#Rock (early); Heavy Metal (later)

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Def Leppard - Lady Strange

[syoddeye]

the warren, part six - natural

price x f!reader | 5.9k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, italicized flashbacks, skinny dipping, bathing, cunninglinus, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, darkfic. a/n: fireworks followed by fireworks. shout out to early and the arrangement. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

This must be what it feels like to open a tomb.

Fetid air sweeps over your cheeks. Warm and stagnant, smelling of earth and metal.

The room is maybe eight by ten feet and sinks another six down to an unfinished floor of exposed dirt and rock. Thin pipes run from under the floorboards and into the wall, disappearing further underground. An empty, dusty stack of wooden shelves stands bolted to the cement walls. You’d think it’s an old root cellar—if it weren’t for the door.

Four paneled. Old and weathered yet sturdy looking. You don’t dare hop into the pit to test the heavy lock affixed to it; no way you could climb out.

You take a photo, shut the hidden hatch, and smooth the rug over it.

It’s nothing. Has to be. Kate would’ve told you about it if it mattered. You haul the couch over it anyway and tuck into bed with a knife. In the small hours, you decide to call the landlady at breakfast, perhaps Phil too, for good measure.

~~

“Oh, that? Old storm cellar.” Kate sounds amused, as if your trepidation is a cute joke. “The Warrens were originally from Tornado Alley. Hated storms. Brought that hate with them.”

“Where does the door lead?”

“A storage room. I emptied it.”

You lean against the counter, staring at the rug with your thumb caught between your teeth in thought. Since your arrival, you’ve seen two storms of note. Thunder and lightning, but nothing like the furies that roll over the Great Lakes, the ones that rattled the shutters and windows or leaked from cracks in the ceiling. Certainly no tornadoes. You, of all people, know what it is to carry a fear. A hatred.

“Everything alright?”

You fish for reassurance. “Yes. I feel silly, that’s all.”

The hook goes ignored. “Mhm.” 

“Guess I’ll move the couch back.” You laugh, apologize for troubling her, and leave the couch where it sits.

You don’t call Phil. You’d sound ridiculous.

Later, you sneak some extra work in, at least you try to. A mechanical whir putters then skips. You swear a wisp of smoke leaks from the disk drive. The old laptop that could, no more. Rendered a fossil, unresponsive to your troubleshooting. Frustration burns your belly, whittling your patience to naught. It fractures at the ring of your phone.

“Yes?” You snap, instantly searing yourself with the white-hot brand of guilt. “I’m so sorry, hello?”

John chuckles. “Bad time?”

“John. Oh, no. I–I’m not scheduled today, am I?”

“No, you’re alright. Shop’s slow, so I thought I’d check in.” He pauses. “If you’re busy, I can chat later.”

“I’m not. Unexpectedly so,” you shove your laptop off your lap, rising from bed. You stretch and pace to the kitchen. “Mind if I keep you company? See the kittens?” Best clear your head.

“I’d be delighted.”

~~

The kittens are feral. You know this, yet their instinctive rejection smarts. From a sun-bleached lawn chair, you watch them tussle and spar in the shade of John’s building. Their mother, the first time you’ve seen her, lounges on the welcome mat. She’s a proud creature. Big and gray like a storm cloud.

You haven’t come around to John’s understanding concerning the cats. The queen tolerates one of her kittens, nearly too old to nurse, as it tries to latch. You wonder if the baby’s a female. If she, like her mother, will fall pregnant in a few months. If she’ll end up with an unseasonably late litter, born to frost and snow rather than wildflowers and sunlight.

“Beautiful thing,” John observes, emerging from the garage with an ice-cold soda. He slots it in your hand and plants himself in the chair beside you. “Mama and her babies.”

“It’s something.”

“They’ll be off on their own soon. They’ll do fine.”

“And if not?” If one of the area’s predators doesn’t get to them, the road awaits.

“Then that’s that. Nature takes its course.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. Falling prey to a beast or an accident is simply what happens to creatures like the kittens. You chew your lip, thinking of how immutable that truth might’ve been once, but now? With the means to prevent all the unnecessary heartache? Knowing John’s attitude on man’s interference, you don’t voice it. Knowing your own.

You catch him staring. There’s something in the way his eyes linger. A quiet intensity that betrays the hunger he’s set aside for your benefit. Unspoken but raw. Crude. It claws at you as much as it does him.

Later, in the shower, you reacquaint yourself with your softer parts. You rouse a lovely pressure but fumble. It slips through your fingers and down the drain with the water.

~~

Your first inventory trip to Ponderosa arrives. The ride is more pleasant than the last, and John shoos you away to the library when you try to help at the town depot. He warns you it’s a lot of dull conversation and lifting, so you slink off.

The whole town’s decorated for the Fourth. Its two hotels are bursting at the seams, sidewalk patios filled with folk. A shuttle to a resort ten minutes away stops in front of the coffee shop, making the decision to delay your visit for you.

The Ponderosa Public Library is cozy and welcoming. The gleaming white stone floor of the entrance lends a hallowedness. Phil Graves’s drawl drifts through your head at the sight of a local history display positioned near the front, but the honeyed voice of the librarian hooks your attention. Draped in a floor-length cardigan, the kindly older woman eagerly waves you in. She’s thrilled to register you with a temporary card when you inquire.

“I can count on one hand how many visitors have signed up this summer. Two!” She laughs. “Your name?”

~~~

In the pre-dawn stillness of the desert, the landscape is a vast, empty stretch painted in muted hues of gray and indigo. Hints of morning light graze the earth and highway, devoid of traffic aside from the occasional tumbleweed. The openness feels expansive yet intimate. Alien, yet familiar. Desolation and your lonely home of some years. Where life makes the best of it. The most stability you’ve ever known.

You arrive in town five minutes past seven.

Passing the gas station, you keep your head down and ring hand displayed to let the synthetic gemstone reflect the sun. It doesn’t stop one trucker from leaning out of his cab with an appreciative whistle.

The library’s office light is on, so you knock on the staff entrance. Robin lets you in thirty seconds later, chattering on about a game show. You clean the bathrooms while she prepares the rest of the branch to open. You finish with minutes to spare and settle at the boxy computer that keeps your back to a wall.

The usual patrons file and out in as you send a dozen inquiry emails to writing gigs and delete rejections. You write a father of the bride speech for $50, your biggest job yet. Every sentence is a penny, and pennies add up. You’ll have enough for the car, gas, and computer in a few months. Everything is planned out and locked safely away in your head, except for one detail.

You traipse slowly along the geography shelf, hand poised like a dowsing rod, waiting for a feeling. Your fingers brush a spine and shiver. Idaho Cities and Townships. Paging to the index, you trace your finger down the list like you’re looking for the right scripture in church. The psalm to sing. Something pulls your finger to a place called Grouse Bay. It burrows under your skin and nails. Hope. 

~~~

You revere librarians. They’re the only people you’ve met who never pry, lest it be to help you. Jeanne, the librarian of this particular branch, leaves you to peruse without hovering. The bangles on her arms clink together like a bell on a cat. She minds herself until you approach the checkout with a short stack.

“Excellent choices, sweetie. These’ll keep you plenty company.” She scans them, apprising you of the upcoming fireworks, but abruptly pauses. Her eyes stare past you. “Are you expecting a handsome fella? A Brawny Man lookalike?”

From outside, John waves with a smile. You return both. “I am.”

She whistles low and slides the books to you with a knowing look. “I take it back. He’ll be plenty of company.”

Outside, John hooks a finger in your tote the moment you’re within reach and peers inside. Nosy. 

“A couple of romances, nothing you’d like.”

“That so? You don’t think I’d like…The Arrangement?” 

You bat at his hand, clutching your haul and tilting away as you walk. “I highly doubt it.”

A waggish grin lights up his face. If the man on the front cover of that particular text bears a resemblance to him, it’s pure coincidence.

On the ride home, his hand inches over your thigh. You let it rest and take another long shower.

You still can’t scratch the itch.

~~

Despite John’s preparations, the Fourth of July cleans the grocer out of booze, cigarettes, and just about everything else. The store shuts after lunch, and he talks you into a boat ride. 

“I didn’t know you owned a boat.”

“I don’t,” He hefts a cooler onto the tailgate, the last stash of crusher beer inside. “Kate does. Nik just patched her up.”

“Wish he’d fix my car.” Nikolai mentioned the part was delayed two weeks and blamed a train derailment further West. 

Kate’s home is an aging two-story half a mile down the lakeside road. Two juniper trees bracket the entrance, with twin rows of bluebells and dogbane lining the path. Her Ranger sits under a carport, flanked by a muddy ATV and an old Bronco.

You shoulder your bag and walk to the rear of John’s truck, studying the unfamiliar vehicles. “Who else is joining us?”

“Hello, rabbit.” A gruff voice purrs. Outdoors, Simon looks larger than life with no fixture or frame to duck. His muscles bulge under a black t-shirt, the skin on his arms more bronzed than his face. However, as he steps directly behind you, leaning over you to grab the cooler, you see faint tan lines around his eyes.

You whip around to face the cab, trying to not look so obvious with your failed escape attempt, and see John’s mouth flatten. Simon’s chest brushes and bumps your back, pelvis ghosting your hip as he effortlessly hauls the packed cooler over your head. The smell of burnt rubber, oil, and sweat is fleeting but intense.

“How’s the boat?” John slams his door. You flinch and hastily close the rear gate. 

“Glorified sardine tin.” Simon clears his throat and spits, then jerks his head. “C’mon.”

You follow in silence, crossing the road and descending a creaky staircase built into the slope of the hillside leading to the lake. Kate’s boat is bigger than you imagined, a double-decker pontoon. She and Nik stand at the mooring fixed to an aluminum dock, and as you step onto the last shallow flight, a man emerges from the cabin.

His grin is a crescent set on a chiseled jaw and hard to look away from. He isn’t as tall as Simon, but cuts just as imposing of a figure with wide shoulders and thick arms. He bounds closer, greeting the three of you like an excitable dog. Simon passes by, mumbling something that makes the man straighten and lock on to you with eyes an unnerving shade of blue, cynoid. Nothing like John’s.

John gently nudges you ahead and supplies your name. “And this is Soap. He’s Simon’s partner.”

Partner. That’s not as comforting as you want it to be. “Soap?”

An accent wraps around his words, catching you off guard. “Aye. Soap. Heard a lot about ye.”

“Good things I hope?”

He leans, voice dropping into a conspiratorial but genial whisper. “Plenty. Though if ye got a naughty streak, I won’t tell.”

The breeze off the lake doesn’t abate the heat his compliment evokes. A whiff of acetone blends with mint wafts off him, but it’s his nostrils that flare. He’s sniffing you. “I don’t–”

“Soap!” Simon barks.

“Chat later.” He whispers, then answers Simon’s call, disappearing with his counterpart.

A bit dazed, you greet Kate, and she steers you aboard. John unmoors the boat with Nik muttering in his ear, and you’re shown the prime seat at the bow. Kate takes the helm, and within minutes, the pontoon putters away from shore to join the dozens of vessels dotting the lake. Simon and Soap return with armfuls of bottles and cans, someone turns the satellite radio on, and John fits himself to your side. You don’t know the last time you celebrated the Fourth, and here you are, toasting two Brits, a Scot, and a Russian. If there’s a punchline, you hope to find it.

A flask eventually appears. You refuse, watching Soap’s mouth pucker in disgust and Nikolai drinking deep like it’s water. John squeezes your shoulder, his arm draping over you with his thigh pressed to yours.

He murmurs, “Why don’t you go see Kate? Get some girl talk in?” 

Kate doesn’t seem the type for girl talk, but how the others seem to hold their breath at John’s suggestion propels you to your feet.

You find Kate atop the upper deck, sprawled with a book and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The boat rides the wake of passing speedboats, forcing you to crawl and sit cross-legged. You barely hear the men below save for another toast.

“Too much for you, huh?” Kate asks, taking a drag.

It’s a conscious decision to not mention girl talk. “Yep. They’re…a lot.”

She snorts and lets the conversation wither early on the vine, probably for the best. She is your landlord.

Basking in the sun, you drink your warming beer and watch the water. Listen to the whoops and hollers across the lake.

When your father moved you across state lines to a ramshackle home perched atop a steep hill, you often crept onto the roof to do just this. They called that lake an unsalted sea, vast and untamed. Choppy with whitecaps and an unfathomable shade of blue, always darker than the sky above. You lived in fear of it, listening dutifully when your father carped on your morbid fascination. He banned you from trekking to its shores.

As a child, he suffered visions of you getting swept up by a rogue wave. You believed him, wanting him to care. As a teenager, you wondered if it was his way of protecting you from the men who prowled the docks, the boogeymen in the dark. His tacit acknowledgment of your growing older. Now, a thousand miles and a lifetime away, you know it’s because he simply didn’t want another prisoner to escape.

The first man whose love you wanted tried to trap you with water. The second dragged you to a desert. Looking down at John, your stomach twists. The third time’s a charm. He’s not like them.

“Rabbit.” Soap’s shaggy head pokes over the deck’s edge. “Mind if I join?”

Kate turns a page, you scoot, and Soap hoists himself up.

“So. You and John. What’s that like?” He laughs at your wince. “C’mon. Dinnae be shy. Been a minute since someone’s turned his head.”

“It’s…new.”

“New. Aye. Steamy? At eachother like–”

“Christ,” Kate grumbles, suddenly rocking up to a seated position, simultaneously stubbing out her cigarette as she slides to the edge. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Soap snickers. “Dinnae mind her.”

Sensing a sliver of an opening, you redirect. “John said you and Simon were partners. How long have you been together?”

“Years, I reckon. Hard to picture life before him. I was a mess. Workin’ at his shop’s done me good.”

“Oh, I thought you were partner partners.”

He grins. “No, yer not mistaken. We’re partners in business an’ bed.” 

With a gentle dig, his elbow finds your ribs, and you feign an affable chuckle into your drink. The cheap beer’s too tepid to stomach, but you swallow, hide a grimace and push on. “What brought you here?”

Soap rolls his shoulders and finally casts his gaze elsewhere. “Wanted to see the world. I was an artist. I fucked off from home at sixteen an’ never returned. Wandered for years. Traveled all over.”

Sixteen. Incomprehensible. Not that eighteen was much better, but you weren’t alone. 

“And you stopped here?” You came to Grouse Bay to hide. Picked it at random. To think someone else did the same seems kismet.

“I ken. Ye probably think I’m daft. Of all the places I’ve seen, how come fuckin’ Idaho? Of all places? I dinnae. Set its hooks in me.” He glances at Simon. “Love’s got a way of changing people, aye? Transformin’ them. It could be ye, putting down roots next.”

The comment nips your soft underbelly. You pivot again. “Did you paint? Do you still create art?”

Soap turns. “Nae so much anymore. I mostly draw. Dipped my toes into painting, but too much to carry. The art I make nowadays…It’s gruesome.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Taxidermy. ‘S what Simon and I do,” His eyebrows shoot up, teeth flashing in a puckish smile. “Ye didnae ken?”

Revulsion tightens your throat. “I didn’t.”

