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misspearly1 · 2 years ago

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When Two Worlds Collide Series

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp5 || Chp6 || Chp7 || Chp8

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader x Arthur Morgan

Chapter Three: The Lady They Both Want

WC: 4.8k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Joel’s POV & Readers POV. This is more of a filler chapter. Mentions of female masturbation. The guys are getting along now and they’re both very interested in their female companion. Friends to Lovers. Eventual Smut. Love Triangle. Alternative TLOU & RDR2 Universe. Mentions of guns. Light amount of jealousy. Bounty Hunting. (And the usual outlaw stuff).

AN: Ahhh! I really enjoyed writing about Joel and Arthur getting along here. They’re finding common ground now at last. The next chapter will be the kinktober fic, so lookout for the reblog tomorrow! Hope you enjoy the read, thank you.

People sometimes forget the value of the little things in their life. It happens, and it’s ok to forget from time to time, but Joel really forgot about those little things, and it really never occurred to him before just how easy everything was back home. It never occurred to him just how hard it would actually be to adapt in a world where someone like Arthur Morgan thrives.

It’s a different way of life here, and it was most shocking to the man to realize all of those little things that he so dearly misses were a luxury. For example, there are no cars here in this otherworldly dimension. They have been invented, but they’re so incredibly rare that Joel is yet to see one driving around, and he doesn’t particularly favour traveling everywhere he needs to go via horseback.

At least it’s better than walking though, he thought while sitting atop his horse.

It took a hot minute for Joel to get used to the saddle again after it had been a shameful amount of time since he went riding. It was a struggle in the beginning, but he eventually got the hang of it again and now he rides like it was as easy as breathing.

When he was just a young boy, he used to visit his grandpa's ranch and his parents taught him how to ride a couple years after he learned how to walk, so he felt lucky and thankful for even remembering how to ride a horse, otherwise he would’ve had a much harder time getting around with Arthur as they work day in and day out thieving from undeseving rick folk.

That’s another thing Joel didn’t think would be so hard: trying to earn a living. It’s a hell of a lot more difficult gathering money here, and it makes him realize that much more about how easy his life was back home. Of course, he had his fair share of difficulties much like everyone else does and there were a few bumps in the road that he didn’t think he’d be able to overcome, but generally speaking, his life was pretty good compared to most.

The man thinks about all of the good things he once had, and took advantage of, whilst waiting for Arthur around the outside of his campsite. He watched from afar as the members of the Van Der Linde Gang went about their usual daily business and made the most of everything they did have. Albeit, it wasn’t much and they weren’t living an easy going or unproblematic life, but they had each other and their loyalty was unlike he’s ever seen before.

Arthur’s gang didn’t need a roof over their head. They lived freely and comfortably off the land. They were one big happy family without that blood related bond and Joel can understand that. He, too, has friends that are like brothers to him. They would take him in without hesitation and put clothes on his back and food in his stomach should he ever fall on hard times and need the help.

Having said that though, he feels a strong pang of sadness in his gut just thinking about his friends and how they’ll probably be searching the whole of Austin, Texas after his sudden disappearance. He can’t even bring himself to think about his little brother as the pain is too much to handle. Tommy will be worried sick and heart-broken, probably beating himself up over the possibility of never seeing his big brother again. And his parents would be even worse.

This is, undoubtedly, what Joel struggles with the most: trying not to miss his family so much that it makes him depressed. He couldn’t afford to spend too much time thinking about all of those scary what ifs. He had to remain calm and cool-headed. Not only for himself, but for you too.

It’s been almost two weeks now in this otherworldly dimension, and yet there’s still no answers on finding a way back home. Arthur did send a letter off to that man who talks like he’s from the future, but it’s just a matter of waiting until he hears back from him.

While Joel has been putting on a ‘brave face’ and trying to stay positive and hopeful for your sake, he has found some form of comfort and release by working alongside the cowboy. You were right about taking a chance on trusting him. He’s been nothing but generous and helpful ever since that day by the pond, even though Joel is almost certain that Arthur is only helping out because he’s attracted to you. But that doesn’t really matter though. It shouldn’t matter.

What’s most important is making sure you’re safe until he finds a way to get home. Then, and only then, will he ease up a little on being so overprotective over you. He can’t help but feel that responsibility to take care of you and provide everything you want or need. It’s his fault you’re even here to begin with and it’s become his duty to fix everything and make it right again. The man knows how hard this has been on you. He sees you lose a little hope every day that you're stuck here, and although he knows you don’t hate him, or blame him for all of this happening either, he feels responsible.

Despite the fact Joel didn’t really like how much Arthur was attracted to you at first, because there is a fear he’ll take you away from him, he can’t deny that the cowboys presence has helped lift your spirits. You’ve slowly but gradually become less frustrated and anxious about this whole situation. It’s become a little easier for you to cope. You’re still worried, of course you are, but you’ve not been so emotionally overwhelmed and swallowed up by the fear of never finding a way home.

To put it simply, you’re becoming the very thing that Joel was trying to be for you, which is cool, calm and collected while providing help wherever and however you can. You can’t deal with the emotional guilt around robbing folk, and he understands why, so he and Arthur take care of that sort of stuff instead. Besides, he prefers it that way anyways. It’s much easier for him to know you’re safe and secure back at camp instead of being out here doing the sort of things he and Arthur do.

So that’s what you have been doing this last week; keeping busy and making yourself useful with setting up the temporary campsite every day. The location near the pond is long forgotten about now. It was moved to a much safer and more discreet location yesterday morning and it will probably stay there for a few days before moving again.

The campsite is set up along the shoreline of Flat Iron Lake, just beneath a couple trees hanging over the embankment to provide some cover and it’s also just a short ride away from the Van Der Linde’s hideout in Horseshoe Overlook. Arthur chose that spot to stay close in case of emergencies. His gang doesn’t know about Joel and you, but Hosea Matthews does.

Joel has met with Mr. Matthews twice now, and you’ve had the pleasure of his company more than that. He’s a kind old man, wise spoken and open minded to the bizarre occurrence of falling into a different dimension. Hosea has even pitched in to help out too. He’s been finding jobs to ear some cash and set up a connection with someone in Rhodes who regularly hands out tips for stagecoaches to hold up. That’s what Arthur is busy with right now as a matter of fact. He’s chatting with Hosea in camp and gathering a couple more jobs to be completed for the day before meeting up with Joel.

Putting his binoculars away when noticing Arthur leaving Horseshoe Overlook, Joel sat on the saddle of his horse and waited patiently for the man's return. They’ve amassed a comfortable amount of money in the last week, but there needs to be a constant flow of cash coming in to supply everything the camp needs. You have plenty of clothes and a copious amount of food now, but there’s only two tents, one bedroll and one blanket. And you don’t have a horse yet either.

Joel, as well as Arthur, want you to be prepared and ready for every possible scenario, therefore you need guns and ammunition kept in camp, and you need to learn how to use them too. That’s the next order of business; getting you a horse then teaching you how to use a gun, but first, he needs more money to do that.

And since Arthur approached with a hopeful look on his face, Joel assumed there was a handsome amount of money to be earned today, which means they’re going to be busy. “You look very happy.” He pointed out that shit eating grin on Arthur’s face, then jerked his chin outwards in question. “What do we have on the list today?”

“Take a look for ya self.” He replied. Handing the list over then reaching into his satchel for a pack of cigarettes, Joel scanned the piece of paper and nodded approvingly. He was right to assume there’s a lot of work to do. The list was bigger than the last and it looks like they have a long day ahead of them.

First up was heading into town and collecting all of the bounties from the sheriff, which was four suspects in total and they were worth two thousand dollars all together. Next on the list were two stagecoaches with the time and location of their travels. One of them will be passing through Strawberry this afternoon, and the other will be passing through a place called Tall Trees in the middle of the night. Then, the last couple jobs on the list were buried treasures and where to find them.

“Hm. This is nice.” Joel nods again and folds the piece of paper before handing it back over to Arthur – who then held out a half smoked cigarette for him to take. Joel accepted the offer and brought the butt of the object to his lips, sucking on the thing a couple times to take the edge off his nerves. He doesn’t smoke regularly. It’s never really been his thing, but he’d indulge with the occasional cigarette here or there whenever he’d be stressed with life and work back home. And since he’s been feeling extra stressed-out these last couple of weeks, he’s smoked more than he usually ever does.

“Thanks.” He muttered. “And make sure to pass my thanks onto Hosea too. I appreciate all the help.”

“Ah, there’s no need.” Arthur shook his head, waving him off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Hosea already knows you and Y/N are thankful. Old man’s just happy to help.” He took the cigarette back from Joel and puffed on the thing a couple times before flicking it into the grass. “We ready, big boy? I wanna get a chunk of this done before this afternoon. Maybe check on Y/N before heading over to West Elizabeth if there’s time.”

“Ready.” Joel grunted and rolled his eyes over the pet name. Readjusting his position on the saddle to better suit his comfort, he commanded his horse and started heading east. “Let’s go, sunshine.” He called out casually and stifled a smile upon hearing the man chuckling behind him.

Joel didn’t want to admit that he enjoyed the cowboys company just as much as you have. He’s a little rough around the edges and they got off to a bad start with each other, but he’s got a sarcastic sense of humour that Joel likes no matter how much he tries to deny it on the inside. They argue and bicker quite a lot, but they also work well together and get the job done without issue.

The only real underlying issue between them is that you’re the lady they both want.

Much later that day along the Dakota River, Arthur stood by his horse and watched the show unfold as Joel tackled a female suspect to the ground. He tied her hands and feet together behind her back as she tried with all her might to resist, and the man found it rather amusing. She’s a real nasty piece of work who deserved it anyway after kicking him right between the legs earlier.

“Make sure those ropes are tight.” He instructed acidly, still bitter over the fact his balls were aching. “I don’t fancy another run around trying to catch her.”

“You couldn’t fucking catch me, ya slow sack of shit.” The suspect – Darla – replied, making Joel chuckle with the use of her insult toward Arthur. He found it funny that she, too, called him a sack of shit just like he does. But he did as the cowboy instructed and made sure the binds around her ankles and wrists were tightly secured. He didn’t fancy another run around either.

Darla is the last of the bounties and she’s been the worst one out of them all. Arthur was kicked between the legs, and Joel’s face was clawed by her hands. “Why don’t you let me go? I’ll show you a better use for those ropes.” She tried to bargain for freedom, but to no avail.

“Christ almighty. Will yer just be quiet.” Joel sighed heavily, tiredly, then yanked her up off the floor before carrying her over his shoulder. He walked towards his horse and stowed the woman on the back, securing her tightly with some more rope to make sure she couldn’t escape. They’ve learned their lesson once by underestimating her, and they shan’t make the same mistake again. After she was dealt with however, he turned to face Arthur and asked: “Enjoying the show, asswipe? Could’ve helped me out back there.”

“C’mon now.” Arthur winced while readjusting himself then mounted his saddle with a painful groan. “I assume ya got a pair of balls, right? You know how much that shit hurts.” He gave an unwanted explanation as to why he didn’t help chase after Darla. He was too busy laying on the ground, heaving with pain while Joel hunted her down instead. “Besides, she’s the last one and we got some time to waste before heading over to West Elizabeth, so keep ya hair on and cut me some slack, big boy.”

“Big boy!” Darla squawked and burst into a fit of laughter, the sound annoying Arthur so much that reached over and yanked on her binds. “Shut the hell up, woman.” He warned, only it didn’t work. She didn’t stay quiet and proceeded to insult the men all the way back to Valentine. They were quickly pissed off by her remarks about their friendship and the use of their pet names for each other, but once they made it to the sheriff's office and handed her over, they savoured every minute of silence on their ride towards camp on the shores of Flat Iron Lake. It was just after midday now and they were not only hungry for food, but hungry for your attention too.

Approaching camp with a smile on their faces, both Joel and Arthur felt proud of you leaping into action as you assumed they were trouble. You went for the gun and savings box, but relaxed quickly after realizing there was no threat. “Hey.” You waved, but furrowed your brows with concern when seeing Joel’s face. “Oh my…” You sighed then moved towards him and reached out to cup his face with your hands. “What the hell happened?”

“Just a scratch, darlin’.” He shook his head, assuring you that it was nothing to worry about, but you didn’t take your hands away from his face and he began to lean into your touch as you dragged the pad of your fingers over his cheek. It felt so comforting. Your hands were soft and delicate, but beside you though, Arthur cleared his throat and tore your attention from him.

You pulled your hands away and spoke to the man, asking him if he was okay and Joel bit his tongue as Arthur explained what happened and didn’t leave out the details about how he was kicked in the balls either. “Oh, you poor thing.” You sympathized. “C’mon. You should rest a while and eat before getting back to work.”

To Joel’s surprise and delight, you turned back to face him and held his hand, pulling him toward the campfire to sit down on the sandy shores around the lake. You grabbed a little first aid kit and opened it up, instructing Arthur to take a seat and relax. “Let me fix lunch for you both, but first I gotta take care of this-” you gesture to the scratch on Joel’s face. “-Don’t want you to catch an infection.”

Leaning back onto the palms of his hands while you attended to his minor wounds, Joel saw the expression on Arthur’s face in the corner of his eyes and struggled to hide his smile. It spoke of envy and desire, as if he were wishing he had a couple wounds you could attend to.

While you cleaned his face and your fingers dabbed his skin gingerly with a featherlight touch, Joel couldn’t help feel so free and easy, his shoulders slumping with a heavy exhale as he closed his eyes to revel in your attention. He’s been so starved of your company ever since Arthur came along, and as selfish as it sounds, he has missed having you all to himself.

“You look exhausted, Joel.” You point out and rest a hand on his chest, his eyes opening to look at you. “Why don’t you eat something then rest for a while. D’you think you’ll have time to?” You asked, to which Arthur replied instead. “Plenty of time, Miss Y/L/N. We don’t have to leave for another hour or so. But we’ll be back really late tonight.”

You turn to face Arthur and don’t see the way Joel glared at him. “Well that settles it. Both of you eat up then lay down-” he smiled with that, feeling a sliver of victory that Arthur wouldn’t have you all to himself either. “-I’ll keep a look out while each of you rest in the tents. Arthur, you’ll have to get your bedroll off your horse. We don’t have another one unfortunately.”

“Naw, it’s alright.” He shook his head and lay down on his back, resting his hands behind his head before closing his eyes. “I can sleep anywhere. It’s no problem.” You turn back to face Joel now and smile, watching the irises of his eyes expand the longer he looks at you. He smiled as well, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to your lips either. It was quick, but you caught it and started to burn up under his wanton gaze. “You uhh… You hungry?” You asked bashfully, and he only nodded in reply, his eyes slowly blinking with tiredness… or with something else.

Moving towards the fire and scooping out some of the stew into a bowl, you also asked Arthur if he would like any, but he politely declined and closed his eyes again, opting to get a little more sleep instead. You moved back to sit beside Joel and handed the bowl over. “It’s hot. Be careful.” You said in a whisper, keeping your voice low so you don’t disturb Arthur or the peaceful silence that had fallen over camp.

Joel had the opportunity right here, right now, to have you all to himself, but you were right. He is exhausted and he does need some sleep for the long day that awaits him. The list isn’t even halfway done and he wants to have a day off tomorrow to spend some quality time with you.

After eating every last bite that you scooped into the bowl for him, you took the dish and put it to one side before grabbing a pillow. “Rest up, Joel.” You urge him to lay back and place the pillow beneath his head. “I��m not going anywhere and I’ll keep watch.” You reassured as he closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth of his hand resting on the small of your back.

He didn’t take his hand away, not even after he had fallen asleep and light snores left his lips. It’s like he just wanted to feel that you were beside him; to know that you won’t leave. That’s why you assured you wouldn’t be going anywhere. You’ve spent multiple nights in the tent with Joel before getting a second one for yourself, and during that time you slept together, he would always be so close and feel that you were safely resting beside him. He must be a physically touch kind of guy, and you don’t mind that at all in the slightest.

Although you felt a little weird to stare for so long, you felt confident that he wouldn’t mind you watching over him attentively. You’ve missed gazing at him while he sleeps. It’s been nothing but a pleasure to have Arthur around, and you really like the man, but you’ve not given Joel the attention you once used to give. He needs it; needs your comfort like he would comfort you during your meltdown. It’s obvious that he’s missing his family, his pets and his friends back home, and you worry for his mental wellbeing because he’s quite clearly trying his darn hardest to keep you safe and happy.

Later when the time came around to wake the men, you decided to wake Arthur first and offered him some food. He accepted this time and thanked you for the bowl of stew. He, just like Joel, ate every last bite and you took the dish away to be washed. Once you were finished cleaning up however, he approached with an offer that piqued your interest. “Would ya like to learn how to shoot a gun tomorrow? Me an’ Joel will teach you.”

“Oh yes. That would be really useful.” You nod eagerly, not because you want to learn how to shoot someone, but because you want to learn how to properly use the firearm should you ever need to defend yourself. You can wave the gun around and pretend to be serious about using it on an attacker, but if push comes to shove, you’d miss every shot and very quickly become defenceless.

Arthur is an outlaw. He sure knows his way around a gun, and Joel would regularly visit the firing range with his brother on the weekends. He knows his way around a gun too. But you, on the other hand, do not know how to use a firearm or how to aim with precision.

“Here.” Arthur moved towards you and pulled out one of the guns from the holsters on his belt. “I’ll give ya one quick lesson right now. First thing you’re gonna do is take a firm stance and plant yer feet in the ground. Like this–” he showed you first before moving to stand behind you, correcting your position by pushing your feet apart with his boot. “That’s much better. Keep ya feet parallel to your shoulders,” he instructed with professionalism, then stood closer and brought his arms around you to place the gun in your hands.

You felt your heart skip a beat when he stepped closer, the proximity between you and the man was so small that you could feel his chest mere inches away from your back. It was a breath-taking move that sent a signal straight to your heat naturally with the presence of a big strong burly man so close to you like this. You could feel his breath rolling down your neck as he sighed heavily. “There you go, just like that.” He kept his hands hovering beneath your elbows, re-adjusting your arm ever so slightly to better your aim, only you couldn’t concentrate after hearing him praise you in that thick southern drawl.

Perhaps the real reason you trusted Arthur so easily is because he’s just like Joel in so many ways. Not only do they work similarly with drive and focus, or share the same sarcastic humorous nature, but their voices are deep and rough, yet equally soft like honey and it always reels in your attention in the very best way.

You gripped the gun with both hands and held your breath with anticipation as Arthur leaned in a little closer to place his hands atop of yours, helping you keep the gun nice and straight. “I think you’ll do just fine tomorrow.” He said earnestly. “I bet you’ll surprise yourself. You got the stance nailed down, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Arthur.” You replied gratefully. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I don’t know. I’ve never fired a gun before and I think the kickback will probably surprise me the most.”

“A smaller gun would be better.” Said Joel, the sound of his voice startling as you quickly tilt your head to look at him. He stood with his arms above his head and stretched out his muscles, but his shirt riding up his body a little made your eyes drop to look at the revealed skin. You rolled your lips together and stifled a moan at the trail of hair beneath his belly button. It disappeared into his pants, which were hanging so low on his hips right now that you could see his v-lines and a glimpse of the curled hair above his mound.

Quickly turning away with fear that he would catch you staring and call it out, you don’t really think Joel would mind all that much, but to save yourself the embarrassment of practically stealing a glance and drooling over what you could see, you turned away before he noticed.

Now that you were feeling aroused and hot with passion, you couldn’t even get back to what you were originally doing and lowered the weapon. “A smaller gun would be better.” You agreed with Joel and handed the weapon back over to Arthur. “We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

There was a smile on Arthur's face that spoke of mischief and perversity as he drawled in a flirtatious way. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He winked at you, the gesture making you choke on the moan in the back of your throat before you quickly turned away and busied yourself with something. You needed a distraction, and a moment in privacy to relieve the palpable ache between your legs. Joel and Arthur were both turning you on, and it was driving you feral. It's been a while since you pleasured yourself and the need for relief is growing exponentially.

Once the men had got themselves prepared and ready for the workload ahead, they each said their goodbyes in their own sexy and adorable ways before leaving camp with a promise to be back after midnight. As soon as they were out of sight, you ran straight to your tent and buried your hands between your legs, mewling softly into your pillow with the wishful dreams of feeling their hands working you open instead.

However, as soon as Arthur had a moment alone with Joel, he turned to face the man with that same mischievous and perverted smile on his lips then revealed a little secret. “That woman is head over heels for you friend, and you don’t even see it.”

“No she’s not.” Joel retorted quickly, denying what he yearned for so badly every night. “Y/N and I are just friends. She doesn’t like me like that and besides, it’s you who she’s head over heels for and you’re the one who doesn’t see it.” He said with a slither of spite in his tone.

“You think so?” Arthur questioned optimistically, to which Joel looked into his eyes and nodded with deject. He truly believed that you were head over heels for the cowboy, and not him, but Arthur persisted. “Well, maybe we both can’t see it, then. Maybe it’s because we don’t believe a lady like Y/N could even feel such a way about us, but I’m telling ya. She likes you. Didn’t you see the way she was looking at ya back there?”

“And I’m telling you the same thing.” Joel persisted as well. “She likes you. Didn’t you see the look on her face when you winked and called her sweetheart?”

