#Willisau

[darsynia]

Heyyy. I hope ur requests are open. Anyways. Can I get a shot of tequila w/ Steve Rogers and the reader reunited after like 6 months apart because he went on the run and didn’t want to disrupt her life. Like maybe she was on Tony’s side in Civil War but helped Steve anyway because they were together since CA:WS. She tracks him down in Switzerland and he comes home to the safe house to see her heels by the door like they usually would be back in New York. Then he sees her sitting in the dark, save for the fireplace, and they argue about how he can try to leave but she will find him everytime because she loves him. So they have some “reunion fun” and maybe after, they’re having some pillow talk where she’s worried that he’s been with other women in 6 months apart. because let’s be fair, we can’t blame her. have you seen the nomad-hair ‘n beard?… 😭

Thanks for the request, nonnie! I couldn't work in the very last bit, but hopefully you'll enjoy. Rating is NC-17, minors DNI. 1,800 words. (I forgot to add, 180F is a good temperature for green tea--and yeah, a kettle would be in C probably but bear with me for the metaphor ❤️)

180

The chilly wind is not the reason Steve feels cold on his walk home. He’s living in a fully furnished home for the first time in six months, but nothing about the space feels welcoming. He can’t settle. Somehow the many barracks he’s lived in over the years made him feel more comfortable, and he knows the reason why.

You’re not there.

The thought stings, and he grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. The last thing he wants to do is look familiar, and maybe that’s the problem. If he’s not allowed to be Steve Rogers, no amount of handmade quilts and cozy living room furniture will make him feel at home.

He rounds the corner, pulling out his key with a half of a block to go. The rental is quiet, out of the way, obscure, even. Half the time even he struggles to find it. From three houses away, he sees a pair of deep red heels next to his front door, as incongruous among the quaint townhomes in Willisau as a palm tree. The spasm in his chest isn’t something the serum in his veins can heal, but Steve tells himself nothing’s really there. He’s imagined your shoes waiting outside of almost every place he’s laid his head since he left, and now it’s Switzerland’s turn.

He studiously ignores his lintel as he unlocks the door and goes inside.

 Steve’s sure he’s right when everything is the same as he’d left it. You've never failed to leave your personal touch in his living spaces--a hand knit scarf hung next to his coats, a delicate bunch of flowers on the table in a vase he'd long ago forgotten he owned.

The orange of sunset stretches across the floor from a back window, and he can smell the tang of woodsmoke, a familiar occurrence in this neighborhood. It isn't until he puts his shoes and keys away and pads into the kitchen that he finally realizes he’s not alone.

The smoke smell isn’t from outside. The fireplace is lit, and when Steve steps into the doorway, he sees a familiar, precious silhouette. Even though you have to have heard him, you don’t turn around, so he chooses discretion as the better part of valor. You’ve always said a warm cup of tea is comforting after a long day, and it has been that.

He sets the temperature on the kettle, places two mugs, and then goes looking for tea, concern and frustration growing. You've never not greeted him, but those had always followed a goodbye, something Steve hadn't had the courtesy to give when he'd left. The first two cabinets yield nothing, and you haven’t spoken or come in, yet.

Then, suddenly, you’re there, walking in and showing him exactly where the tea is, right in time for the kettle’s finishing beep. You’ve always been like that, exactly what he needs at exactly the right time, and that hasn’t changed. It’s damning and loving all at once.

Steve grabs at one of the tins, but you set a light hand on his, leaving it there are you say something about temperatures and tea leaves. He’s barely listening, focused on the way your touch has jump-started his heart, his lungs, and… everything else.

“Steve!” you say, snatching your hand back and giving him an affectionate, frustrated look. It’s more the latter than the former, but at this point he’s parched soil grateful for a slight drizzle. “Did you hear any of that? I asked what temperature you set the kettle.”

“Uh, whatever the default is?”

Brand new to this kitchen though you are, you pick it up and start it again, noting that the water bubbles up right away. “212 is my guess. That’s too hot for this. It’s green.”