He bites his lower lip, clearly eager to fan your disgust like a fire. A hairbreadth of control keeps his mouth shut long enough to rethink it. Instead, his focus drifts once more to his partner. 

Despite the acidity lapping at your throat, curiosity opens your mouth. “Do you know how Simon came to Grouse Bay?”

Soap’s lips press tightly together, enough to sap their color, then bend into a brief scowl. Without warning, he stands and rips his shirt off in one smooth movement. He tosses it, crows a complaint about the heat, and doesn’t look over the upper deck before launching off the pontoon.

Howls of laughter erupt, but surprise tethers you in place until John calls your name. Apparently, a sunset dip is tradition.

Ducking into the cabin under the premise of changing, you whisper to Kate, “I don’t have a swimsuit. John didn’t tell me about swimming.”

“He must’ve,” Kate quarters a lemon on the tiny counter and tucks a wedge into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She shoves it through with a thumb and licks the pad. “Nobody will bat an eye if you go in your underwear.”

“I’m not–that’s too–”

“You’re shy. That’ll pass. I’ll tell John you need his shirt.” She’s gone before you can argue.

A short eternity squeezes into less than a minute. John appears in the doorway, and beyond him, you hear Nikolai’s deep laugh.

“Kate says you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Well, I’ve come to give you this just in case.” 

You thought you’d see John shirtless for the first time under different circumstances. Not in a cramped boat cabin, surrounded by his drunk friends. Your chest tightens. All the muscle you’ve only glimpsed and imagined is there in front of you. A torso sculpted by labor and practicality, rugged with scars and fat cushioning his stomach. And, to your delight, decently hirsute. His hand drops to his belt.

“Shirt’s yours. Need me to turn around?”

It feels more intimate than any kiss he’s given you, and it seems a test. You muster your nerve, set aside caution, and peel off your dress.

“Blue and white. Festive.”

“And you’re in green.”

He kicks off his jeans with a shrug. “Not my birthplace, and not for long.”

Standing at the stern, you entertain second and third thoughts, toying with the shirt’s hem. John waits in the water, expectant. You catch a flash of white—he’s nude. Toward the bow, you hear the others. They’re all nude.

“What about Kate?” You ask, voice warbling with uncertainty. 

“Kate never joins. She watches.”

“Watches?”

“For other boats. Voyeurs. Threats.”

You feel stupid for asking.

The shock of the cold water hits like a full-body slap, stealing your breath and sending a sharp jolt through your limbs. Arms wrap around you as you surface, and the scruff of John’s beard scrapes the juncture of your neck, chin pushing the wet shirt aside to briefly suck your neck. It’s sudden, it’s a lot, knowing what’s behind your back—

“John!” You sputter indignantly, giggling nervously as his broad hands slide to squeeze your hips. 

“Gimme a second.” He noses your wet skin and plants a few kisses before relinquishing his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hard to keep my hands off you when you look so good.”

Sufficiently flustered, you promptly forgive him. “It’s fine. Just not in front of the others, please.”

“Right,” he chuckles and pinches your bottom as he paddles past. “She’s shy.”

Affronted, you swim after him.

As much as you hate to admit, Kate was right—your shyness melts with the sun’s slow descent. You spend the rest of the daylight in and out of the water, racing the men and learning to automatically avert your eyes from their frankly proud nakedness. By the time evening falls, you’re worn out, dressed, and idle as you munch on a sandwich Kate packed. It feels surreal. The entire day. Breathtakingly normal despite the skinny dipping.

Not weird, just different.

Eventually, everyone finds their place for the fireworks. You nestle into John’s side, swapping your towel for a blanket. He’s still bare-chested, shirt drying over an empty seat. It’s natural, resting your head on his shoulder. Fits perfectly. Simon, Soap, and Nikolai climb to the roof. Kate reclines in the captain’s chair. Beneath the cotton weave, John’s hand strokes your knee, and the other rests across your shoulders. The conversations lull as the whole lake seems to hold its breath.

Flashes of red and white burst overhead, their reflections shimmering over the rippling, dark water. Blue sparks spill in glittering arcs, lighting the night sky in meteoric explosions. Cheers from across the lake erupt alongside them. John’s hold doesn’t lax. For nearly an hour, he keeps you close, palm searing your skin. Your attention strays from the show, instead admiring his crow’s feet, the mole on his nose, and the silver woven into his beard. The fireworks cast a glow, making him look almost ethereal. Not angelic, otherworldly. The lines and marks on his skin map to places you’ve never been. Never thought you’d go.

The sky returns to an unbroken, inky black, the scent of sulfur settling in a fog. Kate ferries you to land, and you disembark ahead of John with his keys. In the drive, you pop the tailgate and then load your things into the passenger seat. 

“Bunny.”

You turn to see Soap hauling the cooler, huffing and puffing a bit. The thing’s empty, so he must’ve hurried up the stairs. He crosses the road, tossing his burden into the truck. 

“Bunny?”

He shakes his head. “Must’ve misheard. Said ‘bonnie’. Endearment of sorts. Listen, I was hopin’ to get another chance to speak with ye. You’re a good time when you let loose.”

“Thank you. I haven’t in a while. Felt nice.”

“I can tell. Simon said ye were wound tight. He frighten ye?”

To the core of your being. A congenital fear. You swallow it. “No.”

“Really? Big fella scares me.” Soap pitches his voice low. He casually stretches and grips the window crank, effectively caging you into the wedge of the door. His nostrils widen like earlier, pupils dilating in the light. “Now. Need ye to tell me somethin’. Been eatin’ me all day, and I cannae be a dog and put my nose wherever I’d like. Gotta be good.”

Instantly, ropes harness your thoughts, prepared to draw and quarter them into the bleakest parts of imagination. The desert, the inland sea. 

The plastic handle creaks under his grip as he forces the words out between his teeth. “Did ye find—”

“Johnny.” Simon. Soap immediately reels backward, tugged by an invisible thread. 

“Here, sir!”

Sir? Johnny? 

“ATV. Now.” 

Soap doesn’t so much as spare a parting glance, obediently scurrying to the four-wheeler. You stare, dumbfounded, and jump when the driver-side door creaks. John smiles wryly, his shirt adorning his neck like a damp scarf. The trail of hair disappearing into his waistband is a momentary distraction from the brute stalking beyond the windshield. Simon’s scarred flesh is a beacon in the moonlight. His heavy brow focused solely on the man perched atop his vehicle. You hear him seething, growling under his breath at Soap—Johnny—and John’s door shuts.

“C’mon, sweetheart. They’re alright.” He coaxes you into the cab, patting your knee with a sigh. “Lover’s quarrel. Simon’s a jealous man.”

“Jealous,” you echo, gawking at the two men outside. “Of me?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised.” John starts the truck and lowers his window. He leans out some as Nik and Kate share a smoke at the end of her walk. “Night, Kate. Nikolai.”

Nikolai leers behind his cigarette, gesturing with it in your direction. A few words of Russian escape with the smoke, a throaty laugh on their heels. Kate looks impassive. Bored. Her house disappears in the rearview. A restiveness itches under your skin, exacerbated by the quiet crackling of the radio. Your head’s a crowded place. The silence’s a good place to unburden it.

“So. Soap’s real name is Johnny?”

John chuckles. “Nobody but Simon calls him that, but you didn’t think it was Soap, did you?”

“I’m assuming it’s to keep things less confusing.”

“Correct. I actually employed him for a spell, when he arrived. Earned the name ‘Soap’ on account of his mouth. Needless to say, his career in retail was brief. Kept flirtin’ with the customers.”

“And he got with Simon?” 

“Simon swept him off his feet.”

You scoff. “That’s difficult to believe.”

“Simon has his ways.”

Nothing in your short, tense encounters suggests Simon to be a man capable of love or romance. You doubt it is uncharitable to think so, either. Ferine and rude, calculated and off-putting. Everything he does aims to disarm by making the very air around him feel heavy and wrong, whereas Soap seems keen to impress upon you his friendliness, conveying himself as human conciliation. ‘Opposites attract’ has limits. 

Yet.

“Soap said love has a way of changing people.”

John hums in agreement. “Most powerful force there is.”

Can’t argue with that. Force for good or otherwise, though—that you may dispute.

You don’t tell him to, but he shuts the truck off in the drive. Cats scatter as he escorts you, voicing their displeasure at your late arrival. Under the exterior light, you fumble with your keys, his gaze heavy on your cheek. In the time it takes to turn the lock, you berate yourself. Plead with a jury close to hanging.

It’s swimming all over again. Are you shy? Timid? Are you allowing the long, creeping reach of your abandoned husband to touch you before you let John try? The verdict passes your lips.

“Won’t you come in?”

“It’s late.”

“Please come in.”

It takes two invitations to coax John Price into the cabin and a third to the shower. 

A shuddering sigh of relief comes with removing your underwear and dress. The freedom from wet cotton eclipses the nervousness that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The urge to cover yourself in front of the man who is not your husband sings loud, nearly shrieking when he brushes his knuckles down your arm and gently turns you around. He starts the water, returning to press his front to your back, the slight tackiness of lakewater and sweat melding you together. His fingertips run a track from your flanks to the sides of your breasts, a hum buzzing into the skin of your shoulder when you grasp the counter.

When Dusty—No. No. He’s not here. John is. 

You banish the venomous guilt that tries to unseat your want and let John tug you into the shower to wash the day off.

He’s hard for most of it, his swollen cock skimming your hips and ass, glancing over your belly, and nearly driving the strength from your legs. He seems unfazed, reverent, and single-minded in his self-imposed task. It’s embarrassing, the way you squirm and fidget at every touch. Difficult to tell if it’s arousal or the unfamiliarity of intimacy.

John takes your place under the spray and chuckles softly when you finally look down. His fingers scrub through his body hair to the thatch at his cock’s root. You suck in a breath. He’s proportional—thick, heavy, and flushed. Hangs between the two of you, untouched, but you know it would burn your hand. Your tongue. The dizzying rush from that last thought alone reassures you because you don’t remember the last time you knelt because you wanted to.

Neither of you dress. Both of you barely dry. He insists on a light, hovering at the bedside lamp until you nod. When he climbs onto the bed, murmuring little nothings, your blood’s roaring in your ears, drowning out his encouragement. He opens your legs for a good look, but he might as well wrench open your ribcage. 

“Quite the sight.” John whispers. His palms slide from your knees to your upper thighs, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking where your thighs meet your pelvis. 

You imagine fastening an anchor to your brain, then a lure. Stay here, stay focused. 

“Yeah?”

His eyes flick to yours, narrowing as he reads into the single word. “Yeah. Beautiful.” He slowly slides and sinks to kiss your thighs, positioning himself between your legs. His shoulders stretch them further, and an arm snakes around and pulls you closer all too easily, hand groping a greedy handful. His breath hits where it’s wet, coarse hair tickling skin.

The first contact rips a sharp breath from you, which he immediately meets with a hum that buzzes to the base of your spine. The fingers on your thighs brush soothingly as he continues, jaw pressing further. His mouth latches, tongue dipping lower and in, laving along your entrance before circling to your clit. Each stroke and circuit deliberate, adjusting to the sounds spilling uninhibited from your mouth. Your hands reach and thread into his hair with a moan.

He groans softly into your flesh, nosing the fat above your sex, chuckling when your hips pitch. His hand travels up your quivering inner thigh to ease a finger in, pulling away to sink it into the first knuckle with a wet sound. 

“Look at you.” John sounds wrecked, beard and chin drenched in spit and slick, tongue licking the excess from his lip. Eyes boring into you with that look again. Unmasked hunger, barely tethered. The one you touched yourself to in the shower.

“Smelled you all day, smelled this,” He emphasizes with a pump of his finger, kissing your clit at the strangled, small noise you make. “Leaking into your pants, even after a swim. Nearly laid you out right there, during the fireworks.” 

A filthy whine erupts at the thought. You picture it vividly. John tearing your dress off of you, hauling you to the floor of the boat. Nik and Kate and Simon and Soap—all of them watching John mount you, ignoring the spectacle for a different show. Would any of them intervene? Would you want them to?

You clench at the thought, and he smirks.

He introduces a second finger alongside the first, hushing your reedy whimpers at the stretch. “The needy thing knew I was near. Knew that I could scent her crying out for me. Poor thing, neglected and mistreated. Needed a man to fuss over her.”

Your face grows somehow hotter. Not enough that you’re naked and under him, he needs to strip you bare and sweetly flay you alive. “John—”

He cuts you off, tutting. “Don’t be embarrassed—it’s natural for a man to want his mate.”

His fingers plunge to the webbing, ratcheting up to earnestly fuck you now that he’s teased you into incoherency. “Never gonna leave you lonely,” he rasps, tucking his mouth back over your pearled clit. 

Every year, the lake ice cracks and fractures with the arrival of spring. This is no different.

Muscles flexing and fluttering, dimly aware of the praises he murmurs against your cunt, you shatter. 

He doesn’t withdraw his fingers until you score his scalp and beg, and even then they slide over your slit, cupping the slippery folds of your pussy. He kisses and wipes his cum-soaked whiskers over your spasming thighs and stomach, his free hand planting beside you. John looms, pleased but not quite sated. 

He pets your cunt and waits for the worst of your trembling to cease. “Perfect,” he affirms, giving it a wet pat. He grunts, then abruptly knocks your legs open a second time with a knee, removing his hand to slick his cock.

Your eyes bulge, vision clearing in an instant at the view. Sat ignored for too long, his cock flushes a deeper shade of red, precome clinging to it like wax and seeping into his hair. He wraps his hand around the thick of himself, shuddering, eyes screwing shut as he strokes.

You think your orgasm might’ve knocked something loose. You reach a shaking hand and touch his knee. 

“J-John? I-I can’t…I can’t, not yet.” You are selfishness incarnate, asking him to quash his hunger once more. 

His eyes snap open. His pupils drill into you, flitting between your twitching cunt, his cockhead, and your face. Stygian and starving. 

“I’m sorry. Please.” 

He swallows, chest heaving with his unwhetted appetite, its festering close to spoiling. For a moment, fear poleaxes you into the mattress when he shuffles on his knees closer anyway, knees pushing under your thighs. 

“Not yet? That’s…okay,” John breathes raggedly. He nods, fisting his cock faster. His free hand glides from the valley of your breasts to your stomach, tracing a circle. “We’ll get there, sweetheart…Can I…?” 

Biting your lip, you nod.

He sighs, hips bucking slightly. “You’ll be taking my cock in no time. No tears, now. Wipe ‘em off.”

You obey immediately, not having realized you’d started crying, and see his cock jump in his hand at that.

John chuckles a little brokenly, struggling to speak through gritted teeth. “Soon, I can feel it. Gonna empty that head of yours, weed out what’s holding you back, and fill you, fuck, here.” His fingers press over your womb, and he jerks forward. Hot ropes of come shoot out, coating his fingers and your skin. He rocks into his fist a few more times, the motions stuttering, until leisurely sinking back to his haunches. 

After he withdraws and returns to clean you up, wiping the sweat off your brow before the cum on your belly, he tucks the both of you into bed. He turns off the lamp and claims the side closest to the door. He spoons you with his heartbeat to your spine.

