#and I burnt out so hard I haven’t even been able to touch my guitar or software since

[smallphoenix13]

One line in everybody’s waiting that I haven’t seen an analysis for yet that I wanna talk about is the “ginger shots, vitamins” line

It’s obviously a reference to after that one tour when bojan got so sick the night before his debut movie premiere and kris had to stay up all night making him ginger shots to get through it

And you can see in clips of the premiere that bojan is absolutely miserable and barely even lucid, and then had to perform the next day (a performance that people would’ve understood if they cancelled, but I get the feeling that he would’ve felt guilty if they did)

And how stress and anxiety can make you physically ill, and how running yourself both mentally and physically ragged can just absolutely destroy any sense of fun that you had for your passion

And I just think it’s really interesting how just that tiny snapshot clearly made such an impact on his mental health. Especially because in an interview once he said that the most important lesson they learned from the band was “nothing is so important that you have to do it even if you don’t feel up to it” and I just hope it’s a lesson he continues to internalize

[echo-bleu]

More Than Enough

I originally wrote this for the Whumptober “Ransom”, but I never posted it on here. I figure now that we have an actual Alex kidnapping, it’s a good time to dust it off! So it’s not technically new, but it’s my entry for day 2 of the Missing Alex Manes weekend ( @alexmanesappreciation)

[mental health issues, seriously unhealthy coping mechanisms, gunshot wounds, kidnapping]

Alex has never been good enough. At this point, it's just a fact of life. He wasn't good enough to make his mother stay, or take her with him (he knows all the reasons why she says she left, but it's what it boils down to, really). He wasn't a good enough son for his father (Dad has told him that, over and over, until it etched into his mind). He wasn't a good enough musician to run away and try his luck somewhere (he hasn't touched a guitar in ten years). He wasn't a good enough Airman to save his unit when a building collapsed on them (they're all gone now).

He was never, ever, good enough for Michael.

Alex brought him nothing but pain. He was the channel of his family's hatred for aliens, bringing it all down on Michael. He's hurt him, over and over. He tries so hard to stay away, to avoid hurting him more, but he doesn't even have enough control of himself for that, like a piece of iron attracted by a magnet.

Like a planet orbiting around a sun. Michael is his sun, hot and blinding (so attractive). Alex is a bare, burnt planet devoid of life.

And the little ball sitting in Michael's hand is the comet that will destroy them all.

Alex kneels on the floor of the dirty parking lot and stares at it. It's a bomb. A biochemical weapon, built to destroy every piece of alien DNA that remains on earth (three people, four organic pods, one defunct).

Slowly, oh so slowly, the ball floats away from Michael's hand. Michael has a look that's half focus and half disgust on his face, and Alex doesn't need to look to know that most of that disgust is directed at him.

Flint roughly pulls Alex up, making him stumble. His hands are sill attached behind his back with a zip tie, so he doesn't have the balance necessary to walk on his prosthetic.

“Go,” Flint groans into his ear. “Slowly.”

Alex obeys, for lack of another option. He limps over to where Michael and the others stand, leaving his two brothers and their henchmen behind. He passes between the floating ball and the equally levitating hard drive, that he knows contains everything they've been able to gather about aliens, from Caulfield, from Noah's ramblings, and from the new facility upstate.

Michael, Max and Isobel are giving that up for him.

(He doesn't understand.)

He wants to yell at them to stop, that they can't exchange all that against just him, that the bomb is meant to kill them. He wants to tell them that he's not worth that, he never will be. But he can feel Flint's glare burning through his back, so he walks.

Unable to meet anyone's eyes, he keeps his head down until he reaches where Michael is standing, two steps in front of the others. Michael gives him a nod, his face unreadable.

Alex turns to watch his brother catch the ball and the hard drive.

“Thank you,” Flint says with a smirk. “I hope he was worth it.”

Alex stays perfectly still, staring at him. The four men go back to their car, a large SUV with stained windows, and drive away.

“Alex!” Liz exclaims, jumping into his arms. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he reassures her. He's exhausted and bruised and hurting more than a little, but it doesn't matter right now. He pushes her away gently, the touch making his skin crawling. “Michael. Max, Isobel,” he says, looking down at his shoes. “You shouldn't have accepted the exchange. This was too important.”

“You're more important,” Michael says immediately, moving into his space. Alex wants to step away. They haven't been this close since Caulfield.

Michael choosing to date Maria hurt (destroyed him), but it was just a matter of time before he realized Alex wasn't worth the trouble. Alex tried, really hard, to stay out of his life since then, interacting only when necessary for their work on Project Shepard.

He wants Michael's comfort, his hands on him, his mouth on his, so hard it hurts.

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“We'll stop them another way,” Isobel says, while Max comes close enough to cut the zip tie holding Alex's hands behind his back.

“Here you go,” he says.

Alex stands back, away from everyone. He feels their eyes on him, and he swallows hard. He should thank them, he think. For sacrificing so much to get him back.

The words don't make it past his lips. They sound wrong. He can't be grateful, not when he's so terrified.

“They have the bomb,” he says instead.

“It's not complete,” Liz answers. “I had a little time to study it. They still need a trigger, and without a biochemist, they can't build one.”

“They can find a biochemist,” Alex mutters.

