#Minutes to Midnight European Tour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

byoungernj · 1 year

Text

Berlin Marathon 2023

Oh baby was this trip a lot of traveling and not a lot of seeing. From my first flight, as noted in my last post, this trip was not meant to be. It started with a 3 hour delay on my layover in Denver. Once at the airport, I found out I had typed my name into my itinerary wrong so it did not match my passport. An error I had to work through four separate times. Then we reached out gate to find out our seats are not the ones we paid extra for. I didn’t sleep a minute on the overnight flight. We arrived in Dublin with only 90 minutes until our next flight took off. If you have never traveled to Europe before, once you arrive you have to get your checked luggage and then make your way through immigration, bag check, security, the whole thing. On paper, Dublin looked like a small two terminal airport. First it took us almost an hour to get our bags. Then we were sent up and down and back up to find the walk way to the other terminal where our next flight would leave out of. Side note, in Europe apparently there is floors 0, 1, 2 etc… so when we were directed to floor 1 and went to the bottom floor, we were stared at in confusion why we did not understand where floor 1 actually was. By the time we walked (because there is no other way, as we were told) to the ticketing counter, our flight was set to leave in 5 minutes. When was the next flight? 10 hours later. I was so exhausted and irritated at this point I feared that if we set out to see Ireland something else would happen and we’d miss the new connecting flight. After many hours attempting to fall asleep to no success we boarded and landed in Berlin. The train would take an hour and it was now midnight. I sucked it up and got an Uber. (If you know me, you know I am not an Uber/Lyft person) We finally got to our hotel. I was emailed instructions to input a code next to the door and a key would be available. But was it? You bet it wasn’t. I googled how to call a European number from an American phone after multiple failed attempts. Within five minutes a lovely gentlemen let us in and provided me with my key. After almost exactly 24 hours of travel and being awake for 32 hours, we went to sleep. And you bet you a3s I did not set an alarm. Which ended up being both bad and good because we caught up on our sleep, but we slept until 2:30 in the afternoon the following day. Thanks to terrible travel plans, we lost a day and a half in Berlin.

Now that I’m done throwing a pity party I won’t go into more detail but in short

we attempted to find a bus tour for over an hour to find out that they were not running due to the marathon route closing streets

we got on said bus tour two days later and it was nothing special

we did think to purchase tour tickets ahead of time so we saw zero things we had hoped to see

another ticket hiccup, the train was now double the price to get to Munich and we didn’t end up saving anything by not flying out of Munich

we had planned to see one or two more things in Berlin our last night but the train back from Munich took over an hour more and dumped us out at the farthest train station from our hotel

the hotel ordering our taxi a half hour early and the driver refusing to leave because his fair had been running the morning we were departing

the cherry on top was just after I called my dad to tell him where to pick us up, I reached into my backpack only for the shot glass I bought him to fall and shatter

Ugh okay. Enough wallowing. This is meant to be a race recap. The moral of the story - plan plan plan before you travel to Europe or you’ll go all the way there and not see anything like dummy me. So, the race. Talk about the brightest shining moment of this whole trip. (I wrote a quick training recap in my last post if interested) I snuck in my tune up workout back on my hs track between gym classes before we departed NJ. I clipped off a bit faster than goal MP but felt good and in a rhythm. Luckily I had an off day planned for our never ending day of travel. Once we finally woke up on Friday I headed out for a short run along the Spree. I went through the neighborhood our hotel was in and passed this adorable Jungle Book themed playground. The trail was this wonderful dirt path that went through a park. I was tired and moving however fast my legs let me. It felt good to move and stretch afterwards. We headed to the expo in the late afternoon. Talk about the coolest venue, Berlin’s expo takes place at the Tempelhof airport which was used after WW2 by the US to deliver goods when Berlin was split by the wall. The parts of the expo were outside and it backed up to a park where there were people running, skating, and riding bikes. Inside was your typical assortment of vendors. We finally shared our first meal in Berlin at the multiple food trucks that had there. The next day I had a quick 20 minute run back on the Spree followed by a few strides. I smile now reflecting that I didn’t want the run to be so short. I wanted to keep running. I had enjoyed this build so much that I didn’t want it to end. The legs felt about the same, I was physically a bit more tired but ready for tomorrow.

I slept for a bit the night before after struggling to sleep the prior night due to jet lag. Waking up the morning of the race wasn’t too bad. With a 9:15a start time, I only needed to wake up at 6 to eat. I hoped on the subway to head down a few stops. I laughed at the reaction of the local young girls on the subway as a swarm of short shorts wearing, bright colored, awkward runner types all got on the subway at the same time. I followed the crowd off and towards the start. It was a bit of a walk but the weather was perfect and I saw the only corgi witnessed on this trip. I knew it would be a good day after I saw that loaf of bread. The holding area was huge. Bib numbers were given based on your last name so my bag drop was the furthest spot away from the actual start. I sat for a bit, wrote 5k splits on my hands in eyeliner and a special name on my wrist to remember how this trip was possible. Luckily enough I saw a friend of mine. She had gotten in via the lottery and her husband by time. We spent a few minutes catching up before we all needed to drop our bags. The race was encouraging 20 minutes to walk to the start. Here is where the mayhem began.

The start/finish is within this large park in the middle of the city, the Tiergarten. There were plenty of signs directing everyone to their respective start corral which was noted by letters. You followed winding dirt paths with the masses. When I got closer to the ABC start areas I noticed a small green space people were warming up in, so I did the same. After I continued to follow the masses. I could physically see the start area but the path went directing into 3 very long lines of people at portapots. People had now started to cut through the brush and trees of the park to find a way around. Which then turned into people scaling the very tall fences along the start area. A handful of other people found an opening in the fence but this still required us to climb up and over a shorter barrier. Not exactly what I want to do minutes before starting a marathon but here I was. After that debacle I found space within the B corral, did some leg swings and waited. A shared a brief moment with a girl maybe a bit younger than me on my ‘Running On Hope’ tattoo and how wonderful a person Gabe was and the organization is. The 10 minutes I had passed very quickly. They announced some of the elites, including the goat himself Eliud and gosh did the crowd of us go crazy. Then, we were off.

It took me around two minutes to actually cross the start. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of space I had right off the line in the roads. We were spread on both sides of the median which then split us around the beautiful Victory Column statue. Actually the entire race had plenty of room across the roads. I never felt stuck. As for the specifics of the race course itself, I honestly don’t have much memory. It was flat. And not oh my legs hurt after a while because there’s not change in terrain, because there was small ‘hills’ that I wouldn’t call hills but they were so subtle I didn’t know until I went down the back side and my legs felt better. There were a lot of turns in this course. A LOT. Hence why I don’t remember much. The spectators lined the entire course. I was pleasantly surprised that a lot of people also cheered for you by name (which was on my bib). At first I thought it was my mom encouraging people around her but then it kept happening. My favorite was when one little kid would yell my name and then their whole group would follow. I took some opportunities to high five some kids as well.

I was able to hit pace right at the start. After a few miles this did start to feel fast. I chocked it up to it being a bad patch and kept pressing forward. I came through my 5k slower than desired but found myself right back on pace by 10k. Just before 9 miles my watch started to act wonky. When looking down to see how close I was to getting my gel out, I saw I had split a 5:14 ninth mile…which I have never run once in my life. Mile 12, was a 1:38 mile. I was now flying blind for the rest of the race, I didn’t know if I could trust the gps. The 5k splits on my hand were started to wash off with my sweat so I made my best guesses based on what I knew my initial 5k goal was. At half way I still felt as though I was running too fast. I told myself keep pushing at this pace until 16 than see what happens. 16 came and went and I kept plugging away. This course only had Maurten as their electrolyte drink. The first aid station that had this, I grabbed one, took a few sips and hated it. Not long after that my stomach agreed, it hated it too. I stuck to water at every other aid station after that. I remembered I had drank to much in Duluth so I tried to space out my fluids. I was taking Ucan gels every 4.5 miles and those don’t require water to digest, so pairing my intakes was not an issue either. But after those first 16 miles, my stomach started to feel a bit off. I was able to take down my forth gel at 18 but my nausea now persisted. In fact, it only got worse as the miles clicked by.

I started to do some mental math, where did I need to be with 10k and 5k to go to still be under three hours? and was this still in the cards today? It wasn’t a do or die time goal as it had been before, but it would be nice and I knew I had it in me. I was looking for the 32k sign and it never came. Looking at my watch, I was behind where I needed to be. Oh well I thought, let’s enjoy the rest of the day as I knew I’d finish. But then the next k sign was in sight and it was the 33k sign. I was still on pace and in fact, ahead of pace. I believe I literally said “oh sh!t I’m still in it” out loud. I was taking it one k at a time. As much as I wanted water, I chose to not take in any, hoping that would calm my stomach a bit. But it didn’t. I was so nauseous. The thought of taking anything in made me feel worse. Just make it to 5k to go and reassess. Just as before I was looking for the 37k sign but I missed it again. I knew I had slowed so now being off pace would not have surprised me. But the 38th k appeared and I was still under! I disregarded my last gu. There was no chance I was risking throwing up when I was still on pace. But I continued to slow. More mental math. Where did I need to be with 2k to go and still have a chance? I’d give myself 10 minutes and push with everything I had in the last 1k. At 40 k I had 13 minutes to make it. I tried to push. The nausea increased. There was no getting rid of it. Just finish. I made the final turn and the Brandenburg Gate came into view. I stay far to the left and followed the blue line for the shortest route to the finish. I tried again to push. No go. My legs had the life but my stomach was running the show now. The distance from the gate to the finish felt like forever. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. (Also running under that gate was super cool) But I had overestimated. Next thing I knew I was right there and had two minutes to spare. Unlike Grandma’s I had the space to take it all in. My hands instantly went over my heart. I was going to do it again! With my hands in the air I crossed the line with weak, screaming legs. 2:58:55, a PB by 47 seconds.

Oh the nausea. A few steps passed the finish, I wobbled and my hands found my knees. Holy crap did I want to throw up. I didn’t make it very far until I veered off to the side and was on all fours for quite some time. I have no clue how long I was there. After a few failed attempts to kneel upright, I walked a bit farther. I needed water. My mouth was stuck shut. I downed two glasses of water and my stomach yelled back. Gosh was I thirsty but it was so uncomfortable. I decided to sit in the sun and hope for some relief. Again, I have no clue how long I sat there but I was able to get another cup of water down. I had to make the long walk back to my bag. I had to take my medal off at this point. It was directly over my stomach, smacking it with every step. I got 3/4 of the way there and had to sit in the grass again. I let the sun start to warm my body and the stillness help digest whatever the heck was so pissed off inside me. Minutes passed and I took my time segmentally getting up. One more push to get my bag and find my mom. Naturally, as soon as I sat down at our meeting spot I looked up to see her sitting not far off from that spot. I stood to embrace her but instantly had to sit back down. I had nausea in Duluth but nothing like this. As we sat and recapped the past few hours, I tried to find positions that made me feel better. It took time but I was able to get to my feet.

I had heard that Tracksmith was in Berlin, stamping free posters with our finishing times. We made our way onto the subway and over to their space. To my surprise, olympic medalist Nick Willis was one of the people stamping posters. My nausea thankfully had subsided and I helped myself to a free beer as we planned our trip back to the room. By the time we got back to the room, it was 3pm. Now back on wifi I read the wonderful messages back from everyone in the states that were now awake. I called my dad to share in the ventures of the morning. We spent the rest of the day taking our time around a museum and at Checkpoint Charlie. I can’t even describe how wonderfully I slept that night.

As mentioned in my previous post, I loved this build. On the train back to Berlin from Munich (of course we went down to Oktoberfest, duh) I found myself smiling and longing for the next one. I loved challenging myself in new ways. Again I was struck by nausea which slowed my second half. I was also at the mercy of a dysfunctional watch and no pacer. What does this tell me - I can most definitely go faster.

I loved Berlin. Besides the mayhem that was getting to the starting line, everything about this race was wonderful. I loved Germany. I would 100% go back. Now I’ll take some downtime and build up for a half in late April. I’d like to train specifically for the half, which I’ve never done. I don’t have plans for a marathon for at least a year. I need to get more settled into life in Portland. I have 4 of my 6 Abbott WMM stars. Tokyo is the next one I’d like to do but is notoriously is hard to get into. If I don’t get into 2025, my next marathon wouldn’t be until summer 2025. Honestly, I’m not sure I can wait that long so who knows, maybe it will be sooner.

0 notes

tutyayilmazz · 3 years

Text

There's been no shortage of guitar bands over the past decade, but few have achieved the level of cultural and commercial success as Måneskin. The morning after their last-minute headline show at London's Islington Academy, we ask the Italian four-piece how they've done what so many other bands have only dreamt of. Bassist Victoria Angelis leans over to vocalist Damiano David and half whispers, "because we're good", as the rest of the band crack up.

"No joking, I think that's the main reason," says Damiano a moment later. "We really believe in this band, and we put a lot of effort into everything we do. This isn't just a job for us; it's a passion. People can relate to us because they can see it's possible to make it with your own ideas and your own values. Most importantly, though, we make good music."

(...)

The band appeared on the eleventh season of Italian X Factor, not as a fast track to fame and fortune but because they had no other option. "It was the only way" for Måneskin to survive. "We never saw X Factor as a goal, but as the start for everything else," says Damiano.

The experience was tough. Because Tom, Ethan and Vic were all under 18, they weren't allowed to work after midnight, leaving Damiano to spend many nights alone on stage, pretending to play guitar, bass and drums to work out lighting cues. "It drove me nuts."

"You're essentially fitting three years' worth of industry experience into a couple of months," he explains. Their own European tours post-X Factor felt relaxing by comparison. The experience also taught the band to stick to their guns. "Obviously, it's a TV show, so they want specific things, but we quickly learnt to say no and to do things our own way."

(...)

"Our generation is starting to feel that things are not going well," starts Damiano. "We are stuck in this old-fashioned culture that our parents and their parents built up. Throughout history, there have been these moments of revolution, and we just want to be part of the change.

"We feel like we can make a difference with our music and the platform we've got. We can inspire people to speak up about what they believe in and encourage people to be themselves. Of course, it's easier for us to talk about it because we're white, European and privileged. We know that. But we want to use our privilege to help those who aren't."

"There's such a stigma around sexual expression, but it's an important part of life, so we talk about it, despite the fact we get criticised by people who find it vulgar or inappropriate," says Vic. They never set out to blur gender norms either, "it just came naturally," says Damiano. "I like feminine clothes, and I want to be free to wear them. I believe everyone should be free to do that."

Vic's "honestly surprised" their gender-fluid style of dress has become such a talking point. "I don't get why people make such a big deal out of it, but because they do, I think it's even more important to try and have these discussions and open some minds."

"But also, you should be able to be comfortable in your own clothes and not have to explain yourself to anybody," says Damiano. "It's empowering to look in the mirror and like what you see."

#month old interview but I've only now come around to it #måneskin #maneskin #victoria de angelis #damiano david #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #i love these kids i think they're neat

23 notes · View notes

laurentspup · 3 years

Text

Friends... Is that what we are? (Lamen AU) Part 7.5

Masterlist

Author’s note:

Hey it’s been so long since I updated this! It still takes a lot of me to think of dialogue and edit the messages, so this isn’t new content. It is, however, what really happened in part 7 (when Damen went to Laurent’s house and read him a book, and kissed his forehead). I always thought this was better in paragraphs than soc med format, so here it is. I actually drafted this before part 7 and I finished it now!

I hope you all enjoy this new chapter and I promise I will be back with a new update soon. I just have to get used to driving (just passed my license a month ago), college (it’s my last year), and work (first year in person).

Okay that was a lot, now onto this chapter full of sweetness and pining.

Part 7.5

It’s past midnight, but Laurent still has a big smile on his face since his call with Damen. It has been a few hours after Damen simply talked about his day, about his brother, about the yacht his parents bought because they had too much money and nothing more to spend it on, anything he could think of. Laurent was more than happy to sit there and listen to his voice. He liked the man too much to do anything else about it.

He is currently studying for his upcoming biology exam on Tuesday. It’s not too bad of an exam, but there are endless terms, endless body functions, and he hates that all he can do is memorize everything. It’s not learning but it does result in an A. His phone buzzes beside him, and welcoming any distraction, he picks it up to see a text from Damen. He’s downstairs.

Laurent runs to his window to check if it’s true. Damen, knowing exactly what Laurent does every time he surprises Laurent with a visit, is looking up at him, waving. Damen’s at Laurent’s door. He isn’t supposed to be home yet, back in this city, but here he is, glowing under the porch light, gorgeous in his hoodie, and everything Laurent ever wanted. He’s speaking but Laurent, shaking his head with a look of disbelief, can’t hear him.

