#Singer Jovial news

[just-a-ghost00]

The aesthetic of your next lover

Warning : 18+ themes are mentioned in group 3

Group 1

Physical traits - XX Judgement, Nature Personality - Ace of swords, Power Job - Queen of pentacles, Speak truth Interests - 3 of pentacles, Patience

Your next lover definitely has a good sense of fashion! They dress to impress and are the type of person that stands out of the crowd. They look intimidating, their eyes especially could be a key feature of their looks as well as their lips, regardless of their gender. For instance they could wear graphic eyeliner or their stare is quite intense either because of the shape of their eyes or their color. Their appearance feels very natural so it is unlikely they went through aesthetical surgery or that they use a lot of products to cover up for their complexes. They have a natural beautiful smile, good skin condition, good body proportions. They feel like the more tall and slender type. They are naturally striking which is one thing people would notice about them right from the get go. They look like they come straight out of an ad. In terms of personality, this person is clever and witty. They tend to use their brain more than their heart. They are driven and ambitious, strong willed and opinionated. They're stubborn in many ways but in their case it serves them good. They know how to push through when needed. They could have a tendency to overthink. As for their career, I'm picking up on influencer and artists vibes. This person definitely has an important status and they use their voice to express their truth, whether it's in person or through social media. The queen of pentacles in this deck looks like she is super confident about her impact on people and is expected to be worshiped. So this could represent singers, musicians, models, actors. Their work could involve the body. So maybe gym instructor or nutritionist. When it comes to their hobbies, I'm picking up on : learning new things, working out, gardening, working on their spirituality / increasing their faith, any creative activity that would get them to meet people. This person likes to share knowledge and spend quality time with people.

₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊

Group 2

Physical traits - XIX The Sun, Play Personality - 4 of cups, Strength Job - XXI The World, Trust Interests - Black Numen, The Observer

This person looks very jovial and young, bright, funny, approachable. They tend to wear casual outfits, rather baggy and practical clothes. They look confident and friendly. Their could be all types of bodies and ethnicities here but what I'm picking up on is that they look sunkissed. So they could have a lot of freckles and moles, a beautiful tanned skin. Wavy hair. If they identify as a woman, I can picture them wearing flowy dresses/skirts. They're always smiling and giggling. They give me beach boy / beach girl vibes. When it comes to their personality though, it's the complete opposite. They are rather guarded and shy, kind of pessimistic. They can be super resilient and strong willed but I feel like this person has struggled or is struggling with mental health issues. Their mind is less bright than their appearance, let's put it that way. They give me Joker vibes, minus the psycopathic tendencies. As for their job, I have several possibilities. For some, this person could be jobless at the moment because they are taking a break from work and travelling instead. I have a feeling like this person took a leap of faith and left everything behind. For others, their job involves travelling. It could be because they're a flight attendant or a tourist guide. I also pick up on people that do several jobs at a time or that are always changing jobs. Like they could work for short periods of time as a bartender and next they babysit and so on. They kinda give me student vibes. When it comes to their interests though, it's pretty clear : tarot and divination, watching horror movies and dramas, researching about the occult, watching documentaries or reports about past eras and mysterious deaths / unsolved crimes, stories about ghosts and supernatural beings, mythology.

₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊✧✩₊˚.☾⁺₊

Group 3

Physical traits - 8 of pentacles, Trust Personality - XII Hanged man, Surrender Job - 10 of swords, Movement Interests - XV The Devil, Destruction

This person looks trustworthy and mature. They have a bulky body or at least they look strong and wise. They tend to hide their face. I'm picking up on bikers specifically. Also people that have that tech wear or gangsta aesthetic. They wear masks in public transports. They look friendly but also intimidating in some way, because of their posture or their looks. They could have tattoos. As for their personality, they're pretty chill. They like to go with the flow and enjoy life at it's fullest. They're rather open minded and curious. They are empathetic. They have no problem adopting other people's perspective and finding a common ground with others. They're more of the observer type. They're quiet but they always pay attention. This feels more like the introverted types of the MBTI profiles. When it comes to jobs, I'm picking up on physical therapists, psychologists, kinesitherapists, chiropractors, people that practice movement medicine. Also firefighters and police officers for some reason. They help people move on, especially mentally, from traumatic experiences. As for their interests, I don't get the best of vibes from this section lmao but I was picking up on getting drunk, getting high, seeking for adrenaline by adopting risky attitudes. Like racing on the highway or doing extreme sports. Watching porn, having sex. They tend to have self destructive tendencies. I was also picking up on fighting, boxing, street fights. Like MMA and stuff like that. On a more "softer" note they just enjoy wrecking havoc. So let's say they go to a party or a concert they're the type to tear the place down. I'm also picking up on festivals like Hellfest.

[the-xolotl]

Songbird, Sing Me a Song

Alastor x singer!Reader

𝄞 A/N: i have this HC that Alastor has a special appreciation for singers (musicians in general) who are more classically inclined or those to perform music of his tastes especially if it reminds him of home

summery: In which Alastor owns your soul, just for the purpose of having live entertainment for himself.

✎ TAGS: sfw, no warnings, Alastor just wants to hear Reader sing, terms of endearment, no use of y/n, gn reader, no physical desc of reader, not proof read

“Come here, my pretty songbird,” Alastor’s lulling voice beckoned with his usual jovial tone, sounding like a lowly whisper. Your ears seem to almost perk up as he calls to you, pausing your current task in favor of answering to his command. Alastor has a habit of summoning you to his side at the drop of a hat, you were use to dropping whatever you’re doing in the moment to adhere to whatever he asked.

The call felt like a tug on your very soul, a gentle pull on the chain that tethered you to him. This very connection guiding you to where he is, like an automatic instinct of just knowing where he is. So your feet carried you to follow that direction, which you quickly realized is his radio tower. It’s going to be one of those evenings, the corners of your mouth curled upwards in a small smile.

Once in front of the door you knocked in a specific pattern letting him know it’s you entering, “Good evening, Sir, what can I do you for?” you asked with a polite smile.

The Radio Demon sat behind his desk elbows parked atop it resting his chin on the back of his hands, “Good evening, darling!” he greeted with glee, “Come in, come in. I find myself awfully bored doing this paperwork, I thought perhaps you’d be able to help me with that.”

You enter closing the door behind you, making your way in front of the console with a small giggle, “You’d like me to provide with a lil’ live performance, I take it?” you raise a playful eyebrow at him. This has become quite the habit since he summoned you to the hotel ever since his return.

You’ve been contracted to Alastor for a good few years, even before his impromptu sabbatical. In life, you had been a fairly known jazz and swing singer in some circles. Unfortunately you met an untimely demise due to a freak accident that cut your career short just as you were taking off, ending up in Hell, a little surprising to you.

Alastor had found you at the time you were struggling to adjust to your new hellish life. But everything comes at a price, he decided to take you in after you told him about your singing and musical abilities; your unconditional services for his protection. Simple.

It had been a little rough at first, selling your soul to one of the most dangerous overlords of hell, you later found out. He’s peculiar and extravagant but admittedly not awful. Just different. With time you learn to keep up, and he helped you gain some influence as a singer again by pulling strings and limbs where he needed.

Most recently you are the Hazbin Hotel’s front performer as per his request. As well as his private entertainer.

He flashed a bright smile, “Why you read my mind! Would my nightingale regale me with their beautiful voice for a while?” He regarded you with an extended palm, which you took with a spirited bow.

“How could I deny a personal request from my master? Specially with such flattery.” Sending a wink his way, you skip around the radio equipment over to pull the mic and stool he has for you just for these occasions.

You set your items, sitting a few feet in front of the console with in his line of view. Just how he liked it. “Any requests?” you ask with a smile.

“How about some originals? I’d be delighted to hear the music you wrote, or if you’ve written any recent pieces” His head tilted to the side, a little endearment slipping into his voice. It’s not often he does it, only in very private moments. He’d never say it, not even to you, but you are one of the pets he is most fond of.

Your eyes widen slightly feeling a little sheepish at the request, a light blush tinting your cheeks, “There’s a couple pieces actually,” you straighten your back and fold your hands over your lap preparing to start.

With a wave of his hand one of his shadows skidded about the floor, rising up to place one of his radios next to you.

“Lovely,” his radio filter crackling with the low notes of his voice, “Just adjust the dials and it will do the rest.”

Eying the item curiously you reach out to turn the little nubs. A small sparkle of green light flashed at your fingers. So quick you almost thought it hadn’t actually happened. Though, just as you adjust the frequency a familiar tune begins to play. Your tune.

Blinking a few times you readjust on your seat, things Alastor does shouldn’t surprise you anymore yet he manages to catch you every time. “This one is my favorite in particular,” you speak into the mic now, “Sound coming clear?”

“Crystal,” he says in his transatlantic accent as he leans forward on his desk.

You don’t miss a beat to come in hearing the into of your own song playing. Your melodic voice filling the room carried but the romantic jazz beat. It’s definitely a more modern sound of jazz but Alastor enjoys it nevertheless judging but the way his foot taps to the rhythm.

Gracefully, you croon every word into your mic hitting every note with expert ease. Not a single flat or too sharp note. Even as the tempo crescendos or decrescendos. Your delivery of the piece full of emotion, holding the mic delicately between your fingers. It’s mesmerizing even as you sit in place but your voice holds all the colors to paint the story of your song. Perfectly tuned voice with high and low notes.

As the song came to its end, Alastor applauded along to a clapping track sounding with a proud smile playing on his lips, “What a performance! Truly, one of the most unique voices I’ve ever heard,” he praises, “Well done, dear.”

You smile while bowing your head, “I’m glad you’ve found it enjoyable. I should add it to my set list for the next performance at the hotel.” You couldn’t help the rosie tint rising on your cheeks again. You had been quite proud of that one, so having Alastor appreciate it before anyone else has had the chance to hear it filled you with pride and joy. “You got to be the very first one to hear it.”

His smile grows playful, “Oh-ho! What an honor, dearest,” slightly bowing his head and bringing a hand over his heart to make it heartfelt. You chuckle at the gesture.

For the next couple hours the radio tower becomes immersed in the blues and swing that accompanied your finely tuned voice. The Overlord seemed delighted to have a personal concert while he worked. It reminded him about the little things he enjoyed while alive, your style being different but jazz will always take him back to good ol’ times in New Orleans.

His foot taps along to the rhythms, humming along to the words quietly harmonizing with you. His smile becoming more relaxed and work didn’t seem half bad anymore song after song. It relaxed him greatly to have your voice bouncing off the walls of the radio office, especially being the two of you. It’s like being in your own little bubble, he liked that.

Though, more than just for nostalgia he had other reasons to constantly call private audiences with you he would never tell you about. Even if he seems concentrated now, he occasionally stole glances at you, taking in the way your body swayed to the various beats.

By the end of the night, you had essentially performed a whole set. Some were your own songs, others classics and some of Alastor’s personal favorites. The mood is light even Alastor seems in a much better mood.

“Thank you very much, dearie, phenomenal show,” he praised as a wave of claps are heard throughout the room. You get up to give a deeper bow much like you often do for your public performances.

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week,” you joked, “I’m only a call away.”

Alastor chuckled standing up from his chair, finally, gathering all of his work, “You must be tired by now, how about we both retire, hm?” his hand cupping your lower back gently and guiding the both of you to the door. “Wouldn’t want to strain you, now would we,” he stated more than asked opening the for you.

Yawning you nodded, “It’s getting quite late. I think we both got carried away,” He agreed with a silent nod.

“I’ll take you to your quarters, it’ll be quicker,” hooking your arm under his, the shadows beneath his feet wiggle and curl around you, “Hold on tight, darling.”

You didn’t need to be told twice knowing exactly what he’s doing. You pressed further into his side tightening your grip on his arm. The darkness swallowed and you felt like the ground beneath you became quick sand sinking deeper and deeper into the void, it’s uncomfortable, a little claustrophobic. Fortunately it didn’t have to last very long, you could never get use to his teleportation method.

Delivering you right in front of your door, he lets you hold him until your legs are steady again. “Here we are!” he cheered, before letting you go he brings your hand delicately to his lips, “Good night, my songbird,” pressing a small kiss to your knuckles.

You smile up at him tiredly, “You as well, Sir.”

With that he’s disappearing off again, yet you never feel like he ever truly leaves. At least, figuratively. Somehow you always feel his presence lingering over you, in a good way.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

—

࿐ dividers © cafekitsune ✧

[velvet-paradox]

Stay (ch. 5)

Feelings - Kruger is a real friend - Confessions in the night -The hurt Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, strong language, explicit content, angst, there's some smut in here folks!

This was a mistake.

A misunderstanding, surely you cannot be thinking fondly of the man, The Collector, who took you so many months ago now. Away from your family, your parents, your friends, your village. Many a night you cried over and over, with nothing to do about your situation.

No escape plan.

The last capture for ransom had been slain, her aid, one of KorTac's own, fucking blood eagled. You did not desire the same fate, although you played along and kept your mouth shut, eyes alert and aware of your current and now future surroundings, sometimes you prayed to the Gods for that same fate.

Death would be better than suffering at the hands of The Collector and his clan.

But then…

You missed him. You truly missed his presence. You shouldn't, you wish you didn't, you pray to the Gods to give you the strength needed to get rid of these feelings.

Maybe it's because you haven't been touched, haven't hugged or embraced anyone. Been held on to, been loved. You're lonely, afraid and scared and need to be told 'it is going to be alright', you wait for the moment to come but it never does.