This is all on him. He got himself captured, giving them leverage over his friends, to ask for a ransom. And all of it is because of his family. His father died from the blow to the head Kyle gave him, but now his brothers have taken over. The family legacy, indeed.

Alex would rip it all to pieces if he could, but he's not even good enough for that.

He wasn't good enough to save Michael's mother and the other aliens in Caulfield. He wasn't good enough to spare Kyle the horror of becoming a killer, by dealing with his father himself. He wasn't good enough to stop them all from falling apart, after Max died resurrecting Rosa. He had no part in getting Max back, but he failed at dealing with the rest of Project Shepard while he was gone. And now, after finally finding the bomb, he's the reason they just had to let it go.

(He's not worth it.)

“Let's go home,” Michael says quietly, not looking at Alex.

Alex nods once, blinking back tears.

“Alex, what the fuck are you doing?”

Alex looks up from his monitor, blinking sluggishly. “What?”

“You're supposed to be resting!” Michael exclaims, too loud, walking too close until he's towering over Alex.

It's been two weeks since they gave up the bomb as Alex's ransom. Every day, it's probably closer to completion. All their data is gone too, since part of the exchange was that Kyle wipe it off their computers when transferring it onto the hard drive. They're at least two steps behind Flint, and it's a dangerous situation to be in.

Alex dreams of his friends going up in flames every time he dozes off. He knows the bomb doesn't work like that, that it's a gas that will probably be released into the water supply, but it doesn't keep him from waking up screaming (it's worse).

“I'm fine,” Alex says. The bunker has become useless since the data is gone, so he's working from his cabin to track his brothers.

“Alex, Valenti nearly admitted you last night. You're not fine.”

“I'm fine enough,” Alex amends. He feels like he's been run over a truck, but the exhaustion actually eases the anxiety a little. Or at least, it worked until he collapsed last night and Kyle ended up sedating him to make him sleep.

(It made him lose a whole six hours.)

(He can't afford it.)

“You're going back to bed,” Michael says, and Alex wonders why he's even there. Have they set up an Alex watch, now? Michael hasn't been here since−

He hasn't been here, period.

(Only in Alex's dreams.)

“Why are you here?”

“'Cause I was worried, dork. I was here last night too, but you were sleeping.”

So they set up an Alex watch, and even roped Michael into it.

“Don't you have better things to do?” Alex asks.

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. “You're a stubborn jackass, aren't you?”

“I'm just...invested,” Alex mutters.

“Obsessed is more like it. This isn't healthy, Alex.”

You're one to talk, Alex wants to say. He doesn't, because Michael is right. He's obsessed with finding the bomb so it doesn't kill his friends. How can he not be?

(It's all his fault.)

“I have to find them,” Alex says.

Michael sighs, dropping onto a chair. He stares at Alex, so Alex looks back at his monitor, uncomfortable.

“What did they do to you, Alex?” Michael asks.

Alex flinches in surprise. “What?”

“Ever since we came back, you've been−”

It's not since they came back. Alex know, confusedly, that something changed, though his sense of time is skewed. It started before, he thinks. In Caulfield? Maybe. Or that day he spent waiting for Michael at the junkyard. He can't pinpoint it.

It's all a blur now, anyway.

(All his brothers did was expose the truth.)

“It doesn't matter,” he says.

“Of course it does!” Michael protests.

Alex shakes his head. “I'm close. I need to find them.”

“No, you need to rest, Alex. You haven't been sleeping.”

All I can see is you getting blown up, so no, I haven't been sleeping. Alex doesn't say it. Michael doesn't need that mental image. His own is largely fed by his experiences in the field, by the explosion that left him trapped under a collapsed building.

(It's so real it's hard to breath.)

“I've got a lead. I'll rest afterwards,” Alex says, closing the conversation and turning his attention back to his computer.

Michael says something, but he ignores him. His brothers have left few electronic traces, but Alex finally has an ID on the two airmen that work with them, and they're not as careful. They've booked motel rooms with their credit cards, several time in the last two weeks. That, combined with Alex's memory of their car license plate, should get him somewhere.

His eyes are tired, switching between monitors and traffic cameras. Michael is still trying to get his attention. He's on his phone with someone, now.

“Got them,” Alex mutters under his breath when he spots the car. “Fuck, they're close. They wouldn't come back to Roswell if they didn't have a working bomb. We need to stop them.”

He looks around him, but Michael's not here anymore. Frantically, he digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Max. “They're on the interstate,” he says when Max picks up, without letting him talk. “Heading into town.”

“What?” Max asks, confused.

“My brothers,” Alex explains, exasperated at his slowness. “We need to stop them now. Don't go alone. I'll meet you there.”

“Alex, wait−”

Alex hangs up. He grabs his keys, hoping that he can see straight enough to drive. His eyes haven't appreciated how much he's strained them lately.

(He's so fucking tired.)

He drives straight to the town limit and turns his car so it blocks the road. There aren't many cars coming in at this hour, and his brothers should be there in minutes, if his calculations are right. He takes his gun out of the glove compartment.

He's ready.

(He's got a debt to pay.)

“Alex!” Michael screams as he runs out of Max's car.

Alex is on the floor, his shirt quickly soaking up with blood. Michael ignore the man shooting at him in favor of dropping to his knees in front of Alex. Max shoots back, and soon the man has joined the other three on the floor in the middle of the street.