“Wait one sec.” He whispers with a gesture and turns around to go downstairs in a hurry. Before opening the door, he fixes his hair and assumes a relaxed position, as if his heart isn’t pounding miles a minute at the prospect of Damen outside his house, at midnight. As if this doesn’t happen almost everyday.

Once he’s face to face with Damen’s kind eyes, with the smile that can only be read as extremely happy to see him, his heart hammers harder in his chest.

“What are you doing here?” Laurent breathlessly asks him with wide eyes, confusion and excitement evident on his face, try as he might to mask it.

Damen is also breathless, though Laurent can’t think of any reason why.

“I missed you.”

It’s a punch to all the right places in Laurent’s heart. It’s something he can never say to Damen out loud, but he feels it all the same, right down to his bones. It’s something he didn’t know Damen had the nerve to say out loud to him.

“I mean-” Damen begins and Laurent’s face twitches. Damen must have caught it because he stops. “I mean yeah. I missed you so I drove back since there’s nothing to do at my parent’s anymore. And I got you this.”

Laurent doesn’t see the Target plastic bag in Damen’s hand until he lifts it.

“It’s from my mom. She insisted I give you a home-cooked meal since she knows you’re mostly alone nowadays. She doesn’t stop hinting at my dad that she wants to go on a European tour too, see Paris- what? Why are you smiling?”

Laurent doesn’t know he’s smiling. He tries to school his expression even though it’s too late.

“Nothing. You’re here. No- it’s just- I don’t know what I’m saying. Come in.” He quickly says the sentences after the other, making Damen laugh and his cheeks flush. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t saying anything!” Damen enters behind him, shaking with happiness.

Laurent leads him to the kitchen, so he can put the food in the fridge. It’s too late to eat right now and he has a few more chapters to read.

Damen gives him the plastic bag and sits on the stool by the island. He stares at Laurent as he unpacks the tupperwares, then puts it in the fridge. A comfortable silence surrounds them, but Laurent is too conscious of Damen’s stare. It’s as if he can hear the dangerous somersaults Laurent’s heart was doing.

“You still studying tonight?”

“Yeah. Bio’s kicking my ass.”

“I’ll stay up with you. Nik’s not home yet, anyway. He visited his parents too since he was there already.”

“You don’t have to stay up.”

“No, I want-”

“But you can stay.”

“Well, I’m staying up and you can’t stop me.” Damen is right in front of Laurent's face when he turns to face him. He steps back quickly. “Cool?”

“Do whatever you want.” Laurent replies, heart in his throat, rushing to leave the kitchen and get to his room before Damen sees his face turn dangerously red.

Laurent’s head is bent, back to Damen, busy reading the last chapter for his exam. Nothing is entering his brain anymore, but he has to read all of these at least two times to store it in his brain until his test. He’s been yawning since the third paragraph, and he has a massive headache which began in the previous chapter.

It has been two hours since Laurent started studying and let Damen just be in the background. He would hear Damen’s little laughs, gasps, or groans at whatever game he was playing on his phone. He feels Damen’s gaze on his back, conscious of him being conscious of his every move. It was a normal routine for them at three am, but somehow, today, it was more.

Laurent yawns again. This chapter about the reproductive system is very intriguing, but exasperating. He would rather do it himself than read about it. If only the man currently on his bed knew how much he has been thinking about him and this. He sighs at the idea, then hears Damen shuffle on his bed.

“I think you need to take a break.”

“Be quiet. I’m studying.”

“Take a break, Laurent. You’ve been reading nonstop for two hours. I got so bored I started counting how much you’re yawning. It's thirty-seven by the way.”

“That’s weird. Stop staring at me while I’m studying.”

“But I like looking at you all concentrated.”

Laurent ignores him. “Just shut up. I have five more pages to go.”

Damen stands up and takes Laurent’s book. He holds it up above his head. Laurent rolls his eyes but doesn’t stand up.

“Give it back to me right now.” He crosses his arms like a stubborn child.

“Nope. You can try to grab it though.” The real stubborn child says.

“Just because you’re half a foot taller than me, doesn’t mean I can’t reach it.”

“Bet.”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Damen.”

“I’m not playing. Take a break.”

“Dude, I wanna sleep too. Just let me finish.”

“Dude?” Damen says, offended. Laurent ignores his tone again. He stares at Damen with eyebrows raised, trying to be intimidating, knowing well that it won’t work on Damen. “Fine. If you go to bed I’ll give it back to you. Even if you look super sleepy.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Just as Laurent finishes the last word, he yawns.

Damen raises his eyebrows at him. “Thirty-eight.”

“Ha ha. Give me back the book.”

“When you go to bed.”

“I’m not falling for that.”

Damen falls back on Laurent’s bed. Maybe if he offered something else, Laurent might say yes. Maybe Laurent is just tired.

“You gotta get this book one way or another.” Damen shrugs.

Laurent stubbornly stays on his chair, staring daggers at Damen. What the hell is his problem? He didn’t ask him to stay up with him, he told him not to!

Laurent watches Damen flip through the book, knowing he hates it because he’s going to lose his spot. Still, he notices how Damen's index finger remains on the page he’s reading. It’s sweet, but Damen still sucks for making him take a break.

“Ugh.” Annoyed, Laurent stands and goes beside his bed. “I’m here. Hand it back.”

“I have an idea.” Damen answers, not looking at him.

“Damen.” Laurent says, getting more aggravated by the second.

“Look, your eyes are so tired right now.”

“You’re not looking at me, and I can’t see my own eyes.”

Damen ignores him. “Did you even sleep last night?”

Laurent flushes when he remembers the reason why he hasn't slept well at all yet. It’s because of this annoying, clueless brute lying on his bed and he doesn’t even know! All the hours he spends pining for him, yet this is all that ever happens to them.

“See? You haven’t.” Damen answers, interpreting Laurent’s expression as guilt and embarrassment. “Lie down right now and close your eyes.”

“Stop telling me what to do. I have to finish studying.”

Laurent can just take the book, but he knows Damen will pull him and force him to lie down. God, if only Damen is going to do that for other reasons, he’d have done it the moment Damen told him to go to bed.

“I’ll read it to you.”

“You’re going to what?” Laurent asks, genuinely taken aback.

“I'm gonna read to you while you rest your eyes. Saves time. You rest while you still learn. It’s a win-win.” Damen looks at him and smiles expectantly.

“That’s stupid, Damen. It’s five pages long. And it won’t go into my brain.” Laurent is exasperated. He’s losing patience. Hell, he doesn’t even know why he’s still keeping up this conversation. He could kick out Damen anytime. This is his house.

“Yes it would. You take in everything you hear fast.” Laurent opens his mouth to spit a vicious remark but Damen talks first. “Just let me help you. Please.”

Laurent closes his eyes, trying so hard, even though he doesn’t know why, to keep calm. He equally hates and loves Damen for making him take a break and for offering to read five pages of the reproductive system. He grits his teeth because he’s going to say yes, and he’s going to hear Damen talk about sex and sex parts without knowing what it will do to Laurent.

“You’re so annoying.” Laurent sits on the bed. Damen scoots to give him space with a wide smile on his face. “Why can’t I say no to you?”

“It’s because secretly you really like me.”

He wants to strangle Damen. He wishes he could shake him and look him in the eye and scream “YES I FUCKING DO. DO YOU LIKE ME BACK, ASSHOLE?” Fuck him. It’s true. It’s so true, but Laurent is never going to admit that… first.

“Just read. Annoying prick.” He mumbles and makes himself comfortable on the bed. He makes sure there’s at least a foot gap between him and the idiot beside him.

“You can come closer. I don't bite.” Damen says, staring at Laurent with that glint in his eye, patting the space next to him.

“So fucking bossy.” Laurent says angrily and still scoots over. He’ll get over feeling Damen’s warmth and not being in his arms instead. “If I sleep, you better wake me up or I'm killing you.”

He huffs as his head hits the soft pillow and his eyes close. It feels good. He thinks he hasn’t closed his eyes to blink in the past hours.

“Can’t kill me if you’re sleeping.” Damen answers with confidence, settling back on the bed. Laurent feels him move until their shoulders touch, despite the purposeful one inch gap that Laurent left so this won’t happen. Now, he’s really annoyed and conflicted. But he doesn’t move away.

“Give me back the book.”

“Kidding!”

“Just start.”

“So fucking bossy.” Damen teases.

Laurent opens his eyes, ready to smack Damen or kick him out or maybe kiss him too, but he opens the book and starts reading loudly. “The penis is part of the male reproductive system. See Damen’s for ref-”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn't say your-” Laurent cuts him off.

“Shh, I’m reading.”

“Read properly, then. And I’m on the top of that page, first paragraph.”

Damen hushes him again. Laurent rolls his eyes but stays quiet. When Damen begins once more, he reads what Laurent told him to. Laurent feels his heart leap at that, desperate to reach out to Damen, put his head on his shoulder and listen from there. But he keeps his hands to himself.

As Damen reads about functions of the reproductive organs, Laurent soaks in his voice and his warmth. Maybe, this isn’t such a bad idea. He can actually focus better. His eyes don’t hurt as much now, and he can picture the words that Damen reads. His deep voice compels him to listen, and it tugs at his heartstrings at the same time. He can’t even fathom how amazing it is to have Damen read a Biology book to him.

This can’t be just a friendly gesture, Laurent’s brain nags at him. But he quickly kicks all thoughts of more because he knows Damen. Damen has probably done this with all of his friends. He’s just a nice guy who brings Laurent food and makes him take a break and reads his book for him, and Laurent just happens to like him. There’s nothing more.

He listens to Damen flip to the next page, and shuts off the part of his brain that continues to pine for the man beside him. He’ll take this right now and he’ll think about the repercussions tomorrow. Right now, he’ll let himself feel the warmth and comfort of Damen. Right now, he’ll listen to Damen’s voice, soothing him like a lullaby.

Laurent opens his eyes. It’s not dark, his lights are left on, and there’s an unfamiliar warmth beside him, something he’s unaccustomed to when he wakes alone. His head is on a harder surface, not on a pillow but-

He shifts his eyes to the left and sees Damen's clothed chest. The chest his head is resting on right now. The chest his head rested on while he slept. The chest that’s steadily falling and rising.

He slept and somehow, he ended up on Damen’s chest. He asked to be woken up if he slept, but he should have never trusted Damen.

Damen, annoying, clueless Damen, whose clothed chest is under his head right now.

He wants to move away, badly, but also, he can't. Because he wants to be here too, badly.

Physically, there were no obstacles stopping Laurent from moving away. Damen’s arms aren’t even enveloping him. Somehow, he slept without touching Laurent, probably because he knows Laurent doesn’t like to be touched without permission. God, why is Damen so?

For a few moments, he imagines this is real. That Damen is his to sleep on, to cuddle with. That if Damen wakes right now, he’ll kiss Laurent sleepily, a lazy smile spreading across his face. So he stays for a few seconds, tempted to move his arm on top of Damen's torso and snuggle closer. He wants this to be what they are. But it’s not.

Before Laurent could do anything that he can’t explain to Damen without spilling his heart open, he sighs and prepares to move away. He no longer wants to hurt and delude himself further. He doesn’t want to think of this as a mistake, but it is. Damen doesn’t feel the same way he does. Damen is his best friend and he should stay that way.

He moves back a little, but Damen shifts. He abruptly stops moving for a second to not wake him, but Damen puts his arms on top of him and brings him closer.

“Don’t go.” A sleepy voice whispers as a kiss is pressed on Laurent’s forehead.

Laurent freezes. He must still be dreaming. There’s no way in hell or heaven that Damen just kissed him on the forehead, asleep or not. He swallows, too afraid to look up and find out if Damen did this on purpose or in his dream. In this position, Laurent’s head is even closer to Damen’s clothed chest and he can hear his steady heartbeat, can see the rise and fall of his chest, and can determine Damen isn’t awake at all.

Laurent is going crazy. That’s it. He needs to leave, right now, but he can't move anymore. What the fuck is Damen doing to him? What the fuck is he dreaming about? Why can’t he just tell Laurent now that he likes him too, that nothing is ever simply friendly between them?

Once more, he tries to leave the embrace but Damen hugs him tighter.

“Don’t go.” Damen whispers again. “Laurent, I love you.”

Laurent cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot close his eyes. He’s sure now. He’s the one dreaming.

#Captive Prince #college au #lamen #modern lamen #modern lamen au #modern au #college au part 7 #college au part 7.5 #damen x laurent #laurent x damen #yes i have an article response due tomorrow so this is what i did first #when i procrastinate i write ha #that is just how it goes and i think it is actually good lmao #lamen fic by me

49 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Secrets ~ 1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A buried family secret comes to light thrusting you to the forefront of an old alliance.

Note: Bruh, other series are still going. At least one update a week for existing series in future, I promise! Probably more.

This was semi-inspired by The Princess Diaries but obviously we’re not going highschool.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You found it hard to focus on the lecture. You copied the slides without processing the words. You couldn’t tear your mind from the unusual stranger. The one who had slipped from the room not ten minutes earlier. The one no one else seemed to notice; even the professor as she outlined the fall of the Roman Empire.

You did because you were early every week. You sat in the same seat, pulled out your notebook and pen, and put your phone on silent. You’d worked too long to screw this up. Years of saving and scrounging just to pay the application fee, bursaries awarded for your volunteer work and nearly forgotten extracurriculars from high school.

So, you noticed. The man sat in the back row with not a possession before him. Silent, discerning, and to be frank, a bit too old for the student body. Even you, after several years away from academics, thought so. You used the reflection in your phone screen to watch him and when he stood and left without cause, you angled it after his departure.

Perhaps he had come to the wrong room. Or maybe he had got the wrong time. He could be an older student or a guest speaker. Whatever he was, he was gone and you needed to focus. You didn’t have much time outside of class to revise your notes. Between your job at the campus bookstore and your intern position at the museum, you didn’t have time for anything beyond a few hours sleep.

You packed up as the lecture came to an end. Tuesdays, Professor Halren went over the week’s material and Thursdays you had a class discussion on the assigned articles. Basic, simple, but at least eighty pages of reading a week. You climbed the steps between the rows of tables and passed through the upper doors. The east entrance down the rear stairwell was the quickest exit.

You tossed your bag in the passenger seat of your crummy used Honda, parked in front of the burger joint several blocks away from campus parking. It cost you more to park on-site than it did for the beat-up contraption itself.

You drove to the museum and got out, your lanyard around your neck denoting you as a volunteer. You usually worked the help desk or handed out pamphlets for upcoming tours. Most of the time it was quiet enough for you to study in between visitors.

Sheila was the curator on duty that night. She kept to her office, saying she trusted you to direct the rare patrons who arrived on a Tuesday night. As expected, it was dead. You wandered around with textbook in hand, occasionally looking up to check that you were alone.

There was a man by the chart of Greek gods and their relations. A spiderweb with no end. You closed your book and quietly set it down on the nearest bench as you kept an eye on the man. It was him, the one from the lecture hall. A frightening coincidence. He leaned closer to the diagram then turned away, walking, no marching along the wall and rounding the corner into the next section.

Your heart was beating; in confusion and fear. You followed, carefully not to let your shoes click as you did. As you reached the next corridor, he was nowhere to be seen. You continued on, around corner and corner, on and on, looking up and down the walkways. He was gone.

You came back to the bench where you left your textbook. You glanced around one last time and opened it. Behind the cover was a ribbon, a tricade of red, white, and blue, a star emblazoned three-quarters of the way up embroidered in gold and silver. You’d seen it before but none so new as this.

You held it up and felt it between your fingers. You closed the book again and tucked it under your arm. You went to the next wing; medieval history. You walked along the timeline of European kingdoms, below each was a display of royal families of each.

The same ribbon, aged and frayed, laid beneath the kingdom of Astrania, marked by the house of Rogers. A long storied bloodline thrust in and out of power by civil wars and politics well into the twentieth century. A country that stood still, one of the few who still lauded a monarch, as famous as the Windsors in England and beyond. The last vestiges of long lost era.

You shoved the ribbon in your pocket. It was likely a souvenir from some commodified tour of the country. A forgotten novelty sold for pennies and shoved into a used textbook. You shrugged and headed back to your usual spot among the ancient civilizations. Strange things happened. That was life.

👑

You spent your few hours before midnight writing up your rough draft for Life and Death in Ancient Greece then finally crashed. You slept on your back, uncomfortably; a heavy, exhausted sleep. You woke to voices. Your mother’s and another. One you didn’t know.

You checked the time, it was barely seven in the morning. You grumbled as you sat up. Your mother’s tone set you on edge as her voice rose. You stood and crossed to the door. You turned the handle slowly, listening through the crack of the door as you eased it open.