Steve very much wants to point out that all tea is green, but he knows better. Instead, he says, “We can pour it out and start over?”

You look at him for a long moment, your body a foot and several hard conversations away, and finally nod. Neither of you say anything as the new water heats up, but Steve feels the metaphorical distance between the two of you narrow as you breathe each other’s air for the first time in forever.

When the kettle finally sounds, it’s somehow familiar. In his head Steve feels another timer go off, and he heeds it.

“I’m--” he starts to say, but you interrupt.

“I know.”

To hide his apprehension, Steve grabs the sugar, a spoon, and an amused look. “You don’t know what I was going to say!”

“I know all of them. You’re sorry. You’re not coming home. You’re doing this for my own good. You’re lonely.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

The two of you settle next to each other on the couch with a not inconsiderable amount of painful distance between you. That doesn’t translate to the conversation, though. It’s full of honesty (“I didn’t want to leave. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I’m not done with the things that need to be done, and it’s not safe for you here.”) from both sides  (“You’re physically gone and I hate that, but emotionally, I know you don’t want to let me go. I’m always with you, and I’ll always find you. There’s no one that can keep me safer than you can.”).

Once the tea’s long gone and the fire has died down to embers, neither of you have said the most important words, the healing words. 

Finally you whisper them, tears welling up in your eyes. “Steve, I love you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

He opens his mouth, certain of his mission, as sacrificial as it is--but you slide up beside him, warm and loving and his.

“It can be like this,” you rasp, sliding your hand along his chest and up into his hair to pull his lips down to yours.

Steve groans in gratitude, angling his head in welcome and grasping at your hips to drag you onto his lap where you belong. He sends up a prayerful apology to any member of his family that still checks the earthly realm to watch him live a sinless life. Today is not that day. 

You’re wearing soft dress pants, just loose enough for him to slide his hand past your waistband, thumbing caresses along the heat of your inner thigh until your hitching ‘yes’ of a sigh gives him more explicit permission. He’d missed your body, missed this, the warm slick of your welcoming folds, the way you gasp and tense when he strokes you. This angle shouldn’t work, but he’s strong, and he knows how much you love that, so he nuzzles the join between your neck and shoulder, breathing you in.

You release your deathgrip on his shirt to snake your hand up into his hair, dragging your fingernails deliciously against his scalp. Your movements are imprecise and shaky, a testament to his own erotic movements, and Steve groans aloud at the realization. The timbre of your voice as you whisper his name hints at how close to orgasm you are, and he takes the opportunity to escalate his onslaught.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, thrusting his fingers inside at unpredictable intervals to prolong your pleasure. You have always both loved and hated that, wanting instead to lose yourself in the rhythm of predictable movements--but your most vocal climaxes come just like this.

Steve backs off again, and you roll your hips, tempting him to return. “I’ll never let go,” you growl, pushing off just far enough to start unbuckling his pants. “You should know that.”

It’s an inflection point, and though Steve’s a soldier, he doesn’t fight you. You’d been so close your whole body had started to tremble, but instead of taking what you could from him and then shifting the mood, you’d taken the route of self-sacrifice. Those thoughts flee the battlefield when you urge him to lift up enough to tug his pants out of the way. Impatience sings through his veins. He wants to take charge and--

“Oh,” he says. The whole world shifts from black and white to color as you slide down between his legs, taking him in your mouth. He’s almost too sensitive for this, grabbing a fistful of the couch instead of your hair, knowing his own strength. You anchor yourself with a hand grasping that same forearm, moaning as you suck as if feeling the flex of his muscles is itself erotic.

Steve knows the whining noise he can hear is coming from his own throat, but doesn’t care about anything but the surging joy of this moment. You know exactly how to work him, adding everything he loves about you, about the ‘us’ he’d wanted to build with you. When he’s almost, almost there, when he knows your next move would be a deep-throated encouragement to spill in your mouth, you pull back.

The lesson is sharp and warranted, but Steve’s trust doesn’t waver. He looks down at you--‘submissive’ at his feet but fully in charge of the moment--and nods. I get it. Your light smile and little squeeze of his arm before you get up feels more like home than anything in months.