Michael presses over Alex's wound with his hand. “Max, I need you here!” he shouts.

Alex is loosing a lot of blood. He's barely conscious, leaning into Michael's embrace, his eyes half-open. “Dammit Alex. Why did you have to do that for?”

“Payback,” Alex murmurs.

Revenge? Against his brothers? That doesn't seem like Alex. Is that what's been motivating him so much these last few weeks? Is it about his father's death?

“For you,” Alex adds before he closes his eyes.

“What?” Michael asks, but he's unresponsive.

Max crouches beside them, laying a hand on Alex's chest, under the bloody shirt. “I can't heal him like before,” he says.

“I know,” Michael answers. “Just do your best.”

Max concentrates, and his hand starts glowing. He's been struggling with his ability, since his resurrection. It's only now, over a month later, starting to come back with any kind of consistency, and it's weak, nothing like the power he yielded to bring Rosa back to life.

Michael feels the blood flow under his hand slow, and then stop. Max lets go after a minute and stumbles back, exhausted.

“That's the best I can do,” he says. “The wound's closed superficially, but the damage is still there.”

“Thank you,” Michael says, truly meaning it. Given how much he was bleeding, he doesn't think Alex would have survived waiting for an ambulance.

They can't bring him to the hospital, not with a partly healed wound that looks fresh, so Michael fishes out his phone. He doesn't let go of Alex, who's still not moving. He calls Valenti one-handed, stuffing his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he adjusts his grip on Alex, and tells Valenti what happened.

“Bring him back to his cabin,” Valenti says when he's described Alex's state. “I'll meet you there with supplies.”

Max stumbles to his car to drink a whole bottle of acetone, and comes back stronger, to help Michael move Alex over to the car. “You drive there,” he says. “I need to take care of them.” He waves to the other car, and the four men in various states of unconsciousness lying beside it. “It looks like they have the bomb with them.”

“We're safe?”

“We're safe,” Max confirms.

Michael nods, and arranges Alex in the passenger seat, pulling back the seat so he's more comfortable. “Thank you,” he says again.

Max nods and walks away.

Valenti is already there when he arrives at Alex's cabin. Michael uses his telekinesis and his arms to get Alex all the way to his bed, and lets Valenti take over, though he refuses to leave the room. Once Valenti has confirmed that Alex is going to be okay with a lot of rest and recuperation and set up a saline and painkiller IV, Michael sits down cross-legged on the free side of the bed and waits.

It's been a strange few months, and he'll admit that he's lost track of many things, in his initial spiral down after Max's death, and in the exhilaration of getting him back. Somewhere along the way, he missed what was happening to Alex.

He still doesn't know what it is, to tell the truth. He knows he hurt Alex deeply by going to Maria, and Alex seemed to avoid him, after that. Michael tried to give him space, even after he and Maria broke up when she found out the truth about aliens. He knows what it feel like to be walked away from, after all.

But then...Alex didn't come back. And that's where he missed some kind of wild turn. He missed Jesse Manes' death at the hospital, for one thing. That must have shaken him. Valenti, the only one Alex let see him with any kind of consistency, says that Alex came to work down in his father's bunker at all hours, and stayed there whole nights.

And then, seemingly suddenly, Alex located another facility, one that didn't hold alien prisoners but a biochemical bomb, meant to wipe aliens off the planet. But they separated while they were investigating it, and, out of the blue, Michael received a video call from Flint Manes, holding his younger brother hostage. Him for the bomb, was the ransom.

It wasn't even a question in Michael's mind. Damn the consequences, he couldn't leave Alex in his brothers' hands for even one more hour. It took five to get Alex back.

Only...Flint must have done something to Alex. In Michael's mind, that's the only possible answer to the state Alex has been in since. He hasn't been sleeping, or eating much, and it show on his body, the weight he's lost. He's been in front of his computer the whole time, obsessing over finding his brothers, until he ignored even the people who came to see him. Out of desperation, they set up a roster, to have someone with him at all time, because it was the only way to get him to even drink anything. Alex didn't seem to notice.

Michael almost had a heart attack last night, when Alex collapsed and wouldn't wake up again. Valenti said it was just exhaustion, but it scared him. It would have scared him into actually doing something, which he should have done a week ago, if Alex hadn't stormed out while he was in the bathroom.

“Hey,” he says, shaking himself out of his thoughts as Alex's eyes flutter open.

“What happened?” Alex asks sluggishly, looking around him.

“You got shot. Max healed you, but only partially.”

“My brothers?”

“Alive, and in the hospital,” Michael relays Max's latest report. “We've got the bomb, and enough evidence against them to convict them. It's over.”

Alex closes his eyes, breathing through his nose. When he opens them again, they've gone emotionless. “Good,” he says.

“How do you feel?” Michael asks.

“Fine,” Alex says, too quickly.

Michael has heard that answer too many times. “No, you're not,” he says, frowning.

Alex shrugs, and winces. He presses a hand to his injured side.

“That's gonna hurt for a while,” Michael says.

“I've had worse.”

“Alex, you almost died. If I hadn't gotten there with Max−”

“But you did,” Alex says. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't.

“I can't lose you, Alex,” Michael says. He knows it probably isn't fair, when he's the one who walked away this time. But he needs to say it. “You've been...the last few weeks, you've run yourself to the ground, and today you almost died, and I can't do this, Alex. I can't. I can't watch you destroy yourself.”