Staring into the night beyond the window, you apologize again.

“I want to. I really want to.”

“I know, darl. I know.” He kisses your shoulder. “What did I say? We’ll get there.”

He falls asleep wrapped around you. You, however, lie awake trying to remember what it is to share a bed with someone willingly. With someone who wants you. 

Eventually, you wriggle out a hand and grab your phone, dimming its brightness all the way down. You haven’t checked it since work and swipe to your messages. A text from an unknown number sits at the top of your notifications.

>> F741 >> hold

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 3: Metal Voices

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 5.8k

Chapter 3/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I can't tell if y'all are rocking with this one or not but Imma keep uploading.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

You lay soundly asleep, nestled in your warm cocoon of blankets, the soft comfort of slumber wrapping around you like a cozy embrace. Your fatigue from a long week had finally caught up with you, and your dreams were painted with peaceful serenity.

But then, as if summoned by a mischievous fairy, you felt tiny hands tapping your arm. The gentle, persistent taps grew stronger until they became an undeniable summons from the waking world. Reluctantly, you stirred, your eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep.

As you blinked yourself into awareness, you found yourself face to face with Isabella who was looking down at you in annoyance. You mumbled groggily, "Too early, Isabella, go back to bed."

Isabella, not one to give in easily, shook her head. "Mama, it's not early. It's noon! I’m going to be late for Lenny’s skate party!"

You blinked in disbelief at the time, grabbed your phone from the nightstand to find the truth, and then threw yourself back into the pillows with a groan." Noon already?” You rubbed a hand over your face. 

Isabella's tone turned stern as she scolded, "Sleeping in until noon is unacceptable, Mama. You promised you'd help me get ready for the party."

You couldn't help but smile at your daughter's seriousness, and you felt a rush of gratitude for having such a responsible child. You glanced at the nightstand and saw a glass of water and aspirin neatly arranged, a thoughtful gesture from Isabella.

You reached for the water and aspirin, whispering your thanks, and then turned to Isabella with a mischievous grin. "You know, being a mom is hard work. Sometimes, moms need a little extra sleep to keep up with their super responsible daughters."

Isabella rolled her eyes, giving you a playful but loving look of disbelief. "It’s hard being the boss.” She shook her head. She crawled into bed beside you and leaned into your side. Her cheek pressed against yours. It was often she practically wanted to live in your skin. 

The feeling was mutual.

"You can be the boss later, sweetheart. But right now, can you just let Mama get her bearings and drink this water?"

Isabella sighed. "I bet North West doesn't have to deal with this."

You chuckled, kissing Isabella's hair. "No, I'm sure she doesn't. But you know what? I'd trade a hundred Kardashian daughters for my one."

Isabella's lips curled into a pleased smile and she snuggled deeper into your side.

"Grandma told me a lot of things last night," She began.

"Like what? You were supposed to be sleeping when I left you," You downed your water and aspirin.

"She let me watch Wendy Williams reruns," She smirked.

"I don't believe it," You narrowed your eyes. "Did you steal her phone?"

"Maybe," She shrugged. "Anyway, I saw you when you were a kid. Well, a teenager I guess. Before you had me. Wendy kept saying how getting pregnant was a disaster and how everything was going to change and that you were throwing your career away."

You sighed, "Sweetheart..." Setting your cup of water down. You certainly didn't think you would be talking about this. “I wouldn’t even call it a career.” 

"I'm not offended, actually," Isabella stopped you. "I kind of think it's true. You don't sing much anymore. Only to me and in the shower."

"Do you want me to sing more?" You asked, slightly concerned.

"I just don't understand why you're not a star." Isabella sat up. "You could be bigger than Beyonce'."

"Well, I couldn't sing onstage when you were growing inside my belly," You chuckled, running your hands over her hair. "Also, bigger than Beyonce is a stretch but I'm glad you're as delusional as me."

"And you stopped after you had me, didn't you?" She looked at you with big curious eyes. "You didn't even try?"

"No," You answered, not really wanting to discuss your past.

"Why?" She tilted her head. "You're really good, Mama. Grandad could definitely get some things set up for you. Or I know. Natasha from the band. You two are dating now right?"

You shook your head. "We're just friends, Isabella. It's not like that. We're not serious. Plus, she has her own thing going on right now."

"Well, then why not do something with the band?" She suggested, clearly not taking no for an answer.

"I don't feel comfortable about that, Isabella," You said. "I have you to think about. I like my life right now as it is. I like my job."

"But I've got to have a rockstar mother, Mama!" Isabella threw herself back into the pillows. "It's embarrassing enough that my best friend's mother is a pop princess, but now my own mother isn't even a musician?"

"Well, my cushy job provided you with this house and all of your gymnastics gear, musician or not," You poked at her. "I'm going to tell my mom we need to put passcodes on every single electronic in the house. You get too many ideas."

"It's true," Isabella pouted.

"Isabella, if you love me, you'll accept that I'm not a performer. I'm a boring, everyday working mom. That's the only thing that's true about what Wendy said."

Isabella sat up. "But Mama, don't you ever feel like there's a part of you missing?"

You thought for a moment. "No. I'm perfectly complete. I have the best daughter I could ever ask for."

"You haven't been with anyone in years," She pointed out. "Your cookies are going to be all dried up."

"Do you even have any idea what that means?" You raised a brow. God, you weren’t ready for that talk yet. 

"No, I heard Aunt Monica say it," She said innocently.

"That woman has so many issues," You said, shaking your head. "Now, do you want to keep talking about my life or do you want to go and live yours and go to the skate party?"

"Okay," She said, getting up and stretching. "Just think about it, Mama."

"I will," You lied. "Now go get dressed and we'll get your hair done."

"Thanks, Mama." She kissed your cheek before leaving the room.

You took a deep breath, your mind swimming with the thoughts of the past. You couldn't deny that sometimes, there were moments where you missed it all. Then you remember that you're content. You enjoy your schedule. You like being home every day in time for dinner with Isabella.

Her question was valid. You hadn't been in a committed relationship since Sam, her father. That entire breakup had ruined you, even if you did end it on amicable terms. The thought of being with anyone else wasn't exactly appealing. You liked to focus on your daughter and work. Though that kiss with Natasha last night was something. It's a spur-of-the-moment thing if you will. A great end to the night. She's a rockstar. No way she had time for you.

But if she did, would you let her?

You shook the thoughts away and got up, getting ready for the day.

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

“I’ll have bacon, eggs, and a side of toast,” Steve ordered from the cafe waitress. Across from him, Natasha stirred her coffee absentmindedly, staring out of the diner window. 

“Had a good night?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. 

Natasha smirked memories of her kiss with you flashing in her mind. “Yeah, you could say that. You?”

Steve chuckled. “Nothing too wild. I just crashed after the party. Where did you duck off to?”

Natasha took a sip of her coffee before answering, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Y/n and I decided to go and talk. We ended up at a little restaurant a few blocks down," She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Mhm," Steve hummed, unconvinced. "Just talked?"

"Just talked," Natasha rolled her eyes. "Why do you guys all think I'm some sort of womanizer?"

"Because you are," Steve laughed, and Natasha couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"Yeah, okay, fair point," She conceded. "But we did just talk. I like her. She's cool,"

Steve raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile on his face. "I can tell. Do you think it's going to be something? So soon after Carol?"

"Who knows," Natasha shrugged. "But it was nice to feel that connection again."

Steve nodded a small smile on his lips. "That's good. You deserve someone who makes you feel like that,"

Natasha's expression softened her usual mask of bravado. "She's Nick Fury's daughter. You know the music mogul dude."

"Wow, she's way out of your league then," Steve chuckled.

"Shut up," Natasha laughed, kicking him playfully under the table.

"Maybe you could slide her dad one of our tapes," He suggested.

"No, it's not like that," Natasha shook her head. "I'm not trying to get with her for that. I like her."

"I know, Nat," Steve said. "But you can't blame me for trying."

"You're an idiot, Rogers," Natasha laughed.

"A lovable one, though," Steve grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Speaking of management.” 

Natasha sighed, already anticipating the conversation. “The label thing again?”

Steve nodded, pausing only for the waitress to set down their finished meals. “Tony’s been pushing for it. He thinks it’s our ticket to the big leagues. And Wanda’s on board too. But it’s more than that, Nat. We need better management. The gigs, the travel, it’s all starting to take a toll.”

Natasha leaned back, running a hand through her hair. “I get that, but signing with a label? We’ll lose control, Steve. They’ll want to shape us, change our sound. We’ve always been about doing things our way.”

“I know,” Steve said gently. “But think about the opportunities. Better venues, more exposure. We could reach so many more people.”

Natasha frowned, the conflict evident in her eyes. “It’s just... I’m not sure I want to deal with all that corporate bullshit. I want our music to stay pure, you know?”

Steve nodded, giving her an encouraging smile. “I understand. But we don't have to decide anything right away. Just think about it, okay? For the band."

Natasha took a bite of her eggs, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll think about it," She said finally.

The two continued their breakfast in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

Natasha took a long swig of her coffee. "I know you're right, and I don't want to lose the band over my stubbornness. I'll think about it, but for now, we've got a gig to prepare for. Are you in?"

Steve smiled and extended his fist, which Natasha bumped with her own. "Always."

As the day passed, Natasha couldn't shake the thought of her kiss with you. She knew it was silly, but she couldn't help the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach whenever she thought about you. 

*********

You stood by the edge of the rink, watching Isabella glide across the wooden floor with Lenny. The kids were laughing, carefree and happy. You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest as you watched the friends bond over their time together.

Isabella looked up, waving excitedly at you.

"Look, Mama! Lenny and I are gonna skate backward!" She exclaimed, and you held a thumbs up in response. "I've watched so many Tiktoks about this."

"Go get 'em, kiddo," You chuckled.

Isabella stood before you, holding her hands out to keep her balance, as she used the muscles in her legs to push her backward. She looked so cute and you snapped a photo.

"Look at my baby, all grown up and skating," You smiled, watching her.

"That's my favorite grandbaby," Your mother came up behind you, and you wrapped your arm around her shoulders.

"Your only grandbaby," You reminded her. She waved you off with a laugh. "I'm glad you could make it here with us. How's dad?"

"Busy," Your mother said. "As always."

"Where in the world is he now? Bali?" You asked. "I tried calling him this morning but his phone went straight to voicemail. " Having a music mogul father had its ups and downs. His being unavailable when you wanted to talk randomly was one of them.

"He's in London," She informed you. "He's setting something up for some young girl from the X-Factor. He's also in talks about a possible Broadway production."

"Ah, so he's not tired yet," You sighed. "I told that man he needs to sit down. Come and enjoy being a grandparent." You shook your head fondly.

"You know your father. He's not going to stop until he's six feet under."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," You laughed, glancing over at her. "Oh, before I forget. Isabella saw some things last night."

"Oh?"

"On the internet," You clarified.

"Oh," She frowned. "I fell asleep shortly after you left."

"Yeah, apparently, Isabella saw some clips of my past and was asking me questions," You said, rubbing the back of your neck. "She seems to have this fantasy of me becoming a famous singer."

"Well, I don't blame her," Your mother shrugs. "Girl knows her stuff. Gets that from Nick."

"You still miss him," You stated, observing her.

"Of course, I do," She smiled softly. "Your father's been great, but he's not him."

"Yeah," You nodded. "You know you could catch an airplane to him. London's not that far away."

"Oh, he's so busy and-"

"Mom, seriously, go see him," You looked at her.

"You have a point," She conceded. "But what about you and Isabella? Plus, I hate long flights. "

"We'll be fine, " You assure her. "Besides, I think Dad would love an overseas booty call from his wife."

"Y/N!"

"What? It's true!"

Your mother shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips.

"You are just as bad as your father."

"You still love him, right?" You asked, wanting to know if it was just nostalgia or actual love. Your parents had a complicated relationship. No there was never any grounds for divorce. It was always this thing where they were solely dedicated to each other and then somehow business got in the way. She's a dance instructor and owner of one of the best dance schools in the Los Angeles area rivaling Debbie Allen's Dance Academy.

"Of course, I do," Your mother said, her face lighting up at the mere mention of your dad. "We are just so busy. It was easy to put our marriage aside."

"At least you have a marriage to put to the side," You shrugged, leaning against the railing.

"Is this about that Natasha girl?"

"What how do you know about her?" You asked incredulously.

"Isabella told me this morning at breakfast," She shrugged.

"How long was I asleep?" You frown.

"Long enough for me and my granddaughter to have a nice, long chat."

"About?" You asked.

"Everything," She said. "Including your dating life. She's right you know."

"How?" You asked, turning to her.

"You deserve someone, Y/N," She said, reaching out and holding your hand.

"I have Isabella," You remind her.

"I'm not saying you don't," She replied. "But there are things a partner does that a 9-year-old can't give you."

"Oh, gross, mom," You pulled a face.

"Not sex, Y/N," She smacked your arm. "Affection. Companionship. Someone to share the good and the bad with."

"I had that with Sam and look where that got me?" You subtly pointed to Isabella.

"You were younger with Sam," She raises a brow. "Both of you were just teens."

"Yeah and I had to give everything up for my daughter," You sighed.

"But look at her," Your mother squeezed your hand. "She's amazing."

"She is," You said, looking at her. "This thing with Natasha isn't even a thing. We kissed one time and that was it. We've barely known each other for a month. We've talked even less."

"Well, it seems like Isabella wants to change that."

"She wants to change a lot of things," You chuckle. "Mom, when I'm ready to get back in the saddle you will be the first to know. Right now I'm just enjoying my freedom. I only got divorced four years ago."

"I understand," Your mother nodded.

"Good," You said.

"Mama! Did you see my new trick?!" Isabella's voice rang throughout the skating rink as she skated towards you. She bumped into the railing with a thud before looking up at you.

"I sure did, Bella!" You cheered, helping her off the floor. "You and Lenny have been practicing."

"Well, she's better than me, but I'll get there." She said.

"You'll get there," You assured her.

"Do you think the gift I got Lenny is cool?" Isabella asked suddenly.

"Well, I hope so, you were the one that picked it out," You said, ruffling her hair.

"Okay, if you're sure," Isabella nodded. "Can I eat ice cream at this party?"

"Wait a minute," You tried to hide your grin. "I thought you were vegan. What happened to save the animals?" Isabella had been vegan for all of a month before today. What you had to give it to her was impressive.

"Saving the animals is still my passion," Isabella agreed. "But I have come to terms with the fact that I am a growing girl."

"Are you sure that's it?" You raised a brow.

"Okay, okay," Isabella rolled her eyes. "It's because Lenny is eating ice cream and she said it's really good and I want to try it."

"I thought so," You smirked.

"Will you please let me, Mama, please?" She gave you her signature pout.

"We'll see," You said.

"Yes!"

"If Lenny can have some then so can you," You compromised.

"Denying the girl sugar?" Your mother chimed in. "I knew raising you in LA was a bad idea."

"I've never denied her sugar," You shook your head. "I did fine being raised in LA. Wrong kid remember." You said referring to your brother and sister.

"I suppose you did," She said.

"Isabella, let's go find Lenny and give her the gift."