“You get out of my house.” She snarled. You’d never heard her sound so vicious. “I am not that person anymore. I never was.”

“You can hide behind a name,” The deep voice replied evenly. “It doesn’t change your real one.”

“My father is dead, his name died with him.” She hissed. “I won’t tell you again to leave.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll call the police, asshole.”

“I’ve been sent here under the banner of diplomacy, what are they gonna do?”

You stepped out as the argument continued, your mother growing angrier as you tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen. She grabbed a frying pan from the dish rack as you stopped in the doorway and she waved it at the man standing on the other side of the table.

“I’ll just have to make you,” She warned. “Now go--”

“Mum,” You rubbed your eyes. “What’s going on?” You looked to the man as he turned to look at you. It was the same man from the day before. You recoiled and pressed yourself to the wall. “Who is that?”

“No one. He’s leaving.” She edged around the table and drew back the frying pan.

He didn’t move. She swung and he caught the pan as his palm deflected it away from his head. He wrenched it away from her and tossed it away.

“Sit down, your highness,” He glared at your mother as he clanked the pan against the table.

You frowned and looked at your mother. Her eyes glinted at you and she shook her head.

“You will not tell my daughter what to do,” She scowled. “Not in my house.”

“You can send me away now, but I’ll be back.” He looked around the kitchen. “Looks like you can afford a fine lawyer, indeed.”

“Lawyer?” Your mother spat.

“There’s a contract, Princess,” He sneered.

“There is no kingdom left. No crown, no throne.” Your mother neared and grabbed your wrist, drawing you to her. “My daughter does not belong to anyone.”

“Your own father signed the accord. We paid our dues, even after his fall, we expect you to fulfill your end of the contract.”

“My father is dead,” She pushed in front of you, shielding you from the man. His square jaw twitched and his blue eyes glimmered defiantly.

“As his heir, you would acquire his responsibility. She is his first born granddaughter.” The man asserted.

“She has no title.” Your mother insisted. “You can see we have no wealth, no holdings. We are displaced; we are common.”

“Princess Karissa of Ecklun,” The man addressed your mother, “Her daughter, Duchess of Brey. You needn’t land to uphold your titles… and your obligations.”

“The contract is old. Outdated.” Your mother countered. “There are other duchesses. Real ones.”

“The contract is legal still, it has been upheld to this point and there is no clause for annulment. Unless of course you have the funds to buy out the agreement.” He challenged. “Fifteen million, with interest.”

Your mother was silent. He hand squeezed your wrist.

“I never received any of these payments you claim to have made,” She said.

“In a trust, as stated in the contract, to be accessible upon the day of marriage.” He declared. “If you insist, however, I can return with my legal council… and a military escort.”

Your mother let out a long breath. She released you and shakily pulled out a chair from the table. “Sit,” She gestured you forward and drew another chair out. “I’ll entertain your… discussion.”

You stepped forward and sat and she did too. The man across from you lowered himself into another chair and set down his briefcase on the floor. He reached inside and drew out a bundle of papers. He slid them across to your mother.

“If you’d like to look over the terms,” He smirked. “You’ll see all is as I said.”

“He couldn’t find another bride?” She spat as she ignored the contract.

“Not legally.” He insisted and looked at you. “Forgive me. I didn’t introduce myself, your highness. James Barnes, I am a representative of the Astranian court.”

“I don’t--” You blinked. “I don’t understand what’s--”

“Yes, apparently your mother has created a convincing ruse here in this… slum,” He sighed. “What do you know of your grandfather?”

“Don’t talk to her.” Your mother snipped. “Talk to me.”

“She must know--”

“I will explain. That is my responsibility. My right.” She sneered and grabbed the papers.

She flipped the first page, then the second, she continued as she hastily read through it. You peeked over her shoulder but she kept turning away to block you. When she finished, she turned it face down.

“You signed it, Princess,” The man said.

“I was sixteen.” She said. “I was still a child.”

“You were a married woman.” He returned.

“A girl forced into a ring.” She slapped the paper. “And you would have me do the same to my daughter?”

“You already did,” He said plainly. “And she is older. Quite a few years, in fact.”

“It took you years to find us,” She grinned. “You think you’ll be as lucky again?”

“You are being watched. You have been watched.” He pushed his shoulders back. “We have waited long enough.”

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” You said.

The man, Barnes, looked at you. Appalled.

“I will,” Your mother squeezed your arm. “Mr. Barnes.” She turned back to him, her head held high. “Might you allow me some time to prepare?”

“To run?” He challenged.

“If we are being watched as you say, that should not be an issue,” She sniffed. “You must understand the circumstance.”

“I do understand your negligence,” He raised a brow. “One day. That is all I can allow you.”

He left the contract and stood. He took his briefcase and nodded to the table. “A copy for your records.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and flicked it onto the document. “My information should you require it.”

He bowed his head and turned to leave you. The door opened and closed loudly as he strode out the back door. You sat, perplexed, and reached for the contract. Your mother caught your hand. She turned to you and drew your hand back with her.

“Honey,” She said softly. “I need you to listen to me. Just-- don’t talk, just listen.”

“Mum, I--”

“You’re going to hate me. I know that hate, I felt the same for my own father. I would not blame you for hating me even more than that.” She said grimly. “But please, there is much I need to tell you. That I should’ve told you before.”

“I don’t-- I don’t understand.” You sputtered.

“So just listen,” She pleaded. You nodded and your stomach bubbled nervously. “You’ve heard of Ecklun? You were always so fond of history.” You confirmed and she continued on. “And Astrania. Occasional allies until the dissolution of the former… but that all doesn’t matter.”

Your mother hung her head.

“My father knew the tide was against him. He tried to rally his reinforcements, he made promises to those he thought could help. He was the king, you see? He was dethroned, we were all thrown out of the country. I tried to… stay with him. Tried to make him move on but he wouldn’t. So after I had you, I left. Your father didn’t want to let go either and he refused to come with me.”

She touched her cheek and shuddered.

“It was all gone so I thought that meant it was over. Everything. The promises, the debts.” She shook her head. “I tried so hard to start over. For you. But… Your grandfather promised you to the heir of Astrania to fund his personal guard. The same that ejected us from our home.”

She twined her fingers together then pulled them apart. She gulped before she found her voice again.

“That heir is now in power,” She could barely look at you. “And you… you are to be his wife.”

“I-- no, they can’t-- it--”

“I thought I could stop it. I didn’t think they’d want it still but-- I always hated how backwards it all was. Bloodlines, lineage, privilege… It was all so ridiculous.” She huffed. “I-- tried. I failed.”

“You ran once, we can--”

“That man found me. I am not foolish to think he did not come with back-up. I have seen what happens when you undermine others. I have seen the ugliness of it. I can’t say what’s worse; to let them have you or to refuse and suffer further. You don’t know how-- I was stupid enough to think I could ever outpace them.”

You gaped at her. Shocked, angry, sickened.

“And now I can’t stop them.” She uttered.

“You didn’t tell me,” You breathed. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry--”

“I have school, work...I… No, they can’t. I have a life!” You stood and the chair wobbled.

“Honey, please,” She got to her feet. “I know how it feels. Trust me. My father, he did the same--”

“So what? Family tradition?” You scoffed. “They can’t make me. I’m staying. I’m going to school, I’m working. I’m not--”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I won’t go!” You shouted.

“They’ll make you.”

“How?”

She looked at you. Her face was grim, her wrinkles more apparent than ever before. She didn’t need to say.

“They can’t--”

“They’ll find a way.” She muttered. “They always do. I’m so so sor--”

“So I’ll make them drag me,” You said. “I’ll fight it.”

“It’s treason--”

“It’s the twenty-first century!”

“Not there. It’s not the same as here. There’s no one to stop them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You hit the table and swore. You stormed from the room and slammed your door before you fell onto the bed and screamed into your pillows.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream!

653 notes · View notes

domesticblisss · 4 years

Text

24 Hours

Marcel Barthel x Female Reader x Fabian Aichner Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word count: 2008 Warnings: Smut/A little angsty. Oral (female and male receiving), threesome, double penetration, PiV, anal. Alcohol mention. Inspired by Sky Ferreira’s song, 24 hours.

If she could describe their relationship, she would describe it with “I don’t know”. Simple as that. One big I don’t know. She doesn’t think they could be called friends with benefits, well, they talk almost weekly, ask how each other’s lives are going... does that makes them friends? She likes to call themselves “I’m in town, let’s do something with benefits”. They don’t live that far from each other, it’s a 4 hour drive from their respective towns, and an even smaller flight. Their schedule rarely match, she knows how busy they get with training and travelling for live shows and she’s constantly travelling for her own job too.

They met a few years ago, the three of them far away from the places they now call home. She was in Los Angeles to meet a potential new client to her company and Marcel and Fabian, just arriving from Europe, on their first tour with NXT.

She met Marcel first. Tall, blonde, energetic. The sharpest cheekbones she has ever seen, green eyes that made her breathless. He sees her sitting at the bar’s counter and decides to try his luck. To be honesty, she wasn’t looking for anything, but how could she say no to that angel face that she knew was trouble. He was funny, his thick german accent making her swoon. They kept their conversation going for what felt like 40 minutes until they hear a strong but at the same time soft man’s voice shouting Marcel’s name.

Marcel introduces the new guy to her, “This is Fabian, my partner! We wrestle together.” Fabian is... something. Tall, but shorter than Marcel. Bald, but she can see the hint of a thick beard coming in. Broad shoulders, morning sky blue eyes, more reserved. Marcel does almost all the talking, but only nice things comes out when Fabian decides to speak. He also got an accent, she can’t pinpoint from where exactly, assumes it’s european too and later finds out he’s italian. “A german and an italian, what a combination...” she thinks, mesmerised by the way Fabian stares at her and this knowing look Marcel gets in his eyes when he glances at the both of them.

They decided to move to a table, to get more comfortable. A few beers for them, a couple of gin and tonics for her and they stay there chatting, exchanging experiences and laughs for hours. The bar is getting more crowded as time passes and it’s almost midnight when Fabian asks “do you want to get out of here? somewhere more quiet, more private?”

“With the two of you?” she wonders, incredulous.

“We’re like a 2 for 1 package deal!” intervenes Marcel.

She stops, looks at their faces for a few seconds. Fabian is serene, just waiting for his ‘yes or no’ answer, Marcel looks like an eager kid at a candy store, about to explode with excitement but trying to hide it behind a nonchalant mask.

She wets her lips, looks at the both of them and agrees with it, “Sure. Where are you two staying at?”

They ended up going to hers, it being a five minute walk only.

What she thought would be a 1 hour top kind of night turned out to be a 48 hour weekend, with them stopping only to eat, drink some water and rest for a bit when it got too much. When she asked them if they need to workout or practice they answered in union “Oh, it’s gonna be a cardio weekend”.

Those little time out moments they spent getting to know each other. The boys told her how they started wrestling, places they’ve traveled and people they’ve met. She told them about how she started her own marketing company a year ago and how it’s slowly growing.

“I’m here for a client meeting, actually. A big, big client. I was at the bar celebrating.”

“So that means you got the contract, right?” Fabian asks excitedly.

“Yeah!”, and with her confirmation, Marcel agrees it calls for a celebration.

The celebration turns out to be 3 back to back orgasms for her. She was sure they would have had continued if she didn’t beg them to stop once she couldn’t feel her legs anymore.

The weekend went on like this. By the time the trio had to leave, they had exchanged contacts and addresses, finding out how close to each other they were.

They kept in touch, always reaching out to see how the other was, letting them know if they were around. That was their dynamic. A few encounters that lasted, 2, 3, 24 hours that, sometimes, she wished it would never end.

One summer, tired of all the work she has been doing, she decides to take a vacation. This comes up during one of their conversations and Marcel has the great idea of inviting her to watch them perform live, “You could stay with us, if you want to, of course”, Fabian chimes in.

Agreeing with it, she packs her stuff and leaves on the next wednesday. She decides to drive there, using those precious little hours to clear her head. The GPS system and radio are on and it’s time to go.

The first couple of hours goes smoothly. She sings along to her favourite tunes, dances a little and makes a quick bathroom break. When she’s back in the road, the GPS alerts her that an accident happened, doubling her arrival time. Deciding to let the boys know, she sends them a quick audio message on their group chat, “Hey, some accident just happened on the highway. Traffic is awful... I’ll probably get there by the time the show starts.” Fabian is the one to answer her, almost immediately, telling her that’s it’s okay, that when she arrives she should look for Harry Johnson from Relations that everything will be sorted out, finishing with a “Please drive safe, tesoro ❤”

That tesoro and heart emoji combo haunted her for the rest of the trip.

They never called her any pet names.

The rest of the trip went by without any troubles. She arrives 10 minutes before the show starts, with Harry waiting for her by the door, being greeted with a backstage pass and a front row seat ticket.

She was delighted with the show. The sheer athleticism, the lights and the charisma were out of this world. But she couldn’t believe was how well Marcel and Fabian worked together. They knew each other’s moves to perfection, they knew exactly what to do, when to attack their opponents, when to save each other. Their perfect partnership made them win the NXT Tag Team titles for the second time that night.

She ran backstage looking for them, meeting the duo at their dressing room.

Marcel was the first one to greet her, hugging her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, “I’m so happy you came to see us, liebe!”

The boys took turns on taking their showers to keep her company, deciding that it would be better to head straight to their apartment. Marcel went ahead of them, letting Fabian accompany her, guiding her back to their place.

It was a silent drive, with soft music playing on the radio. He kept his left hand on her right thigh all the time, rubbing soothing circles on its insides. On red lights he would either seal their lips together or pepper her cheeks and neck with light kisses.

As soon as she got through the door of their apartment, Marcel was on her, clinging on her lips like a starved man, “do you know how much we have missed you, liebe?”

“We can’t believe you are here, Tesoro. We shouldn’t stay that long without seeing each other again”, says Fabian, while kissing her neck.

“What is it with the two of you and pet names today?” she says between moans, both Fabian and Marcel hitting her sweet spots. Marcel stops and asks what she means with it, she says that this is the first time they ever called her something like that and all he says before lifting her up to snake her legs around his waist is “I’m sorry, let us right our wrongs”

The german takes her to his bedroom, Fabian following close behind. As soon as they arrive, they waste no time on taking their clothes off. Marcel lies on his bed, ordering her to sit on his face which she takes no time to comply.

“I brought lube and the plug, they are on the pink bag on the front pocket of my suitcase.” She tells Fabian when they break their kiss, and she can feel Marcel moan beneath her. Fabian wastes no time to grab it, covering two fingers in lube and inserting one at a time to get her used to it. He takes is time with it, going slow as to not hurt her, after a minute, he slowly inserts the plug.

She grabs him by the hand, brings him down to a quick kiss and as soon as he is up, she stars sucking him. Slow licks and stokes, increasing as she feels him lose control, he grabs her by the hair, making her deep throat his dick.

Between her legs, Marcel takes some time to breathe, mesmerized by the scene unfolding above him, “You two are so fucking hot” and goes back to his job.

They stay like that for a while, with her only stopping sucking Fabian when she reaches her high.

The boys switch places, Fabian now lying down, helping her take the plug off to switch it with his throbbing cock. Marcel is not left behind, lining himself between her thighs and entering her in one swift move.

Their great work on the ring transfers to the bedroom, with the both of them working in sync to make her lose her mind. It isn’t long before she comes again, taking Fabian with her. Marcel keeps his thrusts hard and deep even with her walls closing around him, making him reach his own high a matter of seconds later.

He collapses on top of them, making the other two laugh. They stay like this for a little while, basking in each other’s presence, taking in their scents.

Marcel decides to get up when he feels his dick going limp inside her, grabbing a towel to clean her up a little, and Fabian opts for grabbing a bottle of water for the three of them.

They get back to bed with her, silence consuming them. After a few minutes, all the thoughts she has been suppressing for sometime now comes back to her.

“What are we?”

“What do you mean, liebe?”

“Are we friends? Acquaintances? What is this thing we have? I’m sorry and if you guys want to end it after this, it’s okay, but I have to say it, I’ve been keeping it inside for so long… the days we have together are the best ones. Ever. It sucks that I can only see the two of you for so little time, one day or a weekend is not enough. I always look forward to your texts, even when it’s you sending some stupid gaming meme I don’t get or Marcel thirst trapping. I hate that we live so close to each other and see ourselves so little… FUCK I’m ranting, I’m sorry. I should probably leave.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fabian stops her, “first of all, Tesoro, you are not leaving and we are not ending anything. Marcel and I were talking about this last week, that’s why we decided to invite you to the show tonight. We love you and we didn’t know how to say it. Wait, I guess I just did? Anyway… you have your life and we didn’t want to mess with it, but, if you want to, we could try and work something out.”