With sudden realization striking the men simultaneously, they each slowed their horses down to a complete stop and turned to look at each other with disbelief etched on their faces. “Y/N likes the both of us?” They asked in unison, hopeful that it was true. They both wanted you. That’s a fact. But the thought of sharing you and that beautiful attention you give them didn’t cross their minds.

Until now.

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temposbakery · 9 months ago

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Mikey gently rubbed Sage’s chest while laying next to him, agreeing with every word Song had said to him. “And if you ever feel frustrated we can always use that portable punching bags we used to use when we were young shadowhunters filled with rage.” He snorts, earning a laugh from Sage as Song and Mason came back to give him his medicine. “But in all seriousness, if you ever feel this way tell us and we can get you set up with therapy sessions with Alpha Joon. But please don’t push us away if you ever feel like you’re in your head or that you feel like a burden because you’re not, and you never will be a burden.” He finishes as he strokes his lovers hair. “Are you okay though? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can go get you something while Alan is out on the phone with Richie.”

Alan was still on the phone with his best friend and his man, as he continued to fill them in. “Thank you guys, I appreciate all the help and support I can get because this is not gonna be an easy path, but I’m up for the challenge.” He says confidently. “Thank you cal but I’m not having Sage take his anger and aggression out on anyone. There are many different alternatives than just resulting to violence. I have Joon’s number on speed dial if he ever feels like he needs to get anything off his chest and we can’t help him. I want him to have a healthy recovery that’ll help his mental health and his well being.” He says as he shifted in the uncomfortable seat. “As far as Physical Therapy goes, we planned on asking Tommy if he could help out, I already know the kid does wonders and all. But Mikey is gonna get in contact with him for Sage. I just hope everything works out and that he doesn’t get defeated by everything.” He sighs before biting back his smile. “Yeah Song and Mikey. I don’t know like Sage and I, we’ve always felt this surge of attraction towards them, it just kinda grew more and more as time went on. But now I feel like with everything going on with Sage that the intimacy of it all just brought us together and closer. They’re no longer moving to Faerie, but eventually when Sage does get better we’ll all go together and live there, possibly get married and have more kids but right now our main focus is Sage.”

Richie listened to the conversation that has been going on as an idea popped into his mind. “Hey maybe instead of violence like you said, you get Sage an emotional support animal, like a Dog or a cat. That way when he’s sad or angry he can have a companion on a deeper level than you or your other two lovers would have. It’ll boost him a bit so he’s not always down and in his head. I think that along with the therapy would help his mental health tremendously.” He says as they talked some more. “Get some rest and definitely eat something. I know you’re trying to be strong Al, but it’s okay to feel vulnerable too. It’s not an easy situation to go through but keep your head up, we all know you guys will make it through.”

Wrong Place Wrong Time

It was the end of Sean's shift and he was heading to get some coffee to make the drive back to the home he shared with Rowan in Arcadia when an armed gunman entered the convenience store he was in. He snuck he way toward the front, slowly taking his side piece out of his hidden holster as he watched the scene unfold. He could sense the presence of another supernatural in the crowded store and looked over just as the gunman opened fire on the cashier. The cashier pulled a shotgun from beneath the register and fired twice, one bullet catching the suspect in the leg, the other hitting the man in black right in the stomach sending him tumbling to the floor. "Nobody move! LAPD!" Sean says as he flashes his badge. He made the call as he apprehended the suspect with some zip ties he grabbed off one of the shelves, making sure his arms and legs were secured before making his way over to the innocent bystander who got shot. "Stay with me, man, help is coming." He says as he puts pressure on the wound, asking someone to help hold pressure on the man's wound as he searched for his wallet, Sage Oh it read. He recognized the name as the husband of the famous caterer, Alan Oh, and a former shadowhunter and cursed under his breath. Once backup and the ambulances got there, he made a call to his future brother in law Mason, telling one of the ambulances to take Sage to the Han Clinic as he headed toward the address on the man's license after cleaning himself up. He took a deep breath as he approached the door of the home in the wealthier neighborhood before knocking. "Alan Oh? My name is Detective Sean Wang from the Los Angeles, I'm afraid I have some news about your husband." He says.

#everyone

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testingcheats0n · 4 years ago

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Massive Dream SMP Fic Rec!!

Hey- Hi, I just feel like there are a ton of fanfiction that's really underrated in this fandom- so I'm going to dump it on your dash!!! Most of it is going to be Tommy-centric or SBI-centric, but they are very good!

Source: Me

Finished Fanfics:

Multi-chaptered Fanfics:

that's, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade

Hard-hitting, but has a happy ending, though I recommend reading the prequel (in the same series) first, otherwise, it's lowkey depressing.

MORE RECOMMENDATIONS BELOW THE CUT!!

you’ll rise above (crowned by an overture bold and beyond) by azvremoon

Tommy is not sixteen. He has faced too many open wounds, dripping ichor onto blood-stained warzones, to be just a child. He is Blood and War and needless Death, an all-in-one special of everything that can ruin reality.

(Tommy is the blood god. No one should know, but this server can't stop pushing him over the edge.)

+2 more Works that were Inspired by this one

Tommy is a BAMF and Dream, Technblade, and Phil get fucked it is what it is.

Responsible Forever by SilverWing15

“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” /////

“So,” Techoblade says, slow and deliberate, his face shows clearly just how unbelievable he finds all of this, “you saw a boy last night, in the middle of the night, living with raccoons and eating our garbage?”

“I know how insane it sounds,” Phil says, “but I know what I saw. We need to help him, who knows how long he’s been out here?”

“Okay,” Wilbur interrupts, “let’s say that raccoon-boy is real. What is it you want us to do? We can’t go searching the woods for specific bunch of raccoons, I don’t know if you’ve noticed Phil but there are a lot of them out there.”

“Going out and hunting him isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Techno says, “we have to let the raccoon-boy come to us. He’s already come once, you know how tenacious raccoons are. If they came to the garbage pit once, they’ll come again. We just have to set a trap.”

“Those raccoons aren’t gonna know what fucking hit them,” Wilbur mutters.

Or: RaccoonInnit taken well beyond its logical conclusion

Tommyinnit is a Raccoon boi that lives with other Raccoons

Protecting the Traumatised Youth by spookyserpent

Sam blinks. “What?”

Even behind the mask, Sam has the distinct impression that Dream is grinning at him. “A week and he was begging for my attention, even after I stole and burnt his armour, even after the beatings. He couldn’t stand me leaving him because I was the only one to show up, to pay him attention. It was hilarious.”

Sam is going to be sick.

Or, Sam decides to ask Dream about his intentions and ends up becoming a big brother to Tommy and Tubbo. All the while, Dream and George fight, Niki and Jack plan child murder and Ranboo is slowly getting adopted into the SBI.

Awesamdad written back when it was possible... ahhh

Chaos In a Bottle by Lovetribable

After a realization, Tommy leaves the pillar, but instead of going to Techno. He just disappears, leaving everyone to think he's gone.

It takes a war to bring him back.

+2 Sequels and an Alternative Ending

Dadinnit!! + A Sympathetic Dream

Absolutely Anything For Them by Numanum

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Tubbo,” Dream sighs, meeting his eyes cooly. Tubbo, back against a tree, shudders at his tone, at the look on his face.

The sword at his neck skims across his skin as Dream shifts his grip on it, and he flinches back into the rough bark behind him. Dream smiles at his reaction, seeming pleased- like the cat that’s been toying with a mouse that always tries to run no matter how many times it’s caught. And, despite this being his first encounter alone with the man, he thinks that the comparison is fairly accurate; Tubbo has never felt smaller than he does now. There’s supposed to be a buddy system to prevent things like this- he shouldn’t be alone here, stuck in this situation.

Or: Tubbo becomes a traitor to save everyone and has to struggle with his choices

Traitor Tubbo, but it has the happiest ending possible since it follows the rest of the story.

Where Did You Come From, Kit? by KadeAK (zacixn)

Hybrids are an ancient species of humans crossed with animals, blessed with the favour of nature. They used to live in peace on the SMP’s land, but ever since the dawn of humanity’s modern culture, they have become ostracised and hunted by their once-brethren. Now, the once-thriving subspecies of hybrids have been reduced to ashes, the majority of their peoples struggling to survive in a city capital that can't stand their presence.

To the members of L’Manburg, General Wilbur Soot is just another mildly prejudiced human being, stuck with a hybrid fox kit for an adopted child. However, that assumption could not be farther from the truth. As it turns out, there's a reason why he is the man he is today.

This fic is entirely pre-L’Manburg.

Part of a series, very good.

Take It Easy by sweet_magnolias

Five times Techno scared Michael, one time Michael scared him, and the resolution of those fears.

AKA - Techno learns how to be an uncle.

Technoblade's POV, so expect some Tubbo bashing on the margins of all that Michael fluff.

I suppose it’s never my time to die, is it? by Birb_Whale

The first time it happens, he barely remembers. The second time is when he realized. The third... Twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern

“It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy”

Messed up, but not unrealistic. Purely for the Hurt/Comfort lovers.

This Wasn't Planned, But It'll Work Out by Anonymous

Dream isn't sure what to think when he finds a kid on his doorstep, but he can't just leave him there, now can he?

(He doesn't know what he's getting into, or what he's gotten the kid into, either)

Long, and angsty, with a bittersweet ending Imo.

let's play a game by Aria_Cinabun

Tommy was once a slave. That's gone now - shoved in his past with the memories of blood and gore and death. He wants to forget who he was; what he has to do to survive. Of course, the Elementalists will always come back to haunt him. They aren't the ones who killed his mother, but they're close enough. And now he and his brother have been dragged into the mess, as Elementalists with their own, separate covens, to find the Pit - the place where he'd lived and killed and hurt for the first twelve years of his life. His coven can't know. Can't know who he really is, what he can really do. Can't know anything about his past. He doesn't want a coven full of Elementalists who don't trust him; one of whom he's pretty sure despises him. He doesn't want that life. He wants the life of a pickpocket, on the streets, because nobody questions street kids, and nobody comes asking about his past and pushes him to tell his secrets that he holds closest inside. Tubbo tries to tell him to trust people. But trust is how you die.

Good fantasy AU, has SBI, and is thus fluffy.

Turn of the Tide by SilverWing15

Tommy’s fins twitch at the mention of Dream’s ancestors. Dream talks about them a lot, how they made their fortune hunting down mer pods, how they were cruel and greedy. Nothing like Dream is. They’ve both overcome their roots he says.

Tommy is nothing like the wild mer out in the ocean, who spend their lives scraping by just to survive, who kicked him out of the pod when he was a baby because he was too small. He’s also better than the pit mer, who can’t overcome their wild instincts and know nothing but fighting.

He’s different from them, he’s better than them. He’s Dream’s. //// OR: Change is like the tide, when it comes, you can only sink or swim. You would think that a mer would be better at keeping afloat.

Mermaid AU Pooog. Part of a series.

One-Shots:

Snapped by AmberRunnel

“You don’t know what I went through in that prison cell.”

Jack burst out laughing, blinded with rage and the overwhelming urge to hurt Tommy, to give him everything he deserved. “Oh, is the poor child traumatized? You want pity now?” He twisted his blade, and Tommy’s axe was sent clattering to the ground.

“If the prison was so awful, why don’t I send you back there?”

-|-

Jack doesn't handle Tommy's revival well. There's a simple solution, though. Kill Tommy, and Dream revives him right back into that cell. Problem solved, kid dealt with.

It takes a few confrontations for Jack to realize he's an asshole.

It's fucked up, but god does it hurt in a good way.

the sky is coming down blue by salinesolution

An imagining of New Milo's perspective throughout the Skyblock Randomizer adventure. What did he think of the world he found himself in, and how did Wilbur's feelings and actions change things for him? Here's my way of answering those questions.

He made the fish think, funniest shit I've seen.

You told me to be a hero (so let me die like one) by spiromachia

"You told me to die like a hero," the blond interrupted, spinning on his heel to face the others, holding his arms wide open, "So why not fulfil the ending that was always meant to be."

Across the battle field, through the chaos and destruction, a tree burned.

Even the sound of explosions and cries and bloodshed felt distant enough for the world to become silent for a few moments, each individual slowly coming to the same conclusion, each of their bodies tensing.

Tommy's face broke out into a grin as he lowered his head, glowering at the people around him, and Philza's face flashed with recognition.

"Kill me."

Or... In the middle of Doomsday, Tommy decides to ask Technoblade to be the Lycomedes to his Theseus.

Heavy and dark, but at least Dream gets it.

tomorrow night by meridies

Tommy is desperately searching for his missing brother. Techno is the reluctant psychic who unfortunately got dragged along.

or, two people, more alike than different, learn what it is to have a family at their side.

It's cute what can I say :]

maple syrup by itisjosh

"We could run," Tubbo stares at the sun. "We've got everything we've ever wanted right here. We could run."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees, feeling his head swim. "We could."

(or, tommy and tubbo run away together)

Children get away from toxic adults :)

Why’d it have to be so sunny? (The sun shouldn’t shine without you.) by AToZRainToBe

‘A realisation hits Phil in the face like a truck. “Wi- Ghostbur,” Phil says, turning to his grey-scale, translucent, actually-dead son. “You definitely told Tubbo that Tommy’s alive, right?”’

To get away from Dream, Tommy agrees to fake his death, going with the cover story that he jumped from the pillar in Logstedshire. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell Tubbo.

Misunderstandings are one of my favorite tropes.

sugar and ice by princedemeter for Aenqa

“He is my son,” Philza says. “Mortal or not, I would see him grow strong.”

Technoblade looks down on earth, at the tiny, angry bundle of cloth and pinking, wrinkled skin. This mortal child, he thinks, lungs filled with breath from the king of gods himself, will not grow strong.

It's mostly centered around Technoblade and Wilbur with Phil being a shitty dad. Pog Gods AU.

a matter of time by meridies

Tommy is twelve years old when his wings first appear, and he is twelve years old when Phil tells him, "All it takes is time and patience, Tommy, and soon you'll be flying even better than me."

or, Tommy grows up feeling like a failure, and it takes him a while to figure out where he's happiest.

Tommy is just finding his place in the world. Powers AU.

That Time a Baby Decided to Raise a Baby by Scitrust

Tubbo wasn't good at making excuses, so when Schlatt asked him why he was leaving in the night, he made something up on the spot. That had been months ago.

At least he sort of had an alibi for that, now.

Or, in which Tubbo finds a baby in the woods on his way to see Tommy, and promptly adopts it.

Part of a collection!! Read it all.

spider lily by blue000jay

Wilbur has a body.

The freckle on the base of his left pinky finger (shared with Techno). The scar on his chin from when he was twelve and over ambitious, diving into too-shallow water. The scar on his throat from the final control room, and the puckered skin on his shoulder from the poisoned arrow that killed him next. Various other nicks and things that litter his skin from years of rebellion and living wild, a kid thrown into a vicious world with too little self-preservation.

(Resurrection AU, for when/if Wilbur comes back.)

The author knows how it's like to live with chronic pain, and it shows :(

Hands tied loose by rabiddog

"Let's run away, Tubbo." Tommy breathed; a wide grin split across his face as his hope grew. "Let's get out of here – far away. We can go anywhere, can't we? Let's just go, you and me right here, right now."

Tommy needs to leave. He has to get out of L'Manburg, he has to leave the Dream SMP for his own sanity, and he wants Tubbo to come with him.

But Tubbo has a family now, a better life - something that he can't give up... not even for his best friend.

Unhappy ending :(

The serpent underneath by rabiddog

Tommy and Techno sit at the memory-filled bench and talk. Technoblade reminisces, he talks, he admits his pent-up feelings, he cries. And Tommy? Tommy listens. (That's all he can do.)

“I’m sorry for everything, you know? For all of it. I’m so sorry about... about the first war, about the withers and the fighting, about...” Technoblade's fingers began to curl around Tommy’s blonde locks. “About Wilbur and everything after. I'm so, so sorry.”

:((((((((

Damning choices by rabiddog

Ranboo would have never expected to find himself in a horrifying situation such as that one - quite literally sandwiched between a rock and a hard place, with three lives dangling over his head and the answer on the tip of his tongue.

Tubbo, Michael, Tommy.

It's his choice. He chooses who lives, and who dies. His new family, or his first friend. But Ranboo... Ranboo already knows.

"Ranboo," He hissed out, voice cracking and somewhat staticky, "It's not your fault. It's not. You had no other choice; I know that, okay? I- I know that- I know- I know..."

:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Jealousy is a disease by rabiddog

Tommyinnit isn't new to the idea of jealousy. He understands it completely. He understands the way it runs rampage through his body each time he catches even a glimpse of Tubbo and Ranboo's new relationship, he understands that the emotion makes his heart clench uncomfortably from time to time. He sees it, feels it, and yet he doesn't care.

He doesn't care at all.

"You took Tubbo away from me. You took him away. You took my best friend, and now he's- now he's not my best friend anymore, and I-!"

Word of Honour by rabiddog

Tommy could only stand and stare as Technoblade agreed to hand him over to Dream - as his brother traded him off like he was nothing. Like Tommy wasn't important.

Technoblade was a man of honour. He was a man of pride and sticking to his word. He knew that he owed Dream a favour, and no matter what that favour might be, he'd be compliant with it. Nothing would change his mind. (Not even Tommy.)

Almost canon. F.

Sweet Repentance by rabiddog

Perhaps Tommy should have told Phil about his arguably life-threatening injury the minute his father had opened the door. But of course, Tommy being Tommy, did not.

Dying seemed like a nice enough option as long as he was with his family.

Tommy just wanted acceptance, forgiveness, and peace. He wanted to close his eyes for the last time and finally be able to let go.

Tommy dies painfully.

A White Tulip by astervoid

He picked the white tulip from the bottom of the stem, standing up carefully as he held it pinched between his fingers. It would die now, inevitably, but Tommy relented and held the flower to his chest. What a silly, stupid thing to ground him. He almost hated that it made his breaths come easier and his steps feel lighter. Almost.

Tommy & Ranbooo chill on the bench.

lying to the authorities (again) by touchgrass

"Please tell me that my right-hand-man, my soon-to-be vice president, one of the people I trust the most on this godforsaken server, did not lie straight to my face and tell me he was twenty-fucking-years-old.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but then closes it shut at the furious look on Wilbur's face. Oops.

It is the day of the elections and Wilbur Soot could not have chosen a worser time to realize that half his staff is underage.

The ONLY fic with this premise I've seen on Ao3.

Dear Theseus by rabiddog

Tommy had thought that they'd won - thought that they'd finally beaten Dream, and that everything would be okay. As it turns out, however, apparently Dream had called in that favour from Technoblade after all.

“Please,” Tommy whispered after a beat, quivering hands edged upwards to hesitantly press against the tip of the sword striking through his chest. Why, why, why? Why him? Why now?

Tommy almost wins.

A Shifting World by AplusIsRoman

How was Wilbur supposed to know it would end like this?

The smoke hung in the air and soot clung to his skin. His brother - adopted, but older by two minutes - stood back-to-back with him. The chilling cries of people and the calls of the withers rang through the air above the chasm that was once his home.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

How could he have known this would happen?

Sequel to A Child's World

Age-swap AU. Has a prequel.

heart of the sea by RyDyKG

Here is the secret that he barely thinks about, a secret that he shoves deep and far down in himself:

Wilbur Soot is a siren, and he’s not exactly proud of that fact.

Wilbur-centric. Urban Fantasy AU.

He knows, ok? by Ralli

By some means, Techno has given his raccoon younger brother some cotton candy. It doesn’t end as well as either of them would like.

Very, very cute :)

that's it, it's split (it won't recover) by Jk_Kat

Tommy has always been the fighter.

He has never been the fought for, and he knows it, with every whisper Tubbo directs at Ranboo, with every glance thrown his way- Tommy knows, the way he wishes he didn't, that they think he's dead.

If they're so convinced he's still dead, maybe the one good thing left he can do for them is die.

---

Or, Tommy gets addicted to being dead and thinks that nobody cares about him. The people who very much do try to pull him back from the brink before Dream can't resurrect him anymore.

Messed up, but with a happy ending.

Hugs 'n PTSD by rabiddog

Ranboo knew from the start that the recovery process would be hard - that moving on from quite literally being beat to death would be something hugely difficult to step away from, and that's if Tommy could even manage it at all.

He knew that it would be stressful and arduous, demanding and tough... he just hadn't expected to be holding Tommy through a PTSD-induced panic attack only days after his release from Pandora's Vault.

Ranboo isn't typically an overbearingly protective person. But for Tommy? He just might be.

I love this author if you can't tell.

Big Men don't cry by Shiny22Snivy

The room is small and warm, almost stifling compared to the cool openness of the ravine. It’s cosy and candlelit, and a chest sits open in the corner, full of what looks to be burnt rags of a former smart suit. And sitting in rumpled blankets on a bed, cradling a mug of something steaming, sits Tubbo.

At first, Tommy forgets all about Niki’s vague warning. He’s just so happy to see his best friend again, alive and well and all in one piece. Tubbo’s okay. Tubbo’s okay, and in front of him, and suddenly everything bad in the world is gone, if only for just a moment.

“Tommy?”

And then Tubbo turns to look at him.