"Okay!" She said, taking your hand and dragging you off.

The party was still in full swing by the time you had tapped out. You opted to allow Isabella to continue on with the festivities while you sat alone in a booth. You hadn't truly checked your phone all day so you thought this was an appropriate time. Opening Instagram, you can briefly see the onslaught of new comments and followers on your dashboard. You decided to click on the post and instantly groaned. There on TMZ's feed was you, sitting dangerously close to Natasha in Heatwave last night as she whispered into your ear. Then another of you leaving the club. You had thought taking the back exit was a smart move.

The caption read: Lead Singer of Punk Rock band bags Hollywood Royalty. New relationship brewing? Check out these hot pictures as the couple cozies up to each other at Heatwave LA.

You rolled your eyes and clicked the home button, seeing that you had a few missed calls and a text from Monica.

Monica: Hey, babe. Are you alive?

You: Yes, just exhausted. 

Monica: Good. I have an update on your situation.

You: Situation? What's up?

Monica: Well, the photos from last night are out.

You: I can see that.

Monica: And to my surprise, I didn't get a phone call or message from you with the details. Am I not your best friend?

You sighed at Monica's dramatics before pressing the call button under her name. The Facetime ringing doesn't last for a second before she's picked up the phone.

"You're an asshole," Is the first thing she says.

"Good to see you too," You rolled your eyes. "Is it really that serious?"

"Yes!" She said. "This is a big deal."

"What do you mean?" You frowned.

"Well, first, it's Natasha fucking Romanoff."

"Yeah and?"

"She's a rockstar."

"I've gathered that," You deadpanned.

"Okay, I mean, have you seen her social media? It's insane. She has like 30 million followers and they're all thirst traps."

"What?"

"I'm just saying," Monica threw her hands up in defense.

You shuffle between screens with a swipe of your thumb, tapping frantically into the search bar, until Natasha's profile comes into view. Her bio reads: 'Lover, not a fighter'.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of her latest post. The picture is of her lying in bed, the sheets barely covering her bare breasts with a black songbook next to her. Okay, it's a thirst trap but a tasteful one. You continue down her feed to investigate. Most of her photos are similar. Some include her bandmates, and others include her posing with fans. She does seem to be very active.

"So you can see why I'm surprised you haven't mentioned anything," Monica continues.

"Nope," You reply. "She seems fine. Those pictures will blow over and people will find something else to talk about."

"I'm not done, Y/N."

"Oh, shit," You cringed. "There's more?"

"Yes," She nods. "Your name is trending on Twitter."

"My name hasn't trended on Twitter since..." You try to think.

"That time you were drunk and tweeted that Beyonce' was going to be your new girlfriend and you were going to steal her from Jay-Z."

"That was a dark time," You sighed. "Possible though. I have confidence in myself."

"Sure," Monica laughs. "Anyway, I have screenshots of a few things people are saying."

"Go ahead," You gesture with your hand. You cringe. You tap to follow Natasha's profile. Knowing this probably won't abate the rumors at all.

"Well, this one," Monica begins.

You’re not really listening as you get a notification that Natasha followed you back.

"Is interesting."

@Blackwidowfanpage: Who is this girl? She looks like a basic bitch. #Blackwidowdeservesbetter

"Ouch," You cringed.

"You see my point?" Monica says. "And another reads..."

@heatwaveslut1: Whoever this chick is, I hope she's prepared to take care of Widow's children. I'll help her out.

"Widow's children?" You questioned. "What's with the widow nickname?"

"Well, it's pretty clear she's a Spider fan," Monica snickered. "I'm guessing it's her little nickname."

"She doesn't seem like a spider kind of girl," You said.

"Besides the point," Monica huffed. "Her fangirlies are rabid. They probably eat people alive."

"I'm sure I can handle people on the internet," You roll your eyes. "It's what I do for a living. Nothing is going on between us. Yet or at all."

"Yet," Monica emphasized. "Look, you haven't been with anyone in so long. Take the chance."

"I don't know," You bite your lip. "Dating someone with status isn't my thing. Especially someone so new."

"Just keep your options open," She suggested.

"Okay, okay, I will."

"So, did you guys...ya know?"

"No, we didn't you know," You shook your head. "I'm not that easy."

"Right," Monica smirked. "And how did it feel?"

"Good," You sighed. "Great even. We only kissed."

"Kissed or made out?"

"What's the difference?"

"Oh, honey," Monica sighed. "There is a huge difference. How did it really feel?"

"Uh," You tried to think back to the moment. "Soft, warm. I liked it."

"I bet you did."

"Shut up," You laughed.

"Look, I have to go, but just know I'm rooting for you," She winked. "I almost want those sexy red locks for myself."

"Okay," You shook your head. "Go get them. I'll see you at work."

"Bye."

The call disconnects and you sigh, looking at your home screen once again. You decide it's now or never. You navigate to Natasha's name on the screen. You are instantly met with her face, and you can tell she's caught off guard.

"Hey," You said.

"Uh, hey, hi, hello," She replied.

"Are you busy?" You ask, not wanting to interrupt.

"Not at all," She shakes her head. "I just got home from rehearsals. We have a gig coming up soon in New York."

"Oh, exciting," You nodded. "How is the music writing going?"

"Well, I'm actually in the middle of something right now," She said.

"Oh, sorry, I'll leave you to"

"Wait," Natasha interrupted. "Would you mind talking to me while I write?"

"Yeah, I would like that," You nod. Natasha props up her phone against a pile of pillows, stretching to grab her guitar. It's then you see the casual, yet sexy outfit she changed into. You shouldn't be so turned on by something so simple.

"Are you ready?" She asks, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

"Of course," You nodded, turning your phone onto its side. "Lay it on me."

Natasha strums her guitar for a moment, playing a few chords.

"That sounds beautiful," You say when she's done.

"Still needs some work," She grins. "So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

"Uh, the kiss?" You questioned, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Yup," Natasha nods, leaning forward to adjust her camera. Your eyes follow the strap or her tanktop as it falls off of her shoulder exposing more of her smooth skin. Natasha doesn’t bother adjusting it though you don’t know if it’s for her benefit or yours. 

"Well, what's there to talk about?"

"How it felt," She replied.

"Well, how did it feel for you?"

"Pretty great," She smiled. "But, I asked you first."

"Natasha," You said, rolling your eyes.

"Y/N," She mimics.

"Okay, okay, fine," You huffed. "I guess, I had fun. It was nice."

"Not just a kiss?"

"I wouldn't call it that."

"Okay, good," She smiled. "Because I wouldn't want you to think I was using you. That's not my intention at all."

"I'm glad to hear that," You said. "What are your intentions?"

"I'm not really sure," She replied.

"I don't blame you. Neither am I."

"That's why I like you, Y/N," Natasha's lips curved up in a smile. "You're honest and straightforward. Not lost in the superstardom of it all."

"Oh, no, I'm lost," You waved your hand around. "I just hide it well."

"You can't hide from me," She teased.

"Oh, yeah," You raised a brow. "I don't think I want to."

"I don't want you to," She admitted. "I know this isn't the most ideal way to start things but it's kind of exciting. Don't you think?"

"Very," You nod. "Though I think we had a pretty organic meeting. A nightmare sweet sixteen doesn't scream love story to you?"

"Oh, it does," She assured you. "But I'm not so sure I would've met you if that wasn't the case."

"We could have," You shrugged.

"I think I would've been too afraid to approach a stranger," She replied.

"You? Afraid? You don't seem to have a nervous bone in your body?"

"Everyone has something they're afraid of," She said.

"Like the ocean?"

"The ocean," She confirmed. "And flying."

"Flying?"

"It's a whole thing," She sighed. "So, are you going to let me see you again? Or are we keeping things virtual?"

"Uh, well, I would love to see you again," You said. "But I have Isabella this week. Between her extracurriculars and my work."

"I completely understand," Natasha assured you.

"I want to see you," You said definitively. "I can move a few things around."

"Well, don't put yourself out," Natasha shook her head. "You can take your time."

"How about next weekend?"

"Next weekend sounds perfect," Natasha smiled. "I have a gig Friday night but we can hang out after."

"Sounds great," You grinned.

"Perfect," Natasha replied. "Well, I've been sitting here for a while. My legs are killing me."

"Sorry, I've kept you," You shook your head.

"I'm not complaining," She replied.

"I'm sure," You laughed. You both hold the phone, simply sitting in silence, as you figure out what you want to say next. It's then you're reminded where you are when Isabella comes rolling over to you. She presses herself into the booth and forces herself into the camera.

"Who is that? Is it Dad?" She asks.

"Isabella!" You exclaimed. "This is not your dad."

"Oh, I see who it is now," Isabella grins cheekily. You notice from the corner of your eye the way Natasha fixes her top. "Hi, Natasha. I’m Isabella Marie, the first daughter."

"Hi," Natasha smiles.”Nice to meet you, Isabella.”

"How are you doing?" Isabella asked, making herself comfortable next to you.

"Doing well, how are you?"

"Good," She replied. "What are you guys talking about?" She snatches the phone from your hands to talk with the woman. Not that you had a chance to stop her. You don't know how you feel introducing Isabella to her so soon. Especially when you haven't defined what this is.

"Uh," Natasha paused. "I was getting ready to ask your Mom on a date. A real one."

"A date," Isabella's face lit up.

"A real one," You added.

"You better," Isabella replied.

"Is that a yes?" Natasha asked.

"It's a yes," Isabella confirmed.

"I think I should be the one to say that right?" You argued. Though technically you both had already confirmed it before Isabella had even stepped over to you.

"You're right," Natasha chuckled.

"Anyways, Natasha, let's talk about the new album," Isabella interrupted.

"I didn't know you listened to Velvet Rebellion?" You look at her skeptically.

"Duh, they're so good. I love them," She replies.

"You do?" Natasha says.

"Yeah, of course. You're my favorite band. I listen to you all the time." She compliments. "My dad kind of likes you too. He thinks you're hot."

"Isabella!" You scold.

"He does," She insisted.

"Thanks," Natasha laughs. "Well, to answer your sort of question, the album is coming along. I'm hoping we'll be done in the next few months. We've been working day in and day out to get some things together."

"Do you guys play any other songs?"

"Yeah, we do. A few covers here and there. We're planning on having a cover song on the new album."

"I think you should do a Taylor Swift song," Isabella suggests.

"Taylor Swift, huh?"

"Yes, her songs are good."

"They are," Natasha agreed. "She has a couple of really great ones."

"You guys should cover 'All too well'."

"Why that song in particular?" Natasha asked.

"Because Mom loves that song," Isabella looked to you. "It's the saddest song she listens to on repeat."

"Oh, does she?"

"It's on my playlist but I wouldn't say it's in my top ten." You answer.

"You totally listen to it all the time," Isabella rolls her eyes. "Anytime she gets sad."

"Well, i hope she doesn't get sad often,"

"I'm not sad," You say.

"She doesn't like to talk about her feelings. She's emotionally unavailable."

"Isabella," You scolded. "Natasha doesn't need to know all of this."

"I just think that if you guys are going to be the Hollywood IT couple you should know these things about each other," She replied.

"IT couple, huh," Natasha chuckled.

"Yes," Isabella nodded. "You guys would be perfect for each other. Mom has had the worst luck with men."

"I can't deny that," You cringe.

"You've had boyfriends?" Natasha asked.

"Just a couple," You shook your head.

"And they're the worst," Isabella continued. "One guy didn't even like kids. We kicked him to the curb so fast. Do you like kids, Natasha?"

"I do," Natasha nodded.

"Do you have any kids?"

"No, no kids," She answered.

"That's good," Isabella said. "Are you looking to have kids?"

"Isabella," You say. "Natasha isn't looking to have kids anytime soon."

"I can answer for myself," Natasha insisted. "No, I'm not."

"Okay, good, because I'm the only kid my mom needs," She replied.

"But one day I may want kids," Natasha answers softly.

"Oh, wow," Isabella is shocked. "I guess I'd be fine with a little sister. Then we could be like Noah and Miley Cyrus. Plus, I think Mama would look cute pregnant."

"Why are you so sure I would be the one to get pregnant?" You ask.

"Because you'd be the most fit for the job," Isabella answered. "Mommy, are you and Natasha dating?"

"We're..."

"We're going to be dating," Natasha interrupts.

"If I'm going to be tag-teamed by the both of you..." You shake your head. You tap Isabella's arm with a warning and take the phone back. "I'm sure Natasha has things to do."

"I'm in no rush," Natasha assures you.

"You're too sweet," You grin. "I'm not going to keep you from your things."

"Okay," Natasha relents. "Bye, Isabella. It was nice talking to you."

"Bye," Isabella waves to the camera. "Make sure you tell Bucky that I really like his tattoos. Also his new haircut is going to be great for the new album cover."

"I'll pass on the message," Natasha assured her.

"I'll see you later," You say, bringing the phone closer. "And thanks for the chat."

"Anytime, doll," She smiled. "Bye."

The video feed cuts out and you sigh, dropping your head to the table.

"What just happened?" You ask.

"You talked to her," Isabella replies.

"And then we were ambushed by a nine-year-old," You said.

"I think I did a great job," Isabella praised. "We know what her intentions are and we know that she likes kids."

"I mean, I guess that's true," You said. "Though I already knew both of those things."

"Did you? Really?"

"I can speak for myself, Isabella."

"I guess," Isabella shrugged.

"Now, come on, let's say bye to Lenny and find Nana. I still have to make dinner for you."

"Alright," Isabella sighed. "Can I stay up late?"

"Not tonight," You replied.

"Oh, come on, Mom," Isabella begged.

"Nope," You said.

When Isabella is in bed and you're tucked into your covers, you scroll through your Instagram feed. Natasha's videos and tagged photos have popped up. Your curiosity continues to get the best of you and instead of going to sleep you decide to be a cyber stalker. In a good way though. You find a picture that you find particularly endearing. It's a difference in the thirst traps. She's sitting with Wanda, on a picnic blanket, in a park. The picture is black and white but you could still somehow see the shade of her red hair.

TheRealRomanoff: Picnic dates are my favorite. 25,000 Likes. 500 comments.

You decide to check the comments. Her fans are loyal.

_@TheRealRomanoff: What's your favorite thing to do on a picnic date?

_@jenx007: Are you and Wanda dating right now?

@widowbaby97: You look beautiful today Nat.

_@BlackWidow: You have a lovely smile, Romanoff!

@blackwidow666: I'd love to go on a picnic date with you.

You read through a few more before opening the text box to add your own. You comment "Cute." before pressing send.

Almost instantly, you receive a message from Natasha.

TheRealRomanoff: Cute? That's all you got for me?

@OFFICIALY/N:  Well, it is cute. 

TheRealRomanoff: Interesting.

@OfficialY/N: Interesting good or bad?

@TheRealRomanoff: Good, good. Perfectly good. For the record, you're cute too.

You toss your phone to the side. It's been a while since you've had this many butterflies. You want this to be something. 