“So, what do you say, liebe? Could we work something out?”

“Yeah, we can work something out…”

#fabian aicher x reader #fabian aichner imagine #marcel barthel x reader #marcel barthel imagine #wrestling imagine #DB Writes

30 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 3 years

Text

Dust, Volume 7, Number 8

Big Thief

Our August collection of short reviews contains more big names than usual with singles from Big Thief and Dry Cleaning, a digital compilation from Thou, live music from Obits and a side project from members of the Bats and the Clean. Never fear, there are obscurities as well, including an improv guitar player even Bill Meyer had hardly heard of, a Norwegian emo artist in love with Texas and a death metal outfit verging into psychedelia. Our writers, this time including Tim Clarke, Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Ian Mathers, Chris Liberato and Jonathan Shaw, like what they like, big or small, hyped or unknown. We hope you’ll like some of it, too.

Marc Barreca — The Sleeper Awakes (Scissor Tail)

The Sleeper Wakes by Marc Barreca

Odd connections abound here. One might not expect the usually acoustic-oriented Scissor Tail Recordings to make a vinyl reissue of an electronic ambient music cassette from 1986, any more than one would expect its maker to currently earn his crust as a bankruptcy judge. So, let’s just shed those expectations and get to listening. Unlike so many lower profile electronic recordings from the 1980s, which seemed targeted for a space next to the cash register of a new age bookstore, this album offers a profusion of mysteries that compound the closer you listen to them. It’s not at all obvious what sounds Barreca fed into his Akai sampler. Japanese folk music? Church chimes? A log drum jam? Tugboat engines? One hears hints of such sounds, but they’ve been warped and dredged in a thin coat of murk, so that the predominant experience is one of feeling like you’re dreaming, even if your eyes are wide open.

Bill Meyer

Big Thief — “Little Things” / “Sparrow” (4AD)

Little Things/Sparrow by Big Thief

Who knows how much more music Big Thief might have released in the last 18 months if the pandemic hadn’t tripped them up? Given the creative momentum generated by 2019’s UFOF and Two Hands, it’s fair to assume the band have plenty of music waiting in the wings. “Little Things” and “Sparrow” arrive with no sign of a new album on the horizon, so are probably being released to promote Big Thief’s upcoming US and European tour. Both songs clock in at around five minutes and handle musical repetition in different satisfying ways. Reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everything,” but hyped up on caffeine, “Little Things” feels like an exciting new direction for the band. It cycles through its whirlpooling, modulated acoustic guitar over and over, the frantic little sequence of chords never changing; the interest comes from the ways in which the rest of the instruments bob and weave in the ever-shifting, psychedelic mix. “Sparrow” is a more traditional Big Thief song, sparse and sad. Its melancholic sway is enlivened by some beautiful wavering vocal harmonies as Adrianne Lenker paints a picture of a Garden of Eden populated by sparrows, owls and eagles, culminating in Adam blaming Eve for humankind’s fall from grace.

Tim Clarke

Simão Costa — Beat Without Byte: (Un)Learning Machine (Cipsela)

Beat With Out Byte by Simão Costa

Piano preparation often makes use of modest resources — bolts and combs, strings or maybe just a raincoat tossed into the instrument’s innards. By contrast, Simão Costa’s set-up looks like took all of the entries in a robotics assembly competition and set them to work agitating a snarl of cables that met the pirated telecommunication requirements for an especially crowded favela. But whether it’s twitching motors or Costa’s own hands doing the work, the sounds that come out of his sound remarkably rich and cohesive. He stirs drifting hums, metallic sonorities, and stomping rhythms into a bracingly immediate sonic onslaught.

Bill Meyer

Cots — Disturbing Body (Boiled)

Disturbing Body by Cots

Disturbing Body is the low-key debut album by Montreal-based musician Steph Yates, who enlisted Sandro Perri to produce. Where the songs are pared back to mostly just vocals and peppy major-seventh chords on nylon-string guitar — such as “Bitter Part of the Fruit” and “Midnight at the Station” — comparisons with bossa-nova classics such as “The Girl From Ipanema” inevitably arise. Where the tempo is slower, the chord voicings are less sun-dappled, and Perri’s arrangements call upon a wider palette of instrumental colors, the songs venture into more interesting terrain, calling to mind a less haunted Broadcast. There’s an eerie sway to the opening title track, backed by rich piano chords and clattering cymbal textures. Fender Rhodes and the light clack of a rhythm track give “Inertia of a Dream” an uneasy momentum. And forlorn trumpet, percussion and piano situate “Last Sip” at closing time in a forgotten jazz club. There’s something evasive yet subtly intoxicating at work here, the album’s ten songs breezing past in half an hour, leaving plenty of unanswered questions in their wake.

Tim Clarke

Dry Cleaning — “Bug Eggs” / “Tony Speaks!” (4AD)

Bug Eggs/Tony Speaks! by Dry Cleaning

A few months on from the release of their excellent debut album, New Long Leg, Dry Cleaning have put out two more songs from the same sessions, which are featured as bonus tracks on the Japanese edition. For a band whose unique appeal is mostly attributed to Florence Shaw’s surreal lyrics and deadpan delivery, it’s heartening to hear further evidence that it’s the complete cocktail of musical ingredients — Shaw plus Tom Dowse’s inventive guitar, Lewis Maynard’s satisfyingly thick bass, and Nick Buxton’s driving drums — that alchemizes into their winning sound. The verse guitar chords of “Bug Eggs” are naggingly similar to New Long Leg’s “More Big Birds,” while the instrumental chorus has a yearning feel akin to album highlight “Her Hippo.” Maynard’s bass tone on “Tony Speaks!” is absolutely filthy, swallowing up most of the mix until Dowse’s guitar bares its teeth in a swarm of squalling wah-wah, while Shaw’s lyrics muse upon the decline of heavy industry, the environment, and crisps.

Tim Clarke

Flight Mode — TX, ’98 (Sound As Language)

TX, '98 by Flight Mode

In 1998, well before he started Little Hands of Asphalt, Sjur Lyseid spent a year in Texas at the height of the emo wave, skateboarding and going to house shows and listening to the Get Up Kids. TX, ’98 is the Norwegian’s tribute to that coming of age experience, the giddy euphorias of mid-teenage freedom filtered through bittersweet subsequent experience. “Sixteen” is the banger, all crunchy, twitchy exhilarating guitars and vulnerable pop tunefulness, its clangor breaking for wistful reminiscence, but “Fossil Fuel” waxes lyrical, its guitar riffs splintering into radiant shards, its lyrics capturing those youthful years when anything seems possible and also, somehow, the later recognition that perhaps it isn’t. It’s an interesting tension between the now-is-everything hedonism of adolescence and the rueful remembering of adulthood, encapsulate in a chorus that goes, “Well wait and see if there’s no more history/and just defend the present tense.”

Jennifer Kelly

Drew Gardner— S-T (Eiderdown Records)

S/T by Drew Gardner

Drew Gardner has been popping up all over lately, on Elkhorn’s snowed in acoustic jam Storm Sessions and the electrified follow-up Sun Cycle and as one of Jeffrey Alexander’s Heavy Lidders. Here, it’s just him and his guitar plus a like-minded rhythm section (that’s Ryan Jewell on drums and Garcia Peoples’ Andy Cush on bass), spinning off dreamy, folk-into-interstellar-journeys like “Calyx” and “Kelp Highway.” Gardner puts some muscle into some of his grooves, running close to Chris Forsyth’s wide-angle electric boogie in “Bird Food.” “The Road to Eastern Garden,” though, is pure limpid transcendence, Buddhist monastery bells jangling as Gardner’s warm, inquiring melodic line intersects with rubbery bends on bass. Give this one a little time to sit, but don’t miss it.

Jennifer Kelly

Hearth — Melt (Clean Feed)

Melt by Hearth

This pan-European quartet’s name suggests domesticity, but the fact that none of its members lives in the country of their birth probably says more about the breadth of their music. The closest geographic point of reference for the sounds that pianist Kaja Draksler, trumpeter Susana Santos Silva, and saxophonists Ada Rave and Mette Rasmussen’s make together would be Chicago’s south side. Their dynamic blend of angular structures, extended instrumental techniques, and obscurely theatrical enactments brings to mind the Art Ensemble of Chicago, even though the sounds on this concert-length recording rarely echo the AEC’s. But it is similarly charged with mystery and collective identity.

Bill Meyer

Klaus Lang / Konus Quartett — Drei Allmenden (Cubus)

youtube

Drei Allmenden (translation: Three Commons) treats the act of commission as an opportunity to create common cause. For composer and keyboardist Klaus Lang, this is a chance to push back against a long trend of separation and stratification, with musicians bound to realize the composer’s whim, no matter the cost. Invoking works from the 16th century, he penned something simple, flexible and open to embellishment. Then he pitched in with Konus Quartett, a Swiss saxophone ensemble, to get the job done. The three-part piece, which lasts 43 sublime minutes, amply rewards the submersion of ego. Lang’s slowly morphing harmonium drones and Konus’ long reed tones sound like one instrument, enriched by tendrils of sound that rise up and then sink back into the music’s body.

Bill Meyer

Lynch, Moore, Riley — Secant / Tangent (dx/dy)

Secant | Tangent by Sue Lynch, N.O. Moore, Crystabel Riley

Electric guitarist N.O. Moore is barely known in these parts. I’ve only heard him on one album with Eddie Prévost a couple years back, and the other two musicians, not at all. But on the strength of this robust performance, which was recorded at London’s Icklectick venue, it would be a loss to keep it that way. They combine acoustic sounds with electronics, courtesy of guitar effects and amplification, in an exceedingly natural fashion. Each musician also gets into the other’s business in ways that correspond to the one spicy suggestion made by one cook that elevates another’s dish to the next level. Susan Lynch’s clarinet and flute compliment Moore’s radiophonic/feedback sounds like two flashes of lightning illuminating the same dark cloud, and her vigorously pecking saxophone attack mixes with Crystabel’s cascading beats like idiosyncratically tuned drums. This is one of the first albums to be released on Moore’s dx/dy label; keep your eye out for more.

Bill Meyer

Maco Sica / Hamid Drake Tatsu Aoki & Thymme Jones—Ourania (Feeding Tube)

OURANIA by Mako Sica / Hamid Drake featuring Tatsu Aoki & Thymme Jones

Ourania is named for the muse associated with astronomy in Greek mythology, and the album has an aim for the stars quality. In 2020, Chicago’s Mako Sica lost not only the chance to play concerts, but one third of its number. Core members Brent Fuscaldo (electric bass, voice, harmonica, percussion) and Przemyslaw Krys Drazek (electric trumpet, electric guitar, mandolin) could have just hunkered down with their respective TV sets. Instead, they booked themselves three other musicians who make rising above circumstances a core practice. The duo convened at Electrical Audio with Hamid Drake (drums, percussion, Tatsu Aoki (upright bass, shamisen), and Thymme Jones (piano, organ, balloon, trumpet, voice, recorder, percussion), rolled tape for a couple hours, and walked out with this album. The 85 minute-long recording (edited to about half that length on vinyl, but the LP comes with a download card) exudes a vibe of calm, even beatitude, with twin trumpets and Fuscaldo’s echo-laden, nearly word-free vocals weaving though a sequence of patient grooves like migrational birds on the glide.

Bill Meyer

Mar Caribe — Hymn of the Mar Caribe (Mar Caribe)

Hymn of the Mar Caribe b/w Rondo for Unemployment by mar caribe

Some musicians burn to make something new; others generate attention-getting sounds designed to maximize the potential of their other earning activities; and others, well, they just want you to sway along with their version of the good sounds. Mar Caribe falls into that last category. This Chicago-based instrumental ensemble has spent most of the last decade maintaining a robust performance schedule, and it would seem that recording is pretty much an afterthought; a photo of the test pressing for this 7” was posted in May 2019, but the release show didn’t happen until August 2021. Sure, COVID can be blamed for part of the delay, but one suspects that mostly, these guys just want to play, and they didn’t bother to stuff the singles in the sleeves until they knew when they’d next be leaning over a merch table. The titular suspends anthemic brass and pedal steel over a swinging double bass cadence, and if there was a moment during the night when the band invited the audience to pledge allegiance to their favorite drink, this is what they’d be playing while they asked. Guitars lead on the flip side, whose busy twists and turns belie the implied laziness of the title, “Rondo For Unemployment.”

Bill Meyer

Mint Julep — In a Deep and Dreamless Sleep (Western Vinyl)

In A Deep And Dreamless Sleep by Mint Julep

These songs traverse a hazy, dreamlike space, diffusing dance beats, dream-y vocals and synth pulses into inchoate sensation that nonetheless retains enough rhythmic propulsion to keep your heart rate up. “A Rising Sun” filters jangly guitar and bass through a sizzle of static, letting tambourine thump gently somewhere off camera, as voices soothe and reassure. “Mirage” pounds a four-on-the-floor, but quietly, angelically, like a disco visited through astral projection or maybe a really rave-y iteration of heaven. There’s an ominous undercurrent to “Longshore Drift,” in its growly, sub-bass-y hum, but glittering bits of synth sprinkle over like fairy dust. This is indefinitely gorgeous stuff, ethereal but surprisingly energizing. Dance or drift, take your pick.

Jennifer Kelly

Monocot — Directions We Know (Feeding Tube)

Direction We Know by Monocot

Directions We Know is an LP of free-form freak-outs generated by an instrumental duo that includes one musician who you might expect to perpetuate such a ruckus, and one that you might not. The more likely character is drummer Jayson Gerycz, who may be known for keeping time with the Cloud Nothings, but has shown a willingness to wax colorizing in the company of Anthony Pasquarosa, Jen Powers and Matthew Rolin. The happy surprise is Rosali Middleman, whose singer-songwriter efforts have kept her guitar playing firmly in service of her songs. She doesn’t exactly abandon lyricism in Monocot, but the tunes serve as launching ramps for exuberant lunges into the realm of voltage-saturated sound. On “Ruby Throated,” the first of the record’s four extended jams, Middleman lofts rippling peals over a near-boil of drums and churning loops. By the time you get to “Multidimensional Solutions,” the last and longest track, her wah-wah-dipped streams of sound have taken on a blackened quality, as though her overheating tubes have burned every note.

Bill Meyer

Obits — Die at the Zoo (Outer Battery)

Die At The Zoo by Obits

Few aughts rock bands held more promise than Obits. The four-piece headed by Hot Snakes’ Rick Froberg and Edsel’s Sohrab Habibion emerged in 2005 with a stinging, stripped-back, blues-touched sound. Froberg’s feral snarl rode a surfy, twitchy amplified onslaught, that was, by 2012 a finely tuned machine. I caught one of the live shows following Moody, Standard and Poor at small club in Northampton the same year this was recorded (so small that I was sitting on a couch next to Froberg, oblivious, for 20 minutes before the show), and what struck me was how well the band played together. The records sound chaotic, and that was certainly there in performance, but the cuts and stops were perfect, the surfy instrumental breaks (“New August”) absolutely in tune. At the time this set was recorded in the Brisbane punk landmark known as the Zoo, the band was near the peak of its considerable powers—and regrettably near the end of its run. Die at the Zoo is reasonably well recorded, rough enough to capture the band’s raucous energy, skilled enough so you can understand the words and hear all the parts. It hits all the highlights, blistering early cuts like “Widow of My Dreams,” and “Pine On,” the blues cover “Milk Cow Blues,” and later, slightly more melodic ragers like “Everything Looks Better in the Morning” and “You Gotta Lose.” The guitar work is particularly sharp throughout, its straight-on chug breaking into fiery blues licks and surfy whammy explosions. It’s a poignant reminder of a time when American rock bands played ferocious shows halfway across the world (or anywhere) as a matter of course and a fitting eulogy for Obits.

Jennifer Kelly

A Place To Bury Strangers — Hologram (Dedstrange)

Hologram EP by A Place To Bury Strangers

A Place To Bury Strangers returns with a new rhythm section and renewed focus on the elements that made its version of revivalism the loudest if not brashest of the New York aughties. Sarah and John Fedowitz on drums and bass join Oliver Ackerman on the five track EP Hologram which is the most concise and vital APTBS release for a while. For all the criticism of copyism thrown at the band since their early days, APTBS has always been as much about Ackerman’s production skills and feel for texture as musical originality and the songs on Hologram sound fantastic at volume. Beneath the sonic onslaught of fuzz and reverb, not a brick is misplaced in this intricately constructed sonic wall. True “I Might Have” is pure Jesus & Mary Chain and “In My Hive” a Wax Trax take on Spector but Hologram is an endorphin rush of guitar driven noise bound to make one forget the world, if only for a while.