Clingyduo fluff.

sins of the father (i broke all my bones that day i found you) by ryter

The thing that hurt Wilbur most was when he saw Fundy tear down the walls of L'Manburg. After all, those walls had gone up to protect his son. But in this world, Fundy trusts his father just a little bit more, and it ruins him.

Or: there's only one way Wilbur never becomes the villain. It's unclear whether this was the better path.

SOME VIOLENCE WARNINGS/BLOOD MENTION. CHARACTER DEATH. SO MUCH ANGST.

Sad, but cathartic.

REVIVED TOMMY HEADCANNONS AHAHAHAHA by racooninnit

i’m dropping ALL the fucking revived tommy headcannons on you guys today get ready for some ANGST

this is different from what i usually post but it was fun

i don’t think there’s a lot i need to put warnings for, obviously there are mentions of the way tommy died and the aftermath of that (i.e. injuries and trauma), but if there’s anything that needs a warning please tell me!

What it says on the tin- not really a fic.

Unfinished Stories:

Ongoing (Less than a month since the last update):

Over the River Styx by CorpseArt

I feel like we should name him.

There’s a scuffle at the back of his mind as he rolls up, curling tight with a shiver despite the heat of the flames licking up his back.

I mean, he’s like – us, but like a worse version clearly because oh man, this is just weirdness. There’s a flare of a tangle of emotions, complicated and fearful, resentful and livid with anger. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to, stuck in the mind of this- this child.

He’s like your age, Tommy. Are you calling yourself a child?

I mean, I am one so fucking duh. Child murderer.

Or: trauma bonding in the most unconventional of senses.

Just- Read it. Show the writer your support, it's unique, it's amazing and there needs to be more of it.

If history is dead and gone by iregretallmydecisions

“Don’t come any fucking closer,” Tommy shouted, startling Phil into stepping back. Tommy was still looking around wildly, like a trapped animal “Don’t fucking do it.” ---- In which Tommy finds himself faced with his splintered family, while it was still mostly whole. The past is not an easy place to be when the future was not kind. His family is forced to deal with the fall out.

It's better than Rewind, but you didn't hear that from me.

Wilbur Soot's Redemption (OR Ghostbur's Retry) by luckykitty0523

Wilbur had many regrets in his life, being lost in his madness and the urge for revenge drowned leaving a shell of who he once was. It was only in his dying moments that he regained himself but it was already too late for him leaving him drowning in wishes and regrets. However waking up in another different universe where wilbur was never born and family soulmates exist, so when wilbur said he wanted to fix the mistakes he never expected this turn of events.

In one world wilbur dies and he would return as a ghost missing his memory and trying to fix what he did in life but in this one wilbur dies and wakes up in another world where soulmates exist and the wilbur of that world was never born so wilbur/ghostbur takes his place and tries to make up his mistakes to the other version of his friends.

Wilbur adopts SBI + Fundy + Dream.

A Talk Long Overdue by penink

Tommy has his first therapy session with Puffy.

Tommy gets therapy.

Into the Night by Interjection

“Don’t touch me,” Tommy hisses, leaning against the railing. “I will - I will-”

They’re a hundred stories up. Wind lashes against Phil’s face. Next to him, Sam makes choked noise.

“But why?”

Tommy looks up to meet Phil’s eyes, terror struck so deep in those pale blue irises Phil thinks they must hold all the world’s fears within them.

“You’ll die,” he whispers. “And then I’ll die. But I’ll come back.”

“And I don’t want to come back.”

Others have the freedom to live. Tommy doesn’t even have the freedom to die.

But maybe they can teach him that living doesn’t have to be so bad.

---

(Superpowers AU where whenever someone touches Tommy, they both die. But Tommy will always come back to life eventually. He just wants it to end - but instead, he’s on the run, terrified of how his power will be exploited if he’s caught.

A few people reluctantly team up to save him.)

Funky SBI dynamics + a Sam that cares. Also a lot of angst.

#dream smp #dream smp fic rec #fic rec #sbi #wilbur soot #tommyinnit

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braincoins · 4 years ago

Text

Aziraphale is a lover of stories, not just books and words, but stories in general, in all their forms. So, at one point, he decides to become a media critic. Anonymously. He finds one of those local magazine-style free counter-culture-esque newspapers and decides he’ll write for them. And so he does.

Columns just start showing up at the paper, printed in System font and on dot matrix printer paper, the kind with the alternating cyan and white lines. They’re apparently written by “Your Media Critic.” The editor rolls their eyes and throws the first submission out, but somehow it gets printed in the next edition. Everyone swears blind they didn’t put it in. No one remembers typing it up or inserting it, and, in fact, the addition of this column created an extra page that was three-quarters blank. It’s like the column just shoved itself in there.

This keeps happening, and eventually, the paper accepts defeat. They start leaving a space for the column (though they do stick an editorial comment under it hoping that, in future, Your Media Critic will stick to a 600 word maximum?). Aziraphale feels embarrassed at not having done his research first and dutifully sticks to that count, rather scrupulously.

Meanwhile, Crowley one day feels an urge to pick up an issue of this free “newspaper.” He has no idea why he would care about what indie movies are playing at the local arthouse theater or what new Indigo Girls cover band is opening at some hippie pub, but he picks it up anyway and flips through it. The media column catches his eye.

And he knows. He just knows that’s Aziraphale, he can practically hear his voice. And he knows his angel didn’t tell him he was doing this. It’s A SECRET. The angel has a SECRET, and Crowley is delighting in knowing it.

He calls up the offices of this “newspaper” and informs them that he is subscribing to their paper and he expects one at his door every... how often do you publish?

“Every other week, but we don’t...”

Fine, every other week it is then. Here’s my address, cheque’s in the mail, ta!

The editor is befuddled. They... don’t do subscriptions. That’s not how they work. AT ALL. He thinks it’s a random nutter until a cheque shows up in the mail that day. Which is odd because Tommy got the mail and hadn’t noticed this envelope in the stack before.

The cheque assumes the paper costs 5 pence per edition, which is ridiculously low: no newspaper charges that little nowadays, except for the ones (like this one) that are free. But, more importantly, the memo line says, “Next 1000 years PIA.” It’s for £1,300.

The editor stares at the cheque. He looks it over from multiple angles, even sniffs at it. He holds onto it for a week and then takes it to the bank with a “Ha ha, look someone sent us this, it has to be fake, right?”

It clears. Immediately.

He blinks and stares. He has no idea what’s going on, but he has this terrible, terrible feeling that things beyond his control are shaping his future, and he isn’t sure how he feels about that.

And that is how a tiny little bohemian newspaper not only made more money than most ever do, but also stayed in business well past the End of the World, past the end of print newspapers in general. Because once Crowley “paid in advance” for the next 1000 years, that guaranteed the paper would last at least that long. He expected a new issue on his doorstep every other week, and someone dropping off issues at their usual coffee-shops and jazz bars somehow always felt compelled to head over there and leave it neatly and promptly on his doorstep every time.

And Crowley knows Aziraphale is writing this media column but doesn’t tell him that he knows he is. And Aziraphale, who really had no intention of hiding it from Crowley but simply forgets to bring it up in conversation, continues writing the column because he has THOUGHTS on movies and plays and books and television programmes and whatever-it-is you call a show that’s on those streaming services, because it’s not really on the telly, is it?

And they’re both very happy.

#Good Omens #this isn't REALLY 'ineffable husbands'#'cause it's not really shippy #but I just had this idea and I had to run with it

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bi-writes · 4 years ago

Photo

notorious: reboot — chapter six respect

You will regret underestimating me and everything that I am.

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 9.9k warnings: mature language and themes, nsfw themes series masterlist

You didn’t need to be saved. Being saved was for children, and you were not a child. The countless hours you spent getting knocked over, hit, punched, and thrown around were all in preparation for this. In the real world, tapping on your opponent’s arm didn’t stop their tightening chokehold. In the real world, the exercises didn’t end when your opponent had knocked you down or held a blade to your neck or had the gun to your head.

You just died. That was it. One mistake, and your story would be over. You wondered if this was your mistake. Laying in soft cotton sheets, warmth all around you, with your eyes on his handsome face. He was so pretty like this.

You reached over slowly, your hand finding the messy, ruffled curls on his forehead and pushing them back. You exposed his closed eyes. His cheek was pressed into the pillow, soft breaths coming from between his lips, and just the faintest line of sunlight hit his chocolate curls. You smiled, just a little bit, just a tad.

Oh, baby girl…what have you done?

Your phone buzzed on the bedside table. You sat up in bed, reaching for it quickly, answering the phone call. You checked to make sure Tom was still asleep before putting the phone to your ear.

“Hey, daddy,” you said softly. You kept playing with Tom’s hair. You couldn’t help yourself. His curls were so soft and bouncy, and without any product in them, it was almost comforting to touch them.

“Hello, sweetheart. You haven’t called me. If it weren’t for De Luca filling me in, I would think something happened to you.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry. I’ve just been…caught up with work.”

“Work?”

“The jobs I do. For Tom.”

“Right. Your little…deal.”

You looked down. When your father heard about the agreement between you and Tom, he nearly got on a plane that minute. He had yelled, scolded, and spat at you for being young, incompetent, and selfish. You let him scream as much as he wanted to, and then you told him you weren’t leaving. You were furious. It had been months since you had spoken to him. You figured if he was calling you, he needed something from you.

“It’s not a little deal, daddy,” you rolled your eyes. “He promised me the information in exchange for a little work.”

“I know what you agreed upon, and you knew I wouldn’t like it. That’s why you waited until you signed your name before you told me. You knew even I would have to honor an agreement like that,” he said, clearly disapproving of your methods. You looked down. You wondered what De Luca had told him.

Nothing about how I get things done probably.

“Well, no one on either side has died yet, so I would call it a success,” you shot back.

“And what will he do when he finds out that you know it’s him? Hmm? I got men in all corners, sweetheart, telling me Tom is running things down there. Does he think we’re that stupid, y/n?” He scoffed. You closed your eyes for a moment, thinking. It occurred to you, but just a few hours ago, he had his lips on your neck and his fingers inside of you and a heat in his chest that told you otherwise.

He’s mine now.

“No. He thinks I’m distracted,” you lowered your voice, looking down at him. He hadn’t moved. “We’ve gotten…close.”

“Close? Close how?”

You slid out of bed slowly, opening the balcony doors beside the bed. You stepped out, looking out as the sun rose above the horizon. It was barely going to be morning. It was sort of peaceful outside, watching it come up.

“We’re close, daddy. How close do you think? You’re not…you’re not stupid.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You wondered if something just distracted him or if he was thinking of Tom Holland touching his daughter. You figured he would be more upset about Tom touching something that he thought belonged to him than you being with dangerous men.

“If you’re that close, why don’t you just kill him?” He asked, in a voice so calm that it should’ve scared you, but you just stared out at the lake behind the house. You blinked for a moment. That question was valid, but the thought never occurred to you. Killing Tom would’ve been messy, and nothing good would have come of it. If your father had taught you anything, it was to not make a mess when you didn’t have something to clean it up with.

“Because I don’t have what I want yet,” you said softly. “For all it’s worth. You know…you and mom were pushed out of Manhattan a long time ago, and you never even got the chance to fight for it. Wouldn’t it be nice to…get it back?”

Your father was quiet for a moment. You knew you would hit a nerve, talking in that sweet voice about New York City. Your father didn’t care for the city that much, but New York was a sweet spot for resources, money, and property. It spoke a language that your father understood more than anything: power.

“Your mother and I…we loved the city,” he said gently. “And it pained me to take her away from her home. You know, that’s where you were born.”

You smiled a bit.

“I know,” you looked down at your nails, picking at some of the polish. “I’m going to make it right, daddy. I promise. I-I…I know what I need to do.”

“y/n…you know there’s only one way to get those kinds of things in our world,” your father said lowly, cautiously. “And if you go through with this, it won’t be easy. You’ve been playing a part, baby, but if you do this, there’s no going back. Even if all goes well, after Tom is gone, you won’t be allowed to take on another lover, you understand that, don’t you? That’s how it works with people like us. And not to mention you’ll have to pretend all the way to the end. Live a lie. That’s not the kind of life I wanted for you.”

You felt tears in your eyes, barely. Your father was pretending to care, but you knew he wasn’t speaking those words because he loved you, he was telling you not to get more involved with Tom because then you wouldn’t be able to serve as his little pawn, his little princess. It only struck you at that moment that maybe your father hadn’t sent you to New York to prove everyone wrong, he sent you there to prove him right.

Because if I fail, he’ll drag me back to Los Angeles by my hair. And he’ll never let me go.

“It’s the life that mom wanted for me,” you said weakly. “What do you think she was doing when you weren’t there, daddy? She did this so I could…so I could give it all to you. She knew you had your priorities in California, but I…I didn’t. And I don’t. Dad, if I…if I finish this, it’s not just Manhattan. It’s Brooklyn, Queens, the whole fucking thing, and London. Jesus, daddy, we’d run the whole goddamn thing.”

He chuckled a bit on the other end. You knew he would like that. It would buy you his love, even just for a little while.

“I guess I would need a princess on the other side running those things, wouldn’t I?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you squeezed the edge of the balcony.

He doesn’t mean it. Stop fooling yourself. He knows. He knows.

“Y-You mean that, daddy?” You laughed a bit, breathless.

“Of course I do,” he said lowly. “y/n, all these years that I’ve looked the other way…you were right in front of me. My daughter, my star…my own flesh and blood. I love you, y/n.”

I hate you.

You heard the creak of the floorboards coming from inside, and you swallowed hard.

“He’s coming,” you whispered into the phone, and you set the phone down, putting it on speaker.

“So what will you have me do, y/n?” Your father’s voice was loud, but you pretended not to see Tom waiting by the door behind you. He was shirtless, just in his sweats, peeking out as he leaned against the doorway, listening intently. He wasn’t trying to hide, but you pretended not to notice him.

“I love him, daddy,” you said softly, sincerely. “Even after all of this is over…after…I can’t leave. I’m in love with him.”

You’re not lying, are you?

Your father let out a sigh on the other end, and you waited. You wondered if your father believed that as the lie it was intended to be. You hoped he would.

“I will come to New York, y/n,” he took that as your cue. “And I will give him your hand. If that’s what you want.”

You smiled, “really? You’d do that for me?”

Tom straightened up a bit behind you, his brows furrowing. The thought of marrying you crossed his mind when he first met you, but after months of teasing and kisses and late nights, he never thought you were a woman he could tie down. He was trying to come up with a plan, something different, because you seemed so aloof and untamable.

Also because you care, you prick. You care about her.

“Anything for you, y/n,” your father said gently. “Love in this world is not common. When I found your mother and knew what I felt, I made sure I left with what I wanted. We don’t have many chances, and when we do have them, we must take them as they come.”

You didn’t love mom. You didn’t love her at all.

“When will you come?” You asked, putting your hair behind your ear. Tom watched you carefully, watching your profile. How you had a smile on your face, a blush on your cheeks. You looked hopeful almost.

Sweet.

“Soon, sweetheart,” your father chuckled. “You realize that I’ll be negotiating with him…even if you’re to be married. If he loves you, he’ll give me something to have your hand.”

You laughed, but there was venom in your eyes, “yes, daddy. I promise not to get offended.”

You said your goodbyes, hanging up the phone, and you jumped in feigned surprise as you felt two arms come around your waist, pulling you close. Tom’s warmth was all around you again, and you could feel his heavy breaths as he pressed you into his chest.

“y/n,” he murmured, and you put your hands over his.

“T-Tommy, I…How…How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” he chuckled a bit, kissing your bare shoulder. “Enough to know that you want your father to come to New York and negotiate the terms of our marriage.”

His voice didn’t sound angry, but he wasn’t pleased.

“Y-You weren’t supposed to hear that,” you whispered, and he turned you around to face him. Your eyes met, and his were so dark, so suspicious.

“You come to New York, get cozy with an Englishman, and now you think you’re ready to marry me?” Tom raised a brow, and you looked away. You wanted him to think he was embarrassing you, that he held something over you.

“Before my father does it for me…yeah,” you swallowed. Part of it was the truth. Even if you never came to New York, you knew you were going to have to do this eventually. You had to find someone before your father did. You weren’t afraid of many things, but at home, you were always on edge. If you weren’t prepared to take things into your own hands, you were always afraid your father would do it for you. The only thing you could truly be afraid of was someone else deciding on you for you.

I can never escape this world, but I still want to live in it, not die in it.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know how it works for people like us, Tom, don’t…don’t pretend,” you pushed away from him a bit. “Daughters are pawns, not gifts. If I didn’t choose, he’d choose for me.”

“It’s not the bloody eighteenth century, darling, your father wouldn’t arrange your marriage.”

“You say that, but if I don’t let him do this, if I don’t convince him, then…then I’m going to wake up one day, he’s going to put a gun to my head, and he’s going to walk me into a room with a man I don’t know, and he’s going to marry me off like a goddamn animal. So yeah. Maybe it’s not the eighteenth century, Tom, but my daddy’s a little old-fashioned. And he does business that way,” you snapped. “I’ve got cousins forced halfway across the world to marry men they don’t know to mend bridges my father burned himself.”

You came close to him, putting a hand on his chest. Tom felt a prideful swell in his heart as you touched him. He could see it in your eyes. You needed something from him, and you could only get it from him. He thought about a day like this many times before, but he didn’t realize how much his heart ache when you were finally asking him for something, anything.

“Tom,” you looked up at him. “I know we’ve only known each other for…six months. And I know…things haven’t been…”

Tom put his hand to the back of your neck, holding you to his chest. There was still guilt inside of him, still images in his head of you covered in blood, images that Harrison and Mariposa had helped create. They did it purposefully. They wanted Tom to know, they wanted Tom to remember, and it worked because there was regret inside of him, and it was drilling into him like a slow-moving bullet that he couldn’t stop.

“I know, y/n. I know.”

“I really need you to do this for me, Tommy,” you said softly, your voice breaking a bit. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know…I know maybe you pictured someone different, but I really need you.”

I really need you.

“You realize what you’re asking of me, don’t you?” He ran his fingers through your hair. Despite his words, his touch was soothing, and you craved more. “Marriage?” Tom scoffed a bit. “I am not a man that gets married, darling. I’m all the way at the top. If I’m married, it’s for life.”

Tom wanted it to seem like he didn’t need you like you needed him, but as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back.

I am yours, and you are mine.

You let go of him, pacing in the bedroom slowly. Tom sat down on the bed, lighting himself a cigarette to pass the time. You hated it when he smoked. You hated smoking. You had picked it up because of him, and now you wished all you had done was leave them out for the rats.

“What do you think I am, Tom? When my father’s gone? Who do you think he’s going to give everything to?” You shook your head. “He’s going to give it to me.”

Tom let out a breath through his nose. He raised a brow. “You’re sure of that?”

You played with your fingers, brushing your hair back. “My father’s too proud to give it to anyone else. He doesn’t have any other children. It’s just…it’s just me. I’m all he’s got.”

“Yes, but we don’t give our businesses to women who don’t know how to run it,” Tom informed you. You turned around quickly, narrowing your eyes at him. “y/n, don’t look at me like that. You’re a bloody good woman, and you know how to get the job done. But you don’t command men, you don’t…you don’t organize meetings, you don’t…you don’t deal with suppliers and distributors and the accounts. You don’t know. It isn’t a question of your ability or your character, it’s just a statement about your experience.”

Tom did mean that. He had reservations about marriage from the beginning. He was so set on it at first, so convinced that he could snatch it right up when he first met you. Then, he learned better. Rumors had it that your father and you weren’t on the best of terms, and that was enough to keep Tom at bay. He had yet to see you do much more than provide intel and break a few bones. He was worried that perhaps you were not the heiress the world thought you to be, and for that, he had to be cautious. Harrison was adamant about such things.

All the more reason to put a bullet in your head. What’s new? Men that know nothing about what you can do? Nothing’s new. Nothing’s changed. You went from one man who underestimated you to another. They will never learn. They will never respect you for what you are.

You came over to the bed and snatched the cigarette out of his mouth, stubbing it out. You brushed out your hair a bit before going for the door.

You have to take it, from both of them. You have to take it, and you can’t say sorry when you have to step on both of them like the bugs that they are. They are shit under your shoes. You are better than them.

“The smoke is getting to your head, Tom,” you said finally. “You’re talking out of your ass now.”

“Where are you going?” He demanded as you opened the door.

“Away from you.”

You shut the bedroom door behind you and padded down the hall towards the staircase. You put your hand on the railing and made your way downstairs to the kitchen. Two boys sat there at the counter, cups of hot coffee between their hands and their suit jackets thrown over the back of the living room couch. They had pretty dark curls just like Tom. You had seen them at your initiation and occasionally around Tom’s office, but you had never said a word to them.

“Good morning, lovey,” one of them said to you. You grabbed a mug and started to fill it with some of the coffee they brewed. It smelled strong, but you needed it, desperately.

“Late night? Or early morning?” You asked, turning to face them. They both smiled at you a bit, one cockier than the other, and you smiled a bit right back. Tom’s family seemed the same, more or less. Cocky, egocentric, arrogant boys that loved to get in trouble.

“Late night,” he replied. He held out his hand for you to shake. “Allow me. Harry.”

The other outstretched his hand, “Sam.”

You came forward and shook both of their hands, “y/n.”