---> next part

[homunculus-argument]

do you have any finnish music recommendations? i'm trying to learn finnish (im finnish myself but don't speak the language) so i'm looking for more music to listen to

That'd depend on your music taste. The first band that pops into my head would be Apulanta, their songs are very text-heavy, with lyrics that - while abstract in meaning - are spoken clearly and easy to separate. Their early works are 100% "teenagers who just formed a punk band" category, but their later stuff is more standard finnish rock with a slight streak of metal.

Or if you're looking for more contemporary stuff an upbeat party bops, the Eurovision hero Käärijä mostly sings in finnish.

[pinkhoodi]

music lovers !

✎ᝰ — music hcs on my fav spider folks <3

♡⃕ — 1610!miles morales, gwen stacy, hobie brown

♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff + no warnings

♡⃕ — a/n: thank you to @4kh + @cutenote for helping me outtt 🫶🏽

꒰ MILES MORALES ꒱

Ꮺ miles’ music taste would be a vast range of rnb, trap, hip hop, jazz, spanish, and any and everything connecting to his culture and he’s not picky with what to listen to tbh

Ꮺ I don’t believe miles has a favorite genre or set standard of what he listens to, it just genuinely depends on what his mood is or what he has on repeat at the moment. generally, it’s a song that he found from tiktok or a leaked song that he found on soundcloud. speaking of, miles has no shame using soundcloud as a streaming service

Ꮺ but miles does have a set genre for each part of his day or whatever activity he is doing. If he’s getting ready and on his way to school, some 90s rnb or 90s hip hop; when doing homework, he plays jazz music or some chill spanish music; during his drawing time, he’ll put on some chill trap music or try to find an album that connects with what he wants to draw

Ꮺ miles is very open-minded to his music taste so he’s not really one to say no to a specific genre. now there were definitely some albums he wasn’t a fan of, but he will explore the artist of that album. he usually gives artists another try, even if their recommended album wasn’t the…best

Ꮺ miles is definitely one to collect vinyls, especially old-school ones, he has them plastered around his room and some sitting in a bin. jeff gifted him a record player so the vinyls wouldn’t be collecting dust and so that they could both enjoy the music on jeff’s off days

Ꮺ miles has a playlist for like…everything, and I mean everything. he has a drawing playlist, a spiderman playlist, a playlist for gwen (don’t tell anyone), a playlist for when he’s overthinking, a playlist to change clothes, a playlist to brush his teeth, even playlists for his favorite tv shows. listen, this boy is very much so obsessed with music

Ꮺ he shares his love of music with his parents as well! I do believe rio is more open to his music suggestions than jeff. however, jeff can be more open to mile’s favorite artists, it will take him a while though. whenever it’s a quiet moment in the morales home, they let music play as the day goes

꒰ GWEN STACY ꒱

Ꮺ I do believe gwen is less open to music suggestions than miles is. like miles is very expressive with music while gwen isn’t

Ꮺ on a day-to-day basis, gwen plays 90s rock music or 2000s pop punk. she doesn’t really go by her emotions, but more like whatever song is stuck in her head at the moment

Ꮺ I believe that gwen was a major pop girl and was very in tune with the pop girls of her early ages, but later shifted into the punk/rock category. a couple of avril lavigne songs and that girl is screaming teen angst at 4 a.m

Ꮺ also gwen has a heavy liking for indie/alt music ! she likes her underground artists or artists that can combine other genres easily. she also has a love for artists like tv girl, girl in red, and frank ocean

Ꮺ technically, gwen would explore the sub-genres of punk and rock but doesn’t dwell for too long. She doesn’t mind heavy metals but prefers not to listen to them all the time, wouldn’t wanna shatter her eardrums since she’s spider woman

Ꮺ she also listened to a lotttt of female artists and female groups, and she’s a huge fan of girl groups! but I think she’s more into the older groups like spice girls, pussycat dolls, etc. I do think she would be into kpop girl groups and would be into ones that make like bubblegum pop or “noise music”

Ꮺ she has certain artists that she can never get tired of and also some artists that she prefers that no one knows she listens to

꒰ HOBIE BROWN ꒱

Ꮺ now hobie is all around when it comes to music, he’s just about on the same level as miles tbh

Ꮺ hobie isn’t embarrassed about any genre that he listens to. so yes, he doesn’t mind getting laughed at for liking country music

Ꮺ now hobie is very big on music that was pioneered by black people, which makes him love genres like country and rock even more. he can never get over how much music is curated by, and usually for, black folks

Ꮺ now hobie is always gonna give his flowers to artists that he loves and shouts them out in interviews or moments when he’s caught on camera. also, whenever he’s asked what’s his favorite song at the moment, it never stays the same omg- one day he says alex isley and the next he says smino

Ꮺ on a daily, hobie listens to whatever he’s vibing out to at the moment. If he just finished a concert, of course he’s gonna keep the mood going and have rock playing; on a lazy day, some new school rnb; on the days of being spiderpunk, some trap music mixed with some old school hip hop; wash days would include jazz, indie/alt, and some rnb (old school and new school)

Ꮺ hobie has a playlist of recommendations for almost every important person in his life. he loves music and it makes his heart happy when he can share his love of music with others or enjoy watching people enjoy what he listens to

♡⃕ this been sitting in my drafts and somehow got the energy to write it ;p

♡⃕ I do love music and this is lowkey me just projecting my love for music onto one of my fav movies…anyways !

♡⃕ if you have more hcs on this, lemme know !

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: 1 john 4:7

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[cenorii]

RE headcanons!

PART 1 (if you like it I'll make a sequel with other characters. I was just bored)

My serious headcanons about some RE characters. Some I'll write about more than others because I thought about them more often, I apologize in advance.

Chris Redfield

— his favorite color is green, he enjoys this color and adds it to any set of clothes, even his military gear. He doesn't care if shades of green may not match at all in the same outfit, he just wears that color because he loves it.

— his favorite genre of music in the early years, judging by his daring clothes, guitar and references to «Queen», was heavy metal and pop-rock. Nowadays, many years later, he probably likes the laid-back tunes of «Roxette» and «Savage» because Chris' life has become hectic and he needs an island of peace.

— he smokes, but he's not a heavy smoker. In his youth, Chris smoked a lot and often, judging by his concept art. Now, however, he smokes to get in the right frame of mind and pace, to focus and calm down.

— After the amnesia episode, Chris stopped drinking and now only drinks on holidays. Drinking has become disgusting to him, it reminds him of his episode of weakness.

— Chris prefers his natural scent, doesn't use any special perfume on himself because he washes with regular soap.

— he's a latent gay man, but he's never been in a relationship. Chris seriously doesn't understand why he isn't attracted to women. The last thing he thinks about is his real orientation. He's silly.

— he likes Wesker more than Chris is willing to admit. Since he doesn't realize what kind of attraction it is, Chris doesn't guess his crush. He's too inexperienced in love affairs to realize it. Especially when it comes to Wesker, who he has a ton of emotions associated with, a lot of which are negative.

— Chris has some guitar skills, but after 1998, he barely remembers it. He can't sing, he's just an amateur at it.

— he doesn't know how to cook, ordering takeaways. Chris doesn't like junk food, having given up his attempts to learn how to cook and not even opening the cookbook Claire gave him.

— Chris never has enough time to shave his face or cut his hair. But that doesn't bother him.

— he had a low grade in school, Chris liked fun more than textbooks.

Wesker

— his favorite color is blue, but Wesker doesn't like others to know too much about it, so he adds this color to his clothes very carefully. Blue color in his clothes has never been the main color, it is only an accent.

— Wesker doesn't usually listen to music, he prefers silence, but if he had to choose, he would settle for Frank Sinatra songs. He can only listen to something that won't throw him off his thoughts.

— Wesker doesn't smoke or drink. Spencer dreamed of creating an ideal society, so he raised the Weskers as ideal people. Such people should not drink and smoke. These people should only spend time on self-development and so on.

— he doesn't swear. Wesker doesn't like and/or know how to swear because of his «proper» upbringing. He will never insult a person with a rude word, but will pick up the most innocuous one, even if he is very angry. Who shouts «self-righteous fools» or «ignorant cretins» in anger? Only the child or Wesker, because in his situation I'd be yelling «assholes», «fucking bastards» and so on. He's polite and well-mannered, just like Spencer wanted.

— he has a good sense of humor. Wesker doesn't seem like a joker because his jokes are very subtle and infrequent. He says «I have a date to keep» and then goes and destroys the Red Queen with the phrase «goodbye, fair lady», isn't he the most serious joker in fandom after that?

— Wesker is pansexual, but he doesn't care about relationships and so he, like Chris, is not even aware of his preference. He doesn't pay attention to it, so his involvement with Ms. Muller or his sudden obsession with Chris doesn't give him any reason to wonder what his orientation is. He doesn't care.

— he's in love with Chris, but he sees those feelings as a manifestation of his pride in him.

— his bathroom shelf is filled with various self-care products, and he is very worried about his appearance. First, the smell of his perfume enters the room, and then Wesker enters.

— Ms. Muller was not just a «one-night stand» for him, there was a warm relationship between them, because she remained in good opinion of him and even kept the child. This is a side of Wesker that is unknown to the players, because he had no opportunity or chance to show it. I think they broke up because Wesker was getting too attached to this woman and she was becoming his weakness, and he «can't have weaknesses». His job may have also interfered with the relationship, causing Muller to make her own decision to get out of his way, keeping the good memories alive. Wesker, on the other hand, tried to forget about that pleasant time with her so it wouldn't interfere with him.

— he is not ashamed to recognize someone else's merits and praise another person. He appreciates people who are good at something, he is sincere about it.

— Wesker is not a villain and an antagonist, he is the anti-villain. He has all the personality traits that fit that definition. He is not the pure evil that many believe him to be due to their inattention.

— he can cook, and he does it well. Wesker is known for being great at everything and cooking is no exception. Back in the days of S.T.A.R.S., he took care of his healthy diet, but once he gained power and became a bioterrorist, he stopped cooking for himself, preferring to order food from restaurants or have a personal chef. Because of the virus, he doesn't need to eat as often as normal people, so he really enjoys the process, since it rarely happens.

— because of his principles or Spencer's upbringing, Wesker can't directly harm a child. Children have never been a target for him, and he considers it beneath his dignity.

— his name is a mononym. Wesker doesn't call himself Albert and doesn't like it when others do (but doesn't stop them out of politeness). He is Wesker to everyone and to himself. However, there is a contradiction here — he hates the word «Wesker» and this whole project. Surely he must have considered changing his name if he had achieved the evolution of humanity. He still uses his initials AW when necessary.

Leon S Kennedy

— Leon has no color preference, he wears whatever clothes he feels comfortable in. He doesn't care if the colors don't match.

— he loves children and is easy to get along with.

— he uses feminine shower gels and likes sweet scents.

— likes to drink to relax or for any other reason. But he doesn't smoke.

— the music that Leon likes is very hard to define. He is probably a music lover who listens to whatever he likes.

— Leon isn't shy about swearing. He likes to make silly jokes to lighten the mood.

— He knows how to cook, but not very well, but these skills are enough for him. Leon can make toast or fry eggs, but it would be difficult for him to cook something more complicated, so he often watches tutorials on the Internet or eats fast food.

— Leon is bisexual and he knows it. He's crazy about Ada Wong, but he tries to hide it, which is unsuccessful.

— he likes karaoke.

— it annoyed him that if he showed up in any kind of transportation, there was a high probability of an accident or something. He sometimes wondered if he was a loser.

— he had a girlfriend once, but the affair was so casual that it broke up after almost a month.

— In school he had average grades, Leon could not be called a bad student, but he was not an excellent student either.

Ada Wong

— her favorite color is not only red, but also black.

— she loves elegant clothes and doesn't care if they don't fit her work. Despite the design, Ada chooses only clothes in which she can move freely.

— only Wesker knows her real name, and her name «Ada Wong» is just a rehash of «AW» (Albert Wesker).

— I like to think that she and Wesker could have acted like best friends, but voluntarily opted out for personal reasons.

— Ada pretends not to like music, but she actually likes «Marina and the Diamonds». She listens to these songs alone, in a deserted place.

— she smoked once, but she quit. She doesn't drink.

— Ada doesn't have any holidays, she doesn't even celebrate her own birthday.

— she's straight, and she's openly attracted to Leon.

— loves subtle scents in perfume, she always smells nice, but this scent is barely perceptible.

— Ada can't cook and hasn't tried to learn. She eats food from cafes and prefers to go there herself instead of having it delivered.

— She has no problem with foreign languages, she probably knows a few besides English.

— she was an honors student in school and she's easy to learn new things.

— Ada is an anti-hero.

Alex Wesker

— Alex's favorite color is white. It is the color of sterility and truth that she strives for in her research.

— I guess her full name is Alexandra.

— loves getting her nails done to cheer herself up. Due to illness and failed experiments, she is always in a bad mood, so taking care of herself helps her keep her head cool and rational.

— Alex loved her own short hair, which she had in the past, but it reminded her too much of Albert, whom she respected. Because of what she knew about «Project W» and the truth about them, Alex felt a kind of guilt for keeping her brother in the dark and lying. So she changed her image so she wouldn't think about it.

— she's a lesbian.

— Alex knows Russian.

— she must have a secret altar in her house dedicated to Albert.

— she respects Albert so much that she even tries to think and act like him. It is forbidden to insult her brother in her presence, even though they have hardly ever met and are not related.

— Alex did grieve when she learned of her brother's death in the volcano. But when she learned of his death in 1998, she was not sad, because she had not yet had time to get to know him so well and get into his personality.

— the clothes Alex wears are formal and office style. She doesn't like to wear something informal because she feels insecure in it.

— the mole under her eye is painted, or appeared there with age.

— Alex likes only classical music, her ear cannot perceive anything from modern genres.

— Has never thought about relationships, but can admit if she likes someone.

— Alex's only humor is black.

— often communicates with quotes from books, like someone quotes from songs. This helps her to express her thoughts properly and emphasize them.

— she's a lot harder to piss off than Albert.

[memories-of-ancients]

The Forgotten Mongol Heavy Cavalry,

When it comes to legends of the vicious Mongol conquests horse archers seem to be the celebrity rock stars of the Mongol Army who get all the fame and admiration. Depictions of Mongol battles in modern times usually show wild barbarian Mongol horse archers riding circles around enemy formations while showering them with volley after volley of arrows. Missing are the less glorified Mongol heavy cavalry, an absence which I’m sure would make the Great Khan sad because the Mongols had fine heavy cavalry. Not to put down horse archers, but horse archers alone don’t always win battles. While horse archers have their advantages, they also have several weakness and limitations, especially against opposing heavy infantry and cavalry equipped with shields and armor while in a defensive battle formation. What made the Mongols effective was not the mere fact they had horse archers, but because they had better tactics, among them combined arms tactics where they were able to coordinate the abilities of different units to accomplish a goal on the battlefield. This isn’t just a principle of Mongol warfare, but a principle of warfare in general. Whether we're talking ancient times or modern warfare, the side that has better combined arms tactics typically wins.  