This home, this new home wasn't yours, but it somehow was wrapping you up in its' veins.

Eating in the hall, though full of song and drink, perfectly cooked meat and veg, you feel alone. That no one sees you there. You're a ghost, a figment until The Collector brings you meaning once again. No one bats an eye that you now sit, with your pillow, in his seat. That you drink ale from his horn. That you are slipping into place.

The singers give you a nod as you dine, Keeva's middle daughter, Tove, sits next to you, telling you how annoying her brothers are, how she longs for the twins to learn to speak to her. She looks just like her mother.

You can hear Price's laugh over the music, he's already had three horns worth and is jovial. Soap hands you a roll in passing. You're fitting in. Your smile is humorless as you wish you're parents were with you, here in this great hall, together again as it should be.

"Don't cry, pet. 's only a roll."

You hadn't realized you were tearing up. Wiping it away with the back of your knuckles before smiling at her plump cheeks. You opened your mouth but was stopped short when the double doors of the great hall were being pushed shut, the music halted, the dancing stopped and all was still.

Until you saw The Collector's figure, Ghost and Kruger behind him. Along with someone new, you couldn't make out anything as there was a bag over their head.

Blood on their hands, filth on their attire. You stood instantly, watching as if they were mist come into the hall, everyone burst into cheers and whoops and calls for more celebration.

And even though you could not make out König's eyes, you knew they were upon you, sat at the head of the table.

The air shifts and you feel guilt bite into your neck, slither up your spine. The way König makes you feel, weak and powerless; puny.

You thought he'd be cross with you, pissed that you had the audacity, without his knowledge and permission, to be taking his seat in the great hall. You thought he might even punish you. Hurt you.

But what he did was something else entirely.

He'd gotten cleaned up after all the praise for another well earned hunt. KorTac would have more than enough food to last the entire winter months, along with a few extra boars and two seals on this side of the river from Horangi's clan.

You laid in your bed, hearing König douse himself with water from a wooden barrel, blubebering away the hunt and getting the dirt and grime out of his hair, off his skin. He reeked of iron and soot, chipped bark and smoke.

"Are you still awake, pet?" König questioned through the open doorway with a pound of his fist on the wall above your head.

"Ja."

"Would you aide me in something?"

You were curious and frightful of what The Collector may need you for. And as you peeked into the room, you stalled instantly. Not only was König completely naked, he was bruised around his forearms and the back of his calves, most likely from sleeping on the ground for five days at a time. His hood was off. Bare to the world. You'd his scarred chest before but the tight muscles of his back, his shapely hips and rear, the thick bands of his thighs that were surprisingly tattooed with runes stood, out the most. Other than his burnt red hair.

"What um… what do you need?"

König merely turned his head to the side, exposing his incredible profile, the stubble on along his jaw, the lovely shape of his neck.

"Come here and I'll show you."

You swallowed hard and inched your way further into the room, the glow of the burning torches, the shadows it cast over his body were driving you mad.

You can do this. Youcandothisyoucandothis

You could feel the fucking heat radiating off his form, no longer reeking of blood and viscera, just him. The scent you had missed for days. König shifted and his back rolled before he was on you, one large hand grasped you around the neck, forcing you to stumble backward, the fur beneath your feet skidded along with you. Your back hit the wall before your head did and before you realized what was actually happening. His hair hung in his eyes, flickering in the light you squeaked upon seeing his face for the first time. A splatter of freckles across his nose, a pretty nasty but healed cut through his right eyebrow, scratches that have laid the foundation of his skin marked his face. A jagged line of battle along his jaw.

"Enjoying my place, are you? Sitting at the head of the table as if we are already married. Like it belongs to you," König snorted and shook his head, the ends of his hair slotted against his long lashes. "Does it belong to you, pet?"

You shook your head nervously.

"Hmmm would you like it to be?" König asked with a tilt of his head an smirk on his lips.

The Collector was looking over your face, moving his hand up to your jaw, tipping your chin to look at him and his haunting gaze.

"I don't… how do you mean? I've only sat there tonight, I swear! I won't do it agai-"

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you wanted to belong. At the head of the table," with his other hand, he angled himself down closer, your breathing out of control as the predator had his prey, his eyes on yours. "Or maybe I should place you beneath it, back to the floor where you belong."

"I don't want to be on the floor again. Please uh… bitte." Tears prickled your inner corners and for some unspeakable reason, you had never been this wet between your legs.

"Bitte? My you have been learning so well." König praised which made your caged in with a naked giant you were crushing hard on, made things worse. You were thisdamnclose to breaking out in a cold sweat.

"John and Keeva have most patient."

König's thick eyebrows went up with your answer. "Ah, yes they have. I shall have to send my regards. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not I mean… I am looking at you but I don't understand, no one sees your face. So why am I?"

"Precisely. Only I allow that luxury, my men have seen my face after battle, that is all. Now you so you should take it as a high compliment that I'm being so generous with my body, ja?"

You nodded once more, too scared to look away.

"Not even Ada?" The question fell out of your mouth like the coins you had helped collect.

"Ada?! My my you have been a busy hase, ja? Nein, she has never seen my face and what do you know of Ada anyway? Who have you been speaking to?"

"Just hat she's like your play thing I guess."

"My play thing? Nein nein, she is KorTac's play thing, she has sex with whoever she wants, who can pay her handsomely. That's her business. Her appetite is quite vast."

You broke the intense silence and looking at each other when you brought up your hand, satisfied with his answer, it jerked when you touched the hand on your face. König huffed and locked eyes with you.

"You said you needed my help."

König's face twisted into a devious little grin with sharp teeth like the monster he was.

"That I do, something has come over me as of late. This ache I have for you grows with each day, this has never happened to me and it is making me dizzy and tired," his confession had your mouth falling open with each passing word. "It is hard to focus when my heart has become so consumed. And I am certain in this light, that you have only gotten prettier since I have been gone."

You swallowed, trying to keep your breath even before you spoke.

"Took you that long to notice?"

König barked out laughter in your face, a genuine smile and reaction. "Oh woman, how you wound me so! I have missed your wit. Just what I needed. And nein, I realized your beauty the moment I saw you. Pissed off, head full of bravery."

You didn't miss the way he flinched when you licked your dry lips. The was being drained from the room with each passing second.

"I need your touch, pet. I don't want anyone the way I want you. Will you help me?"

….

He walked you over to his work table in the corner of his room, knocking aside tools and weapons, a clay pitcher of water and half eaten, half torn loaf of rosemary bread. He sat you on said table with little to no effort, reminding you of how easily he had picked you up around the middle when he took you.

"Hike up your night dress, my dear, just there is good enough."

You'd averted your eyes for so long that when you did dare look down at his cock your whole body shuddered. The size, the weight, the pre-cum practically drooling from the tip. Larger than any other prick you'd seen nor allowed into your body.

"Cross your legs, just like that. Very obedient you are, my dear." He huffed out.

You didn't understand why you were requested to iclose your legs when you thought he wanted the warm of your cunt. How strange.

But it made sense when he told you, after taking hold of his cock and spitting down on it, that he would not be penetrating you tonight. That would come later.

It felt so peculiar to feel a cock slip between your knees, at an angle he thrust his rock hard length back and forth where your kneecap met the back of your top leg.

The grunt he let out when he found a steady rhythm, rocking his trained hips into your leg, scooching the table on its legs, hitting the wall gently.

"Fuck. Been dreaming about this, seeing your face for real and not using my imagination to conjure up how pretty you are. How soft your hands are, wishing and praying to the Gods that one day I shall relish in the feel of them on my skin."

His hand balled into a fist before punching down on the rocking surface. "I want you."

You couldn't deny it any longer, not with waxing poetic, aiming his cock between your legs, sweating and shaking with desire and passion.

That's what it was!

You had become not only involved with The Collector, intertwined into this new life, with its' new people and language, but you were passionate about it. The helping of others. The give and take so easily and freely you found yourself sliding your hands up his stomach, smiling when he flinched and fixed you with a stare so hot you thought he might just set you alight.

"Let me. Let me touch you. I promise, König, you will not regret it."

This time it was his turn to nod in response, words had since failed him since he'd grabbed your top thigh, grounding him as he fucked the space between. You could feel how slick he was getting. Your smile, wicked as could be, as you began to familiarize yourself with his body. The markings, the tattoos, the scrapes, the freckles above his bely button. How he trembled when you touched a deep gouge to his shoulder, outright sighed with satisfaction when you pressed your lips over it.

"Oh my pet, you have yet to fail me."

"Do you think I will?"

"If you know what is good for you, you will not. Come here."

He continued his thrusts, moaning against your neck, wrapping his arm around your own, anchoring himself to your shoulder, nuzzling your face until you finally turned your head and captured his lips. He licked his way inside right away, which wasn't surprising as he was at his breaking point, whining into your mouth. A sound you never thought had erupted from this mans vocal chords before.

"Oh it's happening, it's finally fucking happening, it's coming!" König grabbed the back of your head then, pulling away from your now puffy and slick mouth to look at you.

He opened his mouth and with the lowest groan and call of your name he came, rope after rope of his hot load shot out of his trembling body, slithering down your leg, across the floor. When you touched the crown of his cock lightly he hung his head against your shoulder and released another shot through your fingers, mouthing thanks.

….

You rode that high like a horse! You, you of all people, made König a sloppy mess and it wasn't even from your pussy or mouth. Hands free. The sounds he made, the way he rested against you for stability, the way his mouth slotted perfectly over your own. How he smelled. How he tasted. How sweetly, The Collector, had asked you to stay.

You made you way down the village lane, side stepping Tove running after her brothers. There was a chill in the air now, crisp were the mornings, cooler, like now, in the evening. The leaves that had changed color awhile back had now all but fallen into piles, crunching under your boots, laced with frost.

It was a decent morning, your head held high as you knew something no one else here did.

As you eyed a necklace, a very similar shade to the emerald around your arm, a voice, one of the most pleasant and calm hit your ears. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I am rather pleased to see you alive and well."

That voice sounded very familiar and as you turned around on your heel, you smiled at Kim Hong-jin, decked out in thick furs, a very beautifully detailed cloak and fur wrapped boots up to his shins.

"Mr. Hong-jin, what a pleasure."

"Ah, you have a good memory. I see you are settling in for the winter as well here, very nice shade I must say."

"Thank you, sir."

"Please, please. If you are still able to walk and breathe, you can call me Horangi. Is your host around? We must discuss the winter rations and cautions." He asked, adjusted his attired with ease and grace that only a man of his caliber could carry. He gave head tilt.

"Um, I believe so. Shall I take you up to the great hall to sus him out?"

"Lead the way, pet." Horangi said, extending out his arm for you to take, making your way back towards the hall.

The hall was less packed this time of day, the musicians were practicing by the large hearth, two young girls stoking the flames to keep the room cozy. No König.

His room; empty.

The large room he held meetings and discussions in; bare.

The kitchen was bustling but still no Collector.

You tried to hide your embarrassment when König could not but located, Horangi didn't mind though. In fact you thought he might be enjoying this time, milling about KorTac, speaking of tales and telling storied that hung within these walls. How close he and König were, had been thick as literal thieves.

You came to a foreign space at the back, there was a cell of sorts with iron doors and some sort of locking mechanism. You could hear someone talking but it was too faint to make out. It made you curious and gave you pause. When you turned to tell Horangi you were sorry, the door at the very end of the corridor creaked open.

The instant slap of skin on skin echoed out into the hall. Another slap, another moan, another step back as Simon walked out, both hands covering his groin.

"Apologies!" he exclaimed, you could hear delight in his voice. Uncertain if it was from actually seeing you or what he'd been up to behind that door. "I haven't seen you in two days time, thought for sure you might have cut and run. And you bring a guest, Horangi, my brother, how are you?"

"Quite well, and well escorted by pet here. My Ghost… are you ill? You are sweating quite profusely."

"Exertion will do that. Ada can be quite the handful as you know, needs a good fucking to put her in her place as you well know yourself, brother." Ghost panted with a shrug.

"That I do. Is the big man around, we have matters to discuss before the first frost arrives."

"He is but… he is indisposed as of currently. He could talk you through it if you like." You didn't miss the way Ghost tilted his head at you, louder sounds of pleasure or pain, or perhaps both met your ears and before you knew it, your feet were moving. Still within earshot of the two intimidating men, you pushed the door with your boot, bile rising in your throat.

"I can wait, I shall take my leave get something fresh to drink in your great hall."

"Of course. Our house is your house brother. I shall send him out your way once he's finished."

Soap was on some massive bed, bending over a voluptuous naked woman. His thrusts sloppy at best, he couldn't even form words, the woman couldn't either as you watched The Collector grab a sharp hold of her face. You hated everything in that moment. The world around you slowed as König pointed at her with his other, gloved hand. Barking at her, orders, commands, filth.

He eventually turned his head at the last second, catching your eye and the moment you took off, pushing past Ghost and Horangi.

You ran.

What else were you so supposed to do?

How fucking naïve of you to believe König had true, honest feelings for you. How idiotic. You were merely a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less. He'd tricked you, spoiled you into thinking because he was bare to the world and to you, showed his face, his lust, his thirst, that it would only be for you. How foolish.

You ran out the front doors, boots sticking into the mud like boulders on the cliffside of the fjord, imbedding into the wet soil. Down the lane, up the hill, through the houses of the village until you hit open air. The familiar clearing. The training field grounds.

You dropped to the dewy ground, your head to the grass, covering the back of your head as you cried your little heart out.