At the sound of your name, they both smiled wider, sinister smiles, almost catlike. They knew you, and they knew you well.

“Oh, we know who you are,” Harry snickered a bit. “Tom doesn’t shut up about ya.”

Your smile faded a bit, and you rolled your eyes, “I’m sure,” you muttered. “Your prick of a brother needs me, but he doesn’t act like it.”

“Needs you?”

“All the intel you’ve gotten on the Russians still running around Hell’s Kitchen? All from me,” you shrugged. “The only reason your brother doesn’t have Manhattan up in flames is because of me.”

“We just heard Viktor’s dead,” Sam frowned a bit. “I could only assume—”

“That was me, too,” you took a sip of coffee, staring out a bit distantly. “I…last night, I…”

It struck the twins at that moment that you were Tom’s little weapon. They knew Tom was doing something, but the news was always discreet, quiet, and never in the papers. Of course it had to be a woman doing things for him.

They’re the only ones smart enough to keep their mouths shut and their guns down.

“Jesus,” Harry shook his head. “All that blood. That was Viktor?”

Your gaze fell to the floor, and you swallowed. Thinking about how not even twelve hours before, you were sitting in a luxury bathroom surrounded by broken glass, flashing lights, and a dead man.

“Yeah,” is all you could say. Sam and Harry glanced at each other before looking back at you. Harry clicked his tongue, shaking his head again. Tom had a good woman doing the dirty work, and he knew that Tom refused to give anyone but himself any credit. Tom was selfish like that, thinking he was the only person that deserved respect. It was evident to Harry that you had yet to get any from him, at least not willingly.

Harry pulled out a notebook from his pocket and a sleek Montblanc pen, scribbling on a page before ripping it out. He slid it across the counter to you, where his name and a few scrambled numbers were written across it. Sam snatched the pen and leaned over, scribbling his own digits onto it.

“You ever need somethin’, love,” Harry said lowly, “and our prick of a brother doesn’t answer, you call these numbers.”

You smiled just a little bit, staring down at the crumpled paper in your hands. The writing was messy, but the numbers meant something. They respected you enough to give you a direct line to them if you needed help, if you needed family. They had seen you draw blood, and somehow they were the only Hollands in the household to remember that fact.

You folded up the paper, putting it in your pocket. “Thanks.”

“Harry’s got balls,” Sam shrugged, leaning back, and Harry nudged his brother.

“Sam does the numbers,” he informed you. You looked between the both of them.

“You work for Tom?”

“Work with Tom, don’t insult us like that,” Harry snickered, and you laughed a bit. They were charming, you had to give them that, and their banter was distracting you from the boiling hatred for Tom sitting in your chest.

“Although lately it seems as if we don’t,” Sam shrugged. “It sounds like all of our business is somehow yours now.”

There was something bitter in his voice. Like he was searching for answers and couldn’t find them, and now that he had, he was disappointed with the result.

You tilted your head to the side, “I-I don’t understand.”

“Tom takes the Russian business delicately,” Harry chimed in. “He doesn’t trust anyone but us to take care of it. Because if he can’t control them, we’re vulnerable to the groups the city still has.”

“But it sounds like Tom’s been giving you those orders,” Sam looked down at his coffee. “We’ve been a bit…bored lately.”

Bored. You mean your killing count hasn’t gone up. Lovely.

You put the coffee down, biting your lip. “Has he been…asking you to look into things in Brooklyn?”

“Aye,” Harry nodded his head. “Brooklyn, Queens, the likes. Been around those parts often lately. Been chasing some fuckin’ ghost, and we come up empty-handed every bloody time.”

You frowned, looking away for a moment. Tom was redirecting his own people to figure out things in Brooklyn. It meant he was scrabbling, surely. Tom had no idea what was going on, that much was clear. He kept his face calm, but you wondered how anxious he was underneath thick skin.

Something isn’t right. It wasn’t Tom. He has his brothers playing detective while you hold up Manhattan, and he’s spreading his men out because he doesn’t know what’s going on, does he?

You let out a breath, picking up the coffee mug. You wondered how such a small conversation with his brothers could reveal so much vulnerability underneath Tom’s kingdom.

“It was nice to meet you both,” you said softly, going back upstairs.

If Tom didn’t take the money, who did?

Who’s hiding from me?

You held your drink up in hand, scrunching your nose as you watched Mariposa flick the quarter in her hand. Everyone at the table sat up a bit, anxious, and you cheered as the quarter fell right into shot glass, a huge smile coming over her face as she brushed her curls out of the way.

“Salud, cabrones,” Mariposa giggled, and all the boys at the table grumbled as they tipped their heads back, downing their shots. You nudged each other as the sounds of glasses slamming onto the table sounded, and Harrison threw an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple, a drunk smile on his face.

“How are you two so bloody good at this?” Sam coughed, punching his chest a bit. The alcohol burned going down his throat, but it felt good. You were a bit drunk, the twins were a bit drunk, and Mariposa and Harrison were looking at each other like nothing else existed. You swallowed as you watched them smile at one another. Your hand was empty now, and you wondered why Tom wasn’t there to fill it.

It was hard now, to draw the line between playing an act and really feeling something. Moments like these, spending time with people you genuinely cared about, you wished he was here. You had grown used to it. Surrounding yourself with people that had your back, and after the other night, you were certain Harrison had yours.

You’ve earned their respect, but when it all comes crashing down, who will be beside you?

“What do you think we did when we were eighteen in New York City?” Mariposa laughed. “All we did was go to parties and polish up our skills.”

Everyone laughed, and you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You looked around a bit for Tom. He was stuck in the back, in a meeting, but he assured you all he was alright and ushered you all to stay in the back and relax. You all had, playing drinking games and telling stories, and the boys were relieved to finally have women to impress, even though Harrison would glare if the twins stared too long at Mariposa.

The twins had laughed about Tom’s first days in the business, even shown you a few pictures of Tom’s cheeky smile and array of flashy jewelry. Harrison was no better. They had no idea what to spend their newfound riches on, and it was nice to smile at what they used to be. Tom didn’t have those eyes anymore, or that smile. You knew what had done that to him. Blood, death, and sleepless nights had turned those eyes into nothing but dark coal, and there was nothing that could bring them back to their sweet colors. Tom had notches on his belt, death on his hands, and he never knew whether the blood on his clothes was that of others or his own.

Tom was beaten and molded into what he was now. A man, yes, not a boy anymore, but he was a man molded out of experience, secrets, and lawlessness. Maybe that was why you loved him so much, as much as you tried to tell yourself otherwise.

Two sides of the same coin. One and the same. We are nothing but reflections of each other.

“Oi, y/n, you got all doe-eyed looking for my shithead brother,” Harry pointed out, and you looked back at all of them. You shook your head, coming out of your daze.

“No, I’m just…”

Everyone laughed and made a few whooping noises, and Mariposa hit Harrison in the chest for whistling. You slid out of the booth, nodding at them. Maybe you were doe-eyed looking for Tom. But ever since you killed someone for him, you couldn’t stop trying to find him in places where he wasn’t. New York had changed you in the last six months, so much so that you were looking for comfort because you had touched it, felt it, tasted it, and you ached for it. Your father had never lent you a shoulder or kissed your tears away, but Tom had.

And I’m a mess for it.

“I’ll go get another round.”

“And take a lap looking for my mate?” Harrison raised a brow. Harrison could see the longing in your eyes, in your posture. You were fiddling with your fingers and shifting on your feet. “y/n, if he was worried, he would’ve said to look out for him, or even asked us to be in that room.”

“I know,” you smiled a bit. “I just…”

Mariposa shushed them all, slamming her hand on the table. “y/n, go get your man. We’re bonding here, shouldn’t he be here?”

You pushed the curtain aside as you came out of the back room, and you looked around the club, squinting your eyes to see through the changing lights. You made your way to the bar, tapping on it as you ordered more drinks for the table.

“…yeah, Tom’s girl is here,” you heard a voice say. Your head turned a bit as you craned your neck to listen. You recognized the voice.

“We don’t know what the boss is up to, we have no idea what she is.”

“Are you kidding me? She does so much shit for Tom, she might as well be.”

“She’s an asset, that’s all. He saw someone who could get shit done. Doesn’t mean they’re together.”

“Are you serious? A woman like that? No way Mr. Holland isn’t fucking her. Jesus, she walks into the office, and I’m fucking floored every time.”

You rolled your eyes a bit, laughing to yourself. Tom’s lackeys were always nice to you, always good to you, but they were such predictable men. You asked for a scotch, taking the single glass and going towards the back again. You kept walking though, to the door with two lackeys on either side. You moved to go in, but one of them stopped you.

“Mr. Holland asked not to be disturbed,” he said to you, and you tilted your head to the side.

“Michael, I think we’ve been over this. Have some respect or I’ll have you on your ass if you speak to me like that again,” you snapped, and he closed his mouth as you put your hand on the door and opened it. Tom was sitting with a few men, all around a makeshift poker table. The room was filled with smoke leaking from the cigars and cigarettes on the table, and it stunk like ash and old cardboard and dry liquor. There were five men besides Tom sitting around the table, all glittering with blood money and grinning with sinister smiles. Tom was the only one with a straight face, and he was the only one sitting at the table under 30 years old.

“Ahhhh, Mr. Holland, is this the wonder woman we’ve all been hearing about?”

Tom turned his head to look towards the door where you stood, holding his drink in one hand. Your eyes darkened a bit, and you came towards him, your heels the only sound echoing through.

“Wonder woman?” You questioned, laughing a bit. “Hardly.”

“My sources tell me a Russian man is dead by your hands.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have put his where they didn’t belong,” you said firmly, setting down Tom’s drink in front of him. He took it from you, taking a sip of it, his nose twitching a bit. You could tell he wasn’t happy in the slightest for interrupting his big bad meeting.

“My, my,” some of the men around the table chuckled. “I’m going to need to get me one of those, gentlemen.”

There was laughter around the room, and you rolled your eyes. Tom made eye contact with you, and he shook his head just enough, his eyes begging you to leave. You wouldn’t leave. There was something you wanted from Tom, and you were going to get it. Tom could lie to you all he wanted, he could paint a story and show it to you all day every day, but he was just like your father. You had to choose before he chose for you.

Shit under your shoes, that’s all they are. Use them, abuse them, lose them.

“You need to get yourself a fiancé?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. “I thought you already had a wife, Mr. Cunningham.”

The room quieted a bit, and Tom tilted his head to the side a bit, his nostrils flaring just a bit. You could see his knuckles whitening as he tightened the grip on his glass of liquor.

I am yours, and you are mine.

“Pardon me? Fiancé?”

You smiled, coming towards the table, kicking Tom’s chair out a bit before taking a seat in his lap. You brought his hand to your mouth and kissed it, taking one of his diamond bands off his fingers and slipping it onto your own. You held your hand out as the diamonds glittered in the low light.

Suits me.

“Yes, we haven’t really…told anyone yet,” you said with a laugh, looking back at Tom. “But there’s long been tensions between my father and Tom’s own family…” You reached over and touched a few of his curls, “I guess we’re just so lucky that we fell for each other.”

Tom gripped your wrist tightly, squeezing it so hard you thought he might break something. You yanked your hand out of his grip, turning back to the crowd.

“Tom…you choose well, don’t you? A princess that’s to become a queen? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom let out a hard breath through his nose, “aye,” he licked his lips a bit. “I only get the best, gentlemen, wouldn’t you say so?”

You leaned back a bit, whispering into his ear angrily. You hated when he spoke like you weren’t in the room.

“Really? You’re going to pull that shit right here, Tom?”

He chuckled, kissing under your ear. “That’s right, love. You want to be mine, eh? You want to play the part? Then you’re going to have to get used to things around here, and how I run them. And you’re not in charge.”

Bite me.

“I should shoot you right here,” you snapped, and he put a hand on your thigh, squeezing hard. His fingers stroked delicately, rubbing in slow circles. You leaned your head back against his shoulder a bit, sighing hard. It felt good, and you adored how he touched you, but now was not the time, and definitely not when his intentions were to shut you up.

“Say that again, darling…”

“Are you seriously getting off on this?”

He grinned wickedly, his eyes alight, and you dug your stiletto heel into his foot, making him jump a bit. He hid his face in your hair, letting out a quiet, “God, fuck!”

You hummed a bit, stroking the back of his neck, tugging at the hairs there to pull him close to you.

“I’m getting really sick and tired of you, Tom, reeling me in just to throw me back out,” you hissed in his ear. He grunted a bit, his breath heavy, and you nibbled along his earlobe. “I don’t how much longer I have to prove myself to you. I shouldn’t have to. If there’s anyone on this Godforsaken planet worthy of being your wife, it’s me, Tom, and you damn well know it.”

“y/n—”

You turned back to the men at the table, picking up Tom’s cards, face down in front of you two. You took a peek at them, a small smile growing on your face.

“What are we playing then, boys?” You asked in a soft, sultry tone. Tom gritted his teeth a bit, but he put an arm around your waist, holding you close to him as he looked over your shoulder. “What are we betting on?”

“Poker, with just the money, sweetheart,” and you smiled wider when you felt Tom’s grip tighten on you, the hard breath he let out. There were eyes on you, hungry, beady, grown eyes that Tom suddenly hated more than anything else in this world. It was even more insulting that they thought you were his fiancé, and they had the nerve to stare at you like so.

“How about we make it…a bit better?” You asked, looking around at them. You put the cards down, taking your leather jacket off tossing it, leaning over on the table, letting the low neckline of your dress do most of the talking. Tom lowered his hand on your waist, to the curve of your back, and you let him, because you loved the way he was touching you. “Make it more…exciting?”

They chuckled, staring at you, drooling, like dogs seeing a treat.

All the same, all of them. Shit under your shoes.

“What did you have in mind, doll?”

You shrugged, “My distributors in Brooklyn on the table, and a fourth of the dock on the Hudson from my future husband.”

You bit back the gasp as Tom suddenly had a death grip on you, so hard you knew his fingertips might leave you with bruises. You pursed your lips tight, trying to keep the smile on your face.

Trust me, Tommy.

“y/n—”

“What do you say, boys? Last betting round? Show me what you got,” you smiled at them.

“20% of my next shipment.”

“Fuck it, how about just cash, eh?”

“Five months of no interest.”

You giggled, winking, “Oh, you boys like your odds, don’t you?”

The cards went down, and the room went up in cackles and sharp laughter. You spread Tom’s hand out, a beautiful, perfect royal flush.

“Jesus, fuck, Holland!”

“God, your woman is mad.”

“Fuck, I’m out 30,000, I suppose.”

You sat back in Tom’s lap, crossing one leg over the other. “You guys are terrible at reading my poker face,” you teased, and Tom leaned forward, letting out a breath against your ear. You closed your eyes for a moment as he pulled your back tight up against his chest, holding you deathly close to him.

“Is this how you want to do things now? Go over my bloody head?” He growled, and you turned your head, giving his jaw a kiss.

“No, baby,” you whispered. “But when you treat me like just another one of your men, you shouldn’t be surprised when I exceed your expectations. And win things for you. And make your business a whole lot more lucrative. All I did was flash my lingerie, Tommy, and they gave me millions for nothing. You not wanting to negotiate a marriage with me is just plain stupid. So you either do business with me, or I’ll take it elsewhere. And I don’t care if Brooklyn falls.”

He clenched his jaw, kissing between your shoulder blades gently as he looked away from you. The thought of you leaving irked him to no end. The thought of someone else getting to have your special skills, even someone like your father, bothered him. Tom didn’t want you working for anyone else, beside anyone else, for anyone else. You never were able to do things like things before, and Tom had given you a chance, and he felt like he was entitled to everything you were and more.

She’s mine.

You both stood up to bid Tom’s partners farewell, and they thanked you with kisses to your knuckles. You could tell some of them were dying to touch you, but Tom was quick wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. You looked up at him when the door shut behind them.

“Was that to show chivalry isn’t dead or because you actually care about me?”

He pulled away from you, kicking the poker table to the side. Some of the chips clattered onto the floor, and you sighed, already feeling what was coming. Tom had yet to realize who he was talking to.

“You know, y/n, I didn’t think you had the goddamn balls to undermine me like that,” Tom snapped, grabbing the glass and throwing it at the wall. You didn’t even flinch as it shattered. You crossed your arms over your chest. “You do a lot of things that fucking piss me off, but business?! Are you fucking serious?!”

“What did I say about the anger, Tom? What have we talked about?!”

“Goddammit, y/n, you listen to me before I—!”

“Before you what?! Hit me? Put your hands on me? Toss me out of here like one of your men?” You interrupted him. He came towards you, backing you up until you hit the wall, and you glared up at him. “Tom, you don’t want to do this. I don’t care what I feel for you, you put your fucking hands on me, and you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll put whatever I want on you,” Tom growled, and you gripped his chin, holding it tight between your fingers.

“Shut your mouth and listen to me, Tom, have some fucking respect,” you spat. “You touch me because I allow you to, not the other way around. I don’t care if you’re my boyfriend, my lover, my husband, my anything. You touch me, and I swear to God, I’ll put your ass on this floor and let your men watch me beat you to shit—”

You gasped as he wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing as he shoved you against the wall. You reached over and used your nails to scratch his face, and when he loosened his grip, you brought your knee up and hit him right in the stomach. You both released each other, you panting against the wall and him leaning over in pain, groaning, and just as you were about to hit him again, he pushed you up against the wall again, pinning your arms on either side of your head.

“Tom! Jesus, fuck, listen to me for one second!” You breathed, trying to break out of his grip. Neither of you were using your full strength. Neither of you really wanted to hurt the other. “Yeah. I did something in front of your partners, I teased, but you just won’t listen to me!”

“What the fuck do you have to say that makes this any better?!”

You leaned forward and caught him in a hot kiss. He dropped your arms from beside your head, circling his around your waist, and you slid your arms up and around his neck, letting out soft, breathy moans as you kissed against the wall.

Your head hit the wall hard as he pressed you up against it, and the kisses grew warmer, hotter, deeper by the second. Tom had had his hands on you for so long now, and you didn’t shy away from it any longer. You couldn’t.

He’s touching me, and I like it, and I’m selfish. I don’t want to let go.

“I wanna,” you panted, your lips still pressed to his, “I wanna build something with you, Tommy.”

“Yeah? Build what?”

Tom’s voice was breathy, and his eyes were closed, and you could tell all he wanted to do was keep kissing, keep breathing each other in. The constant teasing, the way you had stood up to him all night, it was getting to him, and although he pretended he despised it, all he could do was admire the hell out of you.

The only woman worthy of being a Holland.

“I want it all,” you moaned between kisses. “I want power…and money…and I want people under me, doing the things I tell them to do,” you gasped as Tom picked you up off your feet, pressing you against the wall as your legs went around his middle, “a-and I want you.”

He breathed hard as he pulled away a bit, his forehead against yours. You brushed your knuckles along his cheek, licking your lips. His skin felt warm and soft under your touch, and you adored the heaving breaths he was taking. He felt so alive under your palms, he felt so full of fire, and although you were supposed to be lighting that fire yourself, you couldn’t help but drink it in, too.

“I want all of it,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to climb and climb and climb, and I don’t want to stop climbing until I’m dead, Tommy.”

I never want to stop.

You pulled back enough, and Tom could see your glistening eyes, so big and wide, looking down at him. Your eyes were watering a bit, and you sniffled. You were so hungry with the feeling, and you knew Tom was the only man that could ever understand what was building inside of you.

More, more, more.

“I don’t want to do it with anyone else, Tom,” you shook your head. “B-Because the truth is…I-I’m scared to do it with anyone else. And despite how much we fight and bicker and argue, there hasn’t been one moment with you that I haven’t felt…safe o-or unloved. I’m scared that if I don’t snatch you up, Tommy, that I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, and I’m…I’m so afraid of being alone.”

Tom swallowed hard, and you leaned your forehead against his again. You couldn’t tell what part of your words were a lie or the truth. You couldn’t decipher what was between the lines, but you didn’t care. It was spilling from you, and you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop.

There’s love in your voice.

“You’d never hurt me,” you whispered, brushing through his curls. “You’d never push me aside. If that was how you felt, you would’ve done it tonight, and you didn’t.”

He set you down gently onto your feet, but he kept you pressed to the wall as he kissed you again. Head tipped back, fingers in your hair, and a heat between your mouths that neither of you could bear to break. Tom Holland was reeling you in all over again, and you were letting him.

God, what have I done?

“Tell me you want it,” you groaned between kisses, holding onto him. Your touch was warm, and you couldn’t bear to let go of him.

“I want it,” Tom said lowly. You smiled, his kisses getting softer.

“Tell me you want money, Tommy,” you breathed, and he slid his hand down your side, gripping your ass tightly. It felt possessive, the way he touched you, but you held onto him tighter, gritting your teeth.

“I want money,” he repeated, and you moaned as he squeezed your backside soothingly.

“Tell me you want power,” you cooed, and he tilted his head to the side, licking over your bottom lip. You leaned forward just a bit, stealing a kiss, and he chuckled darkly, adoring the sounds you made as he touched you.

More, more, more, all I want is more.

“I want power,” he grunted, hiking up your dress to touch. You stopped him, taking that hand and dragging it up your side and between your breasts, letting his fingers wrap around your throat as you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking and licking it gently.