“Then...” Alex frowns, confused. “Why are you here?”

Michael wants to hit his head on a wall. “I'm here because I care about you!”

Alex shakes his head, and he looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here.

Michael tries to give him a moment, but it's too heavy, too uncomfortable.

“Alex,” he starts. “Earlier, when I asked you why you did all this, you said 'payback'. What did you mean? Is it about your father's death? Or something else?”

Alex frowns again. “I needed to pay you back,” he says, like it's obvious.

“What do you mean?”

“You payed that ransom, and it was too high a price. The bomb was more important than me. I had to make it write.”

“Pay me back,” Michael understands, the bottom of his stomach dropping.

Alex nods, as if relieved that he's understood.

“But you were more important than the bomb,” Michael says. “Of course you were!”

“Why? I'm just one person, one life against at least three. I'm not worth that. I'm not worth−” he doesn't finish.

I'm not worth anything, Michael hears the unspoken word.

“Alex, look at me,” Michael demands. Alex meets his eyes, briefly, and looks down again. To hell with caution and letting Alex move on. “You are worth so much to me. To all of us. But to me most of all.”

“I'm not good enough for you,” Alex says.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Can't you see it? It's so obvious. Maria and you are good people. You deserve each other.”

“We broke up,” Michael says, unsure how to react to the rest.

Alex swallows. “I'm sorry,” he says.

“No, it wasn't meant to be. Not when I'm in love with someone else.”

“You need to let me go,” Alex says, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Why?” Michael asks, almost afraid of the answer. “I love you, Alex. You said you loved me. Are you saying you don't, anymore?”

Alex closes his eyes. “I love you,” he says. “I love you too much. That's the problem. I can't be what you need me to be.”

“I need you to be you,” Michael says. He doesn't understand. What does Alex think he needs?

“It's not enough,” Alex shakes his head. “I'm not enough.”

Michael opens his mouth to deny it, but he closes it again. Where is this coming from?

Not enough. It echoes with something in his mind, something Alex once said. I'm never going to be good enough for my father. Michael closes his eyes.

Did he make Alex think he wasn't enough?

(When he's the one who's not enough.)

Fuck, he did. Finally a real Manes man. You're still the guy just looking for a reason to walk away. Every time. He put his own insecurity, his own fears of abandonment on Alex, and tested him. And Alex failed every test, because there was no way for him to pass.

And Alex didn't realize it wasn't okay, because no one has ever put him first. Just like Michael. They're each other's best ally and worst enemy.

(They make mistakes together.)

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“For what?” Alex asks, genuinely confused.

Michael can't articulate everything he's sorry for, so he settles for taking Alex's hand in his. “You are good enough,” he says. “I love you.”

(I'll put you first.)

Alex closes his eyes, and a tear rolls down his cheek.

“It's gonna be okay,” Michael murmurs.

(You're more than enough.)

[briannmayy]

Request (Brian x Reader)

Hey guys! This is my first request and my first time writing smut? Can you say wow?? Very nervous to post this :)))

Summary: You and Brian have an argument and he feels absolutely terrible about it and wants to make it up to you 

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Smut and slight angst???

The air between you and Brian was tangibly tense. The burnt orange sun lit up the kitchen with shades of pink and blue, the light from the stove being the only unnatural light cutting through the room. His guitar sat in his lap while he strummed over the cords loosely with his fingers. You stopped reading your magazine every few moments to glance over at him.

It had been a rough week for the two of you. Brian had been gone for a little over a month for rehearsals and concerts. At first, you didn’t mind that he was gone, you knew he was enjoying himself and his happiness meant your own happiness and you knew how important the band was to him. At the beginning of the week, you decided to bring up the fact that you were annoyed with him being gone for long hours, and some nights, not even bothering to coming home at all. Sure he took you to parties here and there, but you genuinely missed his presence at home. Brian, of course, wasn’t happy with this and took it the wrong way, believing you wanted him to leave the band, which he did not take to very kindly. This misunderstanding led to a week-long argument with seemingly no end. Your stubbornness was no help with this since neither wanted to apologize, only a few cold words passed between the two of you for the whole week. You missed him so much, but you didn’t want to be the first to breakdown.

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N,” Brian said shaking his head, his mop of dark curls moving fluidly with his motions.  This break of silence startled you, causing you to look up from your magazine abruptly. He had stop strumming and was now staring at you with extreme intensity. Brian slid his guitar off his lap and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s not fucking ridiculous, it’s just annoying how you aren’t ever here.” You slammed down the magazine you were reading on the table. Anger sprung from somewhere within, “You’re always at rehearsals, and it’s getting to be a bit much Bri.”

“Oh like we talk anyways, you’re always out with god knows who.” He said, turning away from you.

It cut deep to hear him say that, small wells of tears puddled at the corner of your eyes and your gaze dropped to the floor, trying to hide the fact you were deeply upset. He knew how loyal you were to him. Your anger was quickly turned into sadness and Brian took notice immediately and grabbed your hand, ”shit, Y/N, you know I didn’t mean that.”

You shook your head and turned away. You wiped away a tear that had escaped and slipped down your cheek, not replying to him for your response would only be choked sobs.