Andrew Forell

Praises — EP4 (Hand Drawn Dracula)

youtube

Jesse Crowe’s work as Praises has been ongoing since 2014, but has shifted in tone, instrumentation and emphasis since then. While the first two EPs have more of a full, rock band feel, the third one and 2018’s full-length In This Year: Ten of Swords took things in a more electronic, sometimes industrial direction. It was an even better fit for the rest, probing creativity evident in Praises’ work, and 3/4s of the new EP4 are in a pleasingly similar vein. The echoing, ringing denunciations of “We Let Go” and “A World on Fire” are fine examples of Praises’ existing strengths, but the opening “Apples for My Love” is immediately captivating in a very different way. Gauzy and rapturous, it’s a reverie that keeps the satisfying textural detail of the other songs but turns them to different ends. It’s not something that was missing from Crowe’s work before — again, the other tracks here are also very good — but a reminder that what Praises has shown before is not the extent of what they can do.

Ian Mathers

The Sundae Painters — The First SP Single (Leather Jacket)

youtube

“This is a supergroup, is it not?” someone asked the Sundae Painters bassist Paul Kean on social media last year, to which he responded, “Some may choose that title. We prefer superglue.” Kaye Woodward, his wife and longtime bandmate in both The Bats and Minisnap, takes the lead vocal on “Thin Air,” one of the pair of A-sides found on their new band’s debut seven-inch. From the outset, Kean’s unmistakable bass playing and Hamish Kilgour’s (The Clean/Mad Scene) drumming lock into a psychedelic march, with the other instruments weaving like kites above, vying for position on the same breeze. “You fight your way down/You fight your way up/You wait for the dust to settle,” Woodward sings. A few gentle strums cut their way through the parade, and a guitar calls out gull-like from above, before everything trails off as if something potent has just kicked in. On the flip side, “Aversion” has an old friend-like familiarity to it, soundwise (if not lengthwise) sitting somewhere between VU’s “The Gift” and “Sister Ray.” Things begin a little stand-offish, though, like you’ve interrupted a guitar pontificating to a rapt audience — it turns its head to look you over, falling momentarily silent, before picking right back up where it left off. Kilgour’s spoken vocals join the conversation, as the song builds towards a groovy kind of fever pitch. “You look a little stoned,” he says, before responding to his own observation. “Well me I’m a little bit groggy/But it ain’t too foggy/I can see some way of getting out of here.” By this point, both guitars (played by Woodward and Tall Dwarfs’ Alec Bathgate) are full-on screeching and howling, and as the song sputters to a sudden finish, our man’s left waiting for someone to buy him “a ride out the gate.”

Chris Liberato

Thou — Hightower (Self-released)

Hightower by Thou

Hightower is the latest in a string of digital compilations from Thou, most of which collect songs that have been previously released on small-batch splits, 7” records and other hyper-obscure media that briefly circulated through the metal underground. You might be tempted to pronounce that a cynical cash-grab, but Thou has posted Hightower (along with previous compilations, like Algiers, Oakland and Blessings of the Highest Order, a killer collection of Nirvana covers) on their official Bandcamp page as a name-yo’-price download. Thanks, band. Beyond convenience, Hightower has an additional, if a sort of inside-baseball, attraction. The band has re-recorded a few of its older songs with its latest, three-guitar line-up. Longtime listeners will recognize “Smoke Pigs” and “Fucking Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean,” which already sounded terrifyingly massive back in 2008 and 2007, respectively. The expanded instrumentation, new arrangements and better production give the songs even more power and depth, all the way down to the bottom of the effing ocean. Yikes. And there are a few additional touches, like K.C. Stafford’s clean vocals on “Fucking Chained…,” which provide an effective complement to Bryan Funck’s inimitably scabrous howl. Rarely has being pummeled and feeling bummed out been so vivifying.

Jonathan Shaw

Tropical Fuck Storm — Deep States (Joyful Noise)

Deep States by Tropical Fuck Storm

Fueled by exasperation as much as anger, the new album by Melbourne’s Tropical Fuck Storm rounds on the myriad ways in which the world has become a “Bumma Sanger” as leader Gareth Liddiard puts it on the eponymous song about COVID lockdown. A roiling meld of psychedelic garage garnished with elements of hip hop and electronic noise it’s close in method and mood if not sound to another Australian provocateur JG Thirwell whose Foetus project girded maximalist surfaces with rigid discipline. If the Tropical Fuck Storm sought to mirror current conditions, they succeed but lack of clarity in both production and intent makes Deep States a frustrating experience. Backing vocals from Fiona Kitschin (bass), Erica Dunn (keys and guitar) and Lauren Hammel (drums) leaven Liddiard’s blokey pronouncements and there are some good sounds and biting words but the band’s determination to overelaborate and underdevelop musical ideas makes this album seem like a lost opportunity.

Andrew Forell

Marta Warelis / Carlos “Zingaro” / Helena Espvall /Marcelo dos Reis — Turquoise Dream (JACC)

Turquoise Dream by Marta Warelis, Carlos "Zíngaro", Helena Espvall, Marcelo dos Reis

Turquoise Dream documents an example of an encounter that is a mainstay of avant-garde jazz festivals, in which out of towners mix it up locals that they may or may not know. This particular concert, which took place at the Jazz ao Centro Festival in 2019, is one such encounter that deserves to live past the night when it transpired. It featured three stringed instrument players who live in Portugal and a Polish pianist who is based in Holland. But they don’t sound like strangers at all. Violinist Zingaro, cellist Espvall, and guitarist dos Reis blend like flashes of sunlight reflecting off of waves, adding up to a sound that is bright and ever-changing. Warelis, who is equally resourceful with her head under the lid of her piano as she is at the keyboard, adding fleet but substantial responses to her hosts’ quicksilver interactions. The result is music that is resolutely abstract but closely engaged.

Bill Meyer

Wharflurch — Psychedelic Realms ov Hell (Gurgling Gore)

PSYCHEDELIC REALMS OV HELL by Wharflurch

Wharflurch is just plain fun to say — but there are at least two ways in which the name also makes sense for the band that has chosen it: it has a bilious, nauseous quality that matches the vibe of the pustulent death metal you’ll hear on Psychedelic Realms ov Hell; and if you separate the words, you can conjure a sodden, rotten wooden structure, swaying vertiginously over a marshy expanse of water, which is filled with alligators and decaying organic material. Imagine that sway, and that stink, and then imagine yourself collapsing into the viscous fluid, soon to be gator chow. Sounds like Florida, and that’s exactly from whence Wharflurch has emerged. Which also makes sense. Is Wharflurch’s music “psychedelic”? Depends on what you hear in that word. If you want to see hippies dancing ecstatically on a verdant, sun-drenched stretch of Golden Gate Park, then no. But if you have spent any time in the warped, dementedly distorted spaces that psychedelics can open (less happily perhaps, but very powerfully), then yes. Wharflurch likes to accent its meaty riffs and muscular thumps with weird flutters and electronic effects that frequently have a gastric, flatulent quality to them. The saturated and sickly pinks and greens on the album art do a pretty good job of capturing the music’s tones. So do the song titles: “Stoned Ape Apocalypse,” “Bog Body Boletus,” “Phantasmagorical Fumes.” Still game? I’m sorry. But I’ll also be standing right there next to you, on that wobbly, lurching wharf, watching the gators swim near.

Jonathan Shaw

Whisper Room — Lunokhod (Midira Records)

Lunokhod by Whisper Room

That the title of Whisper Room’s fifth album is taken from Soviet lunar rovers makes a certain sense, given how potentially frustrating it might have been for the trio to be working at such a distance. Generally their other records are recorded live, in one room, seeing Aidan Baker (guitar), Jakob Thiesen (drums) and Neil Wiernik (bass) exploring simultaneously, hitting whatever junctions of psychedelic/shoegazing/motorik sound come to them. With Baker in Berlin and travel understandably limiited, this time they recorded their parts separately, layering them together (and bringing in sound designer Scott Deathe to add the kind of pedal processing their sound engineer normally does live). The result certainly sounds as collaborative as ever, seven seamless tracks making up nearly an hour that makes the journey from the friendly, clattering percussion of “Lunokhod01” to the centrifugal ambience of “Lunokhod07” feel perfectly natural. Even though it explores just as much inner and outer space as Whisper Room ever have, there’s something very approachable about Lunokhod that makes it one of their best.

Ian Mathers

5 notes · View notes

feelingsofaithless · 2 years

Photo

#Linkin Park #linkinparkps #Pinkpop Festival #Landgraaf #Minutes to Midnight European Tour #Live #2007

17 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

Where, when and how - maknae line

Pairing: maknae line member x reader

Wordcount: 1.0k words

Genre: smut, fluff, (Taehyung’s contains a fair bit of angst)

Rating: 18+

Hello lovelies! Since quarantine is separating many lovers all around the world I thought about how the boys would handle being away from their girlfriend. It’s obviously smutty. Every piece is about 1000 words each.

Trigger warning: swearing; smut, hinted and sometimes pretty descriptive, really it depends. LOADS OF SEX TOYS (it was supposed to be a sex-toy themed thingy because yay!self-love and yes, you can use them together with your significant other too), some mild bdsm here and there, praise kink (you know where it comes from), swearing and alcohol (nothing extreme, just tipsy), masturbation and that should be pretty much everything. Also, nipple piercing? Tae is frustrated, Jimin is the bratties brat to ever brat (takes one to know one LOL) and Koo is a switch (and by switch I mean he’s shy but nasty, and I still don’t know what’s his trigger).

You can find the hyung line here

Pssst--- here is my masterlist---

Jimin

You loved listening to Jimin, especially when he came home in the evening and told you about his day. You loved chitchatting while preparing dinner, you loved having his head on your lap, his fingers intertwined with yours, your free hand caressing his scalp and handcombing his hair. You loved his tenderness, his voice growing sleepy as it got late. You loved climbing in bed and feeling his hand snake around your waist from behind you, naturally and innocently palming your breast as he fell asleep.

You were listening to his voice through the speakers of your phone, video calling each other as you made dinner and he had a brunch together with the boys in Paris. Last night it had been their last concert of the European Tour and soon they would be heading back to Seoul, even though their schedule included a couple weeks in the US before actually returning to their motherland. He wasn’t yet allowed to tell you their plans but supposedly they had to meet a coreographer and visit a couple studios.

It was extraordinarily hilarious to watch him talk as he filled his mouth with continental breakfast, sickeningly sweet apple juice and pain brioche and bacon endlessly flowing around him. Every now and then he interrupted himself to reply to the boys, who sometimes appeared behind him, sleepy, a bit groggy and absolutely exhausted. Suga was propped on his elbows against the countertop, his eyes closing again as he waited for coffee, Namjoon, with a disgusted expression hugged the sugar bowl to his chest and poured a worrying amount of sweetener in his oversized cup of coffee. JK, his shirt sweaty, was drinking a smoothie after his morning workout. Taehyung was nowhere to be seen, but knowing him, he was probably still sleeping.

“Jin hyung yesterday had a flimsy shirt. I think we have never seen that much skin of him! It was so windy!!!” Jimin said, imitating the shirt lifting, his teasing voice all out while his eyes disappeared in a big smile.

You had held on pretty fairly for the whole tour, always taking twenty minutes to have a chat almost every day. You had visited him mid-tour in New York for a couple days, but otherwise you had endured the distance with a tight-lipped smile.

But right now you felt your heart chipping slightly, tears coming to your eyes. You promptly swiped them away.

Jimin, always so attuned to your emotions, noticed it right away. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s the onions!” You smiled and quickly went back to your cooking. But he knew. Seventeen more days until he could see you again. And hold you. And lose himself in you again. He wasn’t bold enough for steamy video calls like Tae. And it’s not like those could provide the kind of emotional support that made him crave for intimacy and reassured him after it. But still, he wanted you to know.

So that night, after making his suitcase, he entered a website he had been tiptoeing around for a while and started exploring, sometimes with shame tinting his cheeks, sometimes with curiosity capturing his stare, sometimes with desire warming his loins. After a thorough analysis of every single category, he checked the basket and proceeded to shipping and payment.

A couple days later you awoke to pictures flooding your twitter feed, your beautiful boyfriend and his six band mates walking out of the LAX airport, Jimin wearing a flowing, quite see-through sky blue shirt embroidered in lilies, his delirious ballerina legs clad in his usual skinny black jeans. Blonde and gracious, lips pouty and pink, sunglasses on, he waved at the crowd and disappeared inside a grey van with a flirty grin. You barely held in a moan. And the long time without any kind of intimacy was most definitely getting to your head. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your panties, almost ready to give up on your intention of waiting for Jimin to come back and get you wild. But right in that moment your doorbell rang and you quickly donned a robe to answer the door. As you saw the delivery boy from the security cam, your first thought was that you had not ordered anything and out of suspicion you properly got dressed. But when he got to your apartment’s door he mentioned the name of the sender and everything made sense, though you hadn’t quite expected a surprise. You thanked him and got inside, package in hand, straight to the kitchen where you grabbed a knife and tore the seal. It was quite heavy and big, and the tag name was not recognisable. With increased curiosity, you opened the lid and saw a small envelope. It had been typed but it seemed to be signed under Jimin’s safe name, Your angel fairy.

“There are things you promised me and things I promised you for when I come back. But there is just one thing we both promised to each other for eternity. And that is Love. Every single object in here is only aimed at that. For a loving heartfelt and gentle as a cherry. For a loving playful and childlike like tickles. For a loving sparkling like twin falling stars. For a loving loyal and enthralling like chains of gold. For a loving sturdy and stinging as wood and leather. For a loving precious like a gem. And finally for a loving eternal as the darkness of the night. To my beloved,

From your angel fairy.”

He had really splurged on this.

You bit your lip in anticipation and tried to guess who was who. Because for those seven types of loving there were seven corresponding items. The first one had to be the massage candles. You once had told him you wanted to try and massage him with those and probably cherries were his fragrance of choice.

The second must have been the tickler, the delicate white feathers perfectly matching Jimin’s personality and taste. Twin falling stars was a bit trickier but at the bottom of the box you found a smaller elegant box containing a delicate chain with two star-shaped, sparkly nipple clamps, which you absolutely adored.

The chains of gold must have been the fine jewellery harness designed to wrap around your neck, snake down between your breasts and loosely hang around your waist in multiple strings.

The wood and leather must have been the double sided paddle, one softened with some padding and leather, the other nothing but unforgiving hardwood. A corner of your mind went back to that time he had brought your large wooden hair-brush on top of your bed and asked you if you wanted to try it on him, you remembered how you had curled a hand around his cheek, comforting and reassuring him, praising him, showing that there was nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. The bright red colour of his behind the morning after, your worried expression and his face hiding in your neck when he told you not to worry because he had enjoyed every second of it.

That loving, precious like a gem, could be nothing but the buttplug, which you had confessed you wanted to try on yourself during your last escapade in New York. You looked forward to that.

And finally the darkness of the night - the blindfold. Black and silken.

“A little bird told me you received a package... How do you like it?” There it was, Jimin’s text. You couldn’t wait for that little brat to come back home.

Taehyung

Brazil was beautiful. A beautiful hot mess. He felt sweat in his every nook and cranny, the humidity sticking to his skin even though it was almost midnight. As he got out of the shower he looked at himself in the mirror. He still felt messy.

He also felt like calling you. Right then and there.

He felt like being at home and walking in your shared room naked and getting head from you. With the windows open and some night breeze flowing in.

“Thinking about you.” He simply texted.

“Just out of a meeting. Can’t wait to head home.” You replied. “But I still have a lot to do.”

“I miss you in my bed.”

“Do you, now?” You were half walking half texting, waiting to get your lunch.

“I need you to get rid of some steam...”

“Tonight, promise.” As your order was ready, you quickly proceeded to eat.

Taehyung didn’t reply. He was tired and you were busy.

He collapsed in bed shortly after putting down his phone.

His sleep was troubled, he woke up tangled in the sheets, his leg thrown over a mountain of pillows and his hips were agonisingly pressing against the humid white cotton. Again, he felt sweaty. And turned on. He felt compressed. Like a clown inside a box that jumps out when you open it. He wondered what it would take for his box to be opened.

When he woke up he saw your “good morning” text, replied quickly before rinsing his face and hitting the gym in the hotel. He overworked himself in hope it could get the thought of you out of his head. Instead, every exercise had him thinking about new ways to fuck you, a stronger, healthier body meaning nothing but much more force and more experimental and effective angles. Jungkook and Jimin obviously noticed, while Namjoon and Jin kept obliviously running on the treadmill.

“You think he’s angry?” Asked Jungkook.

“Just repressed. We should tell the girls to warn his girlfriend. Maybe we should have her come meet him.”

“The trip is long and she’s gonna be jet-lagged out of her mind. Let’s just tell the girls and have the two of them figure it out.”