“I love you,” he says, and means it more than he ever, ever has.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to say that in the middle of sex?” you tease, moving fluidly to shed the rest of your clothing. The only thing you keep on is your electric blue bra, and Steve lets out a tiny little noise of want when he sees it. It’s his favorite. Eight months ago you’d tried to get rid of it and he’d snatched it up out of the ‘to toss’ pile and buried it in his drawer, the drawer you’d given him in your bedroom for when he slept over.

He hadn’t wanted to leave it behind, to leave you behind, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Now, looking at your sultry, challenging expression, he truly understands the mistake he made.

Steve opens his mouth to tell you how beautiful you look in the firelight, how sorry he is that he ever thought he could walk away to make your life safer, how--

“Prove it, soldier,” you tell him. The words are confident, but there’s a waver in your tone that he put there.

He reaches for you, pulling you onto him, into him, straight through his skin, your sighs writing your name on his heart. It's exactly where you, where he belongs. The result is a rolling boil, a volley of exploding shells, a Brooklyn apartment with a pair of red heels at the door.

It’s been a battle, but he’s home.

[noloveforned]

gearing up for friday night's no love for ned on wlur, from 8pm until midnight. last week's show is below if you missed it!

no love for ned on wlur – april 14th, 2023 from 8-10pm

artist // track // album // label the clash // career opportunities // the clash // epic private function // yellow // 370hssv 0773h // still on top snõõper // pod // live at exit/in on november 23rd, 2022 cassette // electric outlet 3d and the holograms // vr execution // 3d and the holograms // roachleg mallwalker // phase // danger cassette // tetryon tapes the drin // walk so far // today my friend you drunk the venom // feel it cornelius // new music machine // fantasma // matador dragnet // faces around // the accession // spoilsport the anemic boyfriends // fake i.d. // fake i.d. 7" // hozac the new pornographers // really really light // continue as a guest // merge your heart breaks featuring kimya dawson // wesley crusher // the wrack line // kill rock stars divorcer // bug // espionage 7" ep // domestic departure wednesday // chosen to deserve // rat saw god // dead oceans william tyler and the impossible truth // i'm gonna live forever (if it kills me) // secret stratosphere // merge lucinda williams // salt of the earth // you are cordially invited... a tribute to the rolling stones // highway twenty blaze foley // faded loves and memories // the complete outhouse sessions // lost art steve gunn and david moore // painterly // let the moon be a planet // rvng intl. marion brown quartet // soft winds // la placita- live in willisau // timeless rachel langlais // comme le canard // dothe // un je-ne-sais-quoi tumi mogorosi featuring andile yenana and siya mthembu // sometimes i feel like a motherless child // group theory: black music // mushroom hour half hour angel bat dawid // kyrie eleison- lawd hav’ merci // requiem for jazz // international anthem lonnie holley and moor mother // earth will be there // oh me oh my // jagjaguwar eddie chacon // holy hell // sundown // stones throw m.e.b. featuring miles davis and blu // bitches are back // that you not dare to forget // legacy b. cool-aid featuring quelle chris, denmark vessey, jimetta rose, vcr, moruf and kamilah // brandy, aaliyah // leather blvd. // lex dragon inn three featuring the salvation choir // see it your way // trade secrets // american laundromat barrie // ghost world // 5k ep // winspear oceans // soft // dreamers in dark cities // shelflife soft plastics // my world/your girl // saturn return // (self-released) astrud gilberto // make love to me // now // barely breaking even field school // when summer comes // when summer comes // bobo integral

[eternalcreative]

meeting between Max Roach and Anthony Braxton, Willisau, 1979 — photographed by Dany Gignoux

[sergj7]

Lester Bowie Quintet - 1978-09-01, Willisau Jazz Festival, Willisau, Swi...

[fuchsiaswingsong]

Fred Hopkins in concert with AIR, Willisau, 2 September 1978. By Dani Gignoux

[baechler-news]

Karnöffel Zunft Städtli Willisau 2024 from Jeridoo Universe on Vimeo.