“Y/N, darling, please talk to me,” his voice hinted on desperation as he leaned down to try and catch your gaze, he was unable to hide the amount of guilt he was feeling inside, “I’m really sorry, I was just angry and…” he sighed heavily, “I swear I meant nothing of it.”

You nodded your head slowly, looking up to him, “it’s fine, really.” You whispered, trying to hold back the heartache that had made itself home inside you with Brian’s absence.

“It really isn’t,” he said, sitting down in the chair next to you. Moonlight filtered through the kitchen’s white curtains now, the glow of the stove light lit the kitchen like an electric candle. “Will you let me make it up to you?” Brian asked, glancing over to you.

“How are you going to do that?” You asked, rubbing under your eyes, trying to catch a get rid of the wetness under them. Your face still felt hot from holding in all of the emotion you had bottled inside. You wanted him to touch you, it’s been too long since he has.

Brian placed his hand on your upper thigh, ”will you let me show you how sorry I really am?”

There was a spark in his voice that you hadn’t heard in a while that made your heart race. “How are you gonna do that one?”

“Well, I’ll show you if you’ll let me,” there was a long pause before he met your gaze, his eyes rolling up your clothed figure, “will you let me?”

You nodded your head, a small and shy grin creeping onto your face. He pulled you into the living room and set you down on the couch. Brian leaned down and pressed his lips against your own. It was soft at first but his pace picked up as he worked his hands on your belt, trying to get it off you as quickly as he could. His fingers fumbled, causing you to giggle between his hungry kisses. His lips drew a line from your own lips down to your neck. You moaned softly as he bit down onto your soft skin gently while his hands slid your pants down to your ankles, leaving you in one of his old shirts and your underwear. “I know I haven’t shown it,” he began to whisper into your ear, which sent a shiver down your spine, “but I’ve been thinking about this for the longest time.”

“Thinking about what?” You asked, your voice starting to get breathless.

“Just being with you…” he paused for a moment, meeting your eyes. You blushed hard and diverted your eyes, a smile appearing on your face. Your heart fluttered as if it were the first time he’s said something so endearing. He grabbed your chin and pulled your gaze back to him, ”I’m being serious, Y/N. I really mean that.”

“I know, Bri. I’ve missed you a lot.” You said, putting a hand on his side, running your fingertips along his thin figure. You pulled him close again to bring his lips to yours again. Brian ran a hand up your shirt and tried his best with unhooking your front clasp bra with one hand. His cheeks began to grow pink the longer he struggled with the clasp until he finally got the simple hook to work with him. “Got it, honey?” You teased him.

“Stop it,” He shook his head and smirked, his curls bouncing easily. He lifted his shirt that you were wearing over your head and tossed it to the side on the floor. He started at your collarbones kissing them gently before trailing love bites down to the elastic of your underwear. He pulled them down your legs with so much force that elastic almost ripped.

Brian began with one finger, slowly pushing in and out of you. His lips sucked gently on your bud as his pace began to quicken. You couldn’t help but moan his name as he added another finger. Brian placed his hand on your stomach while you erratically tried to catch your breath. His tongue led a stripe up your heat, finishing with a quick swirl around your bud. You found your hands in a mess in his hair while crying out his name. “You like that?” He smirked up at you devilishly. He knew how to drive you wild still even after being absent for so long.

A whine escaped your lips, “Bri, please don’t stop now.” Your voice was full of need as he crawled up your frame.

“I’m not done with you, don’t worry.” He nearly growled, his pants slipping down his legs. Hotness filled your stomach that made you want him more and more as each second passed. You felt him position himself at your entrance before slowly pushing his length into you. You gasped and called his name again as he did so. Brian had your arms pinned down as he came in, he left gentle kisses on your neck while you squirmed beneath him. Your legs wrapped around his hips almost on reflex. Brian’s pace was agonizingly slow at first, a low growl escaped from him, and his grip on you tightened. “You’re such a good girl, Y/N.”

You tried to match his pace, not getting enough of him. He kept a steady hand down on your pelvis to keep you still. You whined in defiance, your whine didn’t last long since your lips met with Brian’s again. His kiss was desperate this time like he couldn’t get enough of you either.

His cheeks were beginning to turn pink and beads of sweat appeared at his forehead. His thrusts were beginning to lose their usual steadiness and began to be more erratic. He tried his best to keep his moans held back, but he couldn’t help it now. Soft whimpers began to come from him, you could tell how close he was since his grip on your hip was as tight as ever. “I need you, Y/N.” He managed to breathlessly let out, ”I’m so close.”

You were getting close too, your heavy breathing nearly matching his. Moans began to slip from your lips carelessly as he vigorously pumped into you, not halting for a moment. His dark eyebrows furrowed together as he got closer and close to the edge. You felt yourself coming close as his thrusts became more primitive, you couldn’t stop yourself from coming on him his member. His name fell from your lips loudly as your back arched, letting him know that you’d made it over. For a moment, you wouldn’t have been surprised if your neighbors heard how loud you were. Your nails dug into his back, hardly being able to handle the amount of pleasure he was giving you. After a few seconds of intense build up, he tried pulling out to come onto your stomach. “No, please.” You shook your head quickly, “I want you inside me.” And those were the only words he needed to hear to send him coming over the edge. His jaw clenched and let himself spill inside you. You whimpered as he did so, finally feeling satisfied with feeling his full length inside of you. He pulled out after finished and crashed onto the couch cushion next to you in a hot mess. The two of you were dazed completely, trying to catch your breath.