Jungkook told his girlfriend through text: “Can you tell Tae’s girlfriend to call him? He’s getting sour.”

“Told her. She said she on it. Luv you. Later.” Jungkook blushed thinking about his plans for later that night and then moved on with his exercises.

Taehyung kept bench pressing like he wanted to lift the whole world with his two bare shouders.

At around four pm, his phone far away from him to keep him from doing something stupid, Taehyung was stage rehearsing, his voice rougher and angrier than ever, his whole body craving for release and intimacy. At this point Yoongi too had noticed, giving a small side glance to Jimin, who shook his shoulders in hopelessness.

As he grew more and more insufferable, Namjoon saw it was almost six pm and called for a break, immediately nearing Taehyung and taking him aside for a while.

“What’s wrong.” Namjoon didn’t approach the matter softly.

Taehyung took a pause. Namjoon was almost tempted to call Jimin. Maybe he knew how to deal with this. Maybe he was too rough, too direct or too logical rather than emotional, he could —

“I miss her, hyung.” Taehyung said. Namjoon exhaled heavily. He knew how that felt. “I miss her and we call each other every day, we text, but it’s so bad. I miss everything about her. I thought it was a crush and that it would be easy. After all we’ve been dating for a couple months and...” Namjoon waited, his eyes fixed on Tae. “But I think I’m in love. It’s like, here.” He pressed his fist between his ribs and his stomach. “And I’m so tense, all the time. At night it’s even worse. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

Namjoon waited as if to let him speak, but apparently he was done. “Do you want to call her? Take the rest of the day off and we go on without you?”

“She’s sleeping right now. Fucking time zones. And if I call her, it will get worse.”

Namjoon knew. The wanting, the longing. It just intensifies.

Namjoon checked his phone. “Okay. Rehearsal’s almost over anyways. You just need to survive a couple more songs, then we’re gonna take a night just the seven of us, yeah?”

Taehyung nodded.

“Also, schedule a video call. We’ll be in London in four days and time difference will be easier.” He patted his shoulder. “And please, get laid. Or you can take it out on the stage tomorrow. Army will go feral if they see you like this.”

Taehyung chuckled.

“Do we have anything scheduled tomorrow morning?”

“Concert tomorrow night so no schedule until 11. Jin, JK and I are hitting the gym at nine, if you wanna join.”

“We‘ll see.” Tae smiled. He felt better.

Rehearsal ended up okay after that, Taehyung in a more playful mood. As soon as he got to his phone he saw one of your texts, he was tempted opening it right away, but he waited when he saw it was a lengthy voice note.

He arrived in his hotel room and hit the shower straight away. He was supposed to meet the others in half an hour, and he knew if he laid down and listened to your text he would get distracted and call you. As he got out of the shower he got dressed and sat on the bed, his phone tempting him. Damn it. He opened the text.

“Taehyung-“ A heavy breath. “I’ve been missing you.” Your voice was soft and delicate, almost sleepy. “It’s five am and I can’t sleep.” A raspy moan followed and he had to rewind the text and turn up the volume. Moan confirmed. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Your hands on me, everywhere. The way you kissed me before you left.” This time the moaning was clearer and louder. “Every time I touch myself I feel like my fingers aren’t long or strong enough compared to yours.” Tae felt that comment in his bones. He would be late to dinner anyway. From his phone you emitted a small whimper. “Good, the way you went down on me. I’ve tried toys that could possibly substitute you as long as you’re away but no toy could ever look at me like you did that night, with your mouth latched on my clit and your hand grasping my thighs.” He could almost taste you. God, that night had been indecent to say the least. “I can’t wait to have you back. I’m gonna have you laid out in bed, spread wide on top of the sheets and I’m gonna ride you until I can‘t even remember how much I missed you.”

Now Taehyung moaned himself. He texted you. It was nine am in Seoul, that meant you were at work, that meant you’d be worked up all day long.

“I’m free tomorrow morning. That is tonight, to you. I wanna see that nasty shit you’ve been up to with my wanna-be substitute. Maybe if you’re good enough I’m gonna send you a little something too. But you’ll have to earn it.”

He was already going to send you a golden necklace with a vibrating pendant anyway.

Jungkook

He didn’t let himself think about you much. Just ten minutes in the shower. Sometimes eight were enough, it just depended on how turned on he was. Even though your trip to Australia was making things difficult, you still managed to see each other every day or so. Sometimes you just had dinner with a screen in front of each other, chatting about your day. Sometimes you called after dinner, a glass of wine, some laughter, the boys coming in every now and then to say hi and ask how you were doing. Other times it was strictly the two of you, your soft voice reassuring him as he confessed how he was feeling. This distance had seriously improved your communication, especially since there was no way to use body language to express feelings and emotions. You reminded him daily that you love him, always telling him before you closed the call. He told you daily about what was going on and how he felt about it. He really hoped you would keep being so talkative when you came back. Most importantly, he hoped you would keep praising him. Sometimes he did exactly what you wanted so that you would praise him. He realised that the more he expressed how he felt, the more loving and praising you grew.

Your stay in Australia was supposed to last a little more than five weeks. Three weeks had gone by quickly, always busy with paperwork or work appointments. However, lately you had started missing Jungkook a little bit too severely. You knew he was shy and you would never press him into doing anything he didn’t hint at you. So when one night, after a glass of wine too many, he started talking about how much he missed your body, you replied encouragingly, leading him on.

“What do you miss about it?”

“You know. Waking up beside you. Feeling you next to me early in the morning.”

“I miss that too. Starting the day without you in the shower is difficult,” you teased, pushing it a little.

He blushed a little. “Do you miss that too?”

“I miss all of that. Do you?” You filled your glass once more. Maybe it would help you loosen up a little.

“You know I do.” He mirrored your gesture and took a sip.

“It feels good when you say it,” you answered, undoing a button of your blouse.

“I miss your body a lot. Even though I don’t usually think about it. It gets worse,” he said, eyes were glued to your fingers.

“I’m happy that you told me. It makes me feel like I’m not alone in this.”

“You are not alone. But I wish I was there.” He was going to evaporate.

You took a deep breath.

“What would you do if you were here?”

“Kiss you. Straight away. I’d hold you so tight I’d almost suffocate you.” He didn’t hesitate one second before answering your question. But then he took a long pause. “I would pick you up, wrap your legs around my waist. Lay you down on the bed. Kiss you harder.”

You licked your lips. “Have you been hitting the gym more often lately?”

He was a little bit confused by your question but he nodded.

“It shows. You look stronger. Makes me wonder how good it will be when we do it again.”

His mouth hung open. “I—“

“Use your words, sweetie.”

His situation got even worse as he blushed for the nickname. And then his whole demeanour did a 180. “Forget the bed. I think I’m gonna slam you against the wall. You’d be wearing a skirt and it would be so easy to slip inside you.”

You worded the next sentence carefully. If you pushed it too much, he would emotionally ball up like a hedgehog and shut you out. “Would you have me against the wall?”

“Fuck you standing? Yes, babe.” He pressed his tongue against his cheek, then clenched his jaw. His hand was laying on his thigh, slipping slowly to his crotch. Nothing you were going to notice since his camera was on his face and part of his chest.

“But you know I’m heavy, right?”

“You’re not that heavy. I can pick you up if I want to. And lately you’ve been looking thinner. I hope you’re eating. I love feeling you up,” he purred.

“I’ve been working out too. I have to get you out of my head.”

“What do you need to get out of your head?”

“All the things I want from you.” You needed him to push you a little.

“What do you want?”

“I want you inside me.”

“Yeah, and? Come on, babe, use your words.” His smile was borderline sadistic as he used your own words against you.

“Messy, sweaty. I don’t care if it hurts. I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll be feeling it for days afterwards.”

He moaned a little at that. How tight you would feel around him... He realised it was the right moment to tell you. “I got us something.”

“What?”

“It’s supposed to arrive by the time you’re here.”

“Really? What is it?”

He took a deep breath and then he started spitting out words at an alarming rate.

“The other day at the gym there was this couple doing something like couple yoga or something, and she was hanging from a hammock of sort and I couldn’t help but think about how intimate it was and how much I wanted to do that with you and I got us a swing.”

“You what?” You brought the glass to your lips again. Smiling.

“I got us a swing.”

“What kind of swing, baby?”

“That kind of swing. I saw it in a... video, sometime ago, and I remembered it and I wanna use it with you. If you want to, I mean, we don’t have to—” He babbled adorably.

“What if I want to?”

He inhaled and took a sip of wine.

“I can’t wait to use it with you. I keep imagining the sound of you slamming against me. I’ll moan for you so loud and lovely that everyone will know you’re loving me nice and good. You’re amazing, Koo.”

He basked in your compliment. “Come back home soon. Otherwise I’ll have to come and get you. Cuff you to my own wrist and bring you back to my side, where you belong.”

“Can’t wait to put my hands on you. My mouth,” you murmured, one more button coming undone.

“You can’t right now, but if you take off your shirt maybe you might convince me to take the first plane to Sydney.”

His hand had already undone his belt and he was almost going to undo the button of his jeans when you said, “do you think I could convince you if I told you I’m not wearing a bra right now?”

He looked shocked. “You should show me.”

You quickly undid your blouse and let it hang open. That’s when he noticed something glittering.

“Is it...”

“I thought I could use the time away to get it done, so it can properly heal.”

Right there, on your right nipple you let the small piercing show.

“You’re so getting fucked when you come back. First I’ll get my tongue on that and you know exactly where it’s gonna go next.”

You grinned devilishly. “Good, because it’s all I’ve been thinking of.”

#bts headcanons #bts imagine #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin imagine #taehyung imagine #jungkook imagine #bts maknae line #bangtan sonyeondan

152 notes · View notes

tuscanwalker · 3 years

Text

September 2, 2021 - The Wisdom of my Wife

Today is the day when an imaginary version of my wife sat on my shoulder and repeated whispered sage advice in my ear. While I might once have considered it subconscious nagging, I have to ask: Is it really nagging when she is almost always right and it usually prevents me from making huge mistakes?

If you have been following the blog, you are aware the Deutsche Bahn (the national railway) went on strike at midnight and will not return to work until next Wednesday. While I had done my best to make alternate arrangements, this is the kind of thing that usually raises my stress level to Defcon 4, with collateral damage to all around me. However, when I got up this morning I just kept hearing Lu-Anne’s voice in my head, “slow down for a minute and take a deep breath, it will all work out somehow.” She was right as usual. I managed to make it to Frankfurt where I exchanged my second DB ticket for one on a private railway that was not on strike. While it would not take me to Bingen, it would let me gaze longingly across the Rhine from the Rudesheim Bahnhof and I understood there was likely a ferry somewhere nearby. On arrival, my GPS informed me that the “personenfahre” was right below the station at riverside (20m). After waiting half an hour for a ferry that likely never came, I realized that the “autofahre” was crossing every 10 minutes only 200m further down the riverbank. After dragging my suitcase a little over 2km on both sides of the river, I walked into Cafe Hotel Koppel with a smile on my face. To make a long story short, throughout this I remained uncharacteristically calm and relaxed thanks to my wife’s ethereal advice.

After checking in and getting organized I went back along the River for lunch at about 15:00. I stopped at a ridiculously expensive restaurant with loads of character on the riverbank. I decided to treat myself and once again my wife’s wisdom echoed in my one good ear. “Too many $10,000 vacations have been ruined by spending all your time trying to save $20.” (Or words to that effect). While I recognize that, even on a public service pension, one needs to be careful and not waste money, my wife has taught me that $20 here and there can literally shove thousands of dollars of enjoyment down the toilet.

I perused the menu and spotted something called a flame cake. I saw one go by and it seemed to be a pizza. When my waiter came I asked him what it was. He said it was hard to describe, but it was kinda like a pide (Turkish pizza) but with no cheese of tomato sauce. I asked “is it good”. His response was “some people like it” all the while shaking his head from side to side. I asked if he liked it and his response was “I always have something else”. My wife’s advice again kicked in “always ask your waiter and always listen to (his/her/their) advice”. Cheeseburger and fries were ordered ($21) and he broke into a huge smile, “you will like that a lot”. I did, and, after all, Hamburg is in Germany so this is still local food😊.

One caution though, I have had three hamburgers in Germany and all three have been about a 1/2 a pound on a 5” bun. Germans seem to love their meat. My schnitzel last night (with large salad) was roughly the size of a frisbee, but nonetheless I somehow managed to choke it down. At lunch yesterday on the market square in Wurzburg, I joined a line to a kiosk that stretched about 150 m around the square uncertain of what they were selling, only convinced that it was likely very good. When I eventually got to the front, it was only for a “simple” bratwurst on a bun with mustard. Nonetheless, when I finished that one, I would have two more (as many did) if I had had time to brave the lineup again.

Oh yes, I should also probably mention the wine. In Canada a standard glass is 5 ounces or about 150 ml. Here, a standard glass is 200 ml and almost everyone that I have had has been closer to 250ml (glasses are marked) or about a third of a bottle. Depending on the situation I have switched between everyday Silvaner ($5.50 a glass) and some lovely Rieslings (up to $8 a glass). Basically 2/3 the price we are use to paying for a glass in Edmonton restaurants for 30-60% more wine. Little wonder I spent another two hours after my meal savouring a couple of glasses while I watched the barges and tour boats pass by while a huge statue of Germanic looked down from across the river.

Will take another walk down by the river, but will make it an early night as I walk to Kalb tomorrow 20+ km and 2,000+ ft gross vertical climb. The good news is the breakfast should be good as many Europeans serve sweet baked goods with breakfast, and my hotel is also a cafe/pastry shop👍🏻.

2 notes · View notes

jazzviewswithcj · 3 years

Text

A deeper look at Merci Miles: (Warner Records, 2021)

Miles Davis: trumpet; Kenny Garrett: saxophone; Deron Johnson: keyboard; Richard Patterson: bass; Ricky Wellman: drums

By July, 1991 Miles Davis was music royalty. The previous decade saw him reach a level of popularity and stardom seldom seen in jazz. By the early 80’s the trumpeter had changed music multiple times, 4 to be exact, with his foray into hip hop, the first recording to be issued after his death Doo Bop (Warner Bros, 1992) , marking the fifth groundbreaking turn in his career. Prior to his passing from stroke complications in 1991, he maintained a vigorous touring schedule, and the performances of his sextet of the period, the finest late career band he ever led (and arguably one of the best bands of his entire career) were supercharged. The music captured on the newly released Merci Miles: Live at Vienne (Rhino, 2021) marks the first time anywhere save two YouTube videos the concert has been available in full, and is significant and historically important for two reasons: it is one of Miles’ final performances in France available legally, and it features two compositions by Prince, the cheeky entendre laden titles “Penetration” and “Jailbait” that the late icon wrote specifically for Davis.

The picture of the late singer/composer/multi instrumentalist’s involvement with Davis is much clearer through the release of Prince’s own Sign O’ The Times multi disc mega box set and the official release of “Can I Play With U?” a track originally written by The Purple One during the legendary Rubberband (Rhino, 2018) sessions. Prince’s track was going to be included on what eventually turned out to be Davis’ first album with his new label, Warner Bros. Tutu (1986) but was eventually shelved. The track was then slated to be issued in the original, much more substantial The Last Word: The Complete Warner Brothers Recordings box set from the early 2000’s (of which promo copies existed) but was fazed out due to rights issues.

The trumpeter always regarded France warmly, from the time he first set foot on French soil as a 22 year old in 1949. The country was also where in the late 1950’s he recorded the innovative soundtrack to Elevator To The Gallows or Ascenseur pour l’echafaud director Louis Malle’s smoky noir film of which the trumpeter’s soundtrack, completely improvised featuring a top French rhythm section crystallized some of the ideas the trumpeter later would apply on Kind of Blue (Columbia, 1959). France was also the setting for the infamous romance with the late French starlet Juliette Greco. More importantly, France, being the first country to wholeheartedly embrace jazz and recognize creative improvised Black music to be on par with European art music, was ready for whatever Davis brought to the table, instead of the misdirected pining that many fans and critics demonstrated in the U.S. for his past, acoustic centered work.

Merci Miles was captured on July 1, 1991 at the Jazz a Vienne festival, at a picturesque Roman amphitheater filled to capacity. 7 days later on July 8, Miles would revisit the material from Porgy and Bess, Miles Ahead and Sketches of Spain at the Montreux Jazz Festival with a double orchestra conducted by Quincy Jones and featuring the late trumpeter Wallace Roney as a second voice alongside occasional spots for alto saxophonist Kenny Garrett. The appearance featuring this music was followed by an appearance with former band mates in Paris on July 10 (a concert that unfortunately of this writing is being thieved by bootleggers for album release), and the European swing wrapped up in Nice, France on July 16th.