Such a fucking tease.

“Tell me you want the world,” you purred, and he nodded, letting his thumb slip back into your mouth as you sucked on it, your eyes lidded as you looked up at him. All you could think about was him holding you like this over his desk, making you feel more alive than ever.

Making me feel something rather than the nothingness I always feel. Making me feel anything but completely, utterly empty.

“I want the world, darling,” Tom said darkly, and you let his finger go, standing up on your toes to reach his ear. You curled your fingers around the nape of his neck, kissing the skin, licking the shell of his ear. He grunted a bit at that, closing his eyes.

“I can give the world to you, Tommy,” you whispered, leaving soft, sweet butterfly kisses from the underside of his ear down to his jaw, then back up again to kiss his lips chastely. “I can take it, wrap it up in a bow, and give it to you. All you have to do is let me in. Give me the most precious gifts you could ever give. A pretty ring, because I do have tastes, Tommy—”

“Of course,” he snickered, and he opened his eyes to look at you.

Two sides of the same coin, one and the same, reflections of each other.

“Maybe an island or two, to keep me occupied,” you added, and he laughed a bit. “And…”

“And?”

Your eyes met, and you touched his chin.

“And your name,” you said softly. His lips twitched for a moment, and you leaned forward, kissing them so softly, so tenderly. “I want your name.”

“I want the world, and you want my name?” Tom asked, raising a brow. You gripped the lapels of his suit jacket in both hands, bringing him even closer, as close as you could.

“I want your name,” you said, leaning in close. “And everything that comes with it.”

He kissed your lips gently, smirking a bit. You put your hands on both of his cheeks, letting it deepen. Moments like this made you forget why you ever came to New York in the first place. It made you forget that you came here with a proposition, targeting Tom and all he was worth, to take everything from him. Kissing him, touching him, letting his scent intoxicate you, it was consuming you like fire, and you just wanted to hold onto him forever.

I want your name, and I want it forever.

You pulled back for a moment and looked into his dark, beautiful eyes, and you were stricken when something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Guilt.

Tom was lying, you were lying, but in this moment, here, you knew whatever was silent between you was the truth. You needed Tom, and Tom needed you, and when everything would come crashing down and burning, there was something inside of you that didn’t care about what came after. You didn’t care about anything except the hope that maybe, just maybe, Tom would forgive you.

Before Tom could answer, the door opened slightly, and Harrison poked his head through. Tom didn’t move away from you, still holding onto you, and Harrison let out a breath.

“Ah…sorry to interrupt, but…the phone, it’s for you, mate,” Harrison held out his hand, Tom’s cell phone in it. Tom took it from him, frowning a bit. You looked at the number displayed, and you frowned.

“That’s my dad,” you said softly. You scoffed a bit, and before Tom could put the phone to his ear, you grabbed it, putting it on speaker, gesturing to Tom for him to say something.

“Aye, this is Tom,” he said finally, and Harrison shut the door again.

“Thomas…what a pleasure to finally be speaking to you.”

Your father’s voice was dark, more sinister than you’ve ever heard it sound before. Tom slid his hand up to your waist, squeezing a bit absentmindedly.

“Hello, Mr. y/l/n. What can I do for you?” Tom asked blankly, keeping his voice level. You put your head on Tom’s chest, not knowing how to feel. Your father didn’t say anything to you about speaking to Tom, he never warned you about any of this.

“Thomas, in a few hours, I’ll be landing at JFK,” your father explained, and you and Tom met eyes. “I have business in New York, and you have business in New York. There’s matters that we need to discuss.”

“Mmm…you know, I’m not certain how things are done in California, Mr. y/l/n, but here in the city, we aren’t particularly friendly with those in other territories,” Tom informed him, his voice lowering in tone. “And I’m a busy man. What makes you think I have time for you, eh?”

You raised a brow, looking at Tom, confused, but he just winked down at you.

“Because of my daughter,” your father said finally. “My daughter, who works for you, Mr. Holland. Word gets around. You weren’t thinking of proposing without asking for my permission, were you?”

“Mmm…is that how we’re doing this?” Tom asked. “I need your permission to do things, do I?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but Tom put a finger to your lips.

“When it comes to what’s mine? Yeah, you do,” your father said simply. “You want my daughter, Mr. Holland? Despite whatever you think, despite whatever she may have done for you, she’s still mine. And she answers to me. So don’t get fucking smart with me, Thomas. I don’t care how many times she’s sucked your cock.”

You pulled off of Tom quickly, blinking.

“That deal she made with you, Thomas? We both know it wasn’t hers to make, so you can stop throwing her a bone. There are things that I want, and there are things that you want, and I’m sure we can come up with something agreeable, can’t we? If it is that you truly want her hand and not that you’ve been degrading her the entire time she’s been there.”

You couldn’t even speak. You were so disgusted by everything coming from your father’s mouth, and you put a hand over your face, feeling sick to your stomach.

“When is it that you want to meet, then?” Tom asked.

“Saturday evening. Send a car, will you?”

“Mmm. Of course,” Tom’s voice was bitter. “Have a goodnight.”

He hung up, and Tom immediately looked away from you when he noticed the tears in your eyes.

“Why didn’t you…why didn’t you say something?” You asked weakly, shaking your head. “Did you not…hear a single fucking word that came out of his mouth? Why didn’t you say something?”

“y/n, I’m not going to argue with your father over the phone about—”

“Oh, my God,” you burst out laughing, coming out sharp and pained, stepping back from him. “What is wrong with you? You think that’s true? Is that what you want people to believe? That I’m just some complacent piece of ass for you to have on your arm?”

“y/n, that’s not it,” Tom shook his head, coming close, and you pushed his hands off of you.

“No, Tom, I’ve…is that what you really think about me? Is that what you want people to think when they think of me?” You asked painfully. “That I…that I do jobs for you that involve me on my knees for you? That I’m some kind of whore that you tend to keep around?”

“No, y/n, and you know that,” Tom argued.

“Then why can’t you say it?” You breathed. “Why is it that when other people are in the room, it’s as if suddenly I don’t matter? I…I killed someone for you, Tommy. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

Your voice cracked at the end, and Tom reached forward, cupping your cheek, bringing you close.

“I can’t stand the things people say about you, love,” he murmured. “I wanted to murder every man that was in this room, because they couldn’t stop looking at you like a piece of bloody meat, and if they weren’t my partners, y/n, I would’ve bashed their fuckin’ heads in for looking at you like that. And your father? Saying that shit? It made me sick, y/n. But I had to know.”

“Know what?” You asked.

“I had to know what your father thought. Because clearly he’s been lying to you,” Tom scoffed. “You’ve been his liaison to me, but everything he’s said to you so far means nothing. Your father’s been lying to you, and honestly, darling, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that as soon as your father miraculously had faith in you, your first assignment was to come to New York and look for me.”

You chewed on your fingernail, pulling away from him as you paced slowly around the room.

“So what do we do?” You asked, coming back to him. Tom cupped your cheeks, bringing you close enough for your foreheads to touch.

“You wanna be my wife, yeah?” He muttered against your lips. “You wanna do business with me? You wanna take on the fucking world, is that it?”

“Yes, Tommy,” you breathed, and he moved one hand lower to grasp your chin tightly between his fingers.

“You’ve got to promise me something, y/n,” he whispered, and you nodded, your noses touching, your breath warm against one another’s. He tangled his other hand into your hair, gripping it tight. “You’re my ride or die, then, yeah? I don’t fucking care what it’s about. Your father, Mariposa, Harrison, your bloody dog, I don’t fucking care. It’s me and you, and me and you always, and nothing comes between that, you hear me, eh?”

There’s love in there. Why can’t you hear it?

You opened your eyes, looking up into his.

“I hear you,” you said breathlessly, and you adored how he grabbed your face and kissed you. “Loyalty. That’s what…that’s what you want.”

Mine, mine, mine.

“Aye,” Tom nodded. “Your father doesn’t give two shits about you, y/n. We’ve got to bleed him dry—”

“Tom—” You let out a sob, shaking your head, and he held your face to his tighter, closer.

“We’ve got to bleed him dry,” Tom growled. “Because he will never understand what you are, y/n. And he will never believe in you. You think men like that change their minds suddenly, darling? Fuck, I could’ve killed you the day you got here, y/n, and he knew that. I let you do things on your own because I know you can take care of yourself, but your father doesn’t understand, and he still lets you, because to him, he doesn’t care whether you live or die in this business.”

“Tommy, that’s not true,” you whimpered, “h-he loves me, he—”

“He doesn’t!” Tom snapped. “Get that through your head, y/n! That man doesn’t love you, and he’s never going to give you what you want. It’s gotta be us, love. It’s gotta be you and I, and you and I only. For once in your life, y/n, choose yourself.”

You and Tom hugged tightly, holding onto each other, your cries muffled in his chest as he held you as close to him as he could.

“I know, baby,” he whispered against your hair. “I’ve got you. I promise. I’ve got you now, yeah?”

What have I done?

It wasn’t long before you were sitting in his leather chair behind his desk, Tom’s suit jacket draped over you as he went to go get something stronger, something to calm your nerves. You had dried tears on your cheeks, and you looked a mess. Your phone buzzed in your jacket pocket, and you picked up your leather jacket off the floor, pulling it out. Your father’s name was lit on the screen.

We are two sides of the same coin.

Tom would never forgive you.

Did he buy it, baby?

One and the same.

yes, daddy. see you soon.

Not when you would stand over him, a gun to his head, taking everything from him and leaving him with nothing. Not even so much as his name, because you knew you’d take that, too.

Reflections of each other.

You would take his name, and you would run with it.

read chapter seven

#WOW #this is hella long #but yeah a lot of shit is starting to happen );#next chapter might kill me #im mad sad #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland series #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland au #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #mob!tom

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betweenthetimeandsound · 3 years ago

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Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#220-211)

#220: Yiannis Dimitras -- Feggari Kalokerino (Greece 1981)

"Κοίτα τον έρημο γυαλό Σου ψιθυρίζω σ’ αγαπώ Τώρα θα χτίσω εκκλησιά Για της αγάπης τα τρελά παιδιά" "Look at the desolate seashore I whisper you “I love you” Now I’ll build a church For the crazy children of love" The opening shot, the rose on the piano, set the stage for such a romantic journey under the summer moon. And the soundscape created through the piano and instrumental throw us into this endearing scene, one which is also tinged with melancholy. Feggari Kalokerino is not only an ode to this beauty, but also an admission of craziness for falling in love. With such pretty lyrics, one can't help but get enveloped in this pretty world, where everything is so beautiful. The combination of Yiannis' singing and the woman's piano playing is also quite cute, albeit with some...interesting undertones to it. Either way, it's classical yet timeless.

Personal ranking: 3rd/20 Actual ranking: 8th/20 in Dublin

#219: Liliane Saint-Pierre -- Soldiers of Love (Belgium 1987)

“Neem elkaars handen Smeed nou die banden toe Hoor je die verre kreet? Geen mens vraagt dat leed” “Take each other’s hands Come on, weld those bonds Do you hear that distant scream? Nobody asks for that suffering” Top ten opening themes of anime, haha. It also helps that "Soldiers of Love" is the English translation for the song "Ai no Senshi" from Sailor Moon (which I've listened to many times but haven't gotten that far into the anime...). That said, Soldiers of Love packs a punch with the instrumentation and the high intensity of the melody. The lyrics are a powerful battle cry, albeit one which advocates for peace amongst people. There’s so much energy and determination in Belgium’s host entry, one would prepare themselves for battle for a good cause. Liliane really delivers this earnestly and with determination, though sometimes the military-style get-up stands out to me the most when I watch it again. Though those two guitarists turning their ends as if they were firing guns is a cool thing to behold.

It's one of the host entries that is better than the song which one it for the country, which is something because J'aime la vie is considered a fan favorite.

Personal ranking: 6th/22 Actual ranking: 11th/22 in Brussels

#218: Beth -- Dime (Spain 2003)

"Cuántas veces te llamé en la noche Cuántas veces te busqué Por mis recuerdos yo vuelvo Y no pierdo la fe" "How many times did I call you in the night? How many times did I look for you? I return for my memories And I don’t lose faith" For some reason, Dime reminds me of "Die for You" from two years earlier--both feature modern pop bops with ethnic influences, both imploring about the state of a relationship (while they both want to make it wor. And they're both in the same key! At the same time, Dime holds its own as one of the strongest 2000s entries from Spain. They had similar flamenco/Latin inspired entries in 2001 and 2004, which were highlights in rather mediocre years because of their uniqueness overall. But the guitar flourishes here work well with the dance beat, and it provides its own fun.

Personal ranking: 3rd/26 Actual ranking: 8th/26 in Riga

#217: Svala -- Paper (Iceland 2017)

“Drawing every bit of my truth Colour me in with your blue” I didn’t actually pay attention to this song in the follow-up to the 2017 contest. I also didn’t watch the semi-finals, which could’ve led to me neglecting the song entirely otherwise, especially I've heard a lot about Blackbird during that time. However, the summer after the contest, I discovered the song and listened to it. And I liked it! (And then I got hooked with Svala's other songs through her different groups) I was interested particularly in the lyrics, which discussed a fight between one’s mental demons and anxiety. I like the English version more than the Icelandic one; the latter is a bit more optimistic on winning against the battle whereas the former really takes the issue seriously. The production, while a bit staid, added to the feeling of helplessness with its electronic coldness. The staging also tries to incorporate this, though it didn't work in making it stand out. (I did like Svala's cape and makeup, though!) While I do love "Hear them Calling" a lot, I had a more interesting journey with Paper--it grew until it became something I highly enjoyed. Personal ranking: 6th/42 Actual ranking: DNQ -- 15th in the first semi-final in Kyiv

#216: Live Report -- Why Do I Always Get it Wrong? (United Kingdom 1989)

“You can do what you want to do now...” Honestly, this has to be one of my favorite British entries ever. While "Go" from the previous year gets a lot of acclaim because of its songwriting and Scott's performance (along with how it ended up second in the end), "Why Do I Always Get it Wrong?" is better on how it envelops a mood and could actually be found from this era (though it sadly didn't do too well commercially afterwards, sigh)

Whenever I do something wrong, or self-hate, this is the song I turn to a lot. The synthesizers drew me in—it fit well with the late 1980s-early 1990s sound elsewhere. It's also helped that Celine performed "Where Does My Heart Beat Now" earlier in the contest, which piqued my interest. And while Ray’s ponytail was a choice, it didn’t distract from how he delivered the song.

Despite getting more 12-points, it ended up losing to Yugoslavia by just six points that year. While not my favorite that year, I think it was the better one of the top three; it equally reflects the times and holds up!

Personal and actual ranking: 2nd/22 in Lausanne

#215: Tommy Nilsson -- En Dag (Sweden 1989)

“En dag vi alla förstår, En dag, när stillheten rår, En dag jag finner din hand, När vägarna möts förstår vi varann,” “One day, we all understand, One day, when silence rules One day, I find your hand When our roads meet, we will understand each other” My two favorites from 1989 are sonically different, diverging between despair and hope. I listen to "Why Do I Always Get it Wrong" a bit more, but "En Dag' would stand out for me in a few different ways, more from being just the optimistic song of the two.

The intro features really good brass, which leads way to the fun instrumental. I like how it builds, and Tommy’s interplay with the backing vocalists is incredibly strong. You get a sense of energy from the both of them as they send the song to new heights.

Basically, it's just glorious!

Personal ranking: 1st/22 Actual ranking: 4th/22 in Lausanne

Final Impressions of 1989: It's a pretty fine year, both in songs in production. There are a number of good songs there, though not many classics which hold out in the long-term (except for Vi maler byen rød, which became famous in Denmark and even became the premise of a musical!). Highlights include an overactive conductor from Turkey, two children, and an awesome interval act involving a crossbow!

#214: Bang -- Stop (Greece 1987)

“Ότι κάνεις για δόξα και λεφτά Δες τι χάνεις, αλλού είναι η χαρά”

“Whatever you do is for fame and money See what you are missing, joy is somewhere else”

I’ve heard this song compared to Wham’s output, especially with its vintage rock-n-roll sound (wake me up before you go go). This doesn’t make it any less bad, with its charming tone and thoughtful lyrics about how a girl who only wants material goods should stop chasing them.

(This is another reason why sometimes, the original-language version is better that any other one--the English version to this song has goes on a completely different tangent)

The performance also falls into vintage aesthetics, with the suits for both Thanos and Vassilis and sock-hop style dresses for the backing vocalists. It's really cute, and the way they dance fits the scene.

On another note, apparently Greeks saw this as a favorite at the time, can someone verify that?

Personal ranking: 5th/22 Actual ranking: 10th/22 in Brussels

#213: Guy Bonnet -- Marie-Blanche (France 1970)

“Nous sommes là dans une douce quiétude Nous avons mis fin à notre solitude Nos corps apprennent de tendres habitudes Et Marie-Blanche est à moi”

“We’re there in a soft stillness We’ve put an end to our loneliness Our bodies learn tender habits And Marie-Blanche is mine”

By 1970, chanson was on its way out; in its place was folk, rock-n-roll (spearheaded in France by Johnny Halladay, who has a great French version of "House of the Rising Sun"), and psychadelia. Within France itself, some of the #1 singles from that year include Comme j'ai toujours envie d'aimer, Let It Be, and Bridge over Troubled Water (a total masterpiece, I tell you).

So, what does one make of Marie-Blanche, in this case?

It's a really sweet love poem, in which Guy declares his love for the girl. and conveys a particularly cute scene. Whenever I listen to this, I envision two lovers cuddling inside while watching the snow fall during the winter. There's a sense of magic and serenity in all this, and the lyrics match the pretty piano melody.

Basically, hits are important to keep the contest alive. But songs like Marie Blanche can pull on the feels in the right ways.

Personal ranking: 2nd/12 Actual ranking: =4th/12 in Amsterdam

#212: Justyna -- Sama (Poland 1995)

“I czuła się tak marnie Poczuła się tak marnie Jakby Bóg, dobry Bóg Nie lubił pcheł..”

“And I feel poor Feeling so poor As if God, the good God Didn’t love little fleas...”

If 1994’s To nie ja represented something classic and hopeful, 1995’s Sama takes it and reverses it. (And in the grand Eurovision timeline, they're only separated by the last song of 1994, Je suis un vrai garcon from France) Instead of a young woman filled with life and singing a decent ballad, we have another one pondering herself, all alone, with nobody to help her.

Also, this is more of an acquired taste with its out-of-tune recordings and Justyna’s scream. But it doesn’t feel out of place within the 1990s, with its alternative influences and production, and I like Sama a lot for that!

Unfortunately, it also caused it to do substantially worse, which is simultaneously explainable and baffling. A good result would've made waves for future Eurovision entries; the 1990s are my favorite decade, but they did misalign quite a bit from the mainstream.

Personal ranking: 7th/23 Actual ranking: 18th/23 in Dublin

#211: The Shadows -- Let Me Be the One (United Kingdom 1975)

"You and I could have an affair/make sweet music, go anywhere"

Isn't this lyric really charming? I couldn't help but have a little giggle because of it; there's a sense of naughtiness (especially with choosing "affair"; are they trying to something illicit?) underneath it.

That said, The Shadows are mainly known for their instrumental rock, but Let Me Be the One has a neat melody line. The rock-n-roll vibe, which could be released within that decade, is light but lovely, and added a jolt of uniqueness to the otherwise poppy contest up to that point. The flubbed line in the beginning ("let me be the one who literally holds you tight", haha) adds to the whole thing, but they were able to carry on, nevertheless.

And while I like all the 1970s winners to some extent, I would switch out "Ding-a-Dong" for Let Me Be the One in terms of winners vs. runners-up; like with Sama, it could've changed the contest in a positive way.

Personal ranking: =3rd/19 Actual ranking: 2nd/19 in Stockholm

#esc 250 #esc top 250 #esc greece #esc belgium #esc spain #esc iceland #esc united kingdom #esc sweden #esc france #esc poland #vintage eurovision #three minutes to eternity

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years ago

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Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 33

33. it is the nature of dreams to end

Summary: nikki goes to tommy’s wedding and doesn’t come home, and lola’s left waiting, waiting, waiting.

Warnings: heroin use, overdose, angst, hospitals, ANGST

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @lovehelpmewrite @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @dramatique-moi @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer @redlipscrystalskies14 @kaitieskidmore1 @the-specific-oceans

{ MASTERLIST }

"Why do we even have to go?" Nikki asked, a week before Tommy's wedding, sounding altogether petulant. He's on the floor of the bedroom, propped up against the bed with his bass in hand, despite one of it's strings being snapped, and Lola's reading through a stack of tabloids, looking a little like death warmed up, a bucket beside her.

"You're his best man, baby," Lola says gently, awkwardly trying to slump across the bed and pet Nikki's hair without making herself more nauseous, "and he's still our best friend." She reminds him.

This moment, in hindsight, will stand out; Nikki unable to stand, on the brink of what they both fear, losing Tommy forever. Nikki's hoping to all but black out for the entire ceremony and make an Irish exit, and Lola's more likely to be carted to the hospital than make to the venue with the state she's in. But Lola will remember this moment, like a freeze frame when she's laying catatonic on the bed a week later, and Nikki's shaking her, telling her to get up, that the car's waiting for them, but Lola can barely blink, can only remember 'and he's still our best friend'.