“Did that show you how sorry I am?” Brian asked, turning his head to you. His cheeks were flushed and his curls sat in a mess on his head. His half-lidded eyes looking to you for approval.

“Of course,” You laughed tiredly.

“C’mere you,” Brian smiled, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulling you to him.

[thatfairyfangirl]

True Colors Chapter 1

A/N: This was written before Infinity War came out. Screw Bucky being kept in Wakanda, I never liked that ending anyway.

Normally I would post this on Wednesdays but I just couldn't wait to get this one out! You can expect regular updates with this every Wednesday or if you cant wait every Sunday on Patreon link below.

The summer heat beat down on the city as thick storm clouds brewed teasing the idea of rain to break the hot spell that had taken New York hostage. Outside protesters stood at every corner with signs inscribed with “Free the Heroes” “Cap didn't get iced for this” and “Hawkeye is NOT a target”. Unlike in other cities there was no shouting and screaming for their release...that wasn’t what needed to change, it was the law. In the center of the group you sat, their rainbow haired leader with your beloved guitar belting out a strong song showing the public’s solidarity with the heroes and how much the world needs them as everyone sang along with you in protest. The job didn’t pay, but it was a cause you whole-heartedly believed in… You didn’t mean to become a political activist, you didn’t wake up one morning and say “I’m going to try to change the world.” But you did stand out, and the songs you wrote  resonated with anti-accords and pro-mutant rights themes...and that certainly was no accident. Too bad changing the world didn’t pay the bills… but for that there were the parties you would DJ for at night, and tonight you were lined up to work for one of your closest friends and most loyal of clients...Tony Stark himself.

~ ~ ~ ~

Late in the night music raged as the mist of fog machines mixed with air conditioning working its hardest to keep far too many cool as they moved to an unrelenting techno-beat provided by none other than you. Rainbow tendrils whipped past your eyes as you bobbed back and forth to the sounds you were creating. Stark had always been one of your main sources of business...the man did love a good party. But this one he had to beg you to take, only agreeing to it once he promised to work on getting the accords revoked. Drinks flowed freely as those legally able to call themselves Avengers blew off some steam...well, all except for Vision, who was standing in the corner rather stagnantly, not sure of the purpose of this activity, nor what to do.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So, Tony, didn’t you say the whole ‘team’ was going to be here?” You asked with a smirk, giving the word team some air-quotes as you packed up your mixing board, all the guests now long gone. “Where’s that spider guy I saw on the news? He looked so…” You paused nibbling at your lower lip with a sinful grin, thinking about the best way to describe what you saw. Tight? Muscular? Nah, don’t want to sound like a slut...“Acrobatic.”

“Oh Spider-ling? Umm that depends...would you happen to know if the school year goes this late into June?” Tony answered with a smirk.

“You mean he’s…?”

“Fifteen.” Your face lost all color as Tony chortled at the way your foot fit so perfectly in your mouth without you even trying.

“Ew...ok no to the spider-boy.” You finally laughed off the idea with him, guess you never know who’s under those masks these days. “Pizza and booze?”

“Right this way.” He answered with a chuckle, he sure as hell wasn’t letting this one go for a long while.

Drinks firmly in hand you sunk into the couch in the common area. “So what about everyone else?” It was obvious you were referring to the Avengers who didn’t sign the accords, those on Cap’s side. He knew how you spent your days, hell, you mixed in a few of the songs you had recorded about the issue tonight as a not so subtle reminder.

“Yeah, I’m still working on it...But I’m going to get them out.”

“Out? Out of where?” And there was the face, a rare one that you learned after years of friendship with Tony, you had hit a sore spot he didn’t want to discuss. “Okay,” you paused handing him his drink. “Never have I ever worked for Stark Industries.” The tradition had started long before you worked on the party scene, when you were still DJing clubs to make ends meet and maybe get your songs noticed...though Tony did notice your talent he didn’t have the means to get you that recording contract you yearned for...But after a night of the game he had decided he liked you enough to hire you for all functions he’d have and at least that got your foot into most high profile parties in the city. From there the game just kept going.

Tony let out a breath of a laugh taking a drink. “You used that one before, drink up.”

Hours passed as Natasha T’challa and Rhodey joined you in your long standing game with your old friend.

“Okay. Let me think.” T’challa let out a bourbon scented breath as he searched his mind.

“No thinking just go!” You retaliated as you threw a handful of popcorn in his general direction.

“Alright alright,” he chuckled, “never have I ever colored my hair.” As the words left his mouth everyone looked around to see who was now forced to drink.

Soon all eyes were on you as everyone waited for the bottle to touch your lips yet it stayed firmly on the table. “What? I haven’t!” You assured everyone as you propped your feet up on the couch. Even in your inebriated state you knew the conversation this was going to generate...might as well get comfortable.

“Oh come on! How are you even going to pretend that’s natural?” Rhodey asked pointing to the rainbow that now sat in a loose braid to keep out of your eyes.

“Ummmmm… Well, for starters…” You trailed off as you focused your mind on the colors in your hair. They all watched as they shifted and changed from your usual cascading rainbow to a soft blond then back to as it once was. “Did seriously no one notice that there were colored lights despite me not bringing a lighting rig?” You chuckled before explaining that you are in fact a mutant, and colors are your main game.