Miles’ band that July 1st evening, featuring Deron Johnson (who grew up with Miles’ nephew and former drummer Vince Wilburn, Jr) on keyboards; Kenny Garrett on alto saxophone and flute) lead bassist and Parliament alumnus Foley, bassist Richard Patterson, and the late Ricky Wellman on drums were inspired and smoking.

“Hannibal” written by Marcus Miller, which appeared on the group’s latest studio album Amandla (1989) is the high energy set opener, with the rhythm section of Johnson, Patterson and Wellman in perfect sync. Miles flies free with some solo lines before the head appears, and Kenny Garrett makes his first appearance with a lengthy solo. Garrett (who has a new Mack Avenue studio album in August) is like a heat seeking missile, the rhythm section responding and creating inner dialogues with him in response to his impassioned, pulpit stirring cries. Deron Johnson, often alongside with Garrett in taking some of the best solos of the evening, briefly dialogues with Miles before spinning off into his own, substantial solo turn. Johnson is a complete history of the keyboardist’s who played with the trumpeter and distills everything in his sparkling, distinctive soloing voice, swinging slightly behind the beat against the mightily funky bass and drums underneath.

“Human Nature”, the classic ballad from Michael Jackson’s Thriller (Epic, 1982) Davis first debuted on You’re Under Arrest (Columbia, 1985). The sensuous existential track became a blank canvas for the Davis band to paint on nightly. The trumpeter renders the melody with longing, then gradually shifts into a resourceful solo with a double time sprint. Within Davis’ solo and the use of Spanish tinged scales, and the colorful keyboard backing, the intense drama of the beautiful arrangements that Gil Evans crafted for Sketches of Spain (Columbia, 1959) which Marcus Miller expanded upon in a sense for the film soundtrack Siesta (Warner Bros, 1989) are clearly felt. Davis quotes “Nature Boy” and a few other asides before passing the baton to Garrett, who used the tune as a nightly feature for intense late period Coltrane trance like meditation. Garrett fits in a quote of the old spiritual “Joshua Fit De Battle of Jericho” before rocketing into space; Wellman in particular follows him wherever he goes. Every now and then Miles jabs some mood setting chords with his Oberheim OBX synth as cues, while Garrett continues to combust. The saxophonist bursting at the seams as a fragment from the bridge to “Milestones” is used as an ostinato, Davis signals a quick blast with his trumpet and the tune ends. Garrett brought the audience and listeners at home on a thrill ride.

“Time After Time” , the Cyndi Lauper classic is ushered in as volcanic applause erupts from the audience, nearly drowning out the music. For 9 and a half minutes, the show belongs to Davis, as he gently finds all the melodic contours he can in the tune. Like “Round Midnight” and “My Funny Valentine” of decades past, “Time After Time” became one of Davis’ signature ballads. He drives his improvisation the same way as Aretha Franklin, Pavarotti, Bocelli or Carreras would, with a marked sense of passion and timeless beauty.

Disc 1 closes with one of the Prince tunes, “Penetration” where everyone gets off on the raunchy funk. Davis and Garrett are one during the track, and it truly shows the admiration and border less musicality that both icons would have shared, Davis struts with swagger between melody statements and Johnson rips into his solo with passion, Garrett’s searing alto ups the ante further. As a contrast, “Jailbait” on disc 2, is a gut bucket blues where both Johnson and Garrett take scintillating solos..

The show closes with “Wrinkle” a wondrous maze of a melody that is awe inspiring when played a top speed, and “Finale” a drum solo feature for Wellman that showcases his patented bass drum triplets while keeping rock solid time on the snare, a sort of shuffle where the bass and snare switch roles, and some lightning samba as well as his signature Go-Go groove.

Sound:

Merci Miles is taken directly from the original tapes recorded and mixed by Patrick Savey and Mastered by John Webber at Air Studios in London. Similar to Sony/Legacy’s Bootleg Series releases for Davis, the tape is from the official broadcast, in this case captured by the small Zycopolis studios. Curiously for 1991, the sound is mono which could be due to whatever technical limitations of the tape, but it is very good strong mono. The Schiit Bifrost 2 DAC manages to wring out very nice separation for the band in the mono soundstage: In particular, Davis trumpet is vibrant, brassy, golden and present. Richard Patterson’s bass is commanding and takes the center of the sound stage, deep and rich. Ricky Wellman’s drums are full of gusto, there is a reason his nickname was “Sugarfoot” and you hear that in all it’s glory. Kenny Garrett’s passion radiates past the speakers, Deron Johnson’s keyboards float above the proceedings and Foley’s lead bass provides a wonderful textural contrast to everything else.

Concluding Thoughts:

The 80’s and early 90’s Miles cannon has seen relatively scant archival releases versus everything from the 50’s-70’s. Merci Miles is a welcome document of a band that truly was at the top of it’s game and at the peak of its powers. Miles Davis, judging from this concert was showing little sign of slowing down in his playing, there is a vitality and joy here that easily places this alongside his Montreux concerts of the period and the excellent Live Around The World (Warner Brothers, 1996). A wonderful present honoring the great musical icon thirty years on from his passing. The CD (reviewed here) and LP packages contain some particularly touching photos in a triple gatefold in the French Flag colors of Miles memorabilia from that final tour provided by Vince Wilburn, Jr and a superb liner essay from noted scholar Ashley Kahn contextualizing the history of the trumpeter’s French sojourns and the event itself, alongside some great photos. The cover also features some nice embossing of the album title text and Davis’ name. If there is any doubt about physical media, this album is a compelling case for why it’s so good to OWN a physical copy of an album.

Music: 10/10

Sound: 8.5/10

Equipment used for this review

Audiolab 6000 CDT transport

Schiit Bifrost 2 DAC

Marantz NR 1200 stereo receiver (as pre amp)

Marantz MM 7025 stereo power amplifier

Focal Chora 826 speakers

Audioquest Forest and Golden Gate cables

youtube

#miles davis #jazz #trumpet #prince #funk

4 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 4 years

Text

Girl Crush (XII)

Chapter 12: Orchids For Missing You

Here we go again!!! New chapter!!! Very fluffy and very very emotional, but then I don't know if it's just because it's my story or because it really is emotional. All I know is that I've made myself cry.

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think about it, please!!

Word Count: 4509

Harry's home was quiet. Maybe too much so. Silence between Harry and you was never awkward and yet this time it didn't feel as natural as usual.

But then, he was leaving the next day, which explained the tension that had hovered above both of you.

Goodfellas was over, the TV still on and yet silent. It was late, and you should have been going home. Harry was getting on that bus in only a few hours, and you reckoned that he still had a lot of things to prepare.

Yet, you couldn't muster the strength to get up from Harry's couch, take your jacket, and leave.

And Harry didn't want you to go just yet either. He was leaving California for the tour, and wouldn't be back for 2 months. 7 weeks to be precise. He had promised to drop by during his short break between the European and Asian legs of his tour. Still, seven weeks… that was an awfully long time to spend without your best friend. You hadn't had to go through such long periods apart in a very long time, it was weird to even imagine it.

And Harry knew that he should have gotten some sleep as he was getting on the road in the early hours of the morning, and it was past midnight already… But he didn't want to.

He felt like he had to get as much time you as he could before the long weeks ahead. You kept on telling him that he would be so busy that he wouldn't have time to miss you. He knew already that you were terribly wrong. And he knew that you would miss him too, even if you reassured him.

For once, he was happy that you had Gareth in your life. He felt better knowing that someone was around to look after you when he couldn't do it himself.

Eventually, you took a deep breath, and Harry knew exactly what you were about to say, and he couldn't let you go, not yet.

"So… I should…"

"Don't go yet."

You turned to him, intensely staring at him. He had grabbed your wrist, however if his gesture had been quick it was still only a tender hold that he kept around you.

"Stay a little longer, please," he insisted. "You could stay over for tonight, it's late and I don't like it when you drive home on your own so late at night."

"I should let you get some rest though."

"I can sleep in the bus."

"It's just for a few weeks."

"7 weeks. That's a long time."

"You'll survive just fine. Don't enjoy yourself too much without me though."

He laughed, but his grasp on your wrist didn't falter.

"Stay a little longer," he asked one more time, and you couldn't refuse.

You opened your arms for him, and he snuggled closer to you, his head on your shoulder and his arms around your frame to keep you against him.

"I expect daily reports on the shows," you warned him, making him chuckle. "I expect you to tell me all the funny anecdotes. And I want at least one facetime per week, so I don't forget your stupid face."

"We both know you won't forget my stupid face, ever," he mumbled against your sweater, his voice a little muffled by the fabric.

"You wish!"

"Well, I know I couldn't forget your stupid face, so it wouldn't be fair if you could forget mine so easily."

Your lips curled up into a tender smile.

"You're right. That wouldn't be fair, and I'm not that cruel."

He heaved a deep sigh, closing his eyes. He focused on your breathing, and how each of your inhales and exhales made him rise and fall slightly. He took in the feeling of your warmth spreading through his limbs. He listened to your heartbeat as he moved his head just enough to rest his ear on your chest. He breathed in your smell to make sure he would perfectly remember it. Your fingers had settled amongst his wild curls, and he felt all tension vanish from his body at your gentle touch.

"I'm gonna miss you," he let out in a breath, his voice low and fragile, a little hoarse.

You tightened your hold on him.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Harry."

"I'm so sorry I can't be here for your birthday. I'm terrible. You flew all the way to London to see my first show, and I can't even be here for your birthday."

You laughed his remark away.

"Don't be ridiculous. I understand. Work is work. I've missed some things too because of my job. Like… your movie premiere with all your friends."

"You did watch it later though."

"Yeah, but I wasn't there for the big day either. See? It's okay. I will be terribly mad at you if you don't call me on the day though."

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

"I know you would kill me if I did. I've put at least five alarms for that day on my phone."

"Good."

"I'm still sorry, and I still feel shitty about it."

"Don't feel bad. It's okay."

"I do have a gift for you though."

"You do?"

He nodded.

"I gave it to Jas for safekeeping last week, because I don't trust your curious self to not open it before your birthday if I just handed it to you now."

You bit down on your lip, but had to admit that he was right.

"I might have prepared a little something for you as well," he went on, a mischievous smile grazing his lips, and you suspiciously narrowed your eyes at him.

"What have you done this time?"

"You'll see. All in due time."

You tried to get more information out of him, but he wouldn't break, and you ended up giving up. You kept on cuddling for a while, until you were both too tired, and ended up falling asleep on his sofa.

When you woke up in the morning, you were lying on the couch with your favourite blanket covering your frame, and the smell of warm coffee filled the entire house.

You looked for Harry across the room, your eyes only half-open, but you guessed that he must have been in the kitchen.

In reality, he was getting downstairs from his bedroom just as you sat up, carrying his suitcase to the front door.

"Morning!" he threw you a grin and a little wave. "Coffee's ready, I also made you breakfast."

"Thank you," you mumbled, your voice hoarse with sleep.

You got up, a little unsteady on your two feet and yawning as you rubbed your eyes.

"Did you get any sleep?" you asked him before disappearing in the kitchen to get your hot beverage.

Harry followed you in the room, leaning against the counter.

"Yeah, I did. A bit stressed though, so I didn't sleep as much as I hoped."

"You need to meditate more," you admonished, making him smile.

"I know."

You let out a shaky breath, eating a piece of the fruits Harry had cut for you, and let out the question you were dreaded to ask.

"How long before you have to go?"

"Jeff will be here in fifteen minutes."

"You should have woken me up."

"I couldn't," he earnestly answered, and you frowned at him.

"Why? Were you trying to sneak out without saying goodbye properly?"

"No," he shook his head, nervously tapping with his fingers on his forearms, his rings shining in the early morning light that bathed the kitchen. "No, but… you just… you looked too peaceful like this, didn't have the heart to wake you."

You weren't expecting this kind of answer, and were taken aback to say the least, enough so to shut you up. You merely nodded instead, your heart beating a little too fast.

You spent the little time you had left helping Harry to pack, checking if he had everything he would need – it was the third time that you were asking him if he had his passport, and even though he found it cute, he wished you could stop at this point. But he wasn't mad at you for acting all nervous, he knew it was your way to deal with the imminent goodbye.

Finally, Jeff arrived, and got all of Harry's stuff in his car, ready to drive him away.

Harry gave you the keys to his house.

"Take care of my baby plants for me, huh? No one can do that better than you," he asked with a tender smile, and you nodded without a word.

He wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug and kissed your hair.

"Take good care of yourself, don't work too hard," Harry whispered into your ear.

"You'll text me when you get to Nashville, yeah?"

"Sure, I will."

"Harry…"

Your voice broke. And it was partially because you were trying really hard not to cry, but also because you stopped your feelings from overpowering your thoughts.

You had three words on the tip of your tongue, that you couldn't say to Harry. Three words that you refused to even acknowledge, and yet, now there they were, about to topple off your lips.

You couldn't speak them though. Because of Harry. Because of Gareth. Because of a thousand different reasons. Because you refused to recognize that you were feeling what they meant at all.

You couldn't shake the feeling though, the one that was crushing your heart and making your throat so tight it was hard for air to reach your burning lungs. You tightened your hold on Harry, changing the words that you breathed out even though, to you, their meaning remained the same as the confession you couldn't make.

"…Be careful on the road."

He pulled away, giving you the warmest smile he could summon, although you could see that it didn't reach his eyes, didn't really make his dimples show either. His green eyes were clouded with tears, matching your own gaze.

"I'll see you soon, darling."

You nodded, and he picked up his last bag before heading to Jeff's car. You saw him brushing tears away as he climbed in the passenger's seat, and you didn't blame him for crying. After all, your own cheeks were wet too.

The crowd in London was very loud.

Not that Harry was complaining, on the contrary. He had a grin plastered on his face that he didn't seem able to shake off. He reckoned that it was a great crowd for what he was about to do.

It was your birthday today, and he wasn't there for you. And no matter how many times you had reassured him, he felt terrible for being away on your big day. He reckoned he needed to do something a little special to compensate his absence.

Which was why, at the end of a song, as the lights came back to be shed on the crowd, Harry cleared his throat, but not to sing this time.

"How are you so far, London?" he asked in a deep voice, being met with loud shouts. "Good. I'm having fun too."

He readjusted his earpiece, before resuming his speech.

"Now, you've been amazing so far, thank you so much."

He waited for the crowd to grow quiet again before he would continue.

"And you've already given me a lot by being here, buying a ticket and coming to this show, and singing and having fun and being yourself with me. And I can't thank you enough for that."

The shouts were deafening, and he placed his finger on his lips to ask for silence.

"But I have one more thing to ask from you. I need your help with something. Can you give me a hand?"

If he was met by an excited crowd, he did laugh at a couple of people who didn't seem so keen.

"That guy over there isn't convinced," he laughed, pointing at a member of the audience, before crossing his arms before his chest and adorning a mocking, grumpy tone. "He's like 'man, I've already paid for my ticket. It's late, I'm tired. I want to go home. And now that guy has the audacity to ask for our help!'"

Harry couldn't refrain his laughter any longer, shaking his head. The rest of the audience was laughing too.

"I'm joking. It's lovely to have you. It's okay if you don't want to help. Although, you don't even know what I'm about to ask, but hey… that's alright. You don't want to help, that's alright."

He chuckled again, clearing his throat to get back to the demand he was trying to make.

"So, I need your help. Because today is my best friend's birthday. Now…"

He had to stop, the crowd overwhelmingly loud.

"Now, the thing is, she's home. In L.A. And I couldn't go to her birthday because of the obvious reason that I am not in L.A. Instead, I'm here, serenading all of you. Trying to entertain you. And I think we're having an amazing time. But I feel terrible for having so much fun on her birthday without her. So, if you want to, I'd like to call her and we can sing her happy birthday together. Can you do that for me?"

He was met with only cheering again, and turned to the man in the audience he had been teasing.

"Even you? Will you help?"

The man nodded, laughing, and Harry threw his arms in the air in victory.

"He'll help! Thank you."

There was a bit more laughing before he would walk over the spot where Sarah was seated, picking up his phone he had left next to a few bottles of water.

"Alright," he cleared his throat again, taking his microphone from the stand and unlocking his phone. "Her name is Y/N. I'm gonna call her, and then we'll sing happy birthday to her, okay? To Y/N, don't forget. Alright, let's do this."

He started the call, placing the mic next to the phone so that everyone could hear the beeps. He fell on your voicemail at the first try.

The audience seemed disappointed, but Harry laughed, hanging up and trying a second time.

"She's at work, give her a break," he admonished, although he was smiling.

This time you picked up.

"Hi, Harry!"

He couldn't refrain a giggle as the crowd was cheering again.

"Hi, Y/N."

"What's that noise?" you asked, and he could hear your frown in your tone.