The early Mongol Army consisted of 60% horse archers and 40% heavy cavalry. Later the Mongols would adopt new units such as heavy infantry, light infantry, siege units, and artillery conscripted from the peoples they conquered. However for this post I’m only referring to the early Mongol Army commanded by Genghis Khan and his general Subutai.  The purpose of the horse archers were as skirmishing units; to harass, sow chaos and confusion, and weaken the discipline of enemy ranks. The purpose of the heavy cavalry was to directly engage enemy units in close combat. To do their job, Mongol heavy cavalry were heavily armed and armored, much more so than their horse archer counterparts. They were armored head to toe in lamellar armor composed of metal plates sewn together into a suit. Often this armor also covered the horse as well. 

Their primary arm was a lance used to conduct charges. For melee fighting they would carry swords or axes, and also maces for armored opponents. They would also probably carry a shield. Along with their horse archer counterparts, Mongol heavy cavalry also carried a bow in order to engage the enemy at a distance. In essence Mongol heavy cavalry were similar to Middle Eastern or Byzantine cataphracts and European mounted knights. 

On the battlefield, Mongol units typically fought in five ranks, the first three ranks composed of horse archers, the last two composed of heavy cavalry.  During a Mongol charge, the horse archers would close to around 50 - 100 yards and fire arrows while the heavy cavalry would protect them from counterattack by enemy cavalry. It should be noted that Mongol heavy cavalry were also armed with bows, so likewise would be firing on the enemy as well. After firing, the formation would turn around, resupply with arrows, and remount with fresh horses. They would then repeat the charge again and again until eventually the enemy would weaken, begin to panic, lose discipline, and perhaps break ranks.  At that point the heavy cavalry would swoop in and smash the enemy formation. The Mongols also used deceptive tactics which the heavy cavalry would be an essential part. One common tactic was the feigned retreat, where a Mongol unit would pretend to retreat in panic as if defeated. The enemy would in turn charge expecting to chase down and massacre a terrified enemy. To their horror, the Mongols would reform and counterattack, the heavy cavalry at the front to smash the disorganized enemy and the horse archers firing from the rear. Another tactic would be to use the horse archers to draw the enemy into an ambush, where the heavy cavalry would appear from a hidden position and conduct a surprise attack on the enemy flanks or rear.

[operator-report]

do you have any ideas about the undersiders music tastes. your other posts are so beautiful and true

aaah i'm so glad you liked my silly music posts! after some thought this is what i've landed on for the undersiders: taylor: in my heart taylor's mom did this to her, which is why taylor has a better-than-average teen girl knowledge of blondie, neil young, and the police. i think taylor's taste is a mix of dad rock and alt-pop rock hits. she likes the strokes and arctic monkeys. maybe a little mgmt. after her mom dies she stops listening to music that reminds her of her mom, so much less 70s/80s rock, but i don't think she switches to sadder music or anything like that, i think her taste just skews more contemporary after that. after the bullying started she tried out heavy metal really early on because she figured angry music might help her vent but it wasn't her thing. taylor does not listen to radiohead but she's the undersider who would like it the best i think. karma police is a taylor song send tweet

brian: there's a post out there somewhere that talks about brian listening to imagine dragons and that is SO real to me. he listens to imagine dragons. he listens to "tough" guy music that sounds like it could be in car commercials. he also listens to dudes rock music he hears at the gym. brian and taylor both like to match their music to their workouts and they have an immensely geeky conversation about matching bpm at one point. taylor matches it to her running brian matches it to boxing they are in nerd-jock heaven

lisa: she's a tricky one, because the music industry is one that both values authenticity and yet is extremely manufactured. i think that means that lisa finds music in which rich musicians make music about how hard their life is immensely grating. i think sarah livsey's taste was influenced by her brother, and much like how taylor does not listen to music that reminds her of her mom, lisa does not listen to music that sarah used to like. another smugbug yuri of absence moment if you ask me. anyway all that means that lisa listens to three kinds of music: downtempo instrumental electronic, classical, and We Are Up Partying In The Club Tonight Ooh Girl Oh Yeah. i think she finds, e.g., pitbull and eurotrance endearing. if you ask lisa what her favorite kind of music is she'll say something obnoxious like IDM or some shit just to see what the reaction is

rachel: i looked up "do dogs listen to music" and google says they will listen to classical sometimes, so! there you go. if worm took place a little later i think taylor could have introduced limited doses of lofi hip hop study beats to rachel and she would be ok with that too but also like. why listen to music when she could be outside listening to her dogs

aisha: the undersider with the best taste! we know that early worm aisha is a bona fide scene teen, and i think she consequently likes blink-182, pierce the veil, 3oh!3, cobra starship, and maybe a little bring me the horizon. in later worm aisha's taste gets less pop, like deftones, odd future, etc. she's a supervillain who would actually listen to madvillainy. aisha is also probably the only undersider who actively seeks to cultivate her own music taste! a good chunk of the undersiders have trauma that separate them from their interests and/or feelings, but aisha is an undersider who i think is both self aware and also true to herself, as well as being genuinely interested in art!

alec: speaking of undersiders who have a difficult time developing a defined music taste due to being cut off from a strong sense of self. alec in early worm is too depressed/apathetic to seek out music for himself, he'd rather be playing video games or watching movies. which is a shame because disassociating to music is one of the depressed activities of all time! alas alec's vision of a person with Taste is like. cherie. rip. however, aisha completely turns his life around into a guy who likes...................... soulja boy

there you go! tried to keep this period typical and also didn't include bands we know for sure didn't exist on earth bet (such as mcr). however i am very sad aisha and alec didn't get to listen to 100 gecs together. can you imagine. i can imagine and that's why i have a beautiful aishalec amv set to doritos and fritos in my mind

[delicatebarness]

bring him home | chapter six

Summary: Is this healing?

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Mentions of Grief and Loss. Violence. Mental Health Themes. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 975

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-Fi

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A/N: A RACCOON ABOUT A MAN. Also, this is a day early, forgive me but I want to work on Winter's Widow. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Bring Him Home: @vampirethingz | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love | @esposadomd | @motylekrozi | @erica2024 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @mega-kittyglitter-1 | @mostlymarvelgirl | @ordelixx |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

The familiar scent of Bucky lingered, bringing a bittersweet comfort as the first light of dawn filtered through the window. Sitting you, you gathered your thoughts as you took a moment, the events from his journal replaying in your mind. 

Making your way through the village, you were greeted warmly with the smiles of the Wakandan people. Their resilience was a testament to their strength that had helped them rebuild after Thanos’ attack. 

Near the training ground, Okoye’s presence was as formidable as ever. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, a quiet understanding carried in her voice. 

You nodded, “More than I expected.” The word hung heavy in the air, the weight of Bucky’s recognition and struggle settling in your heart. 

“Good,” Okoye said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Healing comes in many forms. Sometimes, it’s about confronting the past.” 

The rest of your time was spent immersing yourself in the vibrancy of Wakanda and visiting familiar places and people. Every encounter, and every memory shared, helped you piece together the fractured parts of your heart. The marketplace bustled with life, the sounds of laughter and conversation blended with the scent of fresh spices and blooming flowers. Children played, and their joyful shouts echoed through the streets, a balm-like feeling to your soul.

Later one day, you found yourself at the edge of the city, overlooking the vast landscape of Wakanda. The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the rolling hills. Sitting on a rock, you took in the beauty and quiet of the moment, the peace of the land slowly seeping into your bones. 

It was a place of quiet reflection, where Bucky had once sought solace. With his journal in hand, you read his words once more, letting them wash over you. 

~

Reaching the riverbank, you were just in time to see a figure dragging another to the shore. You recognized his metal arm gleaming in the faint light, he lay Steve gently on the ground as you squinted, focusing your gaze on them.

“Soldat!” you called out, your voice filling with hope and desperation. 

His head snapped up, piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, his expression was etched with confusion before a flash of recognition. Yet, the walls around his mind quickly came up again. He stood, taking a step back as you approached.

“Steve…” you whispered, dropping to your knees beside him. His breathing was steady, and the rise and fall of his chest spread relief through you, but he was still unconscious. Your hands trembled slightly as checked for any serious injuries. 

Soldat watched, his eyes filling with torment. Taking another step back, you knew he was about to flee. 

“Wait!” you called out, standing up. “Soldat… Buck– please. It’s me. Remember? I can help you.” 

He hesitated, his expression flickered between the ruthless Winter Soldier, the man who trained and raised you, and the man you longed to know. He glanced down at Steve, then back at you. The internal struggle was evident. 

“You know me,” you softly continued, taking a cautious step forward. “You made me into who I am. You don’t have to run, not from me.” 

Soldat shook his head, the pain in his eyes almost unbearable to witness. Taking yet another step back, he glanced once more at Steve’s prone form. Tears welled up in your eyes, heartache washing over you. 

“Please, James,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you again.” 

His eyes softened for a brief moment, and you saw him recognize once more. The conflict in his mind tore him apart as he took a step forward before hesitating. The pain in his expression as he finally shook his head, cut you to the core. 

“I’m sorry, Spiderling,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I can’t… I can’t stay.” 

Before you could say anything, he turned and vanished into the shadows. Once again, leaving you. You knelt back down beside Steve, your hands gently brushing the wet hair from his forehead as his eyes fluttered open, giving you a weak smile. 

“Hey, Captain,” you whispered, your voice choking with emotion. “You did it, it’s over.” 

His eyes filled with relief as he glanced around. “Bucky…?”

“He saved you,” you softly assured, your heart aching. “He pulled you out.” 

Steve nodded, his eyes reflecting the determination you felt. “Find him,” he asked, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. 

With a deep breath, you nodded. 

~

“Okoye,” you called out, catching her attention. She had been in the midst of training the Dora Milage, her command sharp and unwavering. Upon seeing you, she dismissed the trainees for a break. 

She nodded, walking toward you. “What is it?” she asked, her gaze piercing. 

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” you said, your voice steady. “I have a meeting with a raccoon about a man.”

Okoye raised an eyebrow, amusement glazed in her eyes. “Rocket?” she asked, and you nodded. “Very well,” she nodded in understanding. “But remember, Wakanda will always be a home to you. And to James.” 

“Thank you, Okoye,” you said, a lump forming in your throat. “For everything.” 

Placing a hand on your shoulder, her eyes softened. “You have done much for us, and you have found family here. But, sometimes, moving forward is the best way to honor the past. Be safe, and may Bast watch over you.” 

With a lingering final glance around the landscape, Wakanda had given you so much, that you boarded the Quinjet once more. The familiar hum of its engines carries a sense of purpose. 

As you soared through the skies, the horizon stretched out before you. Bucky’s journals lay beside you, a reminder of the journeys you had embarked on and the fight to bring him home that still lay ahead.

---

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[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #51: Locked In

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, torture, begging, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumpers, claustrophobia, trapped in small container, burns (lots!), death wish / suicidal ideation, starvation, weight loss due to starvation, brief mention of being mocked for weight loss, brief mention of vivisection/gore

i know i said #51 would be present arc big plot thing but i just got hit with inspo for this so that'll be #52. i just needed to grab kane and shake him around a little like my own personal stress ball.

-

Kane used to pace his cell sometimes, back in the early days. There wasn't much else to do. But he'd grown far too tired in the months or years since, crumbling to his knees from exhaustion after only a minute or two of circling now that he was caged in this starved, failing body.

So he just sat in the corner. His corner, the one in the back that was furthest from the stairs. He sat huddled in a little ball, like he had any ability to protect himself from whatever anyone wanted to do to him, and waited for the next one.

Kane sometimes fantasized that they would just stop coming down one day, leave him here alone. That he would be allowed to heal in peace, the only pain left the inescapable hunger, and he could live out the rest of his nights in peace. Even if he was trapped and starving and alone, it would be so much better than this.

But sure enough, he eventually heard hunters approaching, as they always did. He pressed himself back against the wall, following the useless instinct that told him to protect himself, to put as much distance as he could between him and danger, even if it was just a centimeter more.

THUNK.

Kane let out a gasp at the sound, heavy metal on concrete stairs. The most dreaded thing he could possibly hear, a telltale sign of the board. The board didn't always mean the sun, but it always meant something awful. If he was lucky, he'd just be cut open, silver dragging and burning through vulnerable innards that were never supposed to be seen at all.

If he was lucky, that was. And Kane was almost never lucky.

As the sound of the hunters dragging the thing down the stairs drew closer, Kane realized this wasn't the board. He'd lost almost everything in this place, but not his keen hearing. This was different. It sounded different. Heavier.

A new board, maybe? But the hunters already complained about the weight of the board, occasionally mocking him for how little he added to it as there grew to be less and less of him, skin sticking to bone. Why would they make it heavier?

"This thing's way too fucking heavy," one complained distantly.

Thunk.

"I can't believe you actually made this," another laughed.

Thunk.

"Well, we got that new batch of silver, gotta make some use of it. Not like we can't just melt it down again later to make something useful out of it. Might as well have a little fun first."

Thunk.

Three of them then, at least. Kane hated it when there were so many. They tended to egg each other on. If there was just one, a single hunter might concede to his begging and stop early, or go softer on him. But few of the hunters who hadn't left yet would dare to do so in front of their peers.

And whatever they had, it was silver, and it was for him. Kane whimpered, wrapping his arms around his head as wave after wave of terror rocked through him.

The sound of the stairs stopped, the delicious, horrifying smell of humans coming closer and closer. The thing, the silver thing meant for him, dragged leadenly across the floor.

Kane's heart practically stopped in his chest as the hunters finally came into view.

It was a box.

The box was small, much smaller than the board. While the board required him to stretch out and locked his wrists and ankles to the corners, exposing every inch of him, fitting inside this would require him to curl up as tightly as he could.

As small as it was, it was clearly very dense, requiring all three hunters to carry it downstairs. And though humans were physically weak as a rule, these men were clearly strong for their species. Kane was weaker than a human now. There was no way he would be getting out of this.

The box's silver gleamed menacingly, two small holes in the side of the lid and just below it giving Kane pause. Their purpose was clear: they were for a padlock to be threaded through, sealing the lid to the box with its contents trapped inside. And he was under no delusions as to what the contents would be.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he stared at the horrible thing, terror sending tremors through him. He wouldn't be able to beg himself out of this, not when they'd spent effort making this just for him. He was going in there.

One of the hunters laughed. "Look, it's shaking with excitement."

The one who'd claimed making the thing unlocked the door. "Look, leech, we got you a present. Say thank you." He waved for the others to drag it inside,

Kane just stared at him for a moment, until his fear-addled mind caught up with the order. "Thank you, sir," he choked out.

The two hunters holding the box snickered as they dropped it down in his cell, though its maker only grinned.

"Please." Kane's voice came out high-pitched and warbly as his tears started to fall, staring up at the hunter in front of him with big, watery eyes, "Please don't make me go in there, sir, please. I'll be good, I- I'm trying to be good, please!"

He felt like he was scrambling at a cliff wall, unable to get back up to where he could be okay, where he could be a person again. A person who could make choices, choose to be better than he was the day before. Kane wanted to be better. He was ready to be better. He had learned his lesson long ago.

But he wasn't allowed to change. He'd run out of chances, and now he was stuck down here, no matter how hard he tried.

The hunter crouched, eye-level with him, and grabbed him by the hair. Not pulling just yet, but his grip was firm. "Yeah, you'll be good, won't you, parasite? Tell you what. If you're real good and get in the box all on your own, we'll only keep you in there for a little bit. But if you make us shove you in there and give us a hard time about it, that'll be your new home."