“Oh my god you’re a mutant!” Tony leaned forward with shock and intrigue, and just a little upset at himself for letting this slip by him for all the years you’ve known each other. “What else can you do?”

With a sigh  you reached into your bag, pulling out the a t-shirt that you had planned on wearing home, pulling it over your head to cover the rainbow bikini top you had been performing in, suddenly feeling a bit exposed now that your secret was out…

“Officially I’m classified as a Photokinetic… But my training was mostly in chronokinesis. Bending light changing colors… That sort of thing. But I do have this thing they taught me, I call it a prism blast. Basically I can focus light into a super concentrated high heat rainbow beam, and well...You ever burnt ants with a magnifying glass before? Kinda like that.”

“Wait? Your training?” Natasha asked, rather curious where you would have trained for this.

You nodded. “Upstate there’s a school for people like me. You heard of the X-men?” A few of the group nodded. “That’s their base. I trained under them.”

“Do you think you could make someone invisible?” Tony asked as he sat forward with that smirk that told you he had a plan brewing.

“Oh, easily!”

Tony’s smirk grew into a smile dancing along his lips. “Still want to meet Captain Rogers?”

Tag List:

@sillydecoy

@nosleeptillbucky

Announcement from the writer:

I am also on Patreon! You can find me on Patreon HERE. I know, I know, it sounds like I am expecting you to pay for my writing but fear not! I will only be charging $1 a month, and even that is voluntary. The majority of my fics will be available for free. The $1 subscription will be for access to the really adult content stuff I have been sitting on such as what I have been calling “Blind Date’s Deleted Scene” and access to my discord AND early access to fics! Including True Colors up to chapter 5 as of this past Sunday.

I will still post fics on Tumblr up until they are no longer welcomed by the staff, but patrons will be able to view them early.

For those who have trouble with hyperlinks on their device or find it hard to click a small word vs an actual link here is the full link to my new Patreon    https://www.patreon.com/fairyfangirl

[arconn]

I remember how much I used to do these in high school/my early 20s, I wish I could do an old one and compare responses. Here's one for today, 06/21/21

1) Sexuality? Pansexual, meaning I don't have a preference of what you're working with and I don't exclude those who identify as nonbinary/agender.

2) If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Russel Crowe

3) Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. with a stock of white, forearms tattooed in black Borean ink- the black dragon that marks him as an outsider. - Witches of America by Alex Mar

4) What do you think about most? That people want to be good and be happy but also very much have the opportunity to cause the opposite

5) What does your latest text message from someone else say? Hope you have today off...

6) Do you sleep with or without clothes on? Usually with but it depends on what time of year it is

7) What’s your strangest talent? Being able to guess poeple's zodiac signs pretty accurately.

8) Girls…. (finish the sentence); Boys…. (finish the sentence) should be treated the same

9) Ever had a poem or song written about you? Yes

10) When is the last time you played the air guitar? I don't even remember honestly.

11) Do you have any strange phobias? Preying mantasis, they absolutely terrify me and are bore deep into my psyche

12) Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? Yes

13) What’s your religion? I identify as an omniest, meaning I find truth and beauty in all religions and also as a pagan witch- a woman who loves and respects the earth, her elements and the way it effects us. I read tarot and look for divine guidance primarily from a central collective consciousness/energy and divinity that is in us all.

14) If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? Hooping, going on a walk

15) Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind

16) Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? Like a whole band with instruments and multiple musicians? Either Born of Osiris of August Burns Red

17) What was the last lie you told? That I was okay when I wasn't

18) Do you believe in karma? Absofreakinglutely

19) What does your URL mean? That I'm one tough bitch ;)

20) What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? My quickness to trust someone and be vulnerable and shutting myself off or down when I realize I shouldn't have. And loving other people and things, when I'm at my best I aspire to emulate loving goddess energy and make others feel safe and seen.

21) Who is your celebrity crush? I honestly am not a big fan of most celebrities

22) Have you ever gone skinny dipping? Honestly, no.

23) How do you vent your anger? Usually to a friend or through hooping

24) Do you have a collection of anything? Crystals, metaphysical books, tarot decks.

25) Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Through messenger

26) Are you happy with the person you’ve become? Yes, though there is a lot I am still working hard on.

27) What’s a sound you hate; sound you love? The sound of people chewing or brushing their teeth and I love the sound of deep low frequency bass and my bunny Winston "purring"

28) What’s your biggest “what if”? What if a certain relationship worked out and I hadn't left and we stayed together

29) Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? I believe in the possibility of everything but also that anything can be debunked. I say yes to both.

30) Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. Left- my phone, right-a bag of cashews :)

31) Smell the air. What do you smell? A candle burning nearby.

32) What’s the worst place you have ever been to? Probably the part of Bahrain we got dumped in while waiting for our ship. Of course, at the time I had never been to or lived in Philly or Baltimore, but it was a lot and was absolutely not safe.

33) Choose East Coast or West Coast? East coast, but I haven't been to the west coast yet.

34) Most attractive singer of your opposite gender? Anderson Paak *heart eyes* thats my BAYBEEEEE

35) To you, what is the meaning of life? See #13

36) Define Art. Expression

37) Do you believe in luck? I believe in divine blessing

38) What’s the weather like right now? Absolutely beautiful and 70 something outside

39) What time is it? 2:51

40) Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed? Yes, though I don't have a car right now. And no I haven't, only been rear ended once.