"I'm with a few friends," Harry answered, making the crowd go absolutely crazy.

You spoke again, but the crowd was too loud.

"What? I didn't hear you," he asked again, placing the phone against his ear this time.

"I asked if you were at your show."

"Yeah, I'm on stage," he laughed.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The entire audience was laughing by now.

"Everyone can hear you."

"Oh shit."

Harry couldn't stop laughing either.

"I told you I'd call you today. My friends and I have something to tell you." He turned to the audience. "Ready? Three, two, one: happy birthday…"

And the crowd caught up, the sound so loud that you had to put the phone away from your ear.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR Y/N! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU!"

You were hiding at the back of the shop, laughing and on the verge of tears. Your heart was overwhelmed, you could feel it expand in your ribcage.

Once the cheers became calmer, Harry turned his back to the crowd, this time talking only to you and keeping your conversation private.

"Happy birthday, Y/N."

"Can people hear me?"

"No, they can't."

"You son of a bitch…"

Harry let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back.

"Thank your friends for me, would you?" you asked, and he could hear the tears in your voice.

"I will. Have a nice time tonight. Eat a lot of cake."

"Oh, I will!"

His smile grew more tender, and a little sad too, as he couldn't be with you.

"You can have my share."

"I was planning on eating it anyway. As a punishment."

"Sounds fair. I need to go though. Take care, yeah?"

"Yeah… Be careful on the road."

"Happy birthday, Y/N."

"Will you be watching tonight?"

"Of course, I am. Found out how to get the BBC from here, with a little help from Jas, who… as it turns out, seems to be very keen into hacking stuff."

"I have to admit that I would have never imagined that Jasmine would turn out to be a hacker."

"Giving it a little bit more thought, and remembering some of the stupid stuff she did as a teenager, I'm not that surprised, actually."

Harry let out a laugh. He was on his way to the airport to grab a flight to Sweden. It was already night time in the UK, darkness too young to wear its starry collection, yet the sky had lost its colours already.

The regular movement of the car was on the verge of lulling him to sleep, but he couldn't surrender before calling you. It was a routine by now, really. Even if the calls didn't last more than a few minutes, he needed to listen to your voice everyday. It was almost as relaxing as meditation to him, a reassuring constant in the craziness of tour. These days he couldn't go to sleep without hearing your voice during the day. He just blamed it on the habit part of the action, on having something very regular while he was always travelling somewhere else. He knew the truth was that he just missed you an awful lot though.

"Well, you should watch it, cause there's something for you in it," he said, a smirk forming across his features.

"What? For me?" you asked, frowning hard. "What are you talking about."

"You'll know when you watch the show. Had to make amends as I've missed your birthday."

"How many times do I have to tell you? You called, and I love your gift. It's all that matters. It's not your fault. I still don't understand how you managed to get tickets to a show that was sold-out by the way…"

"I have my contacts," he chuckled. "Will you go with Jas?"

"Probably with Gareth, actually."

It made sense. Then why did Harry dislike the idea so much?

"That's nice. Will make a great date."

"It will! Thank you again. But you're drawing the conversation elsewhere on purpose, you sneaky little shit. What have you done this time? What do you mean there's something for me?"

"I knew that the show would air around your birthday, and that I wouldn't be with you to celebrate. Thought I'd slip a little something for you in the show, just to make sure you don't forget about me too easily."

"You call me every day, that makes it hard to forget you."

You giggled, but Harry wasn't laughing. Instead, a worried frown creased his brow.

Was he being too much? He knew he had a tendency to be a little clingy. He was too affectionate sometimes. Were you tired of him?

"Harry? You're still here?"

"Yeah, yeah… sorry, lost in thoughts."

"Oh, okay… do you need to go now?"

"I'm almost at the airport, so, yeah… I'll soon have to hang up."

"You call me when you land, yeah?"

Was he too clingy? On the other hand, you kept on asking him to call you. When his plane landed, before a stressful show, or after a concert so you could hear all about the funny things that had happened.

So… maybe you were just as clingy as he was. Good match, he guessed.

"Sure, I will. Watch the show, tell me what you think about it."

"I'm sure you're going to be amazing and annoyingly charming, as always."

"You think I'm charming?"

"Goodbye, Harry!"

He laughed, shaking his head at you even if you couldn't see him.

"I'll call you when I land. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"Take care, yeah?"

It seemed that all your phone calls ended the same way. He always told you 'take care' in a worried tone, as if he were worried that after not seeing you face to face for a while, you would forget to be kind to yourself as he couldn't remind you to do so as much as he wanted.

You always asked for the same thing every time, the words carrying a deeper meaning he wasn't aware of. Yet, you never failed to speak the same words over and over again, and by now you believed in it as you would a lucky charm. Almost as if, were you to forget to cast the spell, something would happen to him. It was a protection you'd send across the world, as you couldn't physically be near him, even if he needed you.

"I will," you smiled. "And Harry… be careful on the road."

Take care, yeah?

Be careful on the road.

Always the ritual.

"I will. Have a nice day."

"Have a nice evening."

He hung up, and as he looked by the window of the car that was driving him to the airport, Harry really didn't like silence.

"Okay, hurry up, Gareth!"

"I'm the one with the pop-corn, so be careful, babe!"

"And it's on!"

"I will not ask how you got that to work, Jas…"

"Nothing too illegal, no worries."

"Illegal? What's illegal?"

"Relax, Gary, nothing you need to know about."

"Actually, Jasmine, I really do prefer Gareth…"

"You're stuck with it, Jas never gives up on a nickname."

"Matter of principles, Gary!"

He rolled his eyes at your friend, making you laugh.

The three of you were stacked on your couch, about to watch Harry's BBC special. You were a few hours late, as it had aired while you were at work, but somehow Jas had managed to find a way to watch it anyway. And the second you saw Harry's face appearing on the screen a smile curled up your lips.

God, you really did miss him…

And you had been right all along, while he was having an interview and doing ridiculous activities with Nick Grimshaw, he was as charming as ever. Soft and calming and oozing charm to a disgusting degree.

Gareth wasn't that interested in the show and soon his attention drifted towards his smartphone, but you didn't care. He had come only to spend some time with you, not for Harry, and you were well aware of that fact. You were still happy he was willing to watch something important to you that was of no interest to him just to be with you.

All along you wondered what Harry could possibly mean when he said that there was something for you in there.

The interviews were over, and Harry was now performing. You sang along with Jas who knew all the words too, no matter how much she tried to hide how much she loved Harry's music.

Another song faded out, and Harry stood there, in his floral suit with his guitar, looking breathtaking, as always. He took a deep breath before nodding to his band for the next one. He seemed a little emotional, and you wondered which one of his songs he would play next.

But you recognized the first notes of the guitar, and your hand flew up to cover your mouth as you stared at the TV before you with wide eyes.

Because it wasn't one of his songs he was singing now. He was singing your favourite song instead.

And he sang it so beautifully.

So many emotions were carried by his voice, and everything was just… perfect.

You were crying by now, and Gareth frowned while Jas was too focused on Harry's version of Girl Crush to notice anything happening around her.

"Babe? Are you alright?"

You slowly nodded, tears streaming down your face.

"Why are you crying? What's wrong?"

You shook your head, pointing at the TV.

"It's my favourite song."

You grinned despite the salty tears still wetting your cheeks.

"He's singing my favourite song," you repeated.

Gareth finally focused on the show again, and he had to admit that Harry's voice was beautiful as he sang with emotions this tune you adored. Still, a glare settled across his eyes, and he remained silent for the rest of the song, clenching his jaw.

You couldn't believe it. You couldn't believe that he would do something like this…

Of course, that was what he meant when he said he had done something just for you. This song brought back so many memories, and gosh, was he amazing at singing it.

You missed the next song, grabbing your phone and locking yourself in your bedroom to call Harry.

It was the middle of the night in Sweden though, and Harry was fast asleep when you called, his silenced phone left unanswered on his bedside table. You left a voicemail instead for him to find the next morning, while his hair was dishevelled and his eyes barely opened. While he let out a groan and forced himself to sit up despite how exhausted he was. But he had a show to plan, and a thousand things to do, so he had to get up, even if outside the sky was desperately dark while the sun got a little more rest he did.

He rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes, reaching for his phone to check the time. He unplugged it and focused to read the notification on his screen.

Y/N Y/L/N – 2 missed calls

One voicemail

He smiled, guessing that you had called him after watching the BBC show last evening, so he listened to your voicemail.

And it was not what he was expecting to hear.

"You bastard!"

His eyebrows shot up, before they would turn into a frown. You were clearly crying, struggling for breath a little and your voice wet and hoarse.

But as you went on, you didn't sound angry, simply overwhelmed.

"That was so beautiful. You… you sang my favourite song. Thank you. Thank you, I loved it. You're a bastard for keeping it a secret and making me cry like that, but… I loved it. Thank you."

You let out a frustrated groan, struggling for breath. You exhaled deeply, your voice shaking.

"God, I miss you, Harry."

He clenched his fist and jaw, his eyes watering.

"Just… thank you again. And please… please… be careful on the road. Be careful."

The voicemail ended, and he brushed the tears out of his eyes, a sad smile appearing on his lips, and he spoke his next thoughts out loud even if he were alone and no one was there to hear them. It didn't matter, they were meant for you anyway.

"I will be. I'll always be. Don't worry about me."

****************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony@madamrogers @cronias13 @stylesfics-xx @mellamolayla

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series

44 notes · View notes

canaryatlaw · 3 years

Text

okay so, I have a super long crazy travel story from June 2014 that I'm always telling and the full version of it just came up on my facebook memories and I feel the need to post it (it was a tumblr post at the time too, it got like 150 notes) mostly so I can post the link on twitter, so here you go:

Okay, here is the full, unedited story of the absolute ridiculous adventure we went on yesterday. It is long.

The plan for the day was to pack up from our London location, hop on a train to a town called Keighley, where we would get on a steam engine train to a town called Haworth that is the location of the Bronte sisters home, and spend the day there. We were then going back to Keighley, take the train to Lancaster, then catch the final train up to the Lake District, with an expected arrival time of 8 pm.

Well, for waking up at 6 and running across London, through the tube, and to the train station with all your luggage for a 10 day trip went surprisingly smoothly, but after we get on the first train that ends. Upon arriving in Keighley we had about half an hour to get the next train, so the plan was for a rental company to bring a van to the train station in which we could store our luggage for a few hours, so we could walk (up a ridiculous incline) all over Haworth freely. Get to train station, no van. Oh. Well apparently the rental company sent somebody to take our professor to get the van and bring it to the train station without telling us, and said person was sitting in their car texting, oblivious to the visibly panicked Americans who just showed up. He does find her and manages to get the van back to the station. We load our luggage in and quickly hop on the steam train. Okay, stressful, but not too bad.

We arrive in Haworth and are told the Bronte house/museum was "just at the top of the hill." Well, apparently the British have a different definition of this phrase than Americans. Just up the hill turned out to be several miles up through fields, stores, old houses, everything. But yes, we reached it- and it was at the very top of the hill. Go on tour, look around town, nice little time. We were to meet to walk back and catch the train at 4. It was imperative that we were on time, as upon arriving back in Keighley, our professor had half an hour to return the van and catch the only train back to Lancaster. Amazingly, we did it, despite how far away the rental place was. It looked like that headache was over and we just had a long, luggage attached ride up to the Lake District.

Well, now the real fun begins. We arrive at the Lancaster station right on time, with about 20 minutes until our train north. Our professor double checks with the station manager about what platform and what train. The warden is very friendly, assuring us that we're in the right place and cracking jokes with us. As the train pulls in, our professor yells to the warden to confirm, and he does. So we board the very crowded train with all of our suitcases. It takes us a good 5 minutes just to get seated with our luggage out of the way. As we get settled in, the conductor comes to check tickets. Our professor hands him our group ticket with itinerary....oh no. This is the wrong train going in the wrong direction. Bad. We were told we had to get out at the next stop to take a train back to Lancaster, to then board a correct train.

Well crap. We get off at the next stop, irritated, and again ask for assistance. We easily found the train we were looking for....the one that didn't arrive until past 9. It's just past 7 at this point. Mind you we are in the middle of nowhere. There is literally a station platform and a small strip of stores. No town, no wifi, no buses, nothing. This sucks, but we have to just wait it out. At the end of the small strip of shops is a "micropub." Everyone was pretty fed up at this point, so we decided to head over to unwind a bit. Micropub was a very accurate descriptor. The whole place was about the size of a bedroom, and already filled with people. Did I mention there were 15 of us? Also, they only had drinks and pub snacks. Oh well, everyone is just like what the heck so we get some snacks and a good number of us get a (singular) drink. We sit on the sidewalk outside of the pub consuming this, much to the amusement of the British patrons. They got quite a kick out of the largely given up hope group of Americans. We actually manage to have a bit of fun, and by the time the train comes everyone is happy and laughing, and just a little bit tipsy.

We take the train back, literally one stop, and wait at Lancaster for the right one. Everyone was pretty much in that crazed overtired mode where you act ridiculous and think everything is really funny. The other train patrons obviously thought we were crazy, and the station manager was quite embarrassed by his snafu that landed us back here. But hey, the right train finally comes. It takes a good 5 minutes stopped at the station for us to get all our luggage stacked and make sure everything was correct. We call ahead to the car company that was to meet us with the rental in the Lake District and the Bed and Breakfast where we'd be staying and they were both able to accommodate our time change. How lucky! Almost. We get off the train at the Lake District and unload all our luggage. Just as the train is leaving and and everyone is collecting their individual bags, we notice that nobody is claiming this black suitcase, that suddenly looks quite unfamiliar...oops. We took someone's bag by accident...and the train is gone. Well we all felt bad knowing we just made someone else's day a little worse, but we give it to the station manager and go to meet the people with the two vans we'd be using for the next two days. Except there not there. So we wait...again. Finally, they do show up, with a quite clueless old man trying to instruct us on how to program where we were going into the GPS and failing miserably. Keep in mind we had very shotty cell service (since we were still in the middle of nowhere) and using data overseas is quite difficult. We can't figure out how to turn the audio of the GPS on, so we resign to leaving the station going off the visual instructions. It was only supposed to be about a 20 minute ride, and hey, what else could go wrong at this point right? Surely we had exhausted our Murphy's law quota for the day. I mean, we had gone on 9 trains.

Well. Apparently at this time of year the sun sets very late here. As in it was finally getting dark…at 11. But when it did set, it was very dark. So we are traveling further and further away from the small bit of civilization we had on very narrow European roads, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, and the GPS starts malfunctioning, telling us to go down a road then when we do starts re-routing us elsewhere, ad infinitum…Oh yeah, and there's also a whole lot of mountains here (seriously it looks like the shire, it's gorgeous) so the roads were quite hilly, and we had an American driver who's not totally accustomed to this, and it's a manual transmission…what's that burning smell? Is that smoke? Oh no, that's smoke. And it's coming from the car.

Crap.

The transmission was not happy and started smoking, everywhere. The smoke then got through the AC vents into the car, where everybody starts choking and coughing…so we pull over and literally jump out of the car. It was at this point where I was legitimately worried for my life. We were in the middle of the woods, on a hill, with a broken car, no cell phone service, and by now it's midnight…yeah, this was bad. I was also partially convinced the car was going to blow up.

And then in an unforeseen plot twist, I managed to save the day. We were trying to figure out what the heck to do when I tried to look at my maps on my cell on a whim…and it loaded. What? It had us located. Okay….so I type in the name of the bed and breakfast, not knowing the address…and it loads. Oh man, the GPS on my phone is working!! The transmission had cooled down some, so we very carefully climbed back in the car, trying to follow my GPS. It took us another 40 minutes of nowhere-ness…up to the point where the road was only wide enough for one car, barely even enough for our van. And about a hundred "are you sure we're going the right way?" to which I could only respond "…no?" And then there was a rabbit in the middle of the road, so we slowed down…and it stopped. So we move forward and it moves, then reverses, then stops and we were all going crazy and screaming for the poor rabbit to get out of the road and not meet it's death at our hand. It's probably relevant to mention that this is also where Beatrix Potter lived, so that probably fed into that….and the inn appears. Miles away from absolutely everything. We pull in, I shut the navigation off, and then look in the corner of my phone to see that it had just now switched to no service whatsoever.

The really crazy part? When we headed back into town today with a better sense of direction, I had no service for at least 5 miles away from the place. There's no way my GPS should've lasted that long. And so that's the ridiculous story of how Rachel saved the day. 📷

(the fact that is left out of that story is my phone gps only worked because I went ahead and switched my data on, which resulted in a $600 phone bill, but I deemed it was in fact an emergency and my dad had no issues paying the bill, so it all worked out)

2 notes · View notes