[ismusichere]

31.01.2023. DEWEY REDMAN

Red and Black in Willisau

Black Saint, 1980

Saksofons un bungas

Djūija Redmena spēks ir viņa melodiskā izdoma kopā ar spārnisku brīvības izjūtu un, kā jau dažviet raksta, biezu, spēcīgu, un vietumis samtainu skaņu.

Eds Blekvels ir bundzinieks, par kuru bija jāzina jau agrāk, bet prieks, ka iepazīstu tagad.

[ziskastaubli]

At Jazzfestival Willisau 2022 we played with Acid Amazonians and got to talk to Erika Stucky for SRF Kultur.

[design-kiste]

Willisau – Tisch Aliano https://www.design-kiste.de/hersteller/willisau/tisch-aliano/

[onetwofeb]

[tonin-terets]

Niklaus Troxler Motion Tribute — side by side from Dase Boogie on Vimeo.

A journey through Niklaus Troxler’s jazz posters universe.

A 56 posters motion tribute over almost 2 minutes.

All original poster designs belong to Niklaus Troxler. I manually traced all of them in Illustrator and animated in After Effects. Total ~175 hours of work including research, trace, font digging and animation.

Music and sound design - Soul Supreme

From Niklaus Troxler Poster Collection book (Lars Müller Publishers): “Few contemporary designers devote themselves to the poster medium with such perseverance as Niklaus Troxler. His extensive oeuvre includes the design of CD, album, and book covers, logos, interior and exterior graphics, as well as free illustrative and artistic works. However, the poster-and especially the jazz poster-is his passion. Troxler organized the first jazz concert in Willisau in 1966, and in 1975 he founded a festival there that has since brought established and lesser-known names in Swiss and international jazz to the stage on an annual basis. He directed the event and was responsible for the design of the concert and festival posters until 2009, at which time he handed both over to a younger generation.”

[seakclauswinkler]

Honored (U) Hnw Individual Can you get your head free, from woke nonsense, religious poisoning of your native language with my paintings? Could it be that my art helping you to not become cucked with in your dna bloodlineage with in future generations? Maybe my art is helping to prevent your sons offspring to become obedient lgbtq bottoms cutting your blood lineage legacy? Did you consider that my art could help you virtue signal on a lgbtq/ woke/ leftie/ soya/ cancel culture frequency to blend in political correct hiding your wealth? #SEAK #ClausWinkler #SEAKClausWinkler #artcollectorsworld #abstraitart #paintingnow #malereiabstrakt #historyofart #greatestworkofart #paintingprocess #nestseekers #interiorlover #interiorlove #interiordesire #interiordesigninspiration #mansionhouse #modernluxury #artanddesign #fineartgallery #creative #Cellphonebag #nondisclosureagreement #luxusmagazine #partinggift #besteadressen #luxurioslife #waterfrontliving #luxuryinterior #luxusinterior #Luxurymansion (hier: Hergiswil bei Willisau) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpSH1J5oWDY/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[wildbeautifuldamned]

20th CENTURY SWISS, STAINED AND ETCHED GLASS PANEL. WILLISAU, LUCERNE . #6925 ebay ascoo

[zhanteimi]

Anthony Braxton – Willisau (Quartet) 1991

Anthony Braxton – Willisau (Quartet) 1991

USA, 1992, avant-garde jazz / modern creative Marilyn Crispell on piano, Gerry Hemingway on drums and marimba, and Mark Dresser on bass join Anthony Braxton as he takes the listener on a wild, imaginative, sometimes sinister journey with saxophone, flute, and clarinet. This is a long quadruple album, so it’s probably best not to tackle it all in one sitting. The first two discs are studio…

[sergj7]

Dewey Redman - Seeds And Deeds (1977-03-26, Mohren, Willisau, Switzerland)

[auredith]

en Willisau, Switzerland https://www.instagram.com/p/CkQSzcxDpBc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=