41) What was the last book you read? Been reading Witches of America by Alex Mar lately as well as some study astrology material.

42) Do you like the smell of gasoline? Love it.

43) Do you have any nicknames? Mana

44) What was the last movie you saw? The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It... it was absolutely amazing

45) What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? Dislocating my knee, it went all the way to the backside of my leg!!

46) Have you ever caught a butterfly? Oh yes

47) Do you have any obsessions right now? Learning my job and getting better at it, smoking weed, getting these next couple milestones together that are coming up.

48) What’s your sexual orientation? Pansexual, see #1 for an explanation

49) Ever had a rumor spread about you? Oh yes

50) Do you believe in magic? Definitely

51) Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? Nah, I wish I could sometimes, but I'm actually pretty bad at it, to my own demise.

52) What is your astrological sign? Aquarius sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising

53) Do you save money or spend it? Spend it. UGH.

54) What’s the last thing you purchased? A smoothie

55) Love or lust? Love

56) In a relationship? Not currently, no.

57) How many relationships have you had? I don't even know anymore... that would be a lot to count out.

58) Can you touch your nose with your tongue? Yes

59) Where were you yesterday? Work and then home and in my bed sleeping for almost 13 hours.

60) Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? Yes, a hula hoop

61) Are you wearing socks right now? Nope

62) What’s your favorite animal? Rabbits and octopus

63) What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? Look at them very intently with my eyes and show genuine care/focus on them

64) Where is your best friend? I don't really have a best friend right now, my closest is in Maryland right now, but I haven't seen her in over a year.

65) Spit or swallow?(; Always swallow

66) What is your heritage? Irish/Scottish

67) What were you doing last night at 12 AM? DEAD ASLEEP

68) What do you think is Satan’s last name? Gon'getcha

69) Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? What kinda question is this? Duh. Society is so weird about sexuality it's kind of gross. *shudders*

70) Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? Yeah!

71) You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? Yell for help, save the dog. Take pictures once the rescue is a success and try and explain it to my boss, if they let me go, they let me go.

72) You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? I tell everyone I care about, yes. I would spend the rest of my time with my family and saying goodbye to certain friends. I'd try to fit in as much live music as humanly possible as well and maybe take a few days trip abroad, probably somewhere where I could be on the beach.

73) You can only have one of these things; trust or love. Love, because if it's true, you get both

74) What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Touch by Hybrid Minds

75) What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? 1***

76) In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Trust, over communication, taking time for the cute and little things

77) How can I win your heart? ^

78) Can insanity bring on more creativity? Absolutely

79) What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? Letting things go in order to gain

80) What size shoes do you wear? 8 1/2 or 9

81) What would you want to be written on your tombstone? EVERYBODY LOVE EVERYBODY! C'MON! -WILL FERREL

82) What is your favorite word? Fuck

83) Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart. Swell

84) What is a saying you say a lot? "The road to suffering is paved with expectations" -The Buddha

85) What’s the last song you listened to? Loan Shark by Commodo

86) Basic question; what’s your favorite color/colors? Lavendar, royal blue, deep purple, light magenta, neon red, burnt orange

87) What is your current desktop picture? $uicideboy$

88) If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? Oh boy, I don't think I'd want that to happen to anyone because they could be with other people like their family and shit. That would be so horrible.

89) What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? Haven't found one yet.

90) One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? Slowly look around and see if I can find a weapon, then quickly get to it and make a quick exit, defending myself from the mummies if need be.

91) You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? It's a tie between teleporation and being able to heal others/myself.

92) You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? My wedding day.

93) You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? Early memories in the barracks at Fort Meade

94) You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? Al Ross or $crim

95) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? India

96) Do you have any relatives in jail? Not that I know of

97) Have you ever thrown up in the car? Yup, but it was into a bag every time

98) Ever been on a plane? Many times

99) If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? EVERYBODY LOVE EVERYBODY, c'MON!

[typetwofun]

Adventures in Learning with A Vintage Motorcycle

this post should take ~9 minutes to read

My first ride on a motorcycle on a public road was terrifying. After obtaining my license via a weekend class that took place entirely in a high school parking lot, I had purchased a Honda CB250 Nighthawk on Craigslist. Get License - check, purchase motorcycle - check. Next item on the list is to take this thing on the road...

During my maiden voyage I came face-to-face with the reality that these 2,000 pound death machines some people refer to as cars were trying to kill me at every turn. This was unsettling at first but after a couple miles I gained confidence and felt more comfortable maneuvering around my adversaries who seemed to have every intention of ending my life. I also started to have a lot of fun and understand the allure of the two-wheeler. Although I mainly purchased a motorcycle as an affordable way to get around Atlanta, I was beginning to get the idea that riding a motorcycle was going to now be a part of my life.

“When you let a motorcycle into your life you're changed forever.  The letters "MC" are stamped on your driver's license right next to your sex and height as if "motorcycle" was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition.”

"Season of the Bike" by Dave Karlotski

Fast Forward two years and I’m living in Brooklyn. I sold my Knighthawk before I moved and I was kicking around the idea of buying another motorcycle to allow myself some more freedom to explore NYC. In the year of learning how to ride in Atlanta I became attracted to vintage bikes. Every time I saw an