The hunter turned Kane's head to face the box. "Every time we're done having our fun with you, you'll go back in the box. And when someone wants to play with you, you'll come out. And when they're done, you'll go right back in, and you'll stay nice and snug in there until someone else is ready to take their turn. Like a toy. Is that what you want?"

Kane was fully panicking by now, bright-red eyes boring into the hunter with unbridled horror.

The only respite he had left was the time he had to himself between the hunters' visits. To have his cell replaced with this- the torture would never stop. It would be all the time, twenty-four hours a day every day for his entire life, a burning that never left. He imagined being taken in from a day in the sun, and instead of being allowed to painfully recover on the floor, being stuffed into a silver box instead, grilling into already-fresh burns covering his whole body.

"NO!" he cried, clasping his hands together desperately as the other two hunters tried to hold in their tittering. "I'll do anything! Please, sir, anything, please don't! Please don't do that to me, please don't make it my n-new home, I'll be good, please!" He sobbed brokenly, unable to contain his despair.

The hunter let go of his hair and gestured to the box. "Then get in."

One of the others flipped the lid up. The inside was just as silver as the outside, not that he'd expected different.

Kane wanted to curl up in a ball and stay in his corner. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to hide. He wanted to grab a stake off the one hunter who was still wearing his gear and kill himself, though he'd never be fast enough to be successful.

But none of those things were possible. He had no choices.

"Yes, sir." Kane forced himself to his feet and walked over to it. Purposefully, without hesitation. He didn't want to be accused of stalling. The only virtue he had worth anything here was his obedience, and he would hold onto it for dear life.

The inside beckoned him, every surface ready to kiss his skin with fresh burns that would plague him for the next month, as his starved body struggled to heal.

He touched the inside of the lid with the tip of his finger, yanking it back with a whimper as it seared, just as he knew it would.

If Kane was going to do this horrible thing, fit his whole body inside, he would need a plan. It wasn't hard to think of, and not logistically difficult to execute: he needed to protect his face and the soles of his feet. The former to retain his senses, and the latter so he could walk when ordered about.

He couldn't wait any more without being considered disobedient. The three hunters watched him with amusement, but they would soon turn to prodding if he continued to stare at it.

Kane lowered himself toward the box, touching he knee to the box's center. He wailed as he laid it down, his skin sizzling under the touch of silver. He held all his weight on that knee for just a moment as he maneuvered his other leg inside, placing it beside the first so he knelt on the silver. Tears rolled freely down his face as his shins pressed against the torturous metal, his skin frying underneath him, the tips of his toes just barely kept from touching the side.

The next part was quick. He ducked down, curling into himself, his arms between his face and the box's floor while his back would face the lid. He didn't touch the backs of his arms to the bottom, not yet, not while there was still space for him to hover. The top of his head did press against the side, his malnourished, patchy hair thankfully offering minor protection from the silver surrounding him on all sides: it did burn, but not nearly as bad as his agonized legs.

All but one.

He sobbed as he burned, the feeling of silver searing against his shins unbearable. "I d-did it, sir."

"Fuck me, I didn't think it'd actually go for it," one of the hunters commented.

"That's our vamp. We've got you all trained up, huh?" asked the hunter who gave the order.

"Yes, sir," Kane sniffled, the smell of burning flesh beginning to permeate the air.

He couldn't see, facing the box's floor, but the sound he heard had limited possibilities: it had to be one of them picking up the lid.

"Don't move," the hunter told him.

Watching his tears patter to the silver floor, Kane wanted to beg again. He wanted to plead for someone, anyone to help him. He was trying his best. He just wanted it to stop.

But he was already getting the good option out of the two presented to him. "Yes, sir."

The hunter placed the lid over him, more silver pressing against his back and squeezing him between it and the floor. His arms were forced to the bottom of the box, where they came alight with pain as well, stuck in the burning darkness.

Kane screamed, unable to help himself as he started to struggle, desperate to get away from the thing that was hurting him so much. But he could barely move, let alone put up any real fight. Any direction he tried to move himself in just made it worse. Hunkering himself down made his shins and forearms weep against the silver, trying to push up made his back singe, and he could never move enough in any direction to alleviate the constant, agonizing feeling of being consumed by fire.

"I don't think it likes it in there," one of the hunters sneered.

Kane heard one of them pat the lid, unharmed by the silver burning him alive. "It'll get used to it. Let's give it some time to get comfortable."

A click rung out, the dreaded sound of a padlock locking firmly shut.

He was stuck inside until someone saw fit to- "Please let me out!" he bawled, desperate. "Please, sir, I can't, it hurts, please don't leave me in here!"

One of them chuckled. "Just relax. You'll get used to it. You're right where you're supposed to be. You're lucky we're not making it your new home after all."

Kane wept as he heard the hunters walk away, leaving him alone in his torment.

-

taglist in reblog! part 3 of the AU i've been posting will be coming tomorrow :) i was gonna write it tonight but i just got so inspired for this and wrote it all in 1 sitting over the past 3 hours lol

oh and have some drabbles i've posted since #50!

canon:

Playing With Food

Blowtorch

AU:

No Escape

Bellamy Saves Kane 2

and some awesome fanfics that got posted!!

Home Sweet Home? by @whumpwritings

The Final Apology by @clickerflight

[bisnes-socks]

alright welcome to my ted talk about the drums on šbj

because both @novime and @me-sploh-rada-imas made the mistake of showing interest in the tags of my post, here we are and i'm sorry.

but seriously like i'm no expert, i'm not a drummer, so maybe someone who actually knows drumming very well or understands music theory etc could word this all better, my music education is all from early childhood and/or absorbed from being the child of a musician lmao. but really i'm just a lifetime enthusiastic listener of all music and spent all of covid years watching music analysis videos lmao, okay so like yeah i'm just rambling BUT the choices jure has made on this song are just so unexpected and cool.

like when the song first starts and the guitars come in playing the main riff, an experienced listener would expect the drums to make space for the guitars. for the guitars to be the lead in that section and drums to kinda blend in to let the guitar riff shine. so you'd expect a relatively simple beat with a lil closed hi-hat action on the offbeats to make it groove. 

but NO!! he plays over the guitars (but the guitars still lead! they still shine!) and the hi-hat is open (could be a different cymbal..? but sounds like an open hi-hat to me, i'll have to find live footage to check how he plays it) so it crashes quite loud and on the beat and then a quick lil pattern on the hi-hat more closed and then bam, open one more time, like it's just super unexpected in a section like that? 

and like. in rock music, hi-hats on the beat are usually on the 1 and the 3. well, if i counted right, he plays it on the 1 and the 3 on the first bar, but the second bar the quick lil pattern syncopates the bar and the second louder open hi-hat is on the 4, a beat later than you'd expect! and then it comes back for the next bar on the 1 and the 3, but then on the last bar of the cycle, it's on the 1, 3 AND 4. which works VERY well with the whine on the guitar. just brilliant composition.

and the hi-hat being open and ringing out the way it does makes the section quite heavy, like it's... stomping. (i think i saw someone else say the song makes them want to kick things and that's probably one of the reasons why. bc it stomps. severely.) while also being very groovy. and that's super cool and odd and amazing. oh and the minor key of the song also emphasises the sort of.. downward feeling of the stomp? but at the same time the whole thing is just.. dancable. that's amazing, that's skill.

and then in the chorus (?) bit (a ja samo čekam...) he's like switching between a more on the beat focused basic type rhythm, but with a very hard rock or even metal inspired naaasty snare drum sound, and then a more groovy beat, the exact one you'd expect in the beginning, where the hi-hat is grooving on the offbeat. like stoooop showing off (never stop).

and then towards the end, when the whole different instrumental section kicks in, i swear that part as a whole gives me like queens of the stone age, them crooked vultures etc. vibes, but the drums in particular, like it's giving dave grohl type energy, like he's going ooooffff. just very purposeful, massive drive, but suuuper tight.

like i've always liked his drumming bc you can tell he can very confidently just sort of ride any beat, easy, decorate it as he pleases, or he can go off with a lot of purpose and drive. and like. he just does all of the above in this one song. amazing.

and like don't get me wrong i could give a ted talk on every instrument on this song (nace i fucking see you i hear you) but jure is my star of the song <3

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Def Leppard - Bringin’ On the Heartbreak

[wubbowrites]

how to get over your feelings for that stupid blue hedgehog

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Relationship: Sonic/Shadow

Rating: General Audience

Warnings: none!

AO3 Link

A step-by-step guide for ultimate lifeforms.

—

(1) Wake up at exactly 6am.

(2) Go to the kitchen to have breakfast. You won’t want to eat so early, but your roommate’s voice in your head will tell you to. Take the bag of loose coffee beans out from the cupboard to snack on while you make toast, an egg, or some other food.

(3) Don’t think about what you would make if he was here with you.

(1) Wake up at exactly 6am.

(2) Go to the kitchen to have breakfast. You won’t want to eat so early, but your roommate’s voice in your head will tell you to. Take the bag of loose coffee beans out from the cupboard to snack on while you make toast, an egg, or some other food.

(3) Don’t think about what you would make if he was here with you. Pretend you don’t care what he likes for breakfast. Pretend you don’t already know that he likes blueberry pancakes, or cold leftover pizza.

(4) Check the living room. If your roommate left a mess from the night before, tidy it up. You don’t usually clean up her messes, but you can’t stand living in a cluttered home. It’s unnatural to you. So make this exception.

(5) If your roommate is not asleep in her room, check your phone. You don’t like using your phone, because it has too many apps on it that you barely know how to use, but check it anyway. You will likely have a text from her with a selfie, where the background will only vaguely reveal where she’s conducting her latest heist. Send her confirmation that you’ve seen it — a thumbs up emoticon or an “Ok.” will do, even if she teases you about your choice later.

(6) Shower. If you get caught up in your thoughts, put on your classic rock playlist to ease them. If you catch yourself thinking of him, blast your heavy metal playlist at full volume so you can’t think at all.

(7) Put on your clothes. If your shoes have visible dirt, quickly polish them up. Don’t forget your inhibitor rings. You never have, but still make a point to remind yourself not to. Don’t take that risk.

(8) Leave the apartment. Go down the stairs, cross through Club Rouge, and exit the building out the back door. Fill the food and water bowls you keep out for the local stray cats.

(9) Don’t give any stray cats you see a name, because you can’t let yourself get too attached to them. Contemplate taking one in anyway.

(10) Run any errands for the day now so you don’t have to later. Shopping early in empty stores relaxes you, while shopping afternoons and evenings in crowded stores irritates you. If there are no errands to be done, go back into the apartment and find something to read for a few hours.

(11) In the late morning, you will likely be contacted by someone asking for your assistance. It might by someone from the Restoration. It might be the one of the detectives trying to follow up on a lead. It could be any number of things. Whether or not you decide you’re above helping them will depend on your mood that day. Except when the request is to watch a young rabbit while her mother is out of the house. That you cannot deny unless you have a damn good reason.

(12) Don’t hold hope in the back of your brain that he will reach out for your help too. Don’t admit that if he made the smallest request, you would fulfill it, even if you sighed and glared and grit your teeth the whole time.

(13) At midday, get lunch. Keep the apartment’s fridge stocked with easy meals in case you need to decompress there. If you need to keep moving instead, there are plenty of restaurants to go to on the way to your favorite forest spot. Pick something up from one of those and head there.

(14) Eat alone again. Spend some time staring out at the beautiful scenery. Think through anything you need to (it’s not brooding, no matter what anyone says).

(15) Find somewhere to train for the afternoon. Stay in the forest, or go to Club Rouge’s basement, or visit a gym. It doesn’t matter where you go, so long as there is somewhere to run, or something to hit. Somewhere empty is still preferable to somewhere crowded so you don’t get distracted. Theoretically.

(16) Theoretically, because wherever you choose, no matter how quiet or remote, he will somehow turn up. He always seems to know where you’re heading for this — like he can read your mind. Act as if that frustrates you.

(16) He’ll challenge you to a race, or to a fight. Try to deny him. Try to remain alone. Try to ignore the way his emerald eyes stare at you, fond and competitive. Fail.

(17) Have some of the most fun you’ve ever had. Even though you’ve given in to it so many times, letting off steam with him will never stop being the most fun you’ve ever had. It will seem better every time. Pretend it’s an imposition. Pretend that you’re glad to be rid of him when he finally prepares to leave, even though you will want to grab his arm and beg him for another challenge. Pretend that being alone again is a relief. Pretend until you almost believe it yourself.

(18) Reject his invitation to dinner and go right back to the apartment. Your roommate should be home by this time, unless her heist is particularly treacherous. She will likely suggest getting takeout, because she doesn’t care to cook. You can try to suggest where, but she’ll probably decide on her own anyway. She knows what’s good, though, so don’t get too annoyed about it.

(19) Eat with your roommate if she gives you space. Eat alone in your room if she asks too many questions, or pesters you about when you’re going to say something to him. She won’t take “never” as an answer, so it’s not worth the trouble.

(20) Don’t wish that you’d accepted his invitation to eat.

(21) Take time to truly unwind before bed. Finish your book, or rewatch that anime you like, or stare up at the ceiling and let yourself zone out. Go for a walk with your roommate, if she hasn’t been a pain.

(22) Don’t waste your final few hours of the day wondering how he’s spending his.

(23) Once the clock hits 11pm, go straight to bed. Fall asleep in a timely manner.

(24) Don’t notice the silence. Don’t fill the silence with your mind. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him.

(25) Tell yourself that these feelings are a fluke. Tell yourself they’ll fade over time. Try to forget that they haven’t faded since you discovered them months ago. Try to forget that the feelings probably started way back when, on your second fall to Earth.

(26) Convince yourself that tomorrow will be the day you deal with it, once and for all. Don’t imagine what you might do to “deal with it”, because you really don’t know, but you know it must be done.

(27) Fall asleep.

.

.

.

(1) Wake up at exactly 6am.

(2) Go to the kitchen to have breakfast. Take the bag of loose coffee beans out from the cupboard to snack on while you make blueberry pancakes.

[ambrossart]

Hello, my question is about the Bowers gang and the music. I simply found it curious and fun and since Victor also seems to be a music fan and invited Evelyn next time to listen to music, my question is about her musical tastes, if she has a group. favorite or what genre of music do they listen to or if they have a favorite singer since Belch is a character who is characterized by the fact that he loves Metallica, so he asks me what type of music would each one listen to, Belch, well, he listens to metallica and anthrax (he has a band t-shirt and it appears in a movie if I remember correctly) Victor in one of the chapters says that he likes an Aerosmith song but from there I don't have an idea of ​​the bands or singers I heard, much less Henry or Patrick, I feel Patrick would be the strangest, he doesn't even seem like a person who listened to music or is a fan of someone and Henry doesn't seem that way to me either, and also it's from the 80's so it's even more interesting because I love the music of the 80's. 80s and 70s.

First of all, I absolutely love questions like this! I’ve had the worst week, so this was a very welcome mental vacation. Thank you for this.