Only left along with your thoughts, how he made you feel, how apparently you made him feel all went tumbling away. You felt sorry and stupid for believing the horny words, the advancement in relations. You felt so high on your horse and now you pelted down like earth beneath. You grasped and tugged at your hair as the thought of that night made you sick now.

"What did he do this time?"

You didn't even hear even hear Kruger, the stealthy bastard, spinning one of the wooden practice swords in the setting sun of the bruised sky.

"Who?" You asked, it was rhetorical of course. You lifted you head when Kruger crouched in front of you with the end of the sword.

"König of course. He's the only one who makes you cry. Every Gods damn time. Look at you." Kruger shook his head, hood swaying when you started bawling again. He put the sword aside and sat down with you, gather you up in his arms. An embrace, endearment for the pet of clan.

You didn't know how long you cried, when you finally stopped. What you did know was that you were hanging upside down, drifting in and out. Kruger had you hefted over his shoulder, gently walking back to the village. Your eyes fluttered closed once more.

You kept your eyes closed when you felt him drop you down to your bed, drowsy from crying so much your cheeks hurt, the muscles tight and aching. There was a shifting sound from The Collectors side of the space.

"It is none of my business what you've done to her, but for the love of Odin, bitte, treat her better."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"If she's not training, she's crying. If she is not eating, guess what? Now pet is sobbing! Poor thing, I am surprised she has any water left in those eyes." Kruger scolded the leader.

König sighed and mumbled something out of ear shot, their heavy steps retreating as you drifted off to sleep.

tagging: @powerfultenderness

[onedappercat]

Why Does the Ortolan Sing?

Chapters 23 - 25

Rating: Explicit

Uncensored art embedded in chapter 24.

Excerpt from chapter twenty-four:

“Now, I’m sitting here, on my desk, with the blinds drawn and my vest undone.” Azira grinned cheekily up at Crowley. “Personally, I’d love to once again test out the strength of this old desk. No one can see us, and these thick windows are quite good at blocking out noise.”

Crowley laughed jovially, a sound that sent Azira’s heart soaring. Crowley undid his viper belt buckle and slid the wavy leather easily from his belt loops. He cracked it in the air like a whip, Azira applauding with a laugh of his own. Azira slid off his vest and tossed it aside, following it close behind with his trousers, once he had kicked off his shoes. He opened his legs wide and pulled Crowley close. Crowley began slipping out of his jacket when Azira, already panting in his anticipation, pulled back slightly.

“Can you… can you leave it on?” Azira murmured, slightly embarrassed.

“Mmmm, does the angel have a leather fetish?” Crowley said with a grin as he began on his trousers instead. “Boy, do I have a piece of clothing you’ll like to see.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” Azira chuckled as Crowley began kissing his neck. He couldn’t quite imagine what kind of outfit Crowley was talking about, but when his brain had priority on blood flow again, he looked forward to imagining it.

As Crowley lifted Azira’s legs to his waist, Azira tipped his head back. He began thinking about the black container of lube still in Crowley’s nightstand and, while he certainly wasn’t going to pause to go retrieve it, wondered if it would be unseemly to keep a tube in his desk drawer in the future. He closed his eyes and grinned.

Continue reading from chapter twenty-three…

Summary:

Following his mother’s death, Azira sets out to prepare his family’s bookshop for reopening. While appreciating the shop’s new sign, he hears the beckon of a siren’s song sounding from the coffee shop over the road. He succumbs to temptation to find the source of the hypnotic voice is an auburn-haired songbird. Intrigued by the singer’s beauty and haunted by his apparent loneliness, Azira is determined to introduce himself. There’s only one problem: the musician’s menacing, jealous, and possessive partner.

CW:

Domestic abuse, loss of a loved one, adultery, toxic relationship, murder, blood, organized crime, loss of virginity, explicit sex

@goodomensafterdark

[hooked-on-elvis]

ELVIS PRESLEY, RCA RECORDS ARTIST (Nov. 1955)

The story behind one of my favorite 50's Elvis pictures ♥

November 21, 1955: Elvis Presley at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, TN. RCA Victor Records purchased Elvis Presley’s recording contract from Sam Phillips (Sun Records) for a then unheard of sum of $35,000.

Here's the full picture: Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis, Bob Neal (his second manager, after Scotty Moore and prior to Colonel Parker) and country music singer Hank Snow at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, TN, after signing the RCA contract at the Sun Records studio, previously in the same day.

Let's read a bit about the contract, afterwards.

On November 21, Steve Sholes, Ben Starr, Coleman Tily, the Colonel, Tom Diskin, Hank Snow, local RCA distributor Jim Crudgington, and regional rep Sam Esgro all converged on the little Sun studio for the signing of the papers. Colonel Parker came accompanied by a document dated the same day stipulating that out of the 40 percent in combined commissions due the Colonel and Bob Neal (25 percent to the Colonel, 15 percent to Neal), there would be an even split for the duration of Neal's agreement, until March 15, 1956. The buyout agreement itself was a simple two-page document in which Sun Records agreed to tum over all tapes and cease all distribution and sales of previously released recordings as of December 31, 1955, while the managers "do hereby sell, assign and transfer unto RCA all of their right, title and interest in and to" the previously exercised option agreement. The purchase price was $35,000; RCA undertook responsibility for the payment of all back royalties and held Sun Records harmless from any subsequent claims. Out of all this Elvis Presley would get a royalty of 5 percent as opposed to the 3 percent that he was currently receiving from Sun - this amounted to almost two cents more per record sold, which over the course of a million sales would come to about $18,000. In addition, as the result of a co-publishing arrangement that the Colonel had entered into with Hill and Range (who probably contributed substantially themselves toward the purchase price), Elvis would now receive half of the two-cent statutory mechanical fee and half of the two-cent broadcast fee on all new Hill and Range compositions that he recorded, which would be registered through his own publishing company. If at this point he were to start writing songs as well, or, perhaps more pertinently, if he were to start claiming songwriting credit for songs he recorded, a practice going back to time immemorial in the recording industry, he could increase his income by up to another two cents per side. Hill and Range, meanwhile, stood to gain an almost incalculable advantage over their competitors in the field by securing not just an inside track, but what amounted to virtually a right of first refusal from the hottest new singing sensation in the country. After the contract was signed, there was a picture-taking ceremony, with different configurations of the various parties involved. In one Elvis is flanked by the Colonel and Hank Snow, proud partners in Jamboree Attractions, while Bob Neal, to Snow's left, jovially approves; in another Gladys plants a kiss upon her son's cheek and clutches her black handbag as the Colonel pats her on the shoulder and Vernon looks stiffly on. In yet another Sam and Elvis shake hands across RCA attorney Coleman Tily. In all the pictures all the men are beaming - everyone has seemingly gotten exactly what he wanted. After the picture taking a number of the participants dropped by for a brief on-air appearance on Marion Keisker's show in the brand-new WHER studios. "They thought it would be great fun," said Marion, "if they all came over and we announced it. So they all crowded into the little control room, and we did a little four-or-five-way interview, well, not really an interview, just a little chat. And in the course of it, I remember, Hank Snow said, 'I'm very proud this boy made his first appearance on the national scene on my section of the Grand Ole Opry.' And he was being such a pompous ass about it, I couldn't help it, but I said, 'Yes, and I remember, you had to ask him what his name was.' That was a rather tactless thing for me to do." — Excerpt: Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley by Peter Guralnick (1994). Chapter "THE PIED PIPERS: September-November 1955".

OTHER PICTURES FROM THAT DAY - NOV. 21, 1955:

Elvis was 20 years old at the time, which means he was still legally a minor, therefore his father (Vernon Presley) also signed the contract, as his natural guardian, which is why Vernon and Gladys are there that day, in addition to the obvious reason (a big moment for their dear son).

The 1st picture below: the Colonel, Gladys, Elvis and Vernon Presley, H. Coleman Tily III (RCA's attorney) and Bob Neal at Sun Records (and a cropped picture of Elvis and Gladys just because <33); The second picture shows Bob Neal, Sam Phillips and Elvis shaking hands across RCA's attorney H. Coleman Tily III, and Colonel Parker; the third picture shows Elvis and Hank Snow that same day (Note: Elvis wearing a tie pictures were taken after the contract signing at Sun Records. The pictures were taken at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, TN), and the one after that shows Jim Crudgington (local RCA-Victor representative), Elvis and H. Coleman Tily III at Sun - Nov. 21, 1955.

The first picture in this post (a cropped picture from Nov. 21, 1955, showing just Elvis' angel face) was used as cover for the FTD box "A Boy from Tupelo: The Complete 1953 to 1955 Recordings", released in July 28, 2017 (3 CD & Book Set)

You can listen to the full 3-CDs from this box (85 tracks), below:

If you'd like, below you can have a glimpse on the book from this 2017 Elvis box:

[arvensimp]

Hi! I've been reading your fics about Arven and you just make me fall in love with him harder than I am in. You write so beautifuly I really envy you! Very good job, this is my first request, and I hope I don't bother you with it. I love music, and I like to sing a lot, I imagine my MC who also loves singing and music with a beautiful voice, I would like to request a fic with a reader (can be gender neutral) singing to comfort Arven because he is sad, with Masbostiff joining them. (Both have a established relationship and around 20-22 years old)

Thank you!

Hello! You've come to the right place for this one lolol my masters degree is in voice performance and i've literally sung opera in different continents for the last several years.

-

That Funny Feeling

Arven x singer!reader, fluff and comfort, no genedered pronouns are used for the reader

--

Growing up in an empty house as he did, Arven never really listened to music. Sure, he's heard some of the top 40s hits that play over the radio in shops and stores over the years, and he's heard songs that students used to play in the halls when he went to the academy. Thing is, he wasn't exposed to music as a kid, so he didn't really ever seek it out as he gained autonomy.

When he started traveling with you after graduation, it was the first time you both had started spending significant amounts of time together. Sure you'd been casually dating, but you were both busy with your respective pursuits. Your time together was usually spent eating, holding hands, maybe watching a movie, cuddling, and doing other typical, couple-y things. You didn't have time to just exist with one another, which is part of what made now so special.

Because of that, Arven is a little gobsmacked to hear you one evening as you sit with your recently caught tinkatink, singing softly as you brush through her hair.

It's nothing special or over the top, you're just singing something gentle and calming, trying to lull your new pokemon into a comfortable state as you build your relationship with her, but Arven is utterly enamored. Truth be told, he feels almost voyeuristic listening in on the two of you, but he can't bring himself to move away.

When you're done with tinkatink, you move onto your scream tail who receives a similar treatment of a brushing with its bath, but this time the tune is more jovial, and Arven swears he thinks the scream tail is trying to sing along with you, though its voice isn't nearly as relaxing or sweet as a modern day jigglypuff's (or yours, he thinks).

Arven doesn't say anything that night because, truth be told, he isn't quite sure what he can, could, or should say. Do people usually sing like that? Is that a normal thing? Is complimenting you on your singing a normal thing to do, even?

As it turns out, you sing to your pokemon fairly frequently. Skeledirge often joins in with you in low, brassy tones, adding a bizarrely haunting quality to whatever it is you sing. Sometimes, 'Raidon curls up behind you, making you a nice little throne from which you sit as you sing to your pokemon during their mini grooming sessions between baths.

Arven never really joins in, but he silently loves the concerts. He starts to learn some of the tunes and words; he finds himself humming along to you sometimes. When he's alone, he even whistles one once. He didn't even realize he could do that! Sure, it was probably discordant and the wrong key (whatever that means...) but he whistled!

The two of you are walking through Socarrat Trail one day when the urge to sing strikes you, so you just...let'er rip. It's a folksy tune, perfect for crispy cool days on mountain trails, and your voice echos among the stones in an entertaining way.

You're not screaming or anything, but you're singing loudly enough for the wild pokemon to take notice. They turn, and the sudowoodo have the sense to high tail it immediately, as they would anyway. A few toedscool also seem to sense danger in the noise and decide to run away on floppy looking legs. For the most part, the other pokemon seem not to care much. Once they see that the source of the noise isn't trying to make a run at them, they go back to ignoring you.

Arven though? Arven has stopped in his tracks, eyeing you like you've just set off a bomb in the woods.

"What are you doing?!" He hisses.

"Singing?" You reply with a laugh. "I don't see a problem with it. It's not like we're bothering anyone. No other people are around, and the pokemon would've been disturbed by us, regardless."

"Y-Yeah, but... It feels wrong..."

You flush a bit, feeling embarrassed suddenly. "Oh... Sorry. I'll, uh. Stop, then." You imagine Arven wouldn't shush you like that unless the singing was bad, right? Oof, that's a faux-pas.

You spend the rest of the walk in silence.

Arven for his part, feels bad for being the one to silence you, but he isn't quite sure why. Like, you shouldn't sing in public, right? That's weird, right? Sure the song was great, and your voice is lovely, but... But that wasn't...wasn't normal, right?

Fuck, and now you're being quiet, and he isn't quite sure what to make of that, so he stays quiet, too.

That evening, Arven is eventually the one to suggest you both stop to have dinner and set up camp for the night. You only nod to his suggestion and get started on setting everything up for yourself and your pokemon. He gets started on dinner as you work on the tent and getting everyone cleaned and healed up from the day's battles.

Your pokemon, of course, notice the change in you, sensing that you're much more down than usual. Both tinkatuff (no longer tinkatink!) and scream tail both try to cajole you into a song, and skeledirge also chirrs lowly, but you quietly hush them, watching Arven's back carefully. You'd rather not embarrass yourself further by singing in front of him anymore. It hurts to think that he doesn't like your singing voice, but...well you think you like him more than you like singing.

As it turns out, Arven's pokemon also pick up on the difference, too, and Mabosstiff is quickly by your side, snuffling against your hands and side in an effort to get you to interact with him.

"Hey, bud..." You whisper to him softly, petting his sides. Mabosstiff boofs loudly twice, and you try to hush him some. "Hey... Let's be quiet for now, yeah?" Instead, Mabosstiff doubles down, baying like a smeargle. You wince and look to Arven, but he doesn't seem to mind the noise the pokemon are making. You smile and ruffle Mabosstiff's fur as he keeps singing, then you return to setting the tent up.

Like clockwork, Arven has dinner on the table as you're finishing up with the other preparations. You wait for him to finish filling the pokemons' bowls and for him to sit down at the table with you before you start eating.

It's delicious, as always, and you want to tell him as much, but you just don't have it in you to break the silence after so long.

So, Arven does.

"I... Uh, I think I messed up."

You give him a confused look, and with a mouth half full (covered by a hand, of course!) you say. "The food tastes fine?"

Arven groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, no. I mean, thanks, but no. I..." He sighs. "Did...Did I mess up? Or, like? Hurt your feelings or something today? I didn't mean to."

"Oh!" You look back down to your food. "Uh... I mean... I guess? You didn't mean to, but yes? It's okay though. I'm sorry you didn't like my singing. I feel bad, you know? Like it must have been really grating these last few weeks--"

"What?" He interrupts. "N-No! That's not it at all! I love your voice! It's beautiful! Like you! I-I mean. Uh..." He goes red. "I really like your voice. A lot. I...I just...well, I wasn't expecting for you to break out into song in the woods today. It caught me off guard, and...I dunno. It seemed weird?"

You bristle. "Weird?"

Arven winces. "I-I dunno! I just...wasn't expecting it, and...I dunno. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and... I dunno, it was...sad...today...without the sound of your voice..."

You feel your face heat up at his confession. "So you don't mind when I sing to the pokemon?"

"No! I really like it. I...I didn't get to listen to a lot of music as a kid, so this probably doesn't mean anything, but... You're my favorite singer ever."

So singing becomes a welcome nightly ritual, not just one that Arven feels he can observe from afar. He's never quite comfortable enough to join in with you, save for maybe humming along softly with something he knows particularly well, but you don't force the subject with him. Singing is an incredibly personal thing, after all.

Arven and you have to spend a week or so apart not long afterward. You've been called away on League duties, and he decides to busy himself with some post-graduate study at the academy with Saguaro. When you meet back up at the lighthouse on Poco Path, you can immediately tell something's wrong.

After graduating, Arven turned the old lab into a makeshift apartment for himself between journeys, and he usually keeps the place as spotless as his old dorm. Currently though, the shutters are all closed with no natural light getting in, and the usual smells of deliciously cooking food are nowhere to be found. You find Arven curled up on the sofa, Mabosstiff whimpering at his side.

"Hey...What's going on?"

"Hey...Just uh..." It's clear from the sound of his voice that he'd either been crying or is actively holding back tears. "Found some stuff...from the professor..." By the way he says it, you know he means his parent. He gestures to a notebook, left open face down on the coffee table.

You sit down next to your boyfriend, pick up the book, and scan the page. It seems Arven found a passage written about him...about how one of his parents had walked out on the other not long after he was born... He was referred to as "the boy" the whole passage... Just reading it makes your blood boil. You click your tongue disapprovingly, and Arven hiccups a silent sob.

You put an arm around him, coaxing his head into your lap. "Shh..."

"I...I must've done s-something wrong...right?"

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing away that one tuftthat's forever blocking off half of his face. "Absolutely not," You soothe in soft tones. "You were only a baby... You couldn't have done a thing... They were both just...bitter people..."

"No... No, don't say that..." He says, turning a bit into your top.

"I'm sorry... But none of this was your fault, okay?"

He nods against you, digging his fingers into your side.

You keep petting his head, doing your best in the moment to soothe his aching heart. Mabosstiff similarly stretches out, putting more of his weight onto Arven, assuring him of his presence.

There as you sit in the quiet, with Arven trying to steady his breathing and swallow down the lump in his throat, you start to sing. It's hushed, like a lullaby, but with a melancholic longing. There's catharsis in singing music like this through a broken heart. Arven lets his tears fall silently as you sing to him. Between the sound of you, your touch in his hair, and Mabosstiff's weight on him, he stays tethered to the earth, present and safe and loved.

[radix-outpost]

I don't discuss it all that often, but I have a fondness for Mario; unlike stuff like Sonic or Megaman, though, I don't think I had any coherent AU ideas ("coherent" doing a lot of heavy lifting there). Time to fix that.

The basic conceit is "another adaptation the likes of which Nintendo would never sign off on today", influenced by SMB '93 (note Mario's, Luigi's, and Daisy's outfits) with some "The Great Mission to Rescue Princess Peach" thrown in (Haru's presence, the basis for the Toads).

Notes below:

Mario: the hero, as per usual. Worked as a freelance plumber alongside his brother Luigi in New Donk City until circumstances brought the two and Pauline to the Mushroom Kingdom. A jovial, compassionate guy who is also way too good at combat acrobatics for someone who claims that he was "just" a plumber.

Luigi: the lancer. As shaken as he is by this sudden turn of events, Luigi is doing his best to face everything head-on; unlike Mario, he prefers outmaneuvering his enemies over fighting them directly. Boyfriend of Pauline.

Peach: the runaway royal. Peach heads to the Metro Kingdom to try and get away from her wicked aunt, Queen Lena, only to dive right back into the Mushroom Kingdom to set things right. She attempts to pass herself off as a civilian to the Mario Bros., with limited success.

Prince Haru: the other runaway royal. After failing to reel in his mother Lena, Haru tracks down Peach and accidentally blows her cover. He's a skilled diplomat, but too fragile to provide anything out on the field except buffs. Takes a shine to Mario after the plumber rescues him from Bowser's forces.

Toadette: a Mushroomian and Peach's best buddy. She joins up with the heroes not long after they arrive in the Mushroom Kingdom, helping them to navigate the place after they (sans Haru) end up on Queen Lena's "wanted" list.

Daisy: the last descendant of the long-gone Sarasaland royal family. Daisy works as an archaeologist; her findings place her in Bowser's crosshairs, though he swiftly comes to regret sending minions after a woman who can punch Koopas into next week. Infatuated with Peach.

Pauline: a down-on-her-luck singer who was rooming with the Mario Bros. Just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse, this gorilla in a jaunty tie grabs her and legs it out of the Metro Kingdom--though not to kidnap her, as it turns out. Pauline is still a bit sore about that, though.

Yoshi: a member of the self-named species; this Yoshi may or may not be one of the Yoshis that the Mario Bros. faintly recall being surrounded by as very young children. He's on the runty side and thus too small for anyone but Toadette to ride, but he helps out where he can.

--

Other stuff:

As you might've noticed, I'm not going with the canon pairings here, because I like making things harder on myself doing things different. This AU concept has Mario/Haru, Peach/Daisy, and Luigi/Pauline.

Haru's design changed a lot between OVA and AU; my main concern was figuring out a colour palette that worked. The skirt was influenced by some art of CrystalCrowned. Story-wise, Haru's no longer the prince of the Flower Kingdom (especially not when Wonder introduced its own take), nor betrothed to Peach.

Peach's mother here was a nun, Sister Hildy; the King outlived her by about ten years before succumbing to illness. The Mushroom Kingdom's weird succession laws allowed Lena to take the throne before Peach or Haru.

Yes, that's Lena from SMB '93.

I like modern Yoshi well enough, but trying to figure out how their sphere-snouts work is an exercise best left to someone else. This Yoshi is based on older artwork.

[starry-eyed-extraterrestrial]

Second nsft crue!slash fic finished for my moot @crueclown22 , hope you like this :)

Nikki sits on the porch at their residence in Moscow gazing up at the bright stars in the sky. The band were all living together again (this time with the added addition of Mick) to record their new album Dr. Feelgood.

The agreement had been that they all stay together, they all work together and that they all, and this was the most important one, stay sober together.

So far it hasn't been…a fantastic system. It turns out living with a group of recovering addicts while you yourself are a recovering addict isn't all that glamorous. Everybody is annoyed and pent up as not only do they not have drugs or alcohol but they didn't have the normal flow of chicks out here in the middle of nowhere like they were used to having.

But while everyone was a little bit bent out of shape about the new arrangement, their music was now at the forefront of their minds and so it was all about making every song as good as it could be without cutting any corners. So they started taking out all their anger and frustration on their instruments and so far it has been working wonders.

Until it didn't.

Or at least until it didn't for one of them. Vince was having a particularly hard time dealing with being sober, even though technically he should have been sober longer then any of them, as the court mandated that he be sober for his probation but obviously that didn't happen and music just wasn't scratching that itch anymore.

So naturally he started sneaking out, somehow got a taxi or a lift of some kind to show up for him every night in the middle of nowhere to take him out to drink.

Nikki found this out from Tommy who had gone with him one night and Tommy being the honest guy he pretends to be, told Nikki this out of sheer guilt for his actions and how hard him and Mick had been working while him and Vince took the cheaters way out and he felt very sorry and ratted out their singer.

Nikki thanks Tommy for telling him and assured him it was okay and that all was forgiven and that everybody falls off the wagon every now and then but that the important part was that he got back on. Tommy seemed relieved and left Nikki to go to bed. Nikki on the other hand skipped the notion of going to bed and instead sat down in one of the porch chairs and waited for their singer to come back to the house.

He waits a few hours, and it's a productive time for his lyrics as he jots down quite a few that he wants to bring up in the next session that he thinks could be massive chart successes.On the fourth hour a car pulls into the driveway as subtly as possible and Nikki sets his pen and notebook asside and goes to stand at the top of the porch steps with crossed arms and a practiced calm glare welded to his face.

Low and behold, Vince stumbles out of the car, he doesn't seem intoxicated though, but he assumes that's part of Vince's cleverly crafted plan, he drinks for a few hours at a bar somewhere, sobers up quickly through misterious means then comes home and acts as if he's been there the whole time, aswell as completely sober this entire time.

Nikki grits his teeth in anger but he bites back any actual words of hate to come. He wants the car to drive away first before he actually starts saying anything to Vince, so that he can't run away.

Vince walks all the way up to the bottom of the steps, looking and waving the car away ,before he actually sees Nikki standing atop the stairs, he freezes at first like a deer caught in headlights ,but just for a second before he smiles at Nikki all friendly like, like he hadn't just been caught red handed and as far as he knew he hadn't been caught fully red handed yet. He had no idea how much Nikki knew yet.

“Hey man, morning” Vince said jovially as he made his way up the stairs. Nikki merely glares him down.

“Are we a joke to you?” Nikki asks, seriously.

These words let Vince know the jig is up and so his fake happiness quickly falls away to defensivness.

“Who told you then?” Vince asks in a deadpan voice as he gets to the top of the stairs and walks past Nikki into the house. Nikki follows.

“Who told me isn't important” Nikki says and he's about to continue when he's rudely interrupted.

“So it was Tommy, I'm gonna kill that little bastard when I get my hands on him.” Vince grumbles as he takes off his shoes and throws them in the corner with all the other guys shoes.

Vince's sentence implies that somebody else other then Tommy knew about the sneaking out, he makes a mental note to ask around later.

“No you're not” Nikki says not caring to keep his voice down. Nikki steps infront of Vince, blocking him in his attempted stride to his room and towers over him menacingly.

“All you’re going to do is apologize to the band at practice today, especially Tommy since your the one who enabled that kind of behaviour again and you're never going to do it again, got that?” Nikki's tone is still relatively calm, but underneath he's attempting to calm a sea of rage at Vince's bratty little attitude.

It seems like he was forgetting who was in charge here and if he kept this behaviour going Nikki was just going to have to remind his singer who he answered to around here.

Vince laughed sarcastically as he tried side step Nikki and when he couldn't he headed into the kitchen instead which was open and right next to the living room, so that everybody who entered the living room could also see everything that was happening in the kitchen.

“And why would I do that, you're not the fucking boss of me, I'm here now and not drunk isn't that enough-”

Vince is then slammed into the kitchen counter with his back facing the aggressor and his front facing the stairwell pressed against the table, caged in by two strong tattooed arms. Vince shivers when Nikki's voice comes out as a gentle breath on his neck, like a spider was crawling on him.

“Don't you dare talk to me like that bitch” Nikki hisses against Vince's earlobe making him shutter again and his eyes widen in fear.

When the initial shock wears off Vince's panic revs up into anger.

“Let me go!” Vince says trying to squeeze out from under Nikki.

Vince then freezes up again when he feels Nikki start to grope him through his pants. Suddenly the fight leaves his body and he slowly melts in Nikki's hands.

Fuck, it's been far too long since anybodies touched him like this. Vince feels his eye lids droop with hazy lust. He bites his lip and adjusts his position between Nikki and the counter as much as he can until it's comfortable enough for him to lean against the table and for Nikki's hand to more accurately reach his dick.

Nikki chuckles in his ear darkly.

“I've barely touched you and already you've given up the fight, and you say I don't own you” Nikki purrs.

Vince growls but can't think of anything smart to say back so he just leans into Nikki's hand that's getting more insistent by the minute it would seem.

Vince whines softly as Nikki's hand teasingly peels away the waistband of his jeans and let's it hover over Vince's happy trail. Nikki laughs sadistically.

It seems like Vince isn't the only one with an old bad habit to kill.

“Touch me already” Vince demands breathlessly, already rock hard from just a minute of fondling,his eyes glued to where Nikki's hand disappeared below his waistline.

“Didn't hear a please there baby boy” Nikki teases, touching Vince's thighs and playing with his pubic hair and literally everywhere else except where he wanted Nikki to touch him.

Vince growls again but this time around it comes out far needier and between clenched teeth. Vince is so tempted to just spit in Nikki's face and save his pride and say nothing.

But he's far too horny to care about saving face right now, all that his brain wants from him now is to acquire an orgasm then fall asleep for the rest of time and hopefully wake up to this whole situation just being a dream.

“Please..” Vince says almost inaudibly, shutting his eyes in shame.

“What was that? You gotta speak up baby” Nikki says, a single finger of Nikki's lightly brushing the tip of his shaft.

“Please!” Vince breaks, he needed this and he'd do whatever it took to get it. Nikki smirked against his neck in satisfaction and finally retracted his hand, spat on it then took Vince's cock from his pants and wrapped his warm palm around Vince's cock.

Vince moans loudly, his back sinking into Nikki's chest. He's so glad that his previous lays can't see him now, broken down and moaning like a porn star over a simple shoddy handjob.

Nikki picks up the pace slightly and Vince embarrassingly enough feels himself getting close.

“Fuck, please Nikki just a little more!” Vince can't keep his own volume at bay that's how absolutely devastated and debauched he is in the moment and the way Nikki's grinding on his ass, actually makes the experience a lot better.

Just before he can cum Nikki stops, and Vince almost blows a fucking gasket. He kicks one of Nikki's legs in pure rage.

“Fucking finish me off already, please!!” Vince spits out, too far gone to care.

“Aww I'm sorry baby, I'll let you cum..as soon as you promise to apologize to everyone today. And you call me your master.” Nikki says with a fake sweet tone.

Vince knows that as soon as he cums he'll regret making this trade and he might just never recover from this loss, ego wise and Nikki would have control over him in a way he could never get back…but if he didn't cum right now he might just go into cardiac arrest.

“I promise I'll apologize…master” Vince breathes out and apparently that enough for Nikki as he strokes Vince tighter and faster then before and even twists his hand at the upstroke to make the orgasm even better.

“Ah!!!!” Vince moans as Nikki milks him for all he's worth.

When Vince finally comes down he pants heavily and crumbles in Nikki's arms, Nikki also pants but not as harshly as Vince does and they just stay like that for a while.

Nikki retracts his hand from Vince's pants letting Vince see his jizz covered hand in all its glory as it dripped from his palm onto the surface of the counter.

“I'm so glad we could come to an agreement” Nikki says cheekily.

“What the fuck is going on down her- Jesus wept!!” Nikki and Vince both snap their heads up to the staircase in terror, where Mick was currently coming down into the kitchen, but seemed to be on a fast track back upstairs again.

Nikki opens his mouth to try and fumble out an explanation but Mick stops him.

“I don't wanna know, but I am never eating off that fucking counter again!” Mick says storming off upstairs again.

Nikki and Vince are still for a while.

“.... See, you going out drinking causes a lot of tension.” Nikki says, trying to pin the whole situation on Vince.

Vince just steps on Nikki's toe with the back of his sharp heel and let's a satisfied smile grace his lips when he hears a crack

[readyforthegarden]

Silver Springs - Part Five

Masterlist

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Original Female Character

Synopsis: The year was 1976, the season was summer. The days were hot and the nights were hotter. Music was the best it had ever been, especially rock music. Sam Kiszka has been riding the high of being in one of the top bands on the scene, but when his bands tour is accompanied by another up-and-coming band, with a lead singer that gets on his very last nerve, will everything come crashing down or will they end up making music that changes the world?

Warnings: Smoking, drinking, drug use 18+ only, Minors DNI

A/N: This one (and the next one) are for my Sammy Nation besties. I love you guys so much and I'm so thankful for all the love and support you have given me and my fics!

WC: 2152

🎶 🎶 🎶

They were in Chicago now, only a few days before they were set to be back home in Nashville. Josh and Harlow had been working on a few songs together, and the former insisted on workshopping them during soundcheck, to make sure they were going to be ready and in the right headspace when it came to the studio time. Unfortunately, Sam was nitpicking everything he could.

“It’s an A-flat, Harlow.” Sam snapped, aggravatedly pressing down on the key on his piano multiple times, huffing into the microphone. 

“I’m singing A-flat, Sam.” Harlow replied, just as annoyed. 

“You’re not, you’re going sharp.” he replied, again pressing the key and vocalizing with it. “You’re supposed to be here.”

“I am!” Harlow growled, her fists curling into her palm on one hand, the other tightening around the mic. 

“Maybe in whatever dream world you live in you are,” Sam rolled his eyes. “But to everyone else in the real world, you’re sharp.”

“Come over here and let me find something sharp to shove up your fuckin’ ass!” Harlow began storming over to Sam’s piano bench when Josh grabbed her arm, tugging her back.

“Let’s take a break from this,” he suggested. “Harlow, thank you for your time, we’ll finish this later, okay?” Harlow nodded, shooting a glare over her shoulder at Sam, who merely waved his fingers with a smarmy smirk as she put Jake’s mic back in his stand and walked off stage. Sam sighed, moving from his bench and picking up his bass, sliding the strap over his shoulder. 

“You can’t keep being like this, man.” Josh came over, glaring up at Sam. The youngest rolled his eyes, brushing a hand through his hair, but Josh grabbed his forearm, tugging it away and demanding his attention. “I mean it, Sam. We’re working with her whether you like it or not. She’s a part of this process, whether you like it or not. Being a dick is not going to change that.” 

Sam had only seen this side of Josh a few times, when something wasn’t going his way. Josh had always had a quiet anger about him, one that stewed and boiled and built until he was throwing mic stands or kicking in an amplifier screen. Sam regarded his eldest brother carefully, seeing the storm swirling in his dark brown eyes, knowing if he pushed it it would possibly end up with his piano set on fire.

“Tonight after the show we’re all going out to a club, the label is throwing us a party for how well the new album is doing, along with this tour.” Josh told him. “There will be a few execs there, and I swear to god if you show your ass in front of them, all over whatever imaginary feud you have going on with that girl, I’ll make sure she gets that sharp object, do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Sam answered firmly. Josh let his glare linger a few moments more before letting go of Sam’s arm and turning away, going back to his position at the center stage mic. “Let’s run through The Falling Sky.”

The show was tense that night, there was hardly any banter between brothers on the stage. Josh delivered his usual speeches and was jovial to the crowd, but the show was the sole focus, getting off stage a few minutes earlier than they normally did. 

After changing and riding to the club their party was being held at, Sam settled himself at the bar, ordering a tequila soda and instructing the bartender to make sure he was never without a drink. Once the first one got him loose, he decided to mingle around the party, shaking hands and schmoozing with the execs that had flown in just to kiss their asses.

He glanced around the party, looking for a break from his current conversation partner, a man who couldn’t shut up about how he knew all along Greta Van Fleet was going to make it, from the first moment he heard them, yada yada yada. Sam’s eyes caught something shining in the dim lights, and strained to try and see more. 

Like a parting sea, other people moved out of the line of sight to reveal Harlow, wearing a smooth silk jumpsuit, tight to her waist but the pant legs billowing out, almost forming a dress. She was taller than before, wearing a pair of matching platform heels, and her hair was adorned with a small crown of baby breath, likely fashioned on the way to the party after being pilfered from one of the arrangements at the hotel lobby. She turned to greet someone as they walked up, and Sam felt his chest tighten. The neckline of her jumpsuit traveled in a ‘v’ almost down to her navel, and the straps around her shoulders were so thin he wasn’t sure how the were staying up, how everything was staying covered.

Josh stood next to her, and Sam rolled his eyes. Of course he’d be there, hand on her back again as he spoke to the label execs in front of them, then leaning into Harlow as if he were telling her a secret. Sam felt his blood boil at how comfortable they looked together, how his brother could fall for her games so easily. How he was guiding her through the party and stuck to her like a magnet.

“There’s our next big star!” the man finally broke out of his long-winded spiel about Sam’s own band and gestured to Harlow. “Harlow, darling, come over here!” Harlow turned her head with a smile at the call of her name. Sam sucked in a quick breath as he took in the rest of her appearance while she walked over. Her confident strut made the wide legs of her pants billow out, seeming like she was dancing over to them. Her eyelids were adorned with a hazy purple shadow, and a thick line of eyeliner, thinning out at the edges into a cat like point. Her hazel eyes were popping with the greens and golds under the lights with the purple shadow. 

“Hello Mr. Johnson, how are you?” Harlow greeted, shaking the execs hand. She turned to Sam, and her smile fell slightly, but she kept it plastered on nonetheless. “Sam, good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam sniffed, taking a sip of his drink to avoid any more pleasantries.

“How are you enjoying your first big tour, Harlow?” the exec asked, staring intently at the starlet. “It must be a big departure playing these arenas after playing dives and clubs.”

“It’s definitely different.” Harlow agreed, taking a flute of champagne from a passing by waitress’ tray. She took a small sip before continuing. “We’re incredibly lucky to be touring with a band like Sam’s, they’ve all been so gracious in showing us the ropes.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Mr. Johnson grinned a large, toothy grin that seemed insincere. “This label is like one big family, and we like to keep it that way.”

“I’m sure once Harlow writes a decent song or two, their band will take off and won’t need us to babysit them anymore.” Sam smirked, glancing down at Harlow, whose cheeks began to redden at his comment. 

“Well, everyone has an opinion these days,” Harlow tried to laugh off Sam’s contemptuous words, but he continued.

“Everyone has an opinion yes, but I’m stating facts.” he smiled, blinking between Harlow and Mr. Johnson, who now looked like he was trying to find an emergency exit to this conversation. 

“Sadly, Sam, you’ve had a few drinks tonight, and no one will be able to find you credible.” Harlow retorted through a charming smile. “Now maybe if you took the time to learn more than a few bass bars, you wouldn’t feel so insecure about your own songwriting.”

Sam downed the rest of his drink, sticking his tongue in his cheek before turning towards Mr. Johnson.

“Excuse us for a moment, would you?” Sam gave him a fake smile and grabbed Harlow’s wrist, pulling her roughly through the party. Past the rest of the execs, his own brothers, including Danny, who curiously tried to see what was going on. Sam pulled her through the kitchen, tugging her along around the servers who were scattering with trays of drinks and hor’devours, trying not to drop them as the two musicians stormed through. He could hear Harlow’s heels clacking against the tiles quickly, taking as many steps as she could to keep up with his long stride.

He finally burst through the back door of the club, the alleyway lit by two orange hued bulbs by the door and a streetlight a few feet away on the sidewalk. The night air was cool, compared to the warmth of all the bodies packed into the club. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind them, and it felt like the bell starting a boxing match.

“What is it, Sam?” Harlow let out an angry laugh, ripping her arm from his grip. She took a few steps back from him, gesturing to the tense air around them. “What is it that makes you hate me so badly? Hm? The fact you were wrong about me? The fact that against anything you said to me, I still made it?”

“God you’re so infuriating!” Sam cried, throwing his own hands up in the air. “Maybe you’re the one that hates me! Did you think of that?” Harlow scoffed, turning and waving her hand at Sam dismissively. “No, I really think it’s you, you hate me because I remember all about plain little Brandy Lawson. The sad, pathetic songwriter that asked me to read her shitty songs in the parking lot a year ago.”

“Shitty songs that got me on a tour as your opening act.” Harlow glared at Sam, who just shrugged, feeling victorious from his jab. “Josh doesn’t think my songs are shitty. In fact he’s asked to use some of them for your next album.”

“Over my dead body will your music be on our album.” Sam seethed through grit teeth. Harlow’s eyes sparked, noting the rise that got out of Sam. She stepped closer, licking her lips as she loaded the ammo into her cocked verbal gun.

“Oh Sam, it’s already been voted on. My name is going in the liner notes,” she smirked, her voice a teasing, mocking tone as he clenched his jaw. Sam looked down his nose at her, watching her blink back up at him through her long lashes. “My name is going right next to yours, I can’t wait to see it. It’s going to make you hate me so much more.”

Sam wasn’t sure what happened, or how, but suddenly he was conscious of grabbing Harlow’s face in his hands and crushing her lips to his, her hands gripping his waist as he walked her back, pressing her into the brick wall of the club. They could both hear the fragile silk of her outfit catching against the bricks, snagging the delicate threads, but neither cared to inspect the damage. His fingers threaded into her hair and his knee slotted between her legs, pressing his body into hers and earning the most delicious moan he’d ever tasted as he continued kissing her. He felt every ounce of feeling, annoyance, irritation, everything pouring out of himself as their lips moved together, as his tongue lapped over hers. 

He could feel her chest heaving against his, from the surprise of the kiss and movements, and he smirked when he felt her subconsciously grind down on his thigh that was pressing between her legs to keep her between him and the wall. He could feel her nails digging into his skin through his cotton button down, and he pulled back, waiting for her to open her eyes before speaking, keeping intense eye contact with her.

“I never said I hated you,” he murmured softly, before pulling out of her grasp and walking back to the club, leaving the young woman panting to catch her breath against the wall by herself.

He caught a taxi back to the hotel, leaving the party early, letting Danny know he was done with the crowd and had a headache. Sam once again, took the stairs to his room, trying to work out what he had done. He kissed Harlow. He kissed Harlow and it felt like everything he thought about her was wrong from the start. Once in his room, he began pacing in the light of the lamp he had left on. 

He could still feel a tingle on his lips, and thinking again of how he kissed her and she kissed him back made his stomach flip. He ran his hand through his hair and continued pacing, only stopping when there was a knock on his door. Assuming it was Danny checking up on him, he moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open.

Danny wasn’t there.

Instead, it was Harlow.

🎶 🎶 🎶

Taglist: @joshsindigostreak @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @sacredthefran @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @gardensgatedaisy @demonrat444 @writingcold @dannyandthekiszkas @lightmylove-gvf @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @jankandjonch @gvfpal

@allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet@gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @starcatcherkiszka @indigofallingsky @hellowgoodbye

[paper-starz]

May we hab more Leo Headcanons? (And doodles if you’re feeling up to it! I love that goober sm sjdjejejeldhejfj ❤️❤️❤️)

Why OFC!

Although Leo is currently taking a break from celebrity life, he still indulges in his passion for music privately. In his home studio, he spends hours playing his guitar, writing heartfelt songs. His music serves as a personal escape, allowing him to express himself without the pressure of fame.

My man CANNOT bake for the life of him. Like, ask him to bake some cookies and you'll return to a slightly burnt lion and a kitchen thats on fire. HOWEVER, he is a KILLER at the barbecue. He loves gatherings and everyone chilling as he prepares burgers and hotgdogs.

Leo loves to try out new hobbies! Currently, he's really into DIY projects. He enjoys fixing things around the house, building furniture and just making stuff in general.

He also likes exploring other interests as well, sometimes he paints with Wally, other times he makes crafts with Eddie! His work is a bit... abstract however.

Dash (at Leo's drawing): What's that supposed to be? Some kinda... deformed box with legs..?

Leo: Hehe, how silly! It's supposed to be a jovial horse, galloping across the wind.

Dash (tilting his head): OHHHHH. It looks.... nice.

His greatest possession was a craft that he made with Eddie. It's a paper cup doll with sticks as arms and legs, googly eyes, and a scratchy line as a smile.

Leo 100% loves to cuddle. He loves sleeping in general but oh doesn't cuddling make everything 200x better. He's incredibly fluffy!

Now for some LORE

Leo Lohow, a talented musician with a unique voice and stage presence, started performing in small local venues in the early 1950s. (He's like 40 smth during the 1970s btw)

His music resonated with audiences, and word began to spread about this charismatic singer! He even caught the attention of a music producer who recognized his potential and signed him to a record deal.

He released a few songs here and there, which gained moderate success and attracted a loyal fan base.

His next album, with its catchy hooks and introspective lyrics, became a surprise hit, catapulting him to stardom! He gained hundreds of thousands of fans almost overnight, and while he was kinda happy with his success, he was also content with having a small fan base as well.

His energetic live performances and relatable songwriting style endeared him to fans across the country. Leo's fame soared as he topped music charts, received critical acclaim, and performed sold-out shows in prestigious venues.

And yet, despite his success, he wasn't all that happy. It wasn't the pressure of stardom that made him unhappy, nor was it the death threats or the fans that were a bit TOO obsessed with him... it was the personal connection to him and his fans.

When he had a small fanbase, he was content. He carefully read every single fan letter and he signed every piece of every album fans brought to him. Now, with his fanbase so big, he can barely read the mountains of stacked letters (that'll probably be thrown out the following morning) or sign anything since his fans are scrabbling on top of each other just so they can be closer.

He missed the intimate and personal connection that he once had.

So, one night, he made the decision to do a lil' bit of soul searching. He threw his belongings in his tour van and drove off in the middle of the night, driving until he spots a familiar neighborhood.

(Dash Chee belongs to @dottyorange)

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 5 - What's In A Name?

Chapter summary: The gang finds themselves at the beach.Beach Bear tries to make a new friend. Dook sees a familiar face. A name gets chosen.

Chapter word count: 1,719

<- Chapter 4 - Chapter 6 ->

Read it on AO3!

Dook is woken by the sound of something clattering to the floor, followed by a "damn it" from Beach Bear.

He sits up from the couch. "Good morning," he mutters.

"Sorry," Beach Bear says. He picks a surfboard up off the ground.

"You're goin' out?" Dook asks.

"Yeah. I mean, only for a little while. I didn't think…" He sighs. "Sundays I go to the beach. It's sort of my thing."

Dook says nothing.

"…You can come, if you want," Beach adds.

"You sure?" This seems like a personal thing for him. He isn't sure if he'd rather be alone.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll wait for you outside. Go get ready." He gestures for Dook to get up, and then turns to leave.

Dook stands, quickly getting dressed and meeting Beach Bear outside. He's leaned against the side of his car, the same faded blue convertible. Dook wonders, for a moment, if the car was once as blue as his eyes.

"Hey," Beach Bear says. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Dook says. The two get in the car together, and begin the short drive to the beach.

"So you do this every week?" Dook asks as they pull into a parking spot.

"Ever since I've lived here, yeah."

"Where are you from?"

"Ah, the west coast," he says, waving his hand noncommittally. "Where I'm from, they don't really have beaches like this.

"What about you, Dook?" he continues, pulling his surfboard out of the car. "Where are you from?"

"Well, I was born in New Orleans," he says. "But my family moved to Florida when I was real little."

"Their accent must've rubbed off on you, then," Beach says, smiling. Dook can tell it's coming from a place of endearment.

The two stroll down the boardwalk, aware the sand is right there, but neither seeming to fully care.

"Do you sing, Dook?" Beach Bear asks.

"On occasion. Why? We've got a singer."

"Hey, it can't hurt to have more than one," Beach says. "And I think you've got a nice voice just from talking. If you trained it, I think you'd sing really nice, too."

"Huh," Dook says. "Maybe." He's never really thought about it that much before. He's put a lot of heart into drumming, he'd never considered other instruments. He could sing, he could play guitar, he could even play…

"Piano," he murmurs. Then, looking up, "Someone's playing piano." He touches Beach Bear's arm, stopping them both.

The sound comes from further down the boardwalk. It's jazz, upbeat and jovial, drifting from just out of sight.

"Let's go check it out," Beach Bear says, taking Dook's hand and leading him toward the source of the music.

They find it in the source of a wooden upright piano sat on the boardwalk, to the side where it won't interrupt pedestrians. A small group of onlookers surround it, and at its center, a gorilla banging out a tune.

Dook and Beach Bear watch for a while together. "He's really good," Beach Bear whispers to Dook.

"Maybe almost too good for us," Dook says. "What if he says no?"

"Then we'll know. If we don't ask, we'll never know."

They wait around until most of the crowd disperses, and at the end of his next song, they approach him.

"Hey there," Beach Bear starts. "We couldn't help but admire your piano skills. You're really good."

"Yeah," Dook adds. "We don't mean to seem like we're buttering you up or nothing, but we've got a, uh, a preposition for you."

"A proposition," Beach Bear says. "We've got this band, see, and we're real hard pressed to find a piano player. We think you'd fit the bill perfectly. What do ya say?"

"Well, what's the band called?" The gorilla asks.

"It's–" Beach Bear pauses. He thinks for a moment, then two. Finally, he says, "I… don't know. We haven't thought of that part yet."

"Well, how do you expect me to join a band that hasn't even had its name thought of yet?" The gorilla says.

"I– I'm sorry, I–" Beach Bear starts.

"No, no, I'll join either way," the gorilla says. "But you gotta bring me a name first."

"…Okay." Dook has never seen Beach Bear embarrassed like this before.

"What's your name, mister?" he asks.

"The name's Fatz," the gorilla tells them. "Fatz Geronimo." He clears his throat. "I'll be here all day, boys. You come find me again when you've got a name for that band of yours."

"Sure thing, Fatz," Dook says. "C'mon, Beach Bear." He takes him by the arm and they walk off.

"I can't surf under these conditions," Beach Bear complains as Dook sits down in the sand.

"Why not?" Dook asks. "The weather's perfect."

"No! The name," Beach Bear says. "If I get out there, I'm gonna be thinking about that gorilla the whole time. And I'll lose my confidence… and I'd wipe out!" He plops down on the sand. "We need to come up with a name for this band, ASAP."

"Okay," Dook says. "Do you have any ideas?"

Beach Bear stares at the sand for a bit, thinking. "…I got nothing," he says finally.

"We're a rock-and-roll band, aren't we?" Dook says. "What about, like, uh, um… The… The Rockers… The… Th- The Rocking… Uh…"

Beach Bear grabs a fistful of sand and lets it run through his fingers. "Keep trying, you'll get there," he says sarcastically.

"Well, at least I'm tryin', mister 'I got nothin'," Dook says.

"Beach Bear? Dook?" A voice calls. They look up to find Billy Bob approaching them, Looney Bird in tow. "What a coinky-dink, finding y'all here!"

"Not really," Beach Bear says. "I come here every week."

"Well, mind if we join y'all?" Billy Bob asks.

"Not at all, big guy," Beach says, scooting over to make room for them.

"We're trying to come up with a name for the band," Dook tells them.

"Yeah, we're really behind the eight ball on this one," Beach adds. "We found a piano player, but he said he won't join us until we think of a name for our band. We've got all day, but… we've only got until the end of the day."

"Well, we can help y'all out with that," Billy Bob says.

"Yeah," Looney Bird chimes in. "I'm real good with names!"

"What have you got so far?" Billy Bob asks.

"A whole lotta nothing," Beach Bear complains.

"I think we should do something like… Like, rock themed, y'know?" Dook says. "Since we're a rock-and-roll band and all that."

"Sure," Billy Bob replies.

"We should have a theme," Looney says. "That'll make it easier! Every good band has a theme, don't ya know."

"…The Beatles," Beach Bear says.

"Bug themed," Looney Bird replies confidently.

"Oh, can we do a space theme?" Dook asks. "I love space. We could combine the space with the rock aspect and get, like… th– The Moonrockers, or something!"

"The Moonrockers?" Billy Bob says.

"A space theme'll never work," Looney says, shaking his head.

"Alright, well, what about a country theme?" Billy Bob suggests. "Like ah, a Country… Jubilee or something?"

"Well, if we're doing themes, I want in too," Beach Bear says. "I think we should make it all summer themed. Sun and surf and all that."

"What would you call it?" Looney Bird asks.

"…Uh…" Beach Bear looks around at his surroundings for an idea. "The Beach… uh…. Beach B… Boys."

Everyone laughs. "I think that's already been taken," Billy Bob says.

"Well, this is hard, okay?" Beach Bear says, flustered. "Names aren't my thing."

As they continue to toss around ideas, Dook finds himself lost in thought, tuning out of their conversation. He looks up, staring at the people walking by on the boardwalk. In his daydreaming state, he almost misses it– but then he snaps out of it. It's Queenie and Mitzi on the boardwalk. They're both dressed for the beach, and Queenie seems to be talking to Mitzi about something.

He isn't sure why he doesn't call out to them, but he continues to watch. Queenie hands something to Mitzi, and then adjusts her outfit. She seems in a good mood. Then she stands up straight, turns to look out at the beach… and catches Dook's eye. Her smile fades. Dook should look away. He's frozen. He feels just about as bad as she probably does.

Then she turns away, walking with Mitzi further back on the boardwalk so he can't see them anymore.

"Having a theme isn't getting us anywhere," Beach Bear says. "Right, Dook?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," he says.

"What's our goal with this band, anyway?" Billy Bob says.

"I wanna knock the audience's socks off," Looney Bird replies. "We'll rock so hard they'll explode!"

"Explosion…" Dook murmurs. "Maybe, like, something like The Rock Explosion?"

"I like that," Beach says. "It's missing something, though…"

"The Rock Explosion," Looney Bird says, the gears clearly turning in his mind. "The Rock Explosions… Explosion-ers. The Rockers Explosion. Rocking… Rockabilly. The Rockabilly Explosion."

"The Rock-along Explosion," Billy Bob adds.

"The Rock-a… The Rock-afire Explosion," Looney Bird says.

"What's that mean?" Dook asks.

"I dunno, but it sounds cool," Looney Bird replies.

"Afire means, like, on fire," Beach Bear says. "Aflame with passion, y'know?"

"That tracks," Dook says. "It's like, we're passionate about our music, but we'll also rock so hard they'll explode! And… be on fire."

"Yeah," Beach Bear says, laughing. "What do you guys think?"

"I like it!" Billy Bob says.

"I came up with it!" Looney Bird says.

"I like it," Dook says.

"So it's settled, then?" Beach Bear asks. "We're the Rock-afire Explosion from here on out."

"Yeah," Dook says. "We just haven't asked…" He trails off, suddenly realizing he probably shouldn't mention her.

Beach Bear grows more serious. He's silent for a moment, sitting on what Dook said. Then, finally: "It's a majority rule either way. We don't need to ask anyone else."

·–—–·

"Fatz!" Beach Bear says. "Great to see you're still here."

"Hey, boys," Fatz replies. "Who're your friends?"

"This is Billy Bob and Looney Bird," Beach Bear tells him, gesturing to them respectively. "They're also part of the band. We all just came to welcome you."

"Welcome me, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Beach Bear says, leaning on his piano. "Welcome to the Rock-afire Explosion."

[estellaestella]

Freed from masculinity: How Timothée Chalamet made me believe in the new man

Aline Laurent Mayard. 10/12/2022.  ESSAYS AND PAPERS

Article about this Essay :

Fascinated by the Franco-American actor Timothée Chalamet, whom she has observed closely since his performance in Call Me By Your Name , Aline Laurent-Mayard analyzes what "Chalamania" (name given to the excessive enthusiasm of a of youth for the actor) engenders new ways of looking at masculinity. From the attitude of Timothée Chalamet in an interview to his uninhibited dresscode on the red carpets, the journalist and author takes us, with Libérés de masculinité, how Timothée Chalamet made me believe in the new man , in an exciting odyssey of masculinities in the realm of pop culture. Maintenance.

How did your obsession with Timothée Chalamet come about?

I have a hard time with the term “obsession”, but let's say that I became very interested in Timothée Chalamet after seeing Call Me By Your Name . Inside, he's an excellent actor, filmed with great sensitivity, a sort of fragile, vulnerable eroticism. After the film, like many people, I started looking for information about it on the Internet. I thought he had something quite unusual. He was young, jovial, he looked humble. One of the reasons for his success, I think, is his likeability. Journalists say it's a pleasure to interview him, fans are thrilled because he always makes time for them, on the red carpet and on the street.

How does this behavior renew masculinity?

Kindness is not a valued quality in a man, because it is perceived as feminine. For women feelings, care, listening, and for men efficiency, rationality, performance. We have been inculcated with the idea that the feminine and the masculine are opposed, impervious, and that the masculine is superior to the feminine. So, if women manage to go into the realm of what is perceived as masculine, it is much less conceivable for men to go into the realm of the "feminine" - because in fact, they would go down the social ladder. . Few men are therefore ultimately built on values ​​such as kindness. Some very well-known figures did it, like Tom Hanks or Keanu Reeves, but it was not perceived as something sexy.

Until now, it was rather the bad boys who embodied the height of sexyness, as you analyze in your book...

Yes, the bad boys demonstrate how kindness is not valued, and how badness is! As I dug into the subject of bad boys, I realized how much we've learned that it's sexy for men to abuse women. However, when we accept that a guy speaks badly to us, or simply does not open up, it can lead to many other things, including violence and murder - in his latest book Reinventing Love, Mona Chollet has also conducted a rather staggering study on all these women who are passionate about murderers. Valuing kindness is for me a necessary step to reach a new phase of our society. We cannot hope that society will change and that men will be less violent if we continue to accept that they are so in our imaginations, and therefore in fiction, and if we do not put forward the men who propose reverse. It's important to open up imaginations because, after having deconstructed certain things, we now have to build new ones.

As such, is Timothée Chalamet a special case, or is he the figurehead of a new generation?

He is not the only one. Among the very well-known personalities and especially among young people, there is also Tom Holland ( Editor's note: actor, seen in Spiderman) and Harry Styles ( Editor's note: singer, ex-member of the group One Direction ), whom I quote a lot in my book . All three are part of a new approach to masculinity, kindness and vulnerability. Harry Styles is a lot into sartorial staging, he talks a lot about his mental health, he's an ally of feminist and LGBT causes. Its slogan is “ Treat people with kindness”. Tom Holland, he stages his relationship with his girlfriend Zendaya in a very egalitarian way; he laughs at being smaller than her, he supports her a lot in her work. This says something about the evolution of our society, that it is these three young men who are talking about them at the moment, to the detriment of bad boys who seem to have disappeared from the landscape.

These three representatives of a revival of masculinity are still cisgender, white, able-bodied and heterosexual men...

Yes. In the book, I am talking about all the other people like them who have not necessarily reached their level of success because they are queer or not white, but who also adopt this type of attitude. If I haven't found an equivalent of these three personalities in France, you just have to walk down the street to see that something is happening. We see it by the proliferation of skirts or nail polish on people who seem to be masculine. And then, when we speak with teenagers, we also see this evolution. We feel that the patriarchy is beginning to crack.

Freed from masculinity, how Timothée Chalamet made me believe in the new man , by Aline Laurent-Mayard (JC Lattès), 240 pages, 19 euros

[usagoodnews]

Jimmy Buffett’s(76) demise remains a mystery

Intro

On the fateful day of September 1, 2023, the world bid adieu to the enigmatic maestro, Jimmy Buffett, often hailed as the “Mayor of Margaritaville.” At the age of 76, he left this mortal realm, leaving behind an unresolved mystery surrounding the exact cause of his demise.

To countless admirers, Buffett represented not merely a singer-songwriter but a symbol of an unhurried and jovial existence. His melodic compositions extolled the pleasures of idyllic tropical paradises and the art of island dwelling, etching an indelible impression on the tapestry of popular culture.

Buffett’s Transcendent Odyssey in Music

Emerging initially as a country artist in the heart of Nashville, Buffett embarked on a transformative journey when he set anchor in Key West, Florida, in the year 1972. This relocation would profoundly mold his musical oeuvre. It was in 1977 that “Margaritaville” graced the world’s ears, a composition not only etching his name into the annals of musical history but also metamorphosing him into a symbol of beachfront escapism.

Throughout his illustrious career, Buffett succeeded in selling an astonishing 20 million albums, solidifying his standing as a veritable legend in the realm of music.

Jimmy is a versatile person

Beyond the realm of music, Buffett ventured into multifarious domains, evincing his prowess as an author par excellence, achieving the stature of a best-selling wordsmith. Furthermore, he exhibited acumen as an astute entrepreneur. His entrepreneurial endeavors encompassed the establishment of two dining establishments: the Margaritaville Cafe and Cheeseburger in Paradise. Moreover, in the year 1985, the inaugural Margaritaville retail emporium made its debut in Key West, embellishing its cap with yet another laurel.

Jimmy Buffett’s death Confirmation

The somber confirmation of his demise emanated via a heartfelt pronouncement on his official online domicile, elucidating, “Jimmy departed serenely during the night of September 1st, enveloped in the loving embrace of his family…”. A world devoid of Buffett’s melodious effusions seemed perceptibly dimmer.

A Legacy Never-Ending

In the wake of his passing, a torrential outpouring of affection and tributes surged forth from devotees across the globe. Buffett’s music transcended being mere harmonies; it embodied an unbridled spirit, effusing the essence of sunlit shores and carefree existence. Although he may no longer grace us with his presence, the legacy he bequeathed shall perpetually kindle the flames of inspiration in the hearts of generations to come.

The Enigma Enshrouding the Demise

Jimmy Buffett Songs

Jimmy Buffett is known for his tropical and laid-back style of music, often referred to as “Gulf and Western” or “Trop Rock.” He has a vast catalog of songs, but here are some of his most popular and iconic ones:

“Margaritaville” – Perhaps his most famous song, it’s an anthem for those looking to escape their troubles and relax in a tropical paradise.

“Cheeseburger in Paradise” – A catchy tune about the simple pleasures in life, like a good cheeseburger.

“Come Monday” – A love song with a relaxed, beachy vibe.

“Fins” – This song often gets the audience involved in a fin-waving dance during live performances.

“Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes” – Reflects on the idea of change and adapting to new environments.

“A Pirate Looks at Forty” – A contemplative song that combines Buffett’s love for the sea and a sense of getting older.

“Volcano” – A fun song about the potential eruption of a volcano in the Caribbean.

“Son of a Son of a Sailor” – An autobiographical song that captures Buffett’s love for the sea and adventure.

“One Particular Harbour” – Celebrates the idea of finding that one special place to escape to.

“Boat Drinks” – About the escapism of being on a boat with friends and drinks.

“Pencil Thin Mustache” – A nostalgic song reminiscing about the 1950s.

“Why Don’t We Get Drunk (and Screw)” – A humorous and somewhat risqué song about letting loose.

“Southern Cross” – A cover of the Crosby, Stills & Nash classic with Buffett’s own tropical twist.

“Grapefruit-Juicy Fruit” – A song that captures the essence of the beach and relaxation.

“Fruitcakes” – A lighthearted and quirky song about eccentric characters.

These are just a selection of Jimmy Buffett’s songs, and he has released numerous albums throughout his career, each with its own set of tropical and beach-inspired tunes. His music often transports listeners to a carefree and sunny state of mind.

Read Also:- Love at first sight: about Netflix movie 2023

A Web Story About Jimmy Buffett

Conclusion

The world has lost a luminary in the form of Jimmy. As we commemorate his memory, let us not merely mourn his departure but celebrate a life lived in its entirety—a life that imparted joy to myriad souls and a legacy that shall resonate eternally through the sands of time.

FAQ

Q.1- Jimmy Buffett’s net worth?

Ans:- According to 2023 data, his net worth is around $1 billion.

Q.2- jimmy buffett wife?

Ans:- He was first married to Margie Washiek but after divorcing her, he married Slagsvoll in 1977.

Q.3- How old was Jimmy Buffett?

Ans:- He was 76 years old

[savagecowboy]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓

The truck came to a slow stop in the wake of his moonlit smile.

“Howdy cowboy” the driver greeted the well dressed stranger as he sidled up to the window, zealously chewing gum, spurs merrily chiming in his stride.

“Evenin’ sugar” he winked at her, hunching down to take notice of her passenger, “Darlin’”.

They grinned at his sly tone, thinking they sensed the game he offered and eager to lay down their chips.

“What brings you out here handsome?”

“Lookin’ for the prettiest gals around”, he beamed, dark hair roguishly slipping from the pomade he had slicked it back with; dancing with each playful breeze.

“Oh? Is that all?”

“That was gonna be all until I found ‘em”.

“An’ whatcha gonna do now you found ‘em?”

“Treat ‘em to an evenin’ of my fine company”.

“An’ whats’at gonna get’em?”

“At least a couple’a drinks”.

He gave another devilish wink and the passenger unlocked her door.

“Sounds like good company to me!” She said delightedly. A creak of rusty hinges and he was granted entry, the provider giggling and sliding over toward her friend as Severen strut around the front of the truck to climb into the still warm seat she had occupied. The smell of him, spearmint and leather, filled the space. He gave a holler and slammed the door, extending his arm over the woman’s shoulders, hand near enough the driver that he could wrap it around her throat.

“I’m Maybelle, and that there’s Lucy” the passenger said introducing them both, her eyes roving their new companion with an open appreciation.

“And who are you besides tall, dark, and handsome?”

He feigned humility with a shake of his head.

“I’d just as well remain such” he forced his smile to his eyes, disguising his hunger, “Folks named me Severen, Severen Van Sickle”.

Ladies always loved his name. These two proved no different. They traded private impressed glances. He decided to toy with them some.

“Casual company had a mind to call me Reaper once upon a time” he snapped his gum and despite herself Maybelle jumped.

“You a dangerous man, Reaper?” Lucy asked turning her eyes from the road for just a moment, though judging by her smirk the critical stare she shot him seemed mostly in jest. Severen held a hand over his heart as if shot.

“Me, dangerous? To a couple’a Road Warriors such as yr’selves? Nah, you’d have me hogtied on the tracks if I lifted a finger I’m sure of it”.

Maybelle laughed and Lucy smiled, her vision once more focused on the asphalt.

“Ooh I love this song!” Maybelle moved away from the press of Severen’s arm to raise the volume. When she leaned back against the seat she purposefully moved in closer to his side wrinkling the white linen of his shirt. He played along, nodding his head, toe tapping in staccato to the beat as he mindlessly chewed and watched the road roll by outside the window.

Suddenly, he whips around joining in on the chorus in a mockery of the singer’s voice. The two women laugh at his performance, Maybelle especially loud. His joviality, a charming façade to his captive audience, is winning them over in strides— their guard completely down due to his antics. As he continues the serenade Severen gesticulates comedically, it is the perfect excuse to casually flex his arm around Maybelle. She takes notice of the secret strength in his lithe form. A thrill of danger flashes in her eyes, she rests her hand by his leg. Severen delights in her ill-fated mischievousness.

Up ahead a neon sign indicates their destination, an older structure gussied up for more modern tastes. There aren’t too many vehicles out front, but enough to make things interesting— for a little while at least.

“How bout we lube up those pipes cowboy?”

Lucy teases, shooting him a wink. Severen laughs slapping his knee.

“Ahhh my mama always told me I had the voice of an angel”, the ladies continue to good-naturedly rib him as he opens the door and slides out, holding a hand level so Maybelle can brace herself. She flushes slightly at his touch, the chivalry somehow more audacious than her own flirtations toward him. As she steps down he flashes her another toothy grin and her face reddens further; brighter than the rouge sweeping her cheeks.

Lucy won’t be put off, and boldly loops her arms around his unoccupied one, feeling the lean steel hidden beneath the soft, white fabric herself.

“We ain’t gettin’ nothin’ but dust out here, c’mon” and urges them toward the bar; Severen allowing himself to be tugged along, spitting his gum into the dirt.

Inside is a scene he’s seen a thousand times, pool tables, low hanging lights, a jukebox with the same ol’ country hits. The bartender observed him less warily than Severen was used to— the girls might have helped with that— a few patrons sitting on stools turned to see the newcomers. Lucy waves to the bartender as Maybelle picks a booth pulling Severen in to sit beside her while Lucy looks across. She doesn’t seem to mind the view a bit.

A waitress comes over and before either of his guests can order he lifts a finger and catches the woman’s eye intently.

“Ma’m I’d just like you to make sure, that whatever these lovely ladies intend to be drinkin’ this evenin’, that you keep 'em comin’”.