Letting Nikki go alone was cruel, she realises too late. Yelling at him when he's trying to drag him out of bed and her limbs aren't cooperating was childish, she's aware. The words spilling from her, the fears, the honesty, it's too raw by half, selfish in the face of Nikki's obvious aching, but she can't help herself now.

"Will you be here when I get back?" Nikki asks, voice rough and raw, and tears spring to Lola's eyes when she realises what he's asking. She's laughing, laying on the floor, limbs akimbo from where he's tried to drag her, sounding almost crazed, feeling nauseous.

"You're all I need, right?" She said, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows.

"Lo," Nikki's voice is painfully gentle, and Lola feels the nausea rise beginning to bubble up in her stomach, blanching. "Lola," Nikki sinks to his knees, trying to scoop Lola up, but too weak to pick her up; instead, he pulls her to her feet.

"I'll be here, Niks, I promise," Lola murmurs, voice weak as he lowers her back onto the bed. The car outside honks again.

"You and me against the world, right?" Nikki presses his nose to her cheek in a familiar gesture, kissing her temple after a beat. Lola's voice is a reassuring murmur, stronger than it had been a moment ago. Nikki sways when he leaves, but he's managing a smile. Lola passes out.

She doesn't notice time passing.

She doesn't notice the dates changing.

She doesn't notice Nikki's missing, because for her, it feels like just this morning that she'd seen him. She's waiting for him to get home, wasting away, on a day that actually lasts almost a week, dry heaving when there's nothing else to throw up, living her life in limbo, never quite awake, never quite asleep.

The phone rings for eighteen minutes straight, the same caller over and over again, the night Nikki dies, and Lola doesn't pick up. Curled up on the floor, shivering, delirious, dehydrated, having all but starved herself from inactivity, Lola looks as though she's on death's door, and when Vince bursts in, he almost collapses at the sight.

"Lo, baby, please, Lola, Lola," he begs, crawling to her, already crying from the news of Nikki, "please, Lo, please I can't lose you too, fuck." Her pulse is weak, but he's alive, and the EMTs are on their way as he cradles her to his chest.

"Nikki," her voice is hoarse, her eyes cloudy; all she can see is the warmth of someone by her side, and Vince's sobbing stops dead at her words, "I'm sorry for... for what I said. I'm sorry I made you go," She asks, head fuzzy, all she can remember, "he's still our best friend, but I know it's hard." She says gently, and Vince holds her tighter, the realization crashing down around him as he cries loud and unashamed.

The EMTs take Lola to hospital, and Vince is by her side the entire way, in the back of the ambulance, holding her hand as the confusion starts to bring her back to reality.

Nikki's dead and Lola's dying and Vince is desperately trying to hold himself together.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna be okay," Vince tells her, running his fingers through her knotty, greasy hair, her eyes trained on her face, trying to see her as he remembers her, but only seeing the shell of who she used to be, hollowed out and confused.

"Vinny?" She finally recognizes him as they're pulling into the emergency room entrance, and then, as the EMTs are unloading her on the gurney, she's torn away from Vince, fear gripping her as she finds herself surrounded by unfamiliar people, "Vinny, am I dying?! Vinny! Vinny don't let me die again!" And she's suddenly struggling enough that she has to be sedated, and Vince is being made to wait in the waiting room, crying his eyes out.

Lola's alternating between begging the nurses not to let her die, and demanding to see Nikki. They all give her pitying looks, but won't tell her the truth; the don't know who she is, no-one recognises her anymore.

They're detoxing her, rehydrating her where her kidneys had shut down, and yet, have her under more sedatives than any person should reasonably have. It's enough to keep her quiet, to add cannulas to her arms and hands for various medications, and for Vince to sit by and watch in despair as Lola clings with desperately trembling fingers, to life.

"And you are?" The nurse who comes in is frowning at him, and Vince, who'd been staring at Lola with faint tear tracks on his cheeks, steels himself, wipes his eyes, and stands to greet her.

"Her, uh, I'm her -" he hesitates for a moment, glancing briefly at the clipboard she was holding firmly to her chest, "fiancé," he tries not to make it sound like a question, but the nurse nods and seems to accept it easily, "is she gonna be okay?"

"You're the one who made the call, aren't you? Mister Neil, correct?" The nurse's smile widens a fraction, the frown adorned on her brow smoothing slightly. Vince nods, and the nurse looks back at her clipboard, "it's good you called us when you did; she was a bit touch and go for a moment there, but she's pulling through."

A pause.

"This is her second OD in the past six months," the nurse adds, flipping through her notes, but Vince's mouth goes dry, "but -" the nurse adds with what's meant to be a reassuring smile, "by some absolute miracle, there's so far no signs of complications with the baby." And it occurs to her, right around the next moment when Vince goes crashing to the ground in a dead faint, that he didn't even realise she was pregnant to begin with.

When Lola stirs during the night, Vince is there, his hand in her's, offering her reassurances as often as he can, begging her to pull through.

"Please, for my sake, for all of our sake, we need you to get through this," his voice in her ear keeps her grounded as she wades through the fog in her mind.

"Vinny," her feeble answer comes as only his name, before she's asking for Nikki, voice pitiful. Vince gives her hand a squeeze, and presses his face to her hip so she can't see him crying. After a moment, she groans in pain, and has already faded out of consciousness. the nurses have already figured out that Vince is lying about being her fiancé since Sharise shows up the next day, but they let him stay for a small bribe.

News of Nikki's recovery passes around quickly in the following few days, though since he's not about to leave Lola's side, it takes a while to reach Vince. News of Lola's own near-death experience, on the very same day, passes much slower. She's under longer, needs to be kept sedated because she's crying and screaming when Vince finally tells her about Nikki, and they need to make sure the baby's okay.

A Pair of Star-Crossed Lovers Almost Take Their Lives one tabloid reads, and so the idea that Nikki and Lola almost died together becomes the story that everyone knows. It becomes romanticised, to live and die the glam rock lifestyle together, it almost becomes something to aspire to.

But Nikki doesn't know.

He's released, and goes home to an empty house, to the sight of the bedroom empty and messy from where the EMTs had rushed her away. He calls Tommy first, who just about has a heart attack to hear Nikki's voice, before tentatively asking 'you don't know?'

So he goes back to the hospital.

It's been three days.

Mick is in the waiting room, arms crossed, wearing sunglasses, everyone else giving him a wide berth. Apart from Sharise, who sits one seat away, playing with Skylar, trying to keep her spirits up. Mick nods towards the front desk.

"Lola Gone?" Nikki asks her name tentatively, voice hoarse. The nurse looks at him like she's seen a ghost, but directs him to Lola's room.

Through the window to the private room, he sees Vince holding Lola's hand, looking unkempt and exhausted, speaking quietly to her while she lays unconscious in the bed. After a moment, his gaze flicks to the door, and he does a double take seeing Nikki staring at him, at Lola, looking like death warmed up.

Vince stands, lets Lola's hand fall to the bed, walking towards the door with an unreadably shocked expression. Opening the door, it's immediately apparent that he hasn't showered in three days, but it doesn't matter.

"What happened?" Nikki croaked as Vince took in his appearance. After a beat, he lashes out, punching Nikki square in the jaw, before wrapping him in a hug, all the anger and fear and tension from the past three days manifesting in the simple contact.

"You fucking asshole," Vince sniffs quietly, "you fucking asshole, don't ever fucking die like that again."

"I'm sorry," comes Nikki's startled response, still not hugging Vince back.

"She waited for you, you bastard, you absolute fucking bastard, she waited for you and it almost killed her."

"What- what do you mean?" Nikki stepped back, pushing Vince gently from him. The singer wiped at his eyes, trying to keep his thinly veiled rage in check.

"She still thinks it's the day of Tommy's wedding," he said flatly, turning back to watch her through the door, "something's wrong in her mind, man, she didn't eat or drink anything, just..." he swallowed hard, "just shot up and waited for you to come home. Now she's all doped up on pain meds and shit; you're fucking lucky."

"Is she okay?" Nikki asks, stumbling to the door.

"Yeah," Vince tells him, arms crossed, scowling at Nikki, "and so's the kid."

Nikki's mind short-circuits at that, and he pushes open the door to see Lola's body prone, quiet apart from the beeping of her heart monitor. Tears well in his eyes as he steps forwards and Vince's words hit him. Touch gentle, his fingertips brush her ankle, up her leg, coming to rest on her stomach. He can feel the ache of death in his bones still, but the ice-cold fear of Lola's catatonic state overrides everything else.

"Lo?" His voice cracks a little as his other hand comes up to rest on the top of her head, "Lola?" He asks, lip trembling. He moves his hand to brush her cheek, and he hears the faintest groan. Lola's eyes open, just a crack, and he sees her lips stretch into the faintest smile.

"Home," she whispers, voice dry, "you're home." All she sees is him. "I told you I'd be here." She licks her lips, though her tongue is still dry. Nikki can't form words, just rest his forehead against Lola's as he tries to hold back his tears. With a gentle hum, Lola leaned into the contact, "knew Vince was a fuckin' liar; told me you'd- you'd-" her words failed her, and Nikki pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Right here, Lo, I promise," he couldn't keep the wobble from his voice, "sorry I took so long." He tried, and Lola laughed softly.

"Felt like no time at all," she told him honestly, and Nikki clenched his teeth so hard they almost cracked as he held her close.

"Lo, Vince is saying you're having a kid," Nikki says quietly, and Lola laughs, loud and bright, the first strong sound he'd heard since arriving.

"That's news to me," she snorted, and oh, Nikki realized, it really was news to her. He keeps his mouth shut, trying to figure out his thoughts before he breaks down from relief.

Lola scoots over. An invitation. Nikki joins her, still wearing his shoes, carefully navigating her various IVs, and wraps his arm around her shoulders to pull her wiry, malnourished frame to his. She's not right in her current state, won't remember anything he's saying, won't remember herself, will doze off and probably be a blank slate, but he can't help himself.

"It hurts to die, Lo," he admits, feeling the ache in his bones, in every fiber of his being.

"I know," Lola tells him, eyes closed, leaning against him, "I hope you never have to go through it." She tells him, far too knowingly, and gingerly wraps an arm around him. "How was the wedding?"

"I don't remember," Nikki swallows, parsing all the new information she'd just given him.

Very suddenly, and with a painfully sober mind for the first time in years, Nikki sees Lola for who she is, brittle and fragile, clinging to him for safety in a sea of uncertainty; their fears and feelings had fed into each other, and they'd dragged each other down... He'd dragged her down; she'd been doing well, had been managing the band with a surprising amount of success, taking care of business and herself in the wake of the revelations about her family, she'd been trying.

"I did this to you," he whispered in horror; he could feel the bones of her shoulder where there had always been hard muscle for as long as he'd known her. How long had he stopped paying attention that that had changed? "I broke you, didn't I?"

"No," she yawns, voice calm and dreamy as she's nestling against him, "'s my fault, baby." She tells him almost reflexively, like she hadn't even had to think about the words she so clearly believed. Somewhere in the back of her drugged up mind, her mother's poisonous rhetoric still plays loudly it seemed.

"I'm sorry -"

"Don't be."

"We're gonna get help, Lo; all of us, we're gonna get help," Nikki gives her a squeeze, "we're gonna at least fuckin' try. I can't believe I did this to you, I'm so-"

"Don't say it," Lola tells him, before yawning. Nikki keeps his mouth shut. Sharise, Mick, and Vince all peer through the window at them, wearing identical concerned looks on their faces. Nikki gives a nod. A confirmation.

"I miss..." Lola whispers quietly, much later that night, her mind substantially clearer and calmer, and Nikki takes a deep breath, trying to stave off his exhaustion, "I miss who I was before," Lola considers for a moment, her head on Nikki's shoulder, "before Nicole. Before Heather." She paused, "I miss that shithole we used to live in, just the two of us."

"Just the two of us? Not even Vince and Tommy?"

"They're not... I love them, but... I don't think I ever said it, but I never loved anyone back then half as much as I loved you; you know I tried dating so many people, but... but I liked just being around you more than anything else, you know? Us fucking around, I miss us. I miss how we used to be." She paused, "I don't feel anything anymore, not really, just... sad, I guess, sad when I think too hard about everything. I don't know who I am anymore."

"I know," Nikki finally muttered back, "at least when I was angry and scared I was feeling something; some sick part of me is glad I died, 'cos at least then I... I felt something. I'm just hollow now, Lo, just going through the motions... maybe that's why I like Tommy, 'cos he's genuine, still cares about shit."

"Still genuine," Lola agreed quietly, before adding, "I'm sorry I made you go to the wedding."

"I'm sorry I didn't come back for so long."

"Mom always said if I did what I was told, if I was good, dad wouldn't leave," Lola told Nikki, they both know he knew this already, "and I think... I think with Tommy getting married, and Doc leaving - sort of - if I just... if I just did as I was told, you wouldn't leave."

"I didn't."

"I wasn't in my right mind... I haven't been in my right mind for a while." Lola took a deep, shaky breath, "we really do need help, don't we?"

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #Vince Neil #vince neil imagine #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #mick mars #the angry lizard writes

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zodiyack · 5 years ago

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Siren Seduction

Alternate title: Not So Bad After All

Kind of requested?: captivatedbycillianmurphy said: I’m actually a professional mermaid, it would be cool if you wrote a story about Tommy finding me by accident “in tail !” LOL🤣🧜🏻‍♀️ Siren Seduction !

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: partial nudity mention, mermaids, swearing

Note: So there are two different “Siren Seduction” stories. I didn’t know if you meant that you wanted an actual mermaid or not, so this one is x reader where he finds his human lover in a fake tail but not on accident, and then the next one is where he finds his actual mermaid lover on accident. (I know you said accident but I forgot when I was writing, hope you like it!)

ALSO! I don’t know if any of you guys have a preferred tail color, so I just went with one. Feel free to send a request with a specific color or tell me a color before I write the second version!

Y/m/n = Your Mermaid Name

masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

alternate story

Tommy ran throughout his house. Charlie was on his hip, resting his head upon his father’s shoulder. They were on a mission to find Y/n. Earlier that day, Tommy asked why she was so secretive. Y/n told Tommy that she did some stuff he would find strange and that’s why she was worried how he’d feel. He tried to reassure her, telling her that nothing she does can be weird, let alone affect his love for her.

She didn’t believe him, but she nodded and walked away. And now that Charlie and him were trying to find her, it seemed like she impossible to find.

In all truth, Pol and Ada were the only ones Y/n told of her hobbies. She put on mermaid shows for kids down at the aquarium in the zoo. They cleaned out a special tank just for her, amazed with her ability to hold her breath for 5 minutes at a time. Her trick was to move around a bit so it only seemed natural that she went up to get air.

Charlie had seen his mum once, but he couldn’t remember since he didn’t realize it was her. Polly had taken Karl and Charlie, showing them the amazing, “y/m/n” and her wonderful tail. They were amazed to say the least. Polly and Ada also thought it looked fun, and they agreed with their opinion after Y/n got them to swim with her.

Swim suits weren’t the most flattering looking with a mermaid tail, but Y/n refused to go topless, as she worked with kids and even if she didn’t, she wasn’t too keen on other people, who were definitely not her husband, seeing her chest. So instead, she wore her underwear.

The woman’s underwear was a white top (tank-top kind of top) with a connected bottom, and the bottoms were white shorts. There were a few different kinds, some lacy, some connected on the sides rather than the whole waist, and some even had cute little frills or bows. Y/n favored her frilly looking one, for it covered more skin and still was adorable.

Her tail, clothed in semi-visible sparkles and a gorgeous baby pink that faded into teal. It was designed by the three women, and boy were they proud of it. The man who owned the aquarium continued asking Y/n to do her shows after the first one. He didn’t expect it to become so popular, the woman submerged underwater, bathed in bright colors with her hair floating around her so elegantly.

Sadly, it was time her husband found out. And that wasn’t decided by any of the girls. It was decided by Tommy himself.

He pushed through the door to the room Pol was in, not giving two shits about the company that was over. “Pol. Where’s my wife?” His tone was slightly aggressive, making his question more of a demand.

“Working.” Poor Tommy didn’t know that Y/n begged his aunt and sister not to share anything, but he did know that one of them would give in at some point.

“Y/n doesn’t work. You and I both know that. The only work she does, is with me and the boys, and I don’t see us doing any jobs currently.”

“Thomas, I have guests. Your wife is working. And if I were you, I’d take Charlie elsewhere, he looks rather bored.”

Tommy grunted. He wouldn’t accept defeat. He did have to respect that his aunt was in a meeting, she did it for him too, so there was that. Charlie and him would just have to go see Ada. Hopefully she was an easier nut to crack.

The Shelby adjusted his son onto his back, earning a delighted giggle from the young boy. If he was going to find Ada, why not entertain the “rather bored” Charlie while he’s at it? He took off running slightly, arms securing Charlie to his back.

The fun was actually fun to Tommy. He made note do it more often. Not only was the playing fun, but it warmed his heart to hear his son giggle like that. He finally set him down, holding his hand and guiding him over to the couch Ada sat on. She looked very concentrated on a photo, but quickly flipped it over and smiled at her nephew.

“Ahem, Ada.”

“Yes, Tommy? Is this about Y/n? I could hear you and Pol.” Ada lifted Charlie onto her lap after she finished her sentence. She made funny faces at him while her brother spoke.

“Yes actually. I’d like to know where my wife is, or where she is ‘working’.”

Ada’s eyes never left Charlie when she spoke, too busy making more faces to get him to laugh. “I can’t tell you anything Tom, I’m sorry.”

“You can. She’s my fucking wife, and I demand to know where the fuck she is.”

“Tom. Language.”

“Ada. Where is she?”

“Thomas. I’m serio-” She was interrupted by Charlie snatching the photo from where she had set it. He didn’t recognize the mermaid, but he knew right away that it was something from the aquarium.

“Dad! Fishy!”

“What is it Charlie?”

His sister’s eyes widened. That was Tommy’s clue. He got her. She pulled the photo from her nephew’s hands before he could show his father. It earned a hurt look from the little boy, but she was more focused on protecting the secret of her sister-in-law.

“Fine! I won’t tell you what she does or anything, but I can tell you to go to the zoo. Ask for the special show.”

Special show? Zoo? There was nothing special about the zoo. Why would she work in a zoo? Were women even allowed to work there? Tommy didn’t know because originally, he didn’t give a fuck.

“Are you absolutely sure Ada? Not just fuckin’ with me?”

“I’m sure.” she lifted Charlie and handed him to Tommy, “Charlie here’ll know it when he sees it, isn’t that right love?”

“Right!”

. . .

Tommy walked into the zoo, Charlie on his shoulders. It was a bit odd, seeing the Peaky Blinders’ leader walking around with his son in London in the zoo of all places. It also went against Tommy’s safety rule, however just this once he’d allow it to happen, only because he accompanied his son. He didn’t care that it was a family place that had security, it only was okay with Tommy if he was there with Charlie.

When asking about what Ada had instructed him to, they were told to follow someone to the special show. The person was now walking in front of them, rambling on about how amazed they thought him and his son would be.

Charlie had to get off of Tommy’s shoulders, however he did remain in his fathers arms. Tommy’s hip just seemed to be Charlie’s favorite place. Lucky for him, it was one of Tommy’s favorite places for Charlie to be, that way he would never get lost or pulled away from him.

The lights when down, the spotlights pointed at the glass, Tommy took a seat, Charlie sat on his father’s lap. It confused Tommy slightly, how excited his son was. He was so giddy and fidgety. But why? For what reason? It was just a stupid zoo.

Music played, it sounded so soft and calming. A woman appeared on the other side of the glass. Tommy recognized her within the first glance. He caught her eyes and smiled genuinely. Her hair was floating around her, decorated with shells, beads, and other similar stuff. Her face was free of any makeup besides a few gems that were stuck onto her cheeks. Her tail, it looked so magnificent, it looked as if it were real.

How could someone be dressed kind of goofy, but still looks so god damn breathtaking?

She swam around the tank, waving at children and adults. She then swam back up, but fortunately for the crowd, she came back down and continued. How did his wife learn to do this? How did she do it behind his back all this time? Those questions left Tommy’s mind as quickly as they had entered them. He became entranced with his wife’s show.

Charlie whispered into his father’s ear, “Dad? Are you enjoying Miss Y/m/n’s show? I’ve only seen her once, but I can’t wait to tell mummy I’ve seen her again!”

Another smile found it’s way onto Tommy’s face, this one full of amusement for the mermaid and for his son being completely unaware. “Yes Charlie, Y/m/n is pretty good at what she does. I’m sure mummy would love to hear about her.”

Both males attention turned back to the mermaid. A child ran over and put their hand on the glass. Their parents tried to quietly yell at them to come back, but Y/n was quite the opposite. She placed her hand over where the child’s was, smiling when the little one giggled.

She spotted Charlie again and made a beckoning motion with her finger. Y/n swam up to the surface. It was unknown to the audience, but she had asked the man in charge for a favor. She swam back down, smiling sweetly at her viewers.

The lights flicked back on.

“Y/m/n has asked a favor of me! She’d like for all the children, and adults if they’d like, to come up to the front and greet her. She can’t talk to you, but she’d love to do it in her own special way. So, if you’d like to, feel free to walk up here. Just no pushing!” The man walked back out of the room after he had finished announcing what was needed to be announced.

