music as it was played, while the four piece offered up one of the best renditions of the song I’ve seen from them ever before. Then, the bombastic sounds of “Bullet The Blue Sky” would change all of that. Complete with imagery of various people both young and old placing arm helmets on their head in front of an American flag, while The Edge brought out his black with black pickguard and pickups Stratocaster from the era to really bring those squeals and howls from the guitar to a new life. Bono would grab one of the many cameras and focus it on The Edge as those squeals emanated from the legendary guitar.  

  The group would then slow things down and place The Edge on piano and Adam sitting on the drum riser for the quiet notes of “Running To Stand Still.” While Bono would close the song with a rousing harmonica solo, The Edge would stay on piano for “Red Hill Mining Town.” Complete with video of the Salvation Army Brass Band performing horns behind them, the song seemed to take on a new life with the addition of the horns before the band would usher in to one of my all time favorites, “In God’s Country.” While Bono would note, “welcome to side two, this song is about how the landscape of this fine country can change physically and mentally” the rarely performed track sounded as fresh as the first time I heard it. The Joshua Tree would turn purple before Bono addressed the crowd at the track’s end by starting with “we need new dreams tonight. We realize that we’re guests here, so thank you for having us in your country, all of us Irish; for hundreds of years.”

  Bono of U2 at NRG Stadium. Photo: Daniel Jackson

  Before the opening of “Trip Through Your Wires” would have Bono jokingly state “we’ll be back for the rodeo,” and at the end, Bono again addressed the crowd with words about the recent tragedy in Manchester. “Our hearts are with you, with Manchester. We’re broken hearted for the families, for the parents, there’s no end to grief which is proof that there’s no end to love.” Then the band took the song “One Tree Hill” to a whole new place both sonically and visually. Then, Bono who had left the stage would return donning a hat before beginning “Exit.” The intense and somber tune hit hard, while a comical film would play making fun of President Trump clipped together from the films “Wise Blood,” and “Eeny Meeny Miny Moe,” before the band closed out The Joshua Tree set with “Mothers of The Disappeared” which ended with the audience singing along in unison. “Thank you so much, thank you so much. What a special night you’ve given us,” Bono would state before the outline of The Joshua Tree would turn to blue and the band would exit the stage.

  U2 at NRG Stadium. Photo: Daniel Jackson

  The audience would almost light the way for the band to return with the flashlight functions of their phones. While that can sometimes be annoying, there’s something mesmerizing about how lit up a place as large as NRG stadium can appear under such circumstances. A film would soon begin, with the face of a young Syrian girl who is asked, “if you could say one thing to an audience of thousands, what would it be?” She would very cheerfully say, “I would very much like to go to America, because is the land of dreams where anything can happen.” As the band played “Miss Sarajevo,” and video of children playing in the war torn ruins of Syria, a flag with the young girl’s image was carried over our heads and made its way all around the entire stadium. The imagery of the gesture alone would hit so hard that it almost made me weep. The band would follow this up with the powerful fan favorite, “Bad.” The song evoked such emotion that the crowd was almost as loud as the band while they sang along.  Then, U2 would leave us again.

  The Edge & Bono of U2 at NRG Stadium. Photo: Daniel Jackson

  When they returned for the final time, things began with Bono running to the smaller stage before a rainbow imagery covered the band as cameras captured them in real time on the large screen as they erupted the stadium with the opening of “Beautiful Day.” With an ever changing illumination on the band as they played, there was a real positive feeling in the stadium as they performed. The audience would sing along harder when the band began “Elevation.” The audience would happily sing the backing vocal of “wooh ooh, wooh ooh ooh.” While Bono would state, “Houston, we don’t have a problem,”  before shouting out the state of Texas and the Houston Rockets, before dedicating the song “Ultra Violet (Light My Way).” “We’d like to dedicate this song to the very special women in our lives, the wives, the mothers, the women of our crew, and our female fans here tonight who we feel like we know, as well as those we’ll have no way of ever knowing. The women who insisted and the women who persisted.” This brought out images on the large screen of women like Michelle Obama, Rosa Parks, Maya Angelou, Grace Jones, Patti Smith, Hillary Clinton, and Anne Richards to name a few. The band would then turn the stadium into a giant sing-a-long as they performed “One.” After Bono called the rest of the band to come down to the small stage where he was already met by Adam, he said the most poignant thing of the night, after thanking President Obama, President George W. Bush, and former first lady Laura Bush for their support of the (Red) program and helping save lives through AIDS research and care. “A social movement can change the world. Governments should fear their citizens, not the other way around.” After telling a funny story about Miles Davis being pulled over for speeding, the band offered up a new song with “The Little Things That Give You Away,” before closing the evening off with thanks to everyone from their team to the audience in attendance.

  All in all, I was happy to attend and that I went. The band sounded better than the previous times I’d seen them, and getting to hear the songs of The Joshua Tree live was truly amazing. However, the screen and films just made the whole experience more memorable, and definitely a memory I won’t soon forget. U2 just proved that sometimes an event can bring up old cherished memories while giving us new ones, while pleasing us all in each and every performance.

U2 Brought The Joshua Tree Back To Life at NRG Stadium this is a repost