Anyway, let’s discuss everyone’s music preferences! I’m just gonna break this down character by character to make my life easier.

— Evelyn

Evelyn likes whatever songs catch her ear on the radio. Music isn’t a huge part of her life, so she doesn’t really have a favorite song or artist. She has songs she likes (a lot of those classic 80s pop hits), sure, but I doubt she knows the names of most of them. So far, I think the only artists I’ve specifically mentioned her liking are Olivia Newton-John, the B-52s (literally just for “Love Shack” probably), and The Beach Boys, but we’ll discover more of her interests later. It’s not a major storyline by any means, but it does get explored.

— Vic

This may be a departure from canon, but in my mind, Victor Criss is an early adopter of the whole 90s grunge aesthetic. Messy hair. Ripped jeans. Flannel. Oversized shirts. Drinking coffee and smoking weed. If this story took place in the 90s, Vic would be all up in that grunge scene. I’m honestly super bummed I couldn’t go that route with him, but mark my words, that boy will go full grunge in college. He will.

Since this story doesn’t take place in the 90s, a lot of people (and by “people” I mean the characters in the story) probably assume Vic’s into heavy metal like Belch, but that’s not necessarily true. See, Vic is very picky about his music, and I don’t mean that in a snobby way at all (although Vic can be a little snobby about it). For him, music is therapy. Vic just wants to get really high, listen to some music, and escape himself for a while. And the wrong kind of music can be painfully grating to him, like to the point where it would cause him intense physical discomfort. That’s why he’s so picky.

So what kind of music does Vic like? I dunno… I could see him being into psychedelic rock, artists like Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, Cream, The Byrds, The Beatles, stuff like that. Vic is very private about his music, though. There’s a reason Christie Gibson can’t seem to figure him out.

It's also a pretty big deal that Vic has invited Evelyn to listen to music with him. Just saying.

— Belch

Next to Victor, Belch is probably the most serious about music. As we all know from the movie, heavy metal is his preference and his passion, but he’s also the kind of guy who can (secretly) appreciate a well-composed song regardless of its genre. That being said, Belch does tend to steer clear of the mainstream pop music scene… unless, of course, Christie Gibson is with him. Yeah, when those two are together, he pretty much lets her play whatever music she wants (because Belch is a good boyfriend).

— Henry

Yeah, I don’t think Henry is that serious about music. He listens to it, sure, everyone does, but it doesn’t impact his life significantly. Despite that, Henry’s tastes are probably very similar to Belch’s, simply because that’s how Henry gets exposed to most of his music: he listens to whatever Belch plays in the car. Apart from that, I could also see him being into bands like Led Zeppelin, Blue Öyster Cult, Deep Purple, Kansas, etc. But would he consider any of them his favorite band? Probably not, because Henry doesn’t have a favorite band.

Honestly, I think Henry has a very negative relationship with music in general. Anything that tries to tap into his emotions or influence his emotions, yeah Henry doesn’t like that. At all. He doesn’t wanna feel things. He doesn’t wanna think about his parents or his childhood. He wants all that shit to stay buried real deep.

— Patrick

For Patrick, all music sounds the same—and by that, I mean it’s all just “noise” to him. He doesn’t connect to it on any level, least of all emotionally.

In Chapter 5 (I think?) we saw Patrick using the radio kind of like a weapon. He purposefully messed with the knob to create the most annoying sounds his possibly could, hoping that it would drive the other guys in the car crazy. And it worked. Belch almost crashed the damn car. That pretty much sums up Patrick’s relationship with music. It’s just something else for him to manipulate and use for his entertainment.

So yeah, I could see Patrick listening to some really weird shit, like music that isn’t really music, but more like a bunch of random creepy/disturbing sounds put together. Patrick’s a weirdo. There’s no way he listens to traditional music.

___________

Okay, that's all I have to say on the subject. Thanks again for this ask! It was a lot of fun to think about. ❤️

[afandommultiverse]

General HC’s for Simon "GHOST" Riley

♱ A/n: don’t get me wrong, I love some good Ghost fluff, but it just feels too OOC for me, so here are my personal head cannons for my hundredth baby daddy🫶 p.s I would just like to mention I still ain’t play the game so my lore isn’t the best but that ain’t stopping me🕺

♱ Warnings: 18+, some nsfw hcs towards the bottom, there is a warning before hand!

⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━ ♡ ⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━

♱ this man is fucking mean. He WILL hurt your feelings on occasion, both on purpose and not. He. Does. Not. Give. A. Fuck. Either way.

♱ matter of fact, this mf thinks he is right despite being very VERY in the wrong, and it takes a LOT to get him to admit to being wrong.

♱ STUBBORN AS A OX BRO, his motto is literally “My way or the fucking high way.” No ifs, buts, or in-betweens!!

♱ be prepared to make many, many arguments and still get nowhere on a specific topic. your opinion does not matter for a long time for this man, and takes months of getting around to even thinking about your side of anything.

♱ it would take a long time to get close to this man, like sure he might be down to fuck quite early on, but to be emotionally available in any way other than angrily fucking your brains out is going to take YEARS.

♱ probably isn’t interested in keeping relationships with citizens because he doesn’t want to get wrapped up in his life, lovers, or friends, his position in special forces keeps them all vulnerable

♱ not until recently (being on this new team) does he actually have friends, ghost kept to himself and still does, but after recovering from his betrayal, he would bond with no other teammates and refused to cross any lines with anyone

♱ anger fucking issues- this man has. Like yes, he can control himself in the moment and continue to lead on with the mission, almost acting like your disobedience didn’t even phase him, but OH you better be expecting a whoop-ass reprimanding that will leave you doubting your entire worth and existence

♱ or if a particular enemy is pissing him off, he won’t let his frustrations affect his movements, in fact, it only fuels them, and when he finally gets a hold of em’ there’s nothing left but a bloody pulp of a person

♱ the highest possibility of becoming a friend is being on the team or meeting in a bar when he had been drinking a little bit - both of which you will have to be highly persistent to evoke a reaction

♱ he likes it when people talk to him, which makes him feel less scared and intimidating in public areas. Of course, he likes to keep that vibe when on missions or dealing with interrogations and such, but still out in public. he wants to make people as least uncomfortable as possible, even if his skull baklava is a little intimidating

♱ SPEAKING ON INTERROGATIONS, I know for a fact that this man has committed WAR CRIMES on other men for information, like he totally has it in him to do so, ESPECIALLY, when it’s a a horrible war criminal or sum

♱ he is a metal, heavy metal, grunge, hard rock, kinda guy - don’t deny it. He’s got way too much trauma to not want to blast out his eardrums at every possible chance. He also likes to explore all genres too, like alternative metal, black metal, alternative, alternative rock, etc.

♱ lowkey likes to bond over music, like trading music with the team and talking about it and what they thought when meeting up later.

♱ he likes to sit down and have a cigar with Price every now and then, ofc drinking with him too. They have their own “superiors” moments and talk about how the team is doing and what training could help them for the next mission.

♱ almost always does extra reading and research on the mission itself and/or where it takes place to avoid and map out any possible problems that could arise that no one else would foresee, especially regarding his own benefit nowadays.

♱ ghost likes his job, as much as it has been a lot on him and the people around him, he couldn’t see himself anywhere else than right here, fighting for the rights of people he’d never meet but know are free because of him.

♱ it gives him some peace of mind, and he needs it because the poor baby has been through a LOT

⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━ ♡ NSFW ♡ ⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━

♱ come on, you know I had to, but speaking of him going through a lot, he has definitely picked up a few kinks along the way, most of which are from his occupation

♱ coming in at number one, a pretty vanilla thing now I guess, but choking. he loves that shit, both on himself and his partners, he likes the feeling, his senses overwhelmed and everything throbbing, bringing a little oxygen deprivation, and he's all there.

♱ but of course, he also loves the sight of someone underneath him, fucked out and panting, but they can't catch that breath they so desperately need to ground themselves, and while they keep trying to find it, he keeps fucking it out of reach.

♱ second, bondage duh. again something he both enjoys on himself and others. he liked the feeling of the bruises after the deed. It's one hell of a reminder that gets some weird looks, but he doesn't mind, just keeps reminding him of you

♱ thiiiird, knife AND gunplay. now, this takes some serious trust between him and the partner, and truth be told, he usually only did this with male partners he had met through work originally. he loves it, and honestly, nothing gets him going faster, but he has some serious trust issues and can't just go giving everyone he fucks a loaded gun pointed at him

♱ yes, loaded. ‘it ain't fun if it ain't.’ that's what he always says

♱ if it is a one-night stand, he is likely to not put much into aftercare, but if he will see you around a lot, in bed or otherwise, he’ll put more effort into it. This could be cleaning you gently with a wet rag, or softly rubbing your back while you try to catch your breath after he has taken you from behind. He does not cuddle tho, though he ain't a cuddly man the first few sessions, sooner or later that wall comes down and you’ll find yourself tucked into his side when you come too, and he’s just blankly staring out, not trying to think about how well you feel there and how badly he wanted to stay the

♱ but he won’t ever stay the night, again not for a while, and the first time he ever did- it would be an accident. He was simply too tired and rested his eyes for a second, only to wake up the next morning to you rubbing his back as he laid his head on your chest. he acted like he hated it, grunting and pulling away from your touch to rush and get ready to leave. deep down though, he can’t get rid of the feeling of your fingers softly grazing him awake off of his back for the rest of the day.

[cherrylng]

Great Guitarists 100 - John Frusciante, Tom Morello, Kurt Cobain, Billie Joe Armstrong, Kevin Shields, and Noel Gallagher [CROSSBEAT (November 2009)]

John Frusciante Rolling Stone magazine has chosen John Mayer, Derek Trucks, and John Frusciante as the three greatest guitarists of our time. The three greatest guitarists of the 1960s, including Eric Clapton, were from the UK, but all three are now American. Mayer and Trucks have a wide circle of friends, including Clapton, but Frusciante is a solitary figure. He has a thriving solo career, but is a martyr to the band. He devotes all his energies to expressing himself within the collective soulmate that is Red Hot Chili Peppers. John's guitar has no clear style. He can create catchy riffs, he can play well-crafted solos, and he's good at backing vocals. He has the versatility to adapt to any situation, but he is at his strongest in the arena of Red Hot Chili Peppers. This is probably due to the inspiration provided by Flea, a bassist with a deep range, and the support of Anthony, a vocalist who can make you listen with sensitivity rather than skill. The band's tone and phrasing are free and uninhibited. This style is supported by his concentration and the technique he has developed since his teenage years. It would be rare to find a boy who woke up listening to Captain Beefheart and practising 15 hours a day to Frank Zappa and Jimi Hendrix records. -Akihiko Yamamoto

Representative albums "Blood Sugar Sex Magic" (1991), Red Hot Chili Peppers "Stadium Arcadium" (2006, pictured) "Shadows Collide with People" (2004) John Frusciante

Tom Morello Tom Morello's unique guitar playing is like that of a DJ. This is Tom Morello's trademark, but it is not his main focus. His backbone comes from hard rock. Tom was born in 1964. He got into rock with Led Zeppelin and KISS, then experienced punks like The Clash and formed his first band…… This is a typical generation. Tom followed this completely. In fact, in the midst of the heavy metal boom, he even learned to play technical guitar solos. In short, he had a very normal musical background for someone born in the 1960s. However, an encounter with the members of the band that would later form Rage Against the Machine marked a turning point for Tom. He was shocked by the hip-hop-tinged musicality that centred on Zack, and tried and tested it. As a means of countering this, he came up with the idea of replacing Public Enemy and Run DMC's DJ playing with guitars, which led to a series of unique performances. It was a kind of paradigm shift. In other words, instead of being a better guitarist than anyone else, he makes sounds that no one else can make. By changing his way of thinking 180 degrees, Tom Morello made a great leap forward as a guitarist. -Junya Shimofusa

Representative albums "Rage Against The Machine" (1992, photo) Rage Against The Machine "Evil Empire" (1996) "The Battle of Los Angeles" (1999)

Kurt Cobain Buzz Osborne, Greg Sage and Calvin Johnson. When considering Kurt Cobain's guitar style, the influence of these three cannot be ignored. Buzz, as you know, was a fellow senior member of the band and the man who introduced Kurt to the appeal of a slower, heavier sound. Greg led the Wipers in the late 70s and early 80s. Nirvana covered a couple of songs, but more than that, it's worth noting that Greg's psychedelic guitar sound is remarkably similar to Kurt's. And then there's Calvin. Kurt was strongly devoted to that spirit for a time. Kurt's lo-fi sensibility and artistry were developed while living in Olympia (Calvin's home base). Heavy, psychedelic, and lo-fi. Kurt has cleverly incorporated these three keywords of 80s American indie music to form his own style. -Junya Shimofusa

Representative albums "Bleach" (1989), Nirvana "Nevermind" (1991, photo)

Billie Joe Armstrong How many kids picked up a guitar at the sight of Billie Joe playing his battered Stratocaster? His guitar playing, with its simple combination of power chord strumming, arguably played the same role in the 90s as Johnny Ramone's. Despite being labelled as mellowcore at the time of their debut, there is not much hardcore influence in Green Day's sound, including their guitar playing. Rather, there is a strong influence from 60s British beat and 70s UK punk. After establishing his own style with 'Dookie', from 'Warning' he began to use acoustic guitars to great effect. It is interesting to note that, despite having listened to hard rock and heavy metal before punk, there is almost no trace of that influence in his music today. -Tomoo Yamaguchi

Representative albums "Dookie" (1994, photo), Green Day "Warning" (2000)

Kevin Shields After original members Dave and Tina left the band, My Bloody Valentine became a twin-vocal band with Bilinda, who joined the band midway through. On the Rage label they were still playing an anorak-like guitar sound influenced by The Jesus and Mary Chain, but after moving to Creation they quickly evolved. Kevin's noisy and inebriated guitar sound had a huge influence on the so-called 'shoegazers' that followed. While his followers used a lot of delays and reverbs, the original used almost no spatial effectors. They created "fluctuations in space and time" by holding the tremolo arm, strumming chords and applying reverse reverb. The sound, which no one had ever heard at the time, even led to numerous speculations, such as "Could he be controlling the number of tape revolutions?" -Takanori Kuroda

Representative albums "Isn't Anything" (1988) My Bloody Valentine "Loveless" (1991, photo)

Noel Gallagher Noel Gallagher is a well-known big mouth. His off-the-cuff remarks are often controversial. As the man who runs the biggest band on the UK scene, he probably has to be that bold. However, when it comes to his guitar playing, his personality is anything but bold. A fear of mistuning is evident. The guitar playing on the album, as well as live, is very collective. He never misses a note, as if he were following a musical score. Even the guitar solos, which are a guitarist's greatest showpiece, are almost exactly the same as on the album. In any case, he doesn't take any risks. In other words, you can see through his surprisingly naïve mind. In a rock world still infested with gymnastic machismo, this is a rare individuality. The band's music has the air of a big-boned, but in fact it is very sensitive. This sense of mismatch is Noel's greatest individuality. -Junya Shimofusa

Representative albums "Definitely Maybe" (1994, photo) Oasis "(What's the Story) Morning Glory?" (1995)