The kids rushed to the front. Charlie was one of the few who managed to get into Y/n’s line of sight, Tommy behind him. This was because Y/n asked specifically that they could see her and vice versa.

She waved at Charlie, pressing her hand onto the glass. He did the same, and Y/n pressed her other hand for Tommy. The man hesitated, but did as his son had.

After a while, people started to leave. Y/n was still in the tank, having what seemed like interesting conversations with some of the kids. She preformed tricks, spins, flips and others. At some point she had blown bubbles into the water for extra fun. It resulted in her needing to go up for air sooner, but her mind, it was totally worth it.

Finally, it was only Tommy and Charlie in the audience. Y/n pressed both of her hands against the glass, removing one and blowing a kiss to Tommy. Charlie’s eyes widened. Tommy pretended to catch the kiss and blow one back. The interaction only made Charlie’s eyes wider.

“Dad! You can’t kiss Y/m/n, she’s not mum!”

Y/n heard her son, a smile appearing on her face, a matching one on Tommy’s. It wasn’t the time for Charlie to find out that she wasn’t actually a mermaid, it wasn’t time for him to find out that it was actually his mother. They both agreed, words unnecessary, that they’d tell him when he was older. No one was going to spoil his imagination while they were still there.

The manager announced that the show was over and it was time to send Y/m/n back to her home. She nodded and waved to her boys, swimming to the back of the tank, where she would be out of sight, and climbing out.

Tommy and Charlie walked out of the zoo. Tommy felt happy, his heart felt warmer and the smile he was fighting felt bigger than ever. He bought ice cream for him and Charlie, the reasoning being how good of a mood he was in.

Maybe the zoo isn’t so bad after all.

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crookedbigbang · 4 years ago

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ARTIST CLAIMS ARE HERE!

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One of the unique aspects of a big bang challenge is the combination of fic and fanart. Artists are welcome to create art in any medium they choose, including but not limited to: mixes, videos, podfics, gifs, drawings, paintings, graphics, edits, comics, physical crafts. Art is impossible to quantify, but we do ask that artists put in a significant effort in recognition of the work that the writers are doing on the fics. Authors will be writing their fics all summer and will be expending significant time on the project. A good benchmark for artists is about 15-20 hours of work, including brainstorming and planning.

The final product should be a collaboration between author and artist. What that collaboration looks like is a highly individual process: if you get a clear artistic vision, run with it; but you should also feel free to ask your author any questions you have along the journey. Artists and authors should share drafts with each other as they go so that when the final products are posted, they complement each other well.

We have 5 wonderful Big Bang fics. Click the Read More for their summaries!

Fic 1: Take Me Out to the Ballgame Tentative Title: (not the title) take me out to the ballgame Pairing(s): Jon Favreau / Tommy Vietor Characters: Jon Favreau, Tommy Vietor Ao3 Rating: E Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Baseball AU ; Coming Out ; Bisexual Characters ; Dating ; Alternate Universe - Different Meeting Summary: Jon and Tommy meet playing baseball in high school and start to fall for each other, then Tommy moves away. Their epic love story continues when they end up on the same Minor League baseball team. The big question is, will they end up with a World Series ring or an engagement ring? Fic 2: Spirits that I’ve Cited Tentative Title: Spirits that I've cited Pairing(s): Tommy/Lovett; background Emily/Jon, Alyssa/Erin Characters: Tommy, Lovett, Favs, Emily, Alyssa, Erin, Dan Ao3 Rating: tentative M (for psychological horror and possible sex) Warnings: a non-consensual kiss under the influence of possession might happen, this scene is not yet written Additional Tags: paranormal investigators, slow burn, reluctant colleagues to friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, accidental internet stars, bed-sharing, coming-out, road trips, witches getting married, demonic possession, ghosts, mythical creatures, Monster of the Week, psychological but non-graphical horror, slightly unreliable narrator, intoxication, magical mind control, themes of bodily and mental autonomy, (past) abusive relationships (not between main characters), possession induced mental health problems, worldbuilding, happy ending Summary: It’s a cold day in November when Tommy meets Lovett and his life turns upside down. Which shouldn’t be the worst thing, looking at it objectively.

Because, objectively, Tommy’s life already sucks. He is lonely, depressed, and Crooked Medium, the agency for paranormal investigations he co-owns with his ex-boyfriend Jared, is falling apart. Besides the shitty fact that he and Jared broke up, they constantly operate in the red, despite their best efforts. And it’s just the garbage cherry on top of the dumpster sundae that Jared and their only other core member, Jon, hate each other’s guts. Jon is Tommy's friend, but more importantly, he is Crooked Medium's exorcist par excellence, and for a former priest Tommy thought he might be better at the whole 'turn the other cheek' thing. He supposes that probably explains the 'former' part. So of course he panics when Jon unexpectedly buys out Jared’s shares in the company and offers Lovett a one-year apprenticeship as a medium and buys Jared shares of the agency. Suddenly Tommy’s faced with training a person who is not familiar with magic in one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, instead of relying on the experience Jared had. Despite the help from magical professors Alyssa and Dan, witch and shop-owner Erin, and their whole team—to Tommy it feels like Lovett’s credentialing next November is ages away. However, after a bonding experience involving ghost mice, Tommy slowly but surely discovers that Lovett isn’t an inconvenience at all. He is charming, attractive, hilarious, and way more talented than Tommy originally anticipated. Even their business improves, especially when they become an overnight internet sensation due to a malfunction. Instead of operating only in Boston, people across the country are now booking them to handle their mystical and paranormal problems. With each new case, Lovett learns more—and Tommy learns more about Lovett. This is unfortunate, given that Lovett is technically Tommy's intern, and the last thing Tommy needs is a harassment scandal. Tommy, naturally good at ignoring things, decides to ignore it. Which works out fine, thank you very much. At least up until Alyssa and Erin’s magical wedding in the woods. Or up until Lovett has a life-changing experience with a mirror. Or maybe even up until Lovett (plus Lovett's friend/household spirit Spencer) moves in. And just when Tommy thinks falling in love with his employee is his biggest problem, it turns out much more nefarious forces are at work. Fic #3: The gentle outline of the country we are building Tentative Title: The gentle outline of the country we are building Pairing(s): Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor, Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett, Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor, Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor Characters: Jon Favreau, Jon Lovett, Tommy Vietor, Dan Pfeiffer, Alyssa Mastromonaco, Cody Keenan, Michael O' Neill, Spencer Wong, Andy Favreau, Tanya Somanader, Travis Helwig Ao3 Rating: E Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: DC era, LA era, pining, wrong number AU, polyamory, threesomes, jealousy, slow burn, friends with benefits, angst with a happy ending, getting together, smut, fluff, blowjobs, anal sex, rimming, dirty talk, sexting, drinking, marijuana, sex under mild influence of alcohol, friends to lovers. AO3 (working) Summary: It takes spending the night in one room with a king-sized bed for Jon, Lovett, and Tommy to finally get it right after nearly a decade of trying. AKA A story about Jon, Tommy, and Lovett getting together, aided and abetted by Jon’s technological ineptitude, misunderstandings, love, friendship, and longing. Expanded summary: Jon and Lovett embark on a charged, text-based flirtation without knowing the other after Jon texts the wrong number during the 2008 general election campaign. It feels like a summer fling that wouldn’t end, just like those times Jon had slept with Tommy back in Chicago. But both of them do end, but at least Jon’s going to the White House with a new speechwriter and his best friend in tow. Jon thinks, not the right time then with Tommy, not the right time now with you, Lovett. They write speeches and policies and learn lessons on how to build a country and a friendship. The first summer at the White House, Tommy starts taking Lovett to bed almost every night. Two years later, he stops, because Lovett knocks on his door one day and says, “I am leaving.” Not quite the right time for you and me. Lovett spends his days in LA writing things very different from what he used to but thinking thoughts about Jon and Tommy that aren’t all that different. Jon and Tommy skype him from Chicago when his show gets canceled, and Lovett thinks about how right they look together on the screen, like they belong to each other. Jon comes to LA and doesn’t leave. Tommy moves closer, but not close enough. They lose everything when November 2016 dawns and then build an empire from the ruins, and over the next few months, they think, maybe it wasn’t the right time then, and maybe we did not do this before because we were always meant to do this together. All of us. Fic 4: Loving Him was Red - Azure Title: loving him was red - azure Pairing(s): Jon Favreau/Dan Pfeiffer, background Michael/Elijah Characters: Jon, Dan, Tommy, Lovett, Alyssa, Michael, Elijah Rating: E Warnings: No major warnings apply Additional tags: alternate universe, actors, hollywood, tabloids, love at first sight, BDSM, like lots of BDSM, spanking, flogging, humiliation, painplay, safeword use, failed scene, alcohol, alcohol abuse, drug use and abuse, divorce, bad at communication Summary: Rising star Dan Pfeiffer meets grown-up child actor Jon Favreau on the set of the movie that just might be their big break. It's a good old-fashioned Hollywood story. Boy meets Boy. Boy falls head over heels at first sight. Boy marries Boy. Boy ties Boy up and fucks him til he screams. But the Hollywood lights hit every dark shadow too and as the tabloids stir up gossip; as Jon spends more and more time at the club; and as Dan starts to wonder what comes next, the faultlines widen and their marriage falls into the abyss This is the first of a three fic arc chronicling the beginning, end, and re-beginning of an epic love story. Fic 5: Invisible String

Tentative Title: Invisible String Pairing(s): Jon Favreau / Tommy Vietor Characters: Jon Favreau, Tommy Vietor Ao3 Rating: Explicit Warnings: NO WARNINGS Additional Tags: affection, holding hands, chase sequence, shaving (face), mention of pod sponsors, wills & estates, cartoon villains, clothes sharing, Boston, plane flights, current day/LA era,Summary: Human boatshoe Tommy Vietor discovers he can claim a huge inheritance if he can prove he is married. If he does not, the $40 million fortune will go to the National Rifle Association. Best friend Jon Favreau steps up to help Tommy out. The NRA hires investigators to find information in order to break the will, chasing our boys all over Boston at one point.

#come create art for these amazing fic!#crooked big bang

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daggerzine · 5 years ago

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Ray Farrell on music and his time at SST, Blast First, Geffen and many more.

Ray Farrell has had a lifetime surrounded by music. First as a fan as a young kid and then eventually working for a series of record labels. He’s obviously a fan first and foremost as you can tell by reading below. It also seemed like he was there at the beginning of some major music scenes happening.

I had met Ray very briefly at one of the A.C. Elks hardcore shows that Ralph Jones put on in Atlantic City in the Summer of 1985 though Ray doesn’t remember it (honestly, a bunch of us were standing in a circle and chatting so I’m not even sure if any proper introductions were done).

Anyway, knowing some of the record labels that Ray had worked for I wanted to hear the whole story. I contacted him and shot him some questions and he was more than happy to elaborate and let us know where he’s been and where he’s going. Take it away, Ray!

Where did you grow up?

RF-Jersey City and Parsippany, New Jersey in the 60/70’s. I have two younger brothers.

What did you listen to first…classic rock or stuff earlier than that?

RF-Rock wasn’t classic yet. My earliest memories of music are my parents’ modest collection of 45’s and grandparents’ 78’s. My mom had a handful of singles on Chess and Satellite (pre-Stax) that she said fell off a truck. We rented our house from a family connected to the mob. The records probably came from them. My mom and her sisters often sang Tin Pan Alley era songs at family gatherings. Harmony was encouraged!

Some records I heard as a toddler stayed with me forever. Lonnie Donegan’s “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor?” is a skiffle classic. Chuck Berry’s “Guitar Boogie” and “Last Night” by the Mar- Keys are still favorites. I remember being spooked by the overblown production of the “Johnny Cash Sings Hank Williams” e.p. on Sun Records. In the mid 60’s, my mom had top 40 radio on in the house unless my dad was home. When I was in kindergarten, a high school neighbor in our building babysat me for a couple hours after school a few days a week. Her girlfriends came over regularly. They listened to a lot of doo-wop, which I still love today. The babysitter and her friends taught me how to slow dance, even though I wasn’t nearly a full grown boy. J

My best friend in 7th grade was a Beatles fanatic and we immersed ourselves in decoding clues to the “Paul McCartney Is Dead” gimmick. That was a brilliant scam and a fun short term hobby. It was a deep dive into The Beatles music as a junior music detective. By the time I started buying records, The Beatles were on their way out.

I happily lived for many months on only three albums-

CCR’s “Bayou Country”, Iron Butterfly’s “In A Gadda Da Vida” and the Beatles “Sgt. Pepper.” I joined the Columbia Record Club. I got the first twelve albums for one buck. That was a popular scam. Those first twelve records shaped my taste because they were the only records I had. I didn’t know what to order but I chose very well in retrospect. After that, I bought a lot of records. I didn’t smoke, but many of my friends did. A carton of cigs cost the same as an lp- 5 bucks.

I learned in 7th grade that if I knew the songs that girls liked, we would have something to talk about. Girls loved Tommy James and The Shondells and The Rascals. I still do! I had a wider range in music taste than most of my high school friends. Everyone in my extended circle loved the Stones, Neil Young and the Allman Brothers. In a tighter circle we were into David Bowie, Lou Reed, Sparks, Todd Rundgren etc. I loved Mountain, Led Zep, Hendrix, Budgie, The Kinks, Alice Cooper, Sabbath. At first, The Stooges seemed too deep and serious for me. A little scary because I thought if teenagers felt like this all over the world, I’m doomed. I bought the album with “Loose” and played that song for weeks before listening to the rest of it. The girl next door had Iggy’ s “Raw Power” album the week it was released. When glam rock was happening in England, there was a weekly NYC radio show that played the Melody Maker Top 30 singles. I was fascinated by T.Rex, Slade, Hawkwind. I don’t recall if prog rock was a tag yet, I knew that I didn’t like songs that rambled on for more than 7 minutes. There were exceptions of course- some King Crimson, Yes, Mahavishnu. I was impressionable. Radio station WBAI hosted “Free Music Store” concerts with local acts. One show was a keyboard group called Mother Mallard that had banks of synthesizers on stage. They were similar to the music of Phillip Glass and Steve Reich, who you would only hear on that same radio station. I talked myself into buying their records, but it took years to comprehend them. I was too young to be listening to such serious stuff. I played soccer and ran track for a couple years. During meets at other schools, I made friends. At parties I heard Issac Hayes, Bohannon and James Brown records. Brown was all over top 40 radio. Rhythm guitar was my jam! Soul and funk records were best for that. I spent many nights listening to AM radio. The signal travels farther at night, so I’d listen to stations far away. It didn’t matter what kind of music it was. Some of my relatives had short wave radios. I was more interested in radio production than short wave content. The production quality has not changed much since then. It often sounds like broadcasts trapped in the ether for the last 30 years.

While I was in high school, it was common for local colleges to host rock and jazz concerts for low prices, sometimes free. The schools had to spend the money sitting in the student union coffers. There was a live music club in my town called Joint In The Woods. The venue began as a banquet hall that doubled as a meeting hall for Boy Scout Jamborees and the like. When it became the Joint, it was a disco. The first night of live music was a show with Iggy & The Stooges. The regular disco patrons were pissed! The guys were mostly goombah’s in Quiana print shirts and bell bottoms. Three or four guys smacked Iggy around after his set. Sure enough, he played Max’s Kansas City the next night as if nothing happened. Because of this club, touring bands were suddenly playing in my town. Badfinger, Roy Wood’s Wizzard, Muddy Waters. The NY Dolls were scheduled but didn’t show up. Springsteen was often an opening act. The N.J. legal drinking age had just lowered to 18. It was a great time. I was still in school, so I wasn’t staying out on weeknights.

I was determined to learn NYC music history by hitting all the Greenwich Village clubs and talking to the owners and bartenders. It didn’t matter what kind of music they specialized in- I was into the vibe. There were occasional scary nights parking near CB’s or jazz spots in that neighborhood. Folk music was on FM radio at the time. A high school friend booked a local coffee house called Tea & Cheese. Mostly locals and ambitious tri-state artists. Martin Mull, Aztec Two Step, Garland Jeffries. Some of Lou Reed’s touring band, The Tots, played there. I went to all kinds of record stores, mainly those that sold rock imports and cutouts. I was fascinated by the street level buzz of a record. In ’74, I heard dub reggae for the first time. The only stores to get that music were in Queens because there was a strong West Indian community there. It may have been the “Harder They Come” soundtrack that got me started. There was a “pay to play” radio station in Newark - WHBI. DJ’s had to buy their airtime. Arnold “Trinidad” Henry had a weekly show playing new calypso and reggae. He was more into calypso than reggae. A lot of calypso was political and comical. Arnold was fascinating! There was often a personal crisis he’d talk about on the air. My favorite incident was when he said that his life had been threatened during the program, so he locked himself in the studio.. Someone called the cops. They convinced him to unlock the door. He just wanted more airtime. Arnold played the first reggae dub track I’d heard- full dub albums were a new concept at the time. Most dub was found on the flipsides of reggae 45’s. One of the shows sponsors was Chin Randy’s Records in Queens. I trekked out there by train to buy my first dub records. That was a trip! Randy Chin’s family went on to start VP Records.

What was the first alternative/independent music you got into? How did it happen (friends? older siblings?)

RF-The term “punk” as a music style hadn’t been coined yet. I vaguely recall equating “punk” with the great “Nuggets” compilation or something Greg Shaw might have writ in Bomp Magzine. I didn’t identify labels as independent. I knew that if the label design was simple and the address was listed, it was probably a small company. There were plenty of record stores carrying obscure stuff. I bought import records from a few NYC stores. I took the bus in until I was old enough to drive. One store Pantasia, was up in The Bronx. I went there one Christmas eve day to get the import of the second Sadistic Mika Band album. The clerk talked me into buying the harder to find first album as well. He said it sounded like Shel Talmy produced it. I knew who that was and it was a revelation to talk to somebody in a record store at that level. That is what a record store should be! I read Phonograph Record magazine, Bomp and Trouser Press regularly. Patti Smith and Television self released their debut singles- those are the first “indie” records I bought, followed by the first two Pere Ubu singles. I remember hearing the Modern Lovers’ “Roadrunner” from the Bezerkley Chartbusters comp on WFMU and thinking that there must be more music like that. It was refreshing.

Seeing Patti Smith and Television perform at CBGB’s changed my life. I connected the dots. I had BÖC albums on which Patti had co-writes. She had a poem insert in Todd Rundgren’s “A Wizard, A True Star” album. She read a Morrison poem on a Ray Manzarek lp. She wrote for rock music mags with distinctive style. I read a brief story about her in the Voice and went to see her do her annual Rock N’ Rimbaud show. Shortly after that she and Television played CBGB’s for six weekends in early ’75. Both bands were really great. Patti didn’t have a drummer yet. Richard Hell was a big inspiration to me. He looked cool. He played bass like he just picked it up the month before. That was a new concept. Television changed bass players in the middle of the residency. Television was the first band I saw with short hair and they dressed like teenage delinquents circa 1962. The CBGB’s jukebox had a good number of 60’s garage records. In my head I conceived Television to be inspired by that music. Made sense to me- Lenny Kaye, who assembled the “Nuggets” comp, is in the PSG. When I went back to see Television headline, The Ramones opened. Seeing The Ramones again, Talking Heads opened. It seemed like the streak of seeing great new bands would not end. They were distinctly NYC sounds. They could not have merged anywhere else. I remember avoiding the band Suicide because I didn’t think the music could be good J. Bands like Tuff Darts, Mumps and The Marbles opened shows but I wasn’t thrilled by them. A CBGB’s band that doesn’t get mentioned much is Mink DeVille. They wore matching outfits like they were playing a low budget Miami dive in 1962J. The club still had the small corner stage. The p.a. was ok and the bands had small amps. The music wasn’t loud in a “rock” way. You could sit at a table right in front of the band. Although we consider the club a birthplace of punk, the club showcased local bands that had been around for a while. I think the club upgraded the p.a. once before building the big stage. I realized at that point that when a band was great or at least interesting live, the records were basic documents of the band’s sound.

What was your first job in the music scene/industry?

RF- Before realizing I wanted to be in the business, I hounded import mail order guys on the phone about non-lp b-sides and albums that weren’t released stateside. I was fascinated by the process. Why were some records not in stores even though they had local airplay? My dad did not listen to much music, but he had an army buddy that made a living in Al Hirt’s band. He came to our house once. He gave my dad a copy of John Fahey’s “After The Ball” album, which he played on. I liked his stories about the session man side of the business. Fahey treated him well. I was generally shy, but when it came to music I would approach anyone I thought I could learn from. I heard horror stories about the music biz in NYC but learned later that those were a mob related labels. At the time, I thought the entire NYC music biz might be that way. I planned to move to California anyway. In high school, I go-fer’d at local Jersey radio stations and talked my way into meeting a few top FM radio dj’s. I thought I wanted to be a professional dj, but my dad wisely talked me out of that. The itinerant radio jock life would not be for me. It was a racket.