From his pants pocket he pulls out a wallet and slaps down a plastic card— he has no idea if it still works, but it means big money in the human world if it does— and slides it toward the waitress. She gets the message, takes their drink order, leaving with the card in hand. There are appreciative murmurings at the table during his second act of the evening.

“You’re a very generous man Mr. Van Sickle” Lucy says.

“Severen, please” he feigns looking hurt that she would treat him so formally.

“Severen then” she lingers on every syllable of his name.

Maybelle notices the lustful tone and wraps her hands around a sinewy bicep. Before she can speak, the waitress brings them their drinks and passes Severen back the piece of plastic.

“Tabs open, I’ll keep ‘em comin’”.

“Thank you darlin’”.

He idly moves to pocket the card, slipping it under the booth in secret. At this proximity he can smell the sugar sweet scent of the waitress’s perfume over the booze, it has been popular this year— he hates it. Severen mimes sipping the beer in front of him, using the smell of hops to cleanse his palette so he doesn’t pull a face. It is a minor miracle to him that the two women with him in the booth smell only of soap and lavender.

From his periphery he notices a couple townie looking boys stand from their table. He can tell what they are up to instantly and delights that they’ve chosen him to play with— the evening finally getting started.

“Howdy ma’m” one of them says by way of introduction, Severen imagines him swallowing his teeth. Neither of his companions seem interested in entertaining either man’s existence— let alone with them joining— but they don’t really wait to be invited.

“You look lonely, wanna come with us?”

The presumptuous way the man speaks to Lucy gives Severen the perfect opening to further win over his prey, he can almost taste the feast set before him.

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to find your own company tonight, as these ladies are my guests”.

The speaker shoots Severen a look that is meant to kill, it comes off as petulant and he can’t wait to feel those eyes pop between his fingers.

“I’m sure you don’t mind” he says trying a smile on for the table, the women sip their drinks.

When he fails to receive a response he shifts tactic to appeal to some sort of male tribalism with Severen.

“There’s two ladies here, you can’t hope to please ‘em both”, he laughs, Severen does not join him. Instead he looks to each woman and shrugs casually.

“I surely intend to spend the whole night tryin’”

The women find his answer delightful and give him big grins, thinking they found the white hat hero on the side of the road, instead of the hungry predator in their midst. Striking out with his attempts at politeness, city boy decides to get rough.

“Look buddy, what’s your deal?” He snaps, waving a hand that splashes whatever cheap whiskey cocktail he’s been sipping onto Severen’s white shirt. The brown stain sticks out sorely. Messes and stains don’t mind him much, but it’s the perfect time for indignation, and he can always find it within himself to get indignant. Before the man can so much as comment on what he’s done, Severen rises, bumping the table hard so that it closes off Lucy’s exit --unbeknownst to her at the moment-- and digs his fists into the man’s shirt; hauling him close.

“I got dressed real nice tonight so I could have a pleasant evenin’, in pleasant comp’ny”. He draws a breath through his teeth, “An’ you are really spoilin’ my night”.

Just to his left the vampire feels the man’s friend going for a swing, he ducks under and hears the crunch of fist on teeth— followed by a spluttering gag. Lucy and Maybelle shriek. Severen lets go so the man can stumble back, knocking into a table and toppling over. Things aren’t over between them. The confused combatant beside him is too stunned by the pain in his hand to do anything but stare at the bloody knuckles. The sharp smell of the wound, even minor, is making the beast hungry, he won’t be able to keep up his charade much longer, he wants to take in his fill, he’s earned it.

“Lemme even the score” Severen winds up and steam shovel punches the man, he doesn’t hold back and the sickening angle the man’s head ends up in is worse than the sound—just barely. The ladies in the booth don’t seem to be able to make heads or tails of what has happened, staring blankly at the crumpled heap on the floor. What few other attendees are in the bar begin to take notice of the scene, Severen makes out ten in total and slowly unholsters his revolver. He would have enjoyed taking his time with each, but soon there will be too much commotion; and he knows the importance of control. Shooting from the hip he takes out the bartender, waitress as she bends down to serve a drink to a couple at a table— it saves him a bullet— and the two starting a new game of pool. Maybelle gets spooked and makes to run, he kicks his heel back and his spur severs her Achilles tendon, dropping her to the ground.

“Wait your turn” he says in a voice husky in the delight of murder, giving her other ankle the same treatment. People are stumbling to remove themselves from their tables, unsure of how to react to the situation; or what it is for that matter.

A bullet whizzes by Severen and he faces the shooter, removing the turquoise bolo tie from around his neck. He pulls the silver edged brooch free of the leather cord and with a flick of his wrist he hurls it through the air. There is a dull ‘thud’ as it imbeds into the soft part of their skull. They drop unceremoniously to the floorboards. Lucy is now realizing she is pinned as she tries to get to her friend. She claws at the table ineffectually trying to move it to free herself.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back” he laughs, jumping up on the table and using it as leverage to spring to another— the shove only wedging it further in place. He leapfrogs over to where the three remaining cattle are desperately trying to find an alternative means of escape. They don’t find it. He lets himself have a taste of each before dispatching them, a snack before the main course. He can’t risk getting too distracted. His feisty friend is rousing. Severen returns to the other end of the bar, his spurs chiming at each step. Bending down, he drags the bleary man off the ground and lays him onto the table.

“You wanted to join us right? Well, here you are!” The bloody man exclaims exuberantly, motioning widely to the chaotic scene. The man moans wearily, eyes squinting as he stares uncomprehendingly at his captor.

“Awh, room a little bright? Here let me help you”.

He digs his thumbs into the man’s eye sockets, pressing down until he starts screaming, legs kicking wildly as he tries to pull Severen’s hands off him. The killer delights in his victim’s ineffectual flailing and relishes the sensation of sudden warmth when his thumbs push through. Lucy screams in primal fear. She clambers onto the table, badly scraping her sides to do so, and tries to clear the seat to make it into the next booth— hoping it will be her route to escape. Severen snatches her leg and tugs her back, her chin cracks hard against the top of the seat and she goes still, semi-unconscious. The vampire snorts in irritation, he had wanted her awake. He glances down to Maybelle who has finally crawled her way to the door, busy trying to stack things to lean against so she can reach the handle.

“Well, I guess it’s just you an’ me now” Severen sighs from behind her, she gasps.

“I’d meant for this to be a lil more fun, but I guess you just have to make do with life’s little disappointments”.

He laughs as he gathers her into his arms, burying his mouth in her throat and sucking the scream out before she can make it. Her desperate fists curl into his shirt, clawing at his chest, tearing the cloth and digging into his skin. Red welts become thin red lines, tracing the path of her nails, but nothing deters the beast, he sups greedily and soon there is nothing left in his arms but a cooling body. He surfaces, whipping his head back, a spray of red painting the door. His heavy, heaving panting almost covers the soft movements of the woman moving behind him. He turns bracing for her attack instead of defending himself; curious what she intends to do. Lucy dumps her glass on him, more alcohol seeps into the tattered shirt, the liquid washing away what blood had beaded along his already healed chest.

“Burn in hell you monster!”

She growls through her teeth, he can tell it pains her. Lucy flicks open a zippo lighter, spins the wheel and drops it upon ignition onto his torso. Flames alight his body as he rises to face her. He’s not much taller than the woman, but in presence alone he towers. Blood drools down his chin, sickle smile illuminated by the fire running up his chest.

“Only if you come with” the voice betrays the inhumanity of him.

Lucy cannot move, crippled with terror, she only thinks to save herself as he fastens his hands around her shoulders. His molten hot grip is ironclad, the flames jumping from him to her. She tries to pry herself from his grasp, but only succeeds in burning her hands. Wailing in agony she doesn’t notice him lower his face toward her own, crazed eyes highlighted in the glow of fire in the charring ruin of his face.

“Thanks for the ride” he whispers in her ear.

When he has his fill he carries her limp body back behind the bar and drops her beside the dead bartender, sweeping the collection of abandoned drinks on top of both of them. Striding down the length of the counter he finds a two burner gas stove, probably to heat up whatever they called food here. He spins the dials. Three paces more took him to an ice chest, he flips open the lid and hops inside with a crazed yell. Steam hisses out in white billows, Severen sighs as his skin cools, burnt pink with blackened crust, puffy pillows of blistering flesh where flesh remains. Even now it is easing, healing. It would take time, he had let it go on a little longer than he should have, but his games took risk, that’s what made them fun. He sat a moment more in the melt water—the flames behind him really starting to catch— making sure he was well and truly soaked, no sense in burning twice.

Outside, an orange and red corona lit up the night, a singular shadowed figure exiting. The guttural growl of a motorcycle engine is the only other sound over the roar, plumes of dust charting its course back to the road until it was lost in darkness.

The Savage One returning to his kin.

[alicetiermes]

THE DROWNERS — ON DESIRE

27 June 2016. By ALICE PYLYPENKO. For The Genius Trash.

My first summer night outing is a humid venture to Brooklyn, NYC. Dewy-faced and sporting the red lip, of course, the M train whisks me to Baby’s Alright. I’m going to see Drowners, performing with their sophomore album On Desire.

Drowners at Baby’s Alright, Brooklyn, 24th June 2016.

I come unprepared, that is, I haven’t listen to On Desire yet, but classics like the cheeky Unzip Your Harrington and Ways to Phrase Rejection from their eponymous album Drowners play on my way to the venue.

Baby’s Alright is a tiki-inspired dance and drink establishment, with a smiling Elvis greeting the goers. And tonight they have already lined the outside of the small venue, all in amazing outfits and radiating groupie rapture.

In the age of indie sleaze, run by it-girl Alexa Chung, the likes of Arctic Monkeys, The Strokes and their inner circles, the kids wear leather jackets and leopard print even in summer.

Drowners are exactly as I tell frontman Matt Hitt post-performance, “like whiskey in a teacup”. Saccharine and irreverent in a way only someone truly shy could be. But they know their thematic muses well, so cleverly juxtapose treacly melodies with heavier lyrics, and vice versa.

Drowners at Baby’s Alright, Brooklyn, 24th June 2016.

The band are American-Welsh NYC natives. Drawing inspiration from the likes of The Strokes and The Smiths, their music alludes to youthful bashfulness, relinquishes its jovial element to the heart fuse of guitar riffs and smutty lyrics.

Lead singer Matt Hitt, guitarist Jack Ridley, bass guitarist Erik Lee Snyder, and drummer Daniel Jacobs seem to make a perfect puzzle-fit into the grit of small venues and dimly lit easy heartbreak. The infatuating band sing about rejection, hip parties, and easy trysts, in light tones to great tunes.

Their opening act is Detroit-based band Flint Eastwood, where the lead singer, who unannounced to us his being a Sagittarius, creates and exudes a vicious excitement. They deal in yelling, coordinated kneeling-and-jumping, and cultish group chanting (in therapeutic, bonding manner). 

They aren’t anything like Drowners, but a car crash in a curious intersection of Alt-J and Black Sabbath, perpendicular but surprisingly endearing. 

The front-woman singles not-clapping slackers out, compliments head-banging raucous enthusiasts, and tells me I have great eyebrows (which is the nicest compliment ever). They deviate from absurdly jovial screaming sets to aching neo-ballads with sad lyrics. The up-beat aperitif serves us in high spirits to the awaited Drowners.

Drowners at Baby’s Alright, Brooklyn, 24th June 2016.

The mundane way in which members of Drowners appear on stage, fixing their own instruments and mic stands in a most un-entitled rock star manner, endears even more. Their humble nature entices an element of surprise in their contrastingly, delicately suggestive music. 

They open up with five songs off of the new album, including catchy Conversations With Myself and the darker Cruel Ways, which is about liking love that hurts. They slash out some old tunes too, including the well-loved Luv, Hold Me Down. Someone Else Is Getting In instantly gets in the humming list of favourites. 

All the while, it feels like watching your pals play a gig. Ones which leave you smiling and nicely disheveled, but close pals nonetheless. Drowners are surreal (as musicians are) but nice, eager to converse and dole out cigarettes post-gig outside the venue. Their music is equally effortless and thoughtful, a cheeky audio-intoxication to be aligned with a similarly indie-cast, unruly-haired summer.

Listen to Drowners — On Desire now.

[independentartistbuzz]

Singer-songwriter Mike Evin revelas Something Stirs When You Sing LP, featuring the stellar'; track “Outside With A Guitar"

Piano pop songwriter Mike Evin is sharing an earnest and hopeful new album by the name of Something Stirs When You Sing, featuring a collection of songs whose characters long to find joy and feel alive. Working with producer Chris Stringer (Rose Cousins, Abigail Lapell), Evin and Stringer prioritized emotion and vibe over precision and perfection, handpicking from a batch of about 120 songs, mostly written during the early pandemic years.

The album’s focus track, “Outside With A Guitar,” was inspired by the community of musicians that Evin was a part of led by Ken Whiteley who performed on Toronto’s Roxton Road during that time. Every night for almost two years, they made music outside. The jovial song took root one night after seeing the abandon with which one of the street’s couples sang a song. It alludes to difficult times but is ultimately about the catharsis of making music.

This song is noteworthy also because the album title comes from one of the lyrics, “something stirs when you sing.” It encapsulates my raison d’etre for making music, and it ties in with a theme that is in a lot of my work – the search for joy and connection through music. This was the first song we recorded for the album, and it’s fitting that it’s also the opening track on the album. I feel it sets the tone nicely – joyous, yet also hinting at dark times (“now that seems like a dream”) and the need to uplift ourselves to a more lively state of being. – Mike Evin