#Those are in fact lyrics from the song “Hells comin’ with me” I just changed some of the words

[lilithin-the-rewriter]

Anwir: she lined your pockets full of money! Lilithin: that she stole from the poor!

[weasel-b33]

500 Miles (j.p x fem!reader)

Description: A few years after the birth of your son Harry, you and your husband James recall the beginning of your relationship. (NO VOLDY I CAN NOT DO THAT TO MYSELF) 

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing, A little Swearing, idk Cute Daddy James, Prolly many spelling errors I wrote this late and I am very tired...

 (THIS IS MY FIRST TIME EVER WRITING SOMETHING KINDA SIRIUS hehe SO IM SORRY IF IT IS TERRIBLE) 

Also the dates may be a bit wrong so im sorry in advance!! 

italicized is flashback!! 

Lyrics used in the song are from “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by The Proclaimers (I KNOW THE SONG CAME OUT IN ‘87 BUT SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF PLEASE)

(not my gif)

The rambunctious laughter of the four year-old toddler and his father echoed throughout the large estate.

“Daddy!” exclaimed the messy haired Harry, “Can I please have a story.” Heavily emphasizing the puppy dog eyes he learned from his godfather, Sirius, a few years prior.

James Potter, the man unable to say no to anyone, tried to recall a story he had not told his son. Thinking back to the fairy tales of a prince slaying a fictional dragon, even though they are very much real, to save the princess that his mother used to tell him, James realized he was all out of good material. 

“I’m sorry bubs, I have nothing new too share,” the bespectacled man added lamely. The disappointment was instant on the child’s face, but luckily before the waterworks began, Y/N Potter strolled through the foyer into the den.

“Mommy!” Harry exclaimed, jumping up and bonding over to his mother, nearly knocking her over with his brute strength.

“Umph- Where’s the fire lovey?” you questioned with a slight chuckle. The dramatics of your son were never a surprise. Between his father and Sirius, you were surprised he had not acted much worse. Walking, more like sliding due to the child gripping your calves, over to your husband and lightly pecking his lips you ask, 

“What’s wrong now?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sheepishly stated, “I sorta don’t have a new story to tell him... he’s a bit peeved, if you couldn’t tell.”

A loud laugh tore through your throat as you pet your son’s hair affectionately.

“Come off Harry, Mommy has a perfect story to tell you,” you crooned softly.

“You do?”Harry questioned, rubbing the tears out of his stunning green eyes.

You picked him up and sat down near James, “Yes poppet, I have a very interesting story about how two very special people fell in love.” 

James quickly turned his head and quirked a questioning brow, “It all started when they were 15...” 

November 7, 1975

Quietly sitting on the vermilion couch of the Gryffindor Common Room, you began to fade out the noise of Lily ranting about the recent History of Magic exam, and Marlene’s long monologue over if she should or should not cut bangs. Instead, you were beginning to rip out each and every one of the hairs on your head because your Potions essay was nearly finished, yet you could not get those final words to conclude it all. 

Across the common room, a rowdy group of teenage boys, better known as the Marauders, were planning the newest prank on Snape. 

"We should give him that shampoo that will change his hair pink,” Sirius added.

Remus shook his head disapprovingly, “Pads, we did that last time come on..”

“WE HAVE NOTHING! WHAT IS WRONG WITH US, MOONY, HELP I’M DYING OF NO CREATIVITY!” Sirius exclaimed throwing himself across the scarred boy.

Although, many people turned their attention to the dark haired pureblood, James seemed he could not take his eyes off the girl nearly burning holes into her parchment, the girl he has fancied since he was 12. 

While playing with the snitch he stole, he said, “What if we tried that new rain spell we learned in charms today?” 

“Too difficult, we have not had enough practice.” Remus dismissed. “Well what if I found someone to practice on?” James added quickly turning to face his werewolf best friend. 

“Sure... Whatever, I could care less- Pads, get the bloody hell of me before I kick your arse,” 

“I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY REMUS JOHN,” Sirius yelled beginning his quick climb up the stairs to the boys dorm, with Remus and Peter quickly following.

“You comin’ Prongs?” Remus asked to the brunette still staring at the girl with shaky hands.

“No, I’ll come up in a few, still want to try to figure this prank out...” he said quietly. The lanky boy followed his best friends line of sight and quietly smirked to himself.

“Alright, don’t wear yourself out too much.” 

Even throughout the commotion, you still made no move to change your line of sight. That was until Marlene nudged you and whispered into your ear.

“Psst! Oi! Y/N! Why is Potter staring at you?” 

You quickly shook your head and waved off her question, opting to continue to find the right words.

Well until your blonde friend gripped your jaw, and turned your head to the direction of the boy. You instantly made eye-contact with the messy haired Gryffindor and quirked a brow. He smirked and turned his head away. You thought nothing of the interaction, until you felt a sudden drop above your head...

Instantly, it seemed as though there was a storm in the common room. Looking towards the ceiling you saw the dark rain cloud above your head. Quickly turning your head to the essay you were writing you noticed it completely wet and ruined. You jumped into action, trying to salvage what you could, but it was too late. Ignoring the screeches of your friends and fellow housemates, you began to look for the source of the cloud.

That was until you made eye contact with the laughing and smug James Potter.

“POTTER!” you yelled. Almost immediately the rain stopped, but the damage had been done. “JAMES POTTER! YOU BETTER HAVE A REASON YOU STARTED A STORM IN THE COMMON ROOM!” 

Hearing the commotion, the rest of the Marauders came down to the common room to witness what was happening. But all they saw was a yelling match between you and their brunette best friend.

“YOU ARE A DICK JAMES POTTER! KARMA IS A BITCH AND SHE IS COMING! IT’S GONNA BE SO NICE TO SEE YOUR FACE WHEN ALL YOUR ACTIONS FINALLY COME TO KICK YOU IN THE ARSE!” you yelled.

“What? I did nothing, I don’t mean to dampen your mood, but I have no idea what you are on about.” James replies smugly.

“UGH- YOU ARE A BULLY AND A RIGHTEOUS, STUCK UP, EGOTISTICAL ARSEHOLE! I HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING THIS BECAUSE-- OH MY! I-” You were quickly being dragged away by your red head companion. 

“Y/N, he is not worth it... let’s just leave.” 

“NO! I HAVE TO RESTART MY ESSAY! I WAS THIS BLOODY CLOSE. UGH- YOU ARE AN ARSE JAMES POTTER I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT!”

“Y/N, it was just a prank, its no big deal relax.” James said.

“RELAX! ARE YOU KIDDING... I-” you paused taking shallow and rapid breaths, ‘you know I can not believe you think its funny. You truly have no regard for people and how they feel do you?” you asked slowly and meticulously. 

“Prongs, just apologize and lets go..” Remus said quickly.

“I- I didn’t realize it would be that big of a deal.” James tried to say to you, but it was no use because you had already dragged Lily and Marlene out the common room and to the library to re-start your assignment. 

“Oh, COME ON! I did not” James stated jokingly.

“Darling, you must certainly did, I barley passed that essay as well. I blame you for me getting an E in that class.” You replied giggling.

“Moooommmyyy! Story, get back to the story,” Your son said dramatically, grabbing your cheeks and turning to face him for extra effect.

Hearing a chuckling from James in the background, “Alright bubs, back to the the story”

January 23, 1976

After months of back and forth between you and James, he was fed up trying to get your attention. From roses to chocolate, to even a firework show in your honor, James believed he had done everything to apologize to you for his stupid prank and prove his affection.

Tired of his friends constant whining, Remus and Sirius decided to take matters into their own hands and talk to someone who knew you better than anyone else, Lily and Marlene.

“Oh Evans, Mckinnon, we are in grave need of your beautiful minds” Sirius flirted. Remus smacked him across the head adding, “Ignore the git, we need some help its about-”

“James?” Lily and Marlene said in unison.

“Yeah...how did you know” Remus questioned. “Are we gonna ignore the fact they spoke at the same time” Sirius said, once again receiving a blow from his friend.

Rolling her eyes, Lily remarked, “Well, Y/N has been complaining about him for months,” Marlene quickly interjected, “...and you never are without him so its an easy assumption. 

Now its was the boys turn to roll their eyes to the back of their heads. “Anyways, he will not shut up about getting her to forgive him... so we were wondering if you had anything that could work to get her to forgive him?” Remus pleaded with the best Sirius puppy dog eyes he could muster.

“Fine,” Lily and Marlene said jointly.

“THEY DID IT AGAI- OH NOT YOU TOO AS WELL!” Sirius exclaimed rubbing the now sore bump on his head. 

Ignoring the dog’s dramatics, the group of four began conducting a plan for James that would knock Y/N’s socks off.

At this point, Harry had nestled between his parents and fell into a deep sleep.

The two of you put him to bed and settle down back into the living room.

Looking longingly at his wife, James says, “Well, might as well finish the story love... it is the best part.”

Giggling at the antics of your husband, you shrug and began to finish the story...

February 14, 1976 

The Great Hall looked as though Cupid had just went on a decorating rampage. The room lined with pink and red hearts and the sight of loving couples nearly made you want to gag. Then, you remembered the boy who has dying to get your attention for the past months and can not seem but to get excited.

What does he have planned for you? Is he gonna get me a gift? Do I look presentable? 

“WHAT!” you quickly think to yourself, “Why in Merlin’s name am I excited to to see Jame- Potter. Godric I can’t feel like this for him... He his as a fly that buzzes and will not leave me alone... but he is not the worst to look at”

You quickly snap out of your thoughts as Lily starts to put food onto your plate. You begin to eat, but can only think of one thing.

James Potter.

“Why?” You begin questioning again, “Godric, Y/N You like him... No I do not.. You realize you are having this whole conversation within your brain, right? It is obvious you like him...” you grumble to yourself as you realize your psyche has won once again.

Lily noticing your strange behavior begins to question if you discovered what they have planned. 

Almost as though the boys heard Lily’s thoughts the beginning of the plan is activated.

Instantly, the candles in all of the Great Hall extinguish and there is the beginning of a song plays.

Suddenly, a spotlight shines onto the teachers table where atop, James and the rest of the Marauders stand, Remus and Sirius with guitars and Peter on the drums. James holding a mic begins to sing...

When I wake up, Well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you.

Your head snaps to the noise and there you see in all of his glory, James Potter holding a microphone staring straight at you.

When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along.

Quickly shoving the breakfast roll down your throat you nearly choke as you see the boy slowly make his way towards the front of the Gryffindor table.

When I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you.

Your eyes widen comically when you see James Potter jump onto the Gryffindor table. 

And when I haver, hey I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you.

Slowly, the boy begins his walk across the table to where you sit. You try to make a run for it, but Lily and Marlene quickly grab your arms and anchor you down to the bench 

“What friends you are!” you hiss at the two.

Marlene just rolls her eyes and Lily pinches your hip.

And I would roll 500 miles And I would roll 500 more Just to be the man who rolls a thousand miles To fall down at your door

Once the boy is standing in front of you he reaches down for your hand. Stubbornly, you ignore his gesture, well until your two friends throw you up onto the table with the love struck brunette. 

When I come home well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you And when I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you.

You grip onto the boys biceps for stability and are forced to look into his ravishing hazel eyes...

In that moment you forget all that he has done to you in the past and all you can think about is him and you. 

But I would roll 500 miles And I would roll 500 more Just to be the man who roles a thousand miles To fall down at your door.

Smiling, to yourself, you grab the face of the boy in front of you and mold your lips together. Ignoring the cheers of your classmates, the only sounds you hear are the background noise of the boy’s best friends signing backup. 

Da da da  Da da da                                                                                                            Da Da Dun Diddle                                                                                            Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da Da.....

Smiling to yourself and grabbing the hand of the man you love you start laughing.

“What’s so funny, love?” James asks.

“Nothing.... Just we began dating because you performed a whole song and dance in front of the entirety of Hogwarts.” you reply breathlessly.

“Well, hey, look at us now... happy, healthy, and a true family.” he replies smiling at your antics.

You lay down your head into the lap of your husband, and look up into his hazel eyes you got lost into all those years ago, “Such a sap, Potter, such a sap...”

Kissing your cheek softly, “Only for you, my darling girl... only for you...” 

“I love you Jamie”

“I love you more, my love.”            ______________________________________________________________

AHHH I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! IM SORRY IF IT IS SO BAD!! THIS IS MY FIRST FIC PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I COULD DO ANYTHING BETTER!!! AHHHH (but like kinda like this story... kinda proud ;))

[jyndor]

You know, the conversation about sea shanties is just another chapter in what seems like the endless story of people of color, in particular black and indigenous people, telling us to learn the history of the things we like and white people hearing that it means we have to lock those things away forever and burn our books and stamp on our records. As if that isn’t what white people have done to black and indigenous stories, to black and indigenous cultures, to black and indigenous arts, wealth, etc for centuries. As if that is what the people of color who are educating us on the things we like are actually advocating for. News flash: part of the history of oppressors is fearing the tables turning, when that is never been the goal of civil rights and social justice movements. Ever.

So fun fact: I grew up loving good ol’ classic rock n’ roll. My first concert was the Allman Brothers Band, which is one of the most interesting rock bands of all time imo. I really love a good southern twangy jam, the way the guitars sing, the bluesy sunny vibe. Ramblin’ Man? Jessica? Simple Man? Carry On Wayward Son? Hotel California? Perfect fucking driving music if you ask me.

If you know anything about southern rock, you know the iconography - the Confederate Flag is everywhere, in the crowds, for many bands it’s in the album covers and the photoshoots, etc. You know what you get when you wade in the Southern rock water*.

The lyrics from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama have been parsed and interpreted in all kinds of ways -

In Birmingham they love the governor (boo-boo-boo) Now we all did what we could do Now Watergate does not bother me Does your conscience bother you?

And yeah, you could read this as ironic or satirical. In fact, that’s what guitarist and co-writer Gary Rossington says according to NPR -

"A lot of people believed in segregation and all that. We didn't. We put the 'boo, boo, boo' there saying, 'We don't like Wallace,' " Rossington said. But he also added that there were "a lot of different interpretations. I'm sure if you asked the other guys who are not with us anymore and are up in rock and roll heaven, they have their story of how it came about."

And yeah, maybe they didn’t like George Wallace or Nixon. Sure. Whatever. I could buy it, actually. Because this song actually is indicative of how many privileged people feel when they perceive being called out, even if the criticism isn’t about them. Call it wjhat you want - white fragility, white liberal sensitivity, etc. This song was written in response to Neil Young’s Southern Man, which goes:

Southern man, better keep your head Don't forget what your good book said Southern change gonna come at last Now your crosses are burning fast

Southern man I saw cotton and I saw black Tall white mansions and little shacks Southern man, when will you pay them back? I heard screamin' and bullwhips cracking How long? How long? How?

Yeah, writer Ronnie Van Zant was so bothered by Neil Young talking about l*nchings, abject sl*very and reparations in Southern Man, a song that isn’t even about them or Alabama in particular, that he wrote Sweet Home Alabama.

Well I heard Mister Young sing about her Well I heard ol' Neil put her down Well I hope Neil Young will remember A southern man don't need him around anyhow

Sweet home Alabama Where the skies are so blue Sweet home Alabama Lord I'm comin' home to you 

So ironically, even though Neil Young was just talking to racists in the US South, someone who ostensibly didn’t agree with segregation took that song as a personal attack because he liked “southern culture” and his home state of Alabama, despite its flaws.

But Young never says that the South is irredeemable. He just says white southerners need to come to terms with their history (and yes make reparations). In fact, according to NPR he has some issues with his lyrics. “I didn't like my words when I wrote them. They are accusatory and condescending.” I don’t agree. It needs to be said.

So Van Zant and the Skynyrd guys heard a criticism of white Southern racism and at BEST thought, “well that’s an unfair portrayal of me, a southern white man.” Van Zant can’t answer this question for himself since he died in a plane crash with two other band members and their manager in 1977.

In my opinion, knowing how white people can be when confronted with the reality of racism, this feels a lot like every other time a well-meaning white person (myself included) has said, “but not all white people.”

Not all Southern whites supported segregation at the time, but most did - and all white people benefit from the legacy of sl*very. I might not be a descendant of people who enslaved others, my ancestors might have come here as refugees, but after they fled Ireland for New York, they threw black people under the bus for whiteness.

Rock is a genre that owes everything to Black musicians - to blues and spirituals and gospel and yes, Black work songs. Black history is in the DNA of rock music. That I grew up thinking it was white music is mortifying to be honest.

But I don’t really like Sweet Home Alabama and I never have. It’s kind of just meh to me. Not a big loss.

And that takes me to the Allman Brothers Band. As far as I am aware, ABB (through many, many iterations - this is another band plagued by tragedy) has never been cool with racism. According to Vulture:

The Allmans respected not just black art but black players; as kids, Gregg and Duane got lessons from an older black guitarist their mother once refused to allow into her home, and later, they caught hell having Jaimoe and bassist Lamar Williams in their ranks in their adopted home state of Georgia. “If a musician could play, we didn’t look at his skin color,” Gregg wrote in his 2012 memoir My Cross to Bear.

“Nobody around here had seen guys who looked like them,” soul food legend and friend of the band Mama Louise Hudson said in Alan Paul’s 2014 oral history One Way Out: The Inside History of the Allman Brothers Band. “A lot of the white folk around here did not approve of them long-haired boys, or of them always having a black guy with them.” Southern rock occupied a peculiar axis of Mason-Dixon pride and reverence to blues and soul veterans who were hampered and harangued by the politics of the South. Gregg always pushed back. He didn’t placate audiences’ blind patriotism and racism the way Charlie Daniels and Hank Williams Jr. have. Last year, he spoke out against North Carolina’s transphobic “bathroom bill,” and when asked about the confederate flag in 2015, he told Radio.com, “If people are gonna look at that flag and think of it as representing slavery, then I say burn every one of them.”

And that is great.

But.

Whipping Post. Written by white ally Gregg Allman, bluesy and wild and passionate on a level that is hard to imagine, this is... one of the greatest songs I have ever heard. And it also makes me wonder if it’s maybe belittling a part of slavery.

My friends tell me, that I've been such a fool But I had to stand by and take it baby, all for lovin' you I drown myself in sorrow as I look at what you've done But nothing seemed to change, the bad times stayed the same, And I can't run Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel Like I been tied to the whippin' post Tied to the whippin' post, tied to the whippin' post Good Lord, I feel like I'm dyin'.

Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve researched it, I’ve used google. There isn’t a lot the internet has to say about this song that isn’t “this song fucking slaps man!!!” Maybe part of it is the larger context - Allman was staunchly against racism and was taught by a Black guitarist and played with Black musicians and loved Black music. A white man comparing an emotionally abusive relationship with being whipped might feel different without that context.

(Whipping posts being used for people besides enslaved Black people does not mean Allman wasn’t referencing what Black American slaves experienced, so don’t even go there. I know. The Romans also had slaves. It’s different.)

But if some people of color on the internet critique this song someday, the appropriate response is not to act as if “hey here is where this comes from, please be mindful about historical context and get educated” means “never listen to that devil song again,” folks.

It’s about learning our histories so we can do better in the future. Not canceling entire genres of music. Some things are best left in the past but mostly it’s just about understanding what the things we love mean. And these things are more than their aesthetics.

*I also really, really love African American work songs. Always have.

[ercelhande]

apparently i’m on an angst roll so below the cut there’s a list of songs i want plots based on . do with that as u will .

you broke me first — tate mcrae

i know you, you're like this / when shit don't go your way you needed me to fix it / and like me, i did / but i ran out of every reason / now suddenly you're asking for it back / could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve? / yeah, you could say you miss all that we had / but i don't really care how bad it hurts / when you broke me first

beautiful monster — neyo

you're a knife / sharp and deadly / and it's me / that you cut into / but i don't mind / in fact i like it / though i'm terrified / i'm turned on but scared of you / (...) / in her eyes / there's love and fire / and my heart / she's burning through / but i don't mind / in fact i like it / though i'm terrified / i'm turned on but scared of you

let me down slowly — alec benjamin

don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste / i once was a man with dignity and grace / now i'm slippin' through the cracks of your cold embrace / so please, please / could you find a way to let me down slowly? / a little sympathy, i hope you can show me / if you wanna go then i'll be so lonely / if you're leavin', baby, let me down slowly

i see red — everybody loves an outlaw ( listen . i know it’s from the netflix porn but the lyrics hit different )

i'll remember those words / when i come for your soul, your soul / know that you, you dug your own grave / now lie in it / you're so cruel / but revenge is a dish best served cold / i see red, red, oh red / a gun to your head, head, to your head, oh / executioner style, and there won't be no trial / don't you know that you're better off dead

attention — charlie puth

i know that dress is karma, perfume regret / you got me thinking 'bout when you were mine, oh / and now I'm all up on ya, what you expect? / but you're not coming home with me tonight / you just want attention, you don't want my heart / maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new / yeah, you just want attention, i knew from the start / you're just making sure I'm never gettin' over you

come back for me — jaymes young ( ahem . and maybe something like this . )

there is a dark room inside of my head / developing images i'd rather forget / you laced your tongue with a poison / and it makes me remember / every night i look out my window / afraid you might return for more / i miss your frozen love too much / and i'd overdose from just a touch / so, baby don't come back / oh, whatever you do / don't come back for me / after all i've bled for you / i can hardly breathe / and one more kiss / could take my life

when the party’s over — billie eillish

don't you know i'm no good for you? / i've learned to lose you can't afford to / tore my shirt to stop you bleedin' / but nothin' ever stops you leavin' / quiet when i'm comin' home and i'm on my own / i could lie, say i like it like that, like it like that / i could lie, say i like it like that, like it like that / don't you know too much already? / i'll only hurt you if you let me / call me friend but keep me closer (call me back) / and i'll call you when the party's over / quiet when i'm comin' home and i'm on my own / and i could lie, say i like it like that, like it like that / yeah, i could lie, say i like it like that, like it like that / but nothin' is better sometimes / once we've both said our goodbyes / let's just let it go / let me let you go

fire on fire — sam smith

i don't say a word / but still, you take my breath and steal the things i know / there you go, saving me from out of the cold / fire on fire would normally kill us / but this much desire, together, we're winners / they say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners / but don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms / ‘cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me / and look in my eyes / you are perfection, my only direction / it's fire on fire

i love you — billie eillish

what the hell did i do? / never been the type to / let someone see right through / maybe won't you take it back? / say you were tryna make me laugh / and nothin' has to change today / you didn't mean to say, "i love you" / i love you and i don't want to

do i wanna know? — arctic monkeys

have you no idea that you're in deep? / i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week / how many secrets can you keep? / ‘cause there's this tune i found / that makes me think of you somehow and i play it on repeat / until i fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee / (do i wanna know) if this feelin' flows both ways? / (sad to see you go) was sorta hopin' that you'd stay / (baby, we both know) that the nights were mainly made / for sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day / crawlin' back to you / ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? / ‘cause i always do / maybe i'm too busy bein' yours to fall for somebody new / now, i've thought it through / crawlin' back to you / so have you got the guts? / been wonderin' if your heart's still open / and if so, i wanna know what time it shuts / simmer down an' pucker up, i'm sorry to interrupt / it's just i'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you / i don't know if you feel the same as i do / but we could be together if you wanted to

call out my name — the weeknd

i said i didn't feel nothing baby, but i lied / i almost cut a piece of myself for your life / guess i was just another pit stop / ‘til you made up your mind / you just wasted my time / you're on top, i put you on top / i claimed you so proud and openly, babe / and when times were rough, when times were rough / i made sure i held you close to me

where you belong — the weeknd

i feel the blood rushin' throughout ya body / you see the scars painted over my skin / i'm always numb to the topic of loving / i fell in love with the subject of sin, oh / i don't have to remind you, oh, oh (oh) / it's my need to confine you, oh, oh / i see your face every time i'm with somebody else / can't you see that I want you? (put your feelings behind you) / i don't have to remind you, oh, oh (i don't have to remind you, oh) / where you belong / (...) / i'm in control, when you give me your body, yeah / i feel our souls burnin' up when i'm, inside of you and i / and i'ma leave a mark, just to remind you / where you belong, baby / give me your all, scream as loud as you want

what you need — the weeknd

i just wanna take you there / he don't got to know where / does he touch you here like this? / let me take the friction from your lips / and i'ma love you girl / the way you need / ain't no one goin' stop us / ain't no one goin' stop us / and i'ma give you girl, what you fiend / i'm the drug in your veins / just fight through the pain / he's what you want, he's what you want, he's what you want, he's what you want / i'm what you need, what you need, what you need, what you need

right here — chase atlantic

i'm so far from the line, yeah / i'm too deep in my mind, yeah / if she calls, i'll be right there / that's three calls in a night, yeah / well, tell me what you think about / staying right here instead / i didn't hear a word she said / i wasn't that high, i swear / well girl, what do you think about/ staying right here in bed / i didn't hear a word you said / i wasn't that high, i swear / it's happening again / well, i don't give a fuck about your friends / i'm right here, here / oh, baby take a look around / i'm the only one that hasn't walked out / i'm right here, here

beautiful crime — tamer

we fight every night for something / when the sun sets, we're both the same / half in the shadows / half burned in flames/ we can't look back for nothin' / take what you need, say your goodbyes / i gave you everything / and it's a beautiful crime

[waywardimpalawriter]

The Journal

The Journal

Summary: One simple thing can make you feel close to the ones you love and lost. For the Winchester’s it happens to be a battered, old leather bound journal.

Setting: Starts off with Season 1, skips to season 5 and ends with season 12

Pairing: None

Characters: Dean, Sam, Mary, John

Word count = 1,276 (without lyrics)

Warnings: none that I can think of just memories and sadness

Notes: Written for @mrs-squirrel-chester Album Challenge Unstoppable by Rascal Flatts is my choice this is the third song from the album Close. While the song deals more with a relationship between a couple, it spoke to me in a different way. The items remind someone of the loss that’s what I’ve took from the song and turned it into this little one-shot. Lyrics will be placed at the end.

Tags: If you wish to be taken off or put on the list drop me a line.

Forever:

@winters-buck

@angryschnauzer

@marvel-lucy

@feelmyroarrrr

@fandommaniacx

Supernatural:

@smoothdogsgirl

@aquabrie

@spnfanficpond

@aprofoundbondwithdean

2005

Run down motel day after taking out the Woman in white

Worn, though you could still smell the faint scent of leather, pages yellowed and battered with age, handwritten notes, ideas, numbers and warnings all done by John Winchester’s hand. Remembering this battered piece of their history throughout his life, a source now for information to help the family business keep moving on.

Sam leafed through this book slowly, contemplating where life has led him. Not even a week ago he couldn’t see himself out on the open road with his older brother again doing the one thing he swore he’d never pick back up… hunting. No not the shooting animals for food or sport type hunting. The ghost chasing, werewolf shooting with a silver bullet, killing everything that went bump in the night hunting that most normal people didn’t know existed, type of hunting. Something Sam’s been doing most of his life up until two years ago when he took off from his dad and brother to live that normal apple pie life.

Only to have it torn and ripped from his hands by the very thing that killed his mother when he was barely six months old. Now instead of worrying about classes, tests and keeping his nose clean, Sam’s got bigger fish to fry and all because of this journal, his Dad’s. Not that he had to take up the mantle, he could’ve said no, almost did in fact. If it hadn’t been for one little problem… Jess’s death, by the hands of that yellow eyed demon. Seems fate, a fickle bitch for sure, couldn’t keep her hands off Sam long enough to have that life he craved.      

Eyes landing on a faded picture, Dad holding Dean as his Mom held him, still small and wiggling, the happy family it should’ve been but never will. Tears burn the back of his eyes, the urge to burn this old worn out piece of history, but can’t bring himself to do anything more than close and push it away. Only link to his Mom and Dad he had left.

“We’ll find him Sammy don’t worry,” deep voice, a touch rough from the lack of use, being asleep for the last few hours.

He watched Sam, flip through those pages, pausing every so often to run a finger over the writing, knowing or at least guessing what’s running through that head of his. Dean understood, knew how frustrated Sam is with not finding anything to go on about their Dad. But they had one thing that journal would point them in the right direction even vaguely and they’d find their father, reuniting the family.

  2010

Dean and Lisa’s house

It’s been a year since losing Sam, packing his old life, storing it in Baby’s trunk, out in the garage covered and out of sight. Now Sam’s back from hell and Dean’s life gets turned upside down. His apple pie life shot to hell as work needs to be done and it seems only the Winchester brothers can do it.

Though he can’t say he isn’t excited by the prospect of getting Baby back out on the open road, letting her stretch those beautiful wheels again after so long. However, what catches his eye the most, a brown leather journal, only object in the trunk besides the hidden locker, filled with everything a hunter could need.

One hand reaches out to grasp, feeling the butter soft leather under his palm as he turns in a few times in his hands. Memories, good and bad filter through his mind, one of the only things he has left of his Dad. This simple book held more knowledge than you could shake a stick at, but also more baggage then anyone could fathom. How something so simple could mean so much, Dean never understood at first, till losing the man who’s hand took down every last word in this journal.

“What’s that?” Ben questioned from the door of the garage having watched Dean turn the book in his hand over so many times.

Glancing up, unsure if he should be truthful or not. Deciding to go with, “My Dad’s old journal,” seeing the puzzled look in those young eyes. “Not that kinda journal Ben,” he motioned for the boy to come closer. Opening the aged leather to show him, “My Dad kept this for information, writing everything down on hunting. Pieces of ideas, phone numbers, things of importance.”

“Kinda like a manual for hunting?”

Nodding slowly, the idea fitting just right. “Exactly kid,” glancing back down at the slowly fading letters, Dean hears Lisa calling. “Better head in Ben, your Mom’s calling.”

“You comin’?” taking a few steps before turning back to face Dean.

“In a bit,” the response is distracted by the notes on vampires, remembering a time when he thought they’d all died out. Only to find that wasn’t the case and almost winding up vamp food.

Learning so much from his Dad, wondering if he’d made him proud of what they’ve accomplished. Even after all these years he still missed the old man and this journal just proved how much. Something to hang onto, a piece of history that’s so much more making him feel close to his Dad still even after all this time.

  2016

Bunker Lebanon Kansas

   Tear’s still clouded her vision after hugging Sam and watching him leave. So many unanswered questions, so much time has passed, Mary’s not sure if things will ever normalize out for her. Getting use to this time period, the way life has changed, new gadgets, the way the world has come along, but most of all her boys. How they’ve grown up without her, in the hunting life style that she never wanted for them.

It’s in that moment the journal in her hands grew heavy, with both curiosity and a touch of anger. Though in all fairness she can’t be angry with a memory. Therefore she sat down, pulling the flap out to open the leather bound journal, tears springing to her eyes when they land on the family photo. Index finger running over the once glossy picture, the faces of her two boys and husband captured for all time.

She can’t help but let out the sob, trapped for so long, now crawling its way out, along with a few tears to track down her cool cheeks. Mary started to flip through each sheet of aged paper slowly. Gliding not only her eyes, but fingertips over the writing, partly sloppy, a chuckle leaving her lips at that thought. Knowing John never did have good handwriting, but it’s one more link to him. Something to keep close when she couldn’t her husband.

Continuing to flip through, seeing his knowledge of hunting life grow with each passing page. Friends he made, and those he lost. Little touches from both boys a small note on one page from a young Sammy done in crayon. The small, messy spelling of his name a dead giveaway. Another little item this time from Dean, a simple ‘Good luck Dad’ written so small you had to really look to see it.

All these things brought her closer to the boys and husband she missed. All from this journal, so simple, yet means so much. More than any diamonds or money she could possibly receive. A yawn escapes her lips as she closes the journal, carrying it with her to bed. Mary places it on the night stand, resting a hand one last time, making her feel close to the man she loves and lost, before flicking the light out for the night.

  It's just another simple Voicemail message I'll pick you up and we'll do Dinner by the fire And we'll just watch it snow It's from a year ago Baby, I love you And I can't wait to see you tonight I've been thinking about you All day long She pushes nine to save But still can't erase 'cause -- [Chorus] It makes her feel close Makes her smile It's like he's with her almost Til the tears take over She's still in hell But she tells herself She's ready to let him go 'Cause that makes her feel close It's just a worn out Notre Dame t-shirt She's gotten mad And tried to throw that thing away At least a hundred times But she's got it on tonight He used to wear it on the weekend Just runnin' around Probably forgot he even left it behind She says it keeps her warm Oh, but it's so much more [Chorus] It makes her feel close Makes her smile It's like he's with her almost Til the tears take over She's still in hell But she tells herself She's ready to let him go 'Cause that makes her feel close To saying goodbye, getting On with her life Maybe give love another try One more try Oh, one more try [Chorus] It makes her feel close Makes her smile It's like he's with her almost Til the tears take over She's still in hell But she tells herself She's ready to let him go 'Cause that makes her feel close It makes her feel close Makes her feel close It's just a worn out Notre Dame t-shirt She's gotten mad and tried To throw that thing away At least a hundred times But she's got in on tonight

[devils-gatemedia]

The steady rise of Country/Southern-Rock in the UK shows no sign of abating. The recent addition to the Hard Rock Hell family, C.R.O.W.S. (Country Rock, Outlaw, Western & Southern), returns in 2019 for it’s sophomore outing after a well received debut earlier this year. There is a strong market out there for the easy to relate to, guitar-driven honest tales, and Blackberry Smoke are leading the charge. Since signing to Earache Records in the UK, each album has charted, and tours simply keep getting bigger. Hence, tonight sees the crowd packed in like sardines, with the balcony also full to the gunnels.

Maybe it’s the flood warnings in place combined with an overnight drive back down South, or maybe they are just desperate to get back on the bus in time for Match Of The Day… who knows, but the gig starts pretty damn sharpish. Opening act Quaker City Night Hawks make their grand entrance to a largely empty room, but quickly set about introducing themselves to those hardy souls drenched from queuing outside in the lovely autumnal weather.

The Texans play a hypnotic, powerful brand of hard edged rock n’ roll, which sometimes gently crosses over to sludge… just ever so slightly, especially when dual guitarists Sam Anderson and David Matsler lock into a heavy groove. Both guitarists also share vocal duties, which gives their set an interesting quality. Two vocalists with different styles and tones: Anderson, centre stage, capturing everyone’s attention with the coolest hat ever. Matsler, to his side, playing some mean lead guitar and incredible slide work. The band get a decent set length, which means that by the time ‘Fox In the Hen House’ brings the set to an end, the venue has filled up rather nicely. Quaker City Night Hawks; very good and very accomplished. Do check them out.

Relentless road warriors for a few decades now, Blackberry Smoke really do make it look easy. They do the simple things very well, never flash or over-powering. It’s guitars, drums, keyboards, and vocals. Everyman songs that anyone can identify with and howl along to, especially on a Saturday night. In Charlie Starr, Blackberry Smoke have got one of the most genuine and unassuming frontmen in the business. When he stops to survey the heaving, sweaty mass in front of him, he smiles and takes a minute to take it all in. It’s only when you glance round and notice how packed in everyone is, or look up at the heaving balcony, that you realise how far Blackberry Smoke have come in the last four years. ‘The Whippoorwill’ was the first Blackberry Smoke album to get an UK release, back in 2014. The spark that lit the blue touch paper. Their first gig in this city was scheduled to be in a club, and was quickly upgraded to a venue three times the size. Since then, Blackberry Smoke have become regulars on the Academy-sized venue circuit, and tonight’s two hour masterclass proved why.

A set list mostly culled from the last few albums, you might call it a ‘greatest hits’ set. Or, more precisely, ‘greatest-hits-without-actually-being-hits’. ‘The Whippoorwill’ was, for many, their first introduction to Starr, fellow guitarist Paul Jackson, bassist Richard Turner, drummer Brit Turner, and tickling the ivories, Brandon Still. Therefore, any tracks aired from the album (‘Sleeping Dogs’, ‘Ain’t Much Left Of Me’ etc) are greeted with howls of delight, voices raised to the ornate ceiling. ‘Pretty Little Lie’ seems to always strike a chord with much of the crowd, maybe it’s the “box full of wine in the fridge” or maybe it’s because everyone knows a “damn liar”, but it sure hits home. It’s the same with ‘One Horse Town’. Christ, that’s one to get the arm hairs standing to attention every time! Therein lies the appeal of Blackberry Smoke; easily identifiable lyrics put into a classic tale…”I’m an old married man at the age of 23, got two little boys on the baseball team, and that might be their only ticket out”. Check and mate.

Post ‘The Whippoorwill’ saw Blackberry Smoke issue albums with alarming regularity. Alarming in the sense that the albums never seemed rushed and the quality never dipped. Three studio albums in three years if anyone is counting. From these albums, ‘Waiting For The Thunder’, ‘Rock And Roll Again’, ‘Like An Arrow’ and the dark and brooding ‘Flesh And Bone’ all stand out, especially the latter with its intense chugging intro. The early days are also covered with the inclusion of gems like ‘Good One Comin’ On’, ‘Up In Smoke’, and a surprise version of ‘Scare The Devil Outta You’, which came after a request from the crowd. After finishing said request, Starr mentions that they very rarely play this one, and thanks the audience member for requesting it. The ability to change things up at the drop of a hat, as well as stretching songs out with tasty jams and guitar fills (‘Medicate My Mind’), gives the evening a sense of the unpredictable. The fact that the set ran for two hours without dipping in quality, or suffering a mid-set dip in attention from the crowd, is testament to the quality of playing from the five guys on stage. Two hours of staggering musicianship, songs to revive memories long buried, and songs to get arses moving. I can’t really say more than that…. other than to pay a special mention to the person in charge of printing up the setlist. The eagle-eyed might have spotted the following tip of the hat to Trainspotting printed at the bottom of the setlist?  “No, thank you. I will proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs, please.” Personally, I would have gone with the, “It’s shite being Scottish”, rant, but that might not have fitted. So, to the setlist champion, we say “we with a sense of humour salute you!”.

Blackberry Smoke end this European run of dates in Manchester on November 17th, more information here.

Review: Dave S

Images: Dave J

  Live Review: Blackberry Smoke – Glasgow The steady rise of Country/Southern-Rock in the UK shows no sign of abating. The recent addition to the Hard Rock Hell family, C.R.O.W.S.

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Yellow Bird

Last Friday, I witnessed something I'd always thought would be funny to see in person. I laughed, but not as heartily as I thought I would.

Working second shift means I'm still in the building long after most other employees have gone home. Fortunately, summertime affords more hours of daylight to accompany the stillness that often envelops the building after six o'clock in the evening. I usually take lunch around six o'clock because I like to walk the quarter mile from one end of the building to the other in relative peace an quiet instead of having to play Frogger with my co-workers in the atrium. During business hours, I can usually spot three distinct types of employees. The first type is someone using his or her cell phone, head down, yet bent slightly forward, eyes and/or thumbs transfixed on a screen. It's amazing that people in this state don't account for more workplace accidents. I want to startle them like a caged animal who occasionally has to tap on the glass walls of his cell to remind the hordes of gawking humans who he is. I imagine a mass of humanity piling up like cars on the freeway after one wintery fender bender causes more chaos then it should. In the words of Talking Heads, as things fell apart, nobody paid much attention.

The second type of employee travels in horizontal packs of usually three, but sometimes as many as five or six across. These people are impossible to maneuver around whether I'm simply trying to get from point A to point B, or I've decided to just walk on a break instead of visiting Starbucks. My Fitbit has a unique way of making me feel like less of a man if I don't take 117 more steps to win the hour. The frustration of not being able to maneuver around type two is only compounded by the fact that if I do manage to find a clear path beyond a chorus line of co-workers, I immediately find myself on a collision course with a member of type one. Naturally, this person is oblivious to his or her surroundings. I have no choice to fall back in line behind type two before an incidental touch with a warrior from type one causes all hell to break loose. For all I know, such a tangible moment could result in a sexual harassment complaint to Human Resources, or accusations of attempted theft of a personal electronic device.      

Employees in the third group must all have Fitbits because I can spot them just by looking at their shoes. This group changes into tennis shoes on breaks or lunches and power walks up and down the atrium. I don't mess with this bunch. Who am I to interfere with someone else's mission? Truth be told, some days I like to just people watch, especially when power walkers swing their arms while walking or insist on demonstratively touching a wall to prove that they made it to the end of a given segment of their journey. I have yet to see an instructor compelling them to do so by yelling words of encouragement into a microphone, though this would admittedly be hilarious.

Quarter miles in solitude are also meaningful because they remind me of my teenage years. This was the time when my taste in music began to take shape, owing to far too many hours in my room listening to bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden. Choosing to take steps as an adult in my free time is as empowering today as choosing the next track on my favorite CDs was then. Whether chaos stems from puberty or the workplace, there are few things one can control in life. Among these are musical preferences and the use of one's own body.

Initially, I was drawn to the bands I mentioned earlier because their music was popular at the time. Many of my friends were listening to the same songs, and I wanted to fit in. Or so I thought. Pearl Jam's Jeremy and Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun were all over the radio and MTV, so being into them seemed like just the thing to do. I'll always be able to say that Superunknown was the first CD I bought with my own money and that Pearl Jam's Ten was one of two cassettes I still owned long after even CDs were turning into an antiquity. (The other one is The Joshua Tree by U2.) Though childhood nostalgia will always be tied to those bands that came out of the Pacific Northwest in the late 80s and early 90s, my attachment to the music has evolved as my own circumstances have changed along with the circumstances of the people who made the music.

Seventeen-year-old me was content to understand maybe one out of every five words of a given song as long as I liked the sound. I didn't think much about the subject matter as long as the beat resonated with me emotionally whether I was angry, sad, depressed, or something else.

Interpol's Turn on the Bright Lights (2002) began to change the way I thought about music. When I bought it, I was waist deep in my Master's thesis where I explored the directions of rock and folk music in Yugoslavia during the wars of the 1990s. As a graduate student, I began thinking about not only how music sounded and how it made me feel, but also what the musicians were saying in the lyrics of the songs. NYC from Turn on the Bright Lights is a good example:

I had seven faces Thought I knew which one to wear But I'm sick of spending these lonely nights Training myself not to care

The song spoke to me at a time when I was still processing my parents' divorce, and reflecting on a childhood spent usually doing one of three things: Losing myself in a textbook, gazing up a stereo (most good Catholics were looking up to the Virgin Mary), or seeking sexual release through masturbation. It's amazing how hard some old habits die, and how lengthy the time of dying can be. Think of Unglued by Stone Temple Pilots:

Moderation is masturbation What is what and what makes you feel good? All these things I think about I think about Always come unglued Yeah I got this thing it's comin' over me I got this thing its comin' over me I got this feeling comin' over me Over me

When I got into Led Zeppelin, I began to wonder why many of the artists I'd grown up listening to hadn't included a few words of homage to these influential predecessors in their liner notes. As I discovered the blues of Robert Johnson and Junior Kimbrough, I wondered why Led Zeppelin hadn't done the same thing. More recently, I've come across artists such as Odesza and Pretty Lights, whose music is more electronic in nature. Yet something about the time in my life when I bought Superunknown still has hold of me.

Why do generations have to lose their heroes? Is the loss of such individuals as much a blow to the collective consciousness of men and women of a certain age as it is the true end of an era? I don't imagine musicians like Scott Wieland of Stone Temple Pilots and Chris Cornell of Soundgarden (both of whom haven't been gone all that long) ever set out to be placed on pedestals by throngs of adoring fans. I think their music spoke to a generation that largely wanted to be left alone to gaze up at the stereo. This is not because this generation is afraid of living. Maybe those like me, who can vaguely remember records, but were more concerned about filling the scratches on a randomly discovered copy of Nirvana's Unplugged in New York with toothpaste, found their voices through the music of the period in human history when cassettes were on the way out and filesharing was in its infancy. Maybe we didn't realize the influence their music had on us until we returned to it as adults to look beyond the sounds and into the lyrics. Until those who created it began to leave us.

As I drank a cup of coffee in the early evening of that Friday, I saw a small yellow bird fly full speed into the glass window nearest my desk. Being of a certain age, my first thought was of Soundgarden's song Like Suicide, which I'd read Chris wrote about a crow he killed to put it out of its misery after he heard the ill-fated bird crash into a window.

Dazed out in a garden bed With a broken neck Lays my broken gift

Just like suicide

I immediately thought the bird was dead. It lay there on its back without moving for what seemed like an eternity. His or her fellow birds probably thought so too. Moments after the collision, several even smaller birds hopped gingerly up to their fallen friend and began pecking at him or her. They say the animals are always the first to know.  Still, the comedian in me wondered if, in a darker more cynical sense, the birds were laughing hysterically to themselves. I imagined their dialogue going something like this: "Did you see what Steve's dumb ass did? There's no way he's coming back from that! LOL!"

On a more serious note, some of my concerned co-workers went outside to check on the bird. After several minutes, it managed to stand upright and waddle its way into the grass, having surely sustained one hell of a concussion if not worse. I even wondered if this particular bird had planned to end its life. After all,  just like with humans, one can never be too sure of exactly what goes through someone's mind right before making the ultimate decision.

One of the reasons I'd admired Chris Cornell was that whenever I'd return to the music of Soundgarden, be it after months or even years away, I'd discover a lyrical depth that both my academically-experienced ears and still-youthful soul could appreciate. I also felt that Chris had "made it" where many of his contemporaries had fallen short. He lived past age 27. He had children. Those aspects of his life reminded me that there was hope beyond the desire to  be left to gaze up at the stereo; that the desire to be left alone with your thoughts, to create, is not always a bad thing. Chris and others showed me whether they meant to or not, that you don't have to be a social butterfly or a Social Justice Warrior to be happy.

All these thoughts occurred to me within the five minutes that passed between the bird hitting the window and it staggering away what I assumed would be its final resting place. It's no wonder that those five minutes felt like twenty years.

During those five minutes, I'm sure singular employees were staring at their cell phones to catch up on text messages or wish their cousin's boyfriend's dog a happy third birthday. The last of the packs of five or six across were about to break up for the weekend. Hell, even the power walkers who so demonstratively swung their arms at every opportunity were making plans to meet up at Zumba class on Saturday morning followed immediately by reconvening at the bar to unplug the Wi-Fi, drink wine, and get housewife wasted. Still looking good in yoga pants after two kids, a tummy tuck and a breast lift had to be worth celebrating.

Oblivious to the plight of little yellow bird.

That evening, like most, I chose to walk the quarter mile alone, and enjoy the long days unique to summertime. The bird's sudden and violent ending reminded me of the fragility of life, and how important it is to spend yours doing things that bring you joy. I fall off the wagon sometimes. I don't always eat right, and I'm not ready to publicly disclose my browsing history. But, more often than not, I think I make good choices. I just try to be a decent human being. At some point, despite my nostalgia, I decided I wanted more out of life than being left alone to gaze up at the stereo, but I don't regret listening to music alone in my room. I discovered some damn good stuff in the process. Your taste in music is another of few things you can control in life.

I'm still here though many of those who crafted the soundtrack of my youth are going or have gone away. Knowing they’re gone is tough, but it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. I still believe there's hope, and no one can take away my freedom to choose hope over despair, life over death, and joy over sadness. Regardless, I’ll embrace whatever life throws at me. No labels. Just an open mind.