In ’76, I took a long low budget cross country trip with my high school sweetheart. Along the way, I stayed in Memphis for three weeks with a cousin who was stationed at the Millington naval base. Got a job at a hip movie theatre that served liquor. I found Alex Chilton in the phone book and spent an afternoon talking with him. I wasn’t yet legal drinking age in Tennessee. It amused him that a fan showed up in his town who was not old enough to drink. En route to Cali, Tulsa, OK was on my route to find Shelter Records and studio , but it shut down and the label moved to L.A. At the time, Dwight Twilley’s “I’m On Fire” was a radio hit. I didn’t think there were still bands like that. Twilley was from Tulsa, but had moved to L.A. by that time.

When I arrived in L.A. I visited small label record company offices. A few offered me jobs or references. I spent two weeks crashing at the Malibu house of a distant family friend. I didn’t want to live in L.A. but I was encouraged by the opportunities. I got a job at the famous record store- Rather Ripped in Berkeley, CA.

Patti Smith told me about Rather Ripped before I left Jersey. In ’75, she and her band went to California for shows in L.A. and Berkeley. The northern Cali shows were set up by the store. She did a poetry reading there. This is well before “Horses” was released. I bought a couple records from the store’s Dedicated Fool mail order service. They had a monthly catalog on newsprint. Thousands of records in tiny font. Every record was described with a few words. This is 1976 and punk rock was just getting started. I worked as a prep cook in a charcuterie associated with Alice Waters’ famous restaurant Chez Panisse. The proprietor knew the record store owners. I wasn’t actively looking to work there, but I talked about music all day every day. They fast tracked me for an interview. Because of a scheduling mistake, Tom Petty interviewed me for the job. His first album just came out and “American Girl” was close to being a hit single. The band came to the store before a local show. Tom overheard the owner apologizing for not being able to do the interview, so he offered to conduct it. It was great. I knew all about his label, Shelter Records. I deliberately avoided talking about The Ramones and Patti Smith because punk was new and against the grain. At the end of the interview Tom told the owners that if he lived in Berkeley, he’d buy all his records from me. The store owner still had to interview me formally the next day, but I knew that I nailed it.

It was owned by two dynamic gents that were connected to Berkeley society and Bay Area journalists. They weren’t typical record store guys. They celebrated the 70’s in the moment. They held court with well known music scribes, musicians, dj’s. They were good friends of The Residents. Perhaps my strangest story is meeting The Residents with the Rather Ripped owners at a S.F. Irish bar that specialized in Irish Coffee’s. I had only recently heard of the group, so I was not cognizant of their marketing myth. At the bar, we were with our girlfriends and wives. One of the Residents tried to convince me and my gf to go back their place for a hot tub session. I laughed out loud and said “geez, what a bunch of hippies”! We didn’t go. In retrospect, I should have gone on the condition that they wore eyeball heads in the tub. At that time, The Residents rarely performed live, but they did in 1975 for the store’s birthday party. The early Bezerkley Records (Jonathan Richman, Greg Kihn) was distributed to stores through Rather Ripped. Their office was a few blocks away. At the store, each employee had unique music taste and expertise. Pop music was changing rapidly with a new energy. Some of us were tapped into it. We all had to know the key new releases in every genre because we were tastemakers. Major labels would beg us to do window displays for new releases. But if they could not find a store employee that liked that artist, it was no go. So, no Pablo Cruise window display. We weren’t against major labels, but we put a lot of energy into selling the ton of music that we loved. Our focus was on imports, indies, promos and cut outs where we could get a good price mark up. We had a rare record search service with customers all over the world. We’d find rare records through trade-ins and by combing record stores all over the state.

There were a few import distributors, but they weren’t hip to many small run U.S. independent releases. That was understandable because bands didn’t often press enough records for a distributor to get excited about. In other words, why spend half your day hunting down records that were only pressed in small quantities. Just as they start selling, you’re out of stock. There gonna sell a hell of a lot more Scorpions’ picture discs! As always, some distributors financed exclusive re-pressings of records that had momentum. The only way to get records like Roky Erikson’s “Two Headed Dog” single or The Flamin’ Groovies’ “You Tore Me Down” 45 was directly through mail order. I wrote to label addresses listed in Trouser Press and fanzines to buy direct in order to sell them in the store with no competition. Major label sales reps didn’t prioritize us because we didn’t shift bulk units of the hits. However, we were so plugged in to the lesser known artists that we were a good place for record companies to try and start a buzz. We could swell 50-100 of a record that all the other stores sold a handful of. Bands showed up at the store while touring. Springsteen bought Dylan bootlegs from us by mail order. Patti Smith’s manager Jane Friedman used the store as a home base when Patti and John Cale came through the area.

Berkeley is in the East Bay of the S.F. bay area. A few months after starting at Rather Ripped, I realized that the city had a rich music scene well before punk /new wave started. There was Fantasy Records, a well known jazz r&b label but best known for CCR; Arhoolie, Solid Smoke, Metalanguage; the contemp classical labels- Lovely Music and 1750 Arch; folk and blues labels like Takoma and Olivia. Of course, bands like Chrome and others started labels to release their own music. Ralph Records was started by The Residents, and they began signing bands. Rather Ripped was also a center for improv, electronic and meditation records.

In ’77 or ’78 I joined the nascent Maximum Rock N Roll radio team. This was well before the magazine. In the early days there were weeks when we didn’t have enough new punk records to fill the two hour weekly show. Tim Yohannon was all about energetic, real rock n roll, so he filled in the program with records by Gene Vincent, The Sonics etc. BTW, Tim applied green masking tape to the three closed sides of every record he had. He gave me a Mekons double single he decided he didn’t like. It was in a gatefold sleeve that he sealed shut with his green tape! Sometimes he re-designed the cover art…never for the better. He made his own pic sleeves for 45’s that didn’t have them. Bands would stare at their own records in bewilderment. Tim was archiving the records of the entire punk and hardcore movement worldwide.

Eventually, Tim brought in Ruth Schwartz, and Jeff Bale as co-hosts- both great people. Jello Biafra was a frequent guest. Tim assembled the “Not So Quiet On The Western Front” lp and later organized syndication for the radio show. I remember hearing the first Disorder ep and thinking -this is the future! J It was exciting. But soon, most hardcore records sounded alike to me. It was like- “Do you want more fries with your fries?” I went to plenty of live shows without knowing a lot about the bands playing them. I was happy when the fashion trended away from jackboots to sneakers…getting a boot kick to the head in a stage dive could be brutal. I didn’t see a lot of skinhead violence at shows, but I know it was changing the scene.

San Francisco and Berkeley were important music centers, activist meccas as well as creative artistic and intellectual hubs. Yohannon had history as an activist. He identified with public protests for causes & social issues. For many teenagers, punk rock was a rite of passage. I think it changed a lot of kids’ lives for the better. The overriding message was to be civically aware of what is going on around you and what affects your life.

Tell me about your time at Arhoolie Records. Where was it located?

Rather Ripped’s owners had a falling out and the remaining owner just wanted to sell records and antiques with his wife. He moved it to a nearby city. Just before the store closed, he told me of an open position at Back Room Distribution, a division of Arhoolie. It was in El Cerrito, a small town north of Berkeley. Chris Strachwitz, the owner of Arhoolie is a legendary record man. He recorded many of his early blues albums with a tape recorder in his car. He owned the legendary Down Home Music store in the same building. Separated by partition behind the store was Back Room. It was an indie label distributor for blues, folk roots music. Rounder Records was still a new label at the time. I gotta admit, when Rounder issued The Shaggs “Philosophy Of The World’ I was in seventh heaven. I worked primarily for the distributor, grooming to be a sales rep but I spent a lot of time in the store. At first, I didn’t yet relate to blues and country music. But there were a lot of touring artists in those styles making a living. It was a strong network of clubs, fans, radio shows and press that fueled it. The store had an incredible selection of obscure 50’s/60’s rockabilly and garage band comps. The Cramps were my favorite band at the time. The rockabilly comps mostly on a the Dutch White Label, were treasure troves of insane songs. My heart was in new music- whatever you wanna call it, punk, new wave, art music. That’s the business I wanted to be in. I used my time to learn more about distribution operations. The people that worked at Arhoolie and in its community were fun music heads. There were a lot of good musicians among them. It was a great time to live in Berkeley.

What was next, Rough Trade and CD Presents? Was that in San Francisco? I went to that Rough Trade store a few times and it was an amazing store.

I knew folks from Rough Trade UK because I bought imports from them to sell @ Rather Ripped. When they wanted to open in the U.S. they contacted me, but at the time the wage was low and there wasn’t enough space to work. I was interested in working in the distribution division, not the store. They speiled something about it being a socialist business. I stayed at Arhoolie for a little while longer. In the meantime, I was offered my own weekly late night radio show on Pacifica’s KPFA in Berkeley- same station as Maximum Rock N’Roll. I took over a show called “Night Sky”, an ambient music program. My interim program title was “No More Mr. Night Sky” until I settled on “Assassinatin’ Rhythm”. The station’s music director was a contemporary classical composer closely associated with avant -garde and 20th century music. A major segment of my show was for industrial, post-punk and undefinable music. I hosted a few live on- air performances with Z’ev, Slovenly and Angst among others. Negativland’s ��Over The Edge” program started on KPFA around this time. KPFA was 100,000 watts of power with affiliate stations covering the Central Valley down to Fresno and Bakersfield.

When the time was right, I moved to Rough Trade’s U.S. distribution company in Berkeley. The record store was in San Francisco. We distributed a lot of British records sent by Rough Trade UK, often in small quantities. Rough Trade US was set up to press and distribute select RT and Factory records by Joy Division, ACR, The Fall, Stiff Little Fingers, Crass. It was cheaper and more effective to press in the U.S and Canada. I also distributed some U.S. labels but there was one Brit on the staff that hated most American music. On top of that, it could be a dangerous place to work. One of the staff was importing reggae records and weed from Jamaica to our warehouse. The local connection was shot on his porch shortly after he picked up a shipment! I was lucky to spend a few days travelling with Mark E.Smith of The Fall. He loved obscure rockabilly and garage band records. I was able to return to Memphis for a while to prep the first Panther Burns album for release. Tony Wilson of Factory put up most of the money to keep RTUS going. He was a brilliant character, but I learned from talking with him how not to conduct business. I often got sample records from bands that wanted distribution. Pell Mell’s “Rhyming Guitars” e.p. was the start of my long association with the band. I enjoyed selling records to stores all over the country. I learned about local scenes, records, fanzines, clubs and college radio stations everywhere. Making these sources connect for touring bands and record sales was exciting. Because Rough Trade is British, we had the benefit of connections with club dj’s. We pressed and promoted New Order’s “Blue Monday” single on a shoestring budget. For a long time, it was the best kept secret from the mainstream. I left Rough Trade for Subterranean Records ( Flipper etc) for a spell while working in a record store. The guy that put up the money for the record store ran guns to Cuba through Mexico. Thankfully, not through the actual store. I booked Cali shows for Panther Burns, The Wipers, Sonic Youth, Whitehouse.

Who owned the CD Presents label? I remember that Avengers compilation.

It was owned by a lawyer, David Ferguson. He had a recording studio as well. I didn’t understand why he wanted to run a label. He did not have an ear for music. But we did release a Tales Of Terror lp! He almost released a DOA album that I thought the band would kill him over. Many years later I got into a fist fight with one of David’s employees in a limo ride shared with Ferguson and Lydia Lunch. We fought through the window separating the driver from the passengers. I would love to recreate that for a film. Good times!

My main role there was to set up the first Billy Bragg record in the U.S. Billy’s manager was the legendary Peter Jenner and both were great to work with. They were using CD Presents as a stepping stone to a major label. In the meantime, I knew a few people at SST. Joe Carducci is an old friend. He was pitching me to move to L.A. and work there, but I resisted for a while. I had just met the woman that I knew would be the love of my life. I didn’t want to move to SoCal. Joe gave me an ultimatum. He sent three advance cassettes that convinced me to go- Meat Puppets’ “Up On The Sun”, Minutemen’s “Double Nickels” and Huskers’ “New Day Rising” That’s an excellent recruiting strategy. I later married the love of my life.

On the side I booked shows for bands I loved. Gerard Cosloy asked me to book Sonic Youth first northern Cali shows. I also booked shows for The Wipers and noise band Whitehouse

Was SST Records next? How long did you last there and what was that like?

I was there for three years. “How long did you last there?” sounds like I was biding my time :) I’m often asked about my time with SST.

Carducci hired me to do PR. That meant publicity, college radio, regional press. Video was a valuable promo tool. MTV’s “120 Minutes” program was a great way to promote our records.

In 1987 we put out more records than Warner Brothers. By that time, I hired people to help.

I’ve done a number of interviews about SST. If you have specific questions, shoot. I recall that my social life was almost entirely with my co-workers and bands on the label. I was nearly oblivious to music from other labels. I was a big fan of Dischord and Homestead. Metallica, COC, Voivod and the Birthday Party/Nick Cave were my non-SST staples.

I think around this time I had met you briefly in NJ at one of the Elks Lodge shows that my old friend Ralph Jones put on. Were you living in NJ at that point or just visiting?

You’ve mentioned that before and I don’t recall the specific show. I moved out of NJ permanently in ’76. I came back for annual summer visits to NYC, north Jersey and Philly. Some high school friends went to Upsala College, then the home of WFMU. On my first visit back in ’76 I met Irwin Chusid and R. Stevie Moore. Some high school friends were connected to Feelies before they took that name.

Was Blast First! next? I met Pat Naylor once and hung out with her at a show and she was really sweet.

Yeah around the time I left SST, the folks in Sonic Youth called saying that they had left as well. They wanted me to be involved with Blast First! in the U.S. I knew Paul Smith because he released their albums in the UK. Blast First UK released a number of Touch N Go and SST records. The label was a division of Mute which had a U.S. deal with Enigma. My job was almost entirely “Daydream Nation” promotion. It was so much fun to be able to go deep with one album. We issued Ciccone Youth shortly afterward, which augmented the overall Sonic Youth story. The only other active touring band was Band Of Susans and on a limited level, Lunachicks and Big Stick. It was only one year of work before Enigma cut Mute/Blast First loose. I went on Sonic Youth’s Soviet Union tour and I had a few memorable meetings with Sun Ra. David Bowie called a few times asking about recording studios that Dino Jr and Sonic Youth used. Bowie had a brilliant idea to record Suicide’s “Dream Baby Dream” with Glenn Branca’s large guitar group. We tried following up on it but Bowie was immersed in Tin Machine and other projects.

Was it on to Geffen then?

Yes, Sonic Youth had good meetings with the label. I had recently met Mark Kates who was championing the signing. He suggested that I come in to meet the entire company. He brought my name up with David who said, “we need someone like that here”.

I had fleeting thoughts that working for a major was “selling out”...punching corporate clock. I wanted to apply what I knew on a larger scale.

What was that like, working for a proper major label? Was David Geffen still involved?

On my second day there, David called me into his office. He is down to earth, street smart. Like many of the best in the biz, he didn’t have an attitude. He had met with the Meat Puppets. He sensed that Dinosaur Jr. was important. I reminded him that I was not hired for a&r.

He said- “I don’t assign job titles. If you find something else you’d like to do here, you can pursue it ‘after 5pm’ ”. I found reissue projects like the Pere Ubu box and Raincoats catalog. I recorded a new Raincoats album. I signed Southern Culture On The Skids, Garrison Starr, Skiploader. I assembled and recorded Rob Zombie’s Halloween Hootenanny comp. With Sonic Youth, I pondered making records with John Fahey and Townes Van Zandt. After ten years, it was time to move on.

Tell us what you do now, didn’t you get involved with digital music at some point?

Geffen Records was folded into Interscope in 1999 and I was bored with the limitations of the business as it was. Digital music was gaining ground solely through illegal file trading on Napster. I knew there would be a major shift in the business moving to digital. I worked for the download site. eMusic.com, signing distribution agreements with labels. This was years before iTunes and YouTube. Major labels would not work with us because mp3 files are open source files that could be traded freely without control. They saw eMusic as a facilitator of illegal file trading. Like marijuana use leading to hard drugs! In the big picture, I knew that digital downloads weren’t “sexy”. But at some point, digital music would develop into something easier to track and use. We skipped the major labels. The bigger independent labels understood that digital music would be the future. It was a great place to be. I knew a lot of music, but I had no idea there were so many labels in every country. One label owner told me that I had the best job in the world. I knew that to explain this new unproven music format it could be an uphill climb. So I took the time to research label websites for song samples. That way I could find common ground with label owners. There’s surf music in Brazil? There’s a young female cellist duo in Prague that make energetic music? There’s archaic royalty rules connected to opera arrangements? Bring it on! It certainly changed how I listen to music.

It was a time when business rules and legal rights had to change in order to deal with digital income disbursement. For example, digital downloads could be sold by the song while royalty payments were based on album sales. eMusic was at the forefront of those changes. When iTunes launched, digital music was “legitimized”. Borne out of eMusic was RoyaltyShare which provides a royalty accounting platform for labels. It is now a division of The Orchard and I divide my time between The Orchard and RoyaltyShare.

Who are some current bands you are into?

A loaded question! I listen to a lot of new music. I spend a lot of time listening to records and cd’s in my collection. Of current artists, I really like Steve Gunn’s music. I listen to the projects involving members of Sonic Youth. Bill Nace, Kim’s partner in Body/Head is a guitar genius. Body/Head’s music is a cathartic experience for me. London is lucky to have Thurston Moore living and working there. I think the music they make separately is far more exciting that what Sonic Youth would’ve made if still together.

Lately I’m digging Melenas from Spain, Hayvenlar Alemi from Turkey. Quin Kirchner is a Chicago based drummer that put out a great jazz record in 2018 called “The Other Side Of Time”. I think he plays on Ryley Walker ‘s records.

Because I’ve spent so much time with the music of Sonic Youth, Branca and Rhys Chatham, I crave the occasional dive into instrumental symphonic guitar army and tonal stuff. Current favorites in that vein are Bosse De Nage, Pelican, Sunn O)))

Given the chance I’ll see any performance by Mary Halvorson, Ches Smith, Marc Ribot or Mary Lattimore.

It took me years to get it, but I’m now a big fan of Keiji Haino’ music. Dean McPhee is a British guitarist I really like. I just bought a couple of Willie Lane lp’s on Feeding Tube.

I research music history and the development of the industry. There are historical and social components of every type of music by culture, country, time period. I love stories about riots at premieres of new avant garde works. I read a book about famous classical composers in the 18th Century playing home concerts (salons) where people are talking the entire time…but they are paid handsomely for the performance. Streaming music sites and YouTube are vast repositories of music and cultural documentation.

Do you still make it out to many shows?

I go to two/three shows a month when I’m home and more when traveling especially NY/London. I start work early in the morning so I’m not out late often. I understand why people see less live music as they get older. I’m done with music festivals. The Big Ears Festival is the only Stateside event that might inspire me to stand for eight hours.

I always hear music by new artists that I really like. I don’t always go to see the live show. Sometimes I hear a new band that sounds like a band I liked 20 years ago. I wouldn’t deliberately see a band that uses another band’s sound as a template.

What are your top 10 desert island discs?

I cannot do 10. It’s 20 or nothing. If you say sorry Ray, it will be nothing. FineJ If I’m on an island, I’ll listen to the ocean waves and sounds of nature. If I’m relegated to a desert, I’ll listen to the blood coarsing through my veins.

Miles Davis- Kind Of Blue

Television- Marquee Moon

Peter Brotzmann- Machine Gun

Sex Pistols -Never Mind The Bollocks

Rolling Stones- Let It Bleed

Soundtrack – The Harder They Come

Billy Harper – Black Saint

Kleenex/Liliput- First Songs

Patti Smith Group -Easter

Hound Dog Taylor & The Houserockers- Houserockin’

Led Zeppelin- Houses Of The Holy

Sonic Youth – Daydream Nation

Elvis Presley- Sun Sessions

The Cramps- Songs The Lord Taught Us

Pell Mell -Flow

Procol Harum- A Salty Dog

Sibelius- Complete Symphonies

Lou Reed -Coney Island Baby

Meat Puppets- Up On The Sun

The Kinks- Kinks Kronikles

“Hmm....Flow or Star City?”

Any final words? Closing comments? Anything you wanted to mention that I didn’t ask.

I’ve been involved off and on with the artist Raymond Pettibon for a music project called Supersession. He has made records under this moniker before. This project began in 1990 and stalled for many years. We revived it a couple years ago. I play bass. Raymond wrote many pages of words and lyrics that he passed to the band, encouraging us to write music behind them. It’s different from Raymond’s other records because it is not improvised. Rick Sepulveda, our guitarist is a great songwriter and he wrote music for Raymond’s words. Rick sings a bunch of the songs because Raymond loves his voice. We did a NYC performance in November that was really fun. So now of course, I’m thinking we should play monthly in L.A. We are nearly finished with the album that we recorded at Casa Hanzo, the San Pedro studio Mike Watt owns with Pete Mazich. Raymond is a brilliant man; fun and inspiring to work with. When I practice with Rick, he’ll often break into a cover song deep in the recess of memory. Like John Cale’s “Hanky Panky Nohow” ,Kevin Ayers’ “Oh Wot A Dream” or the Doors “Wishful Sinful”. We may cover a Harry Toledo song. It’s a blast. I hope to have the album finished in July.

Tav, Bobby, Pell Mell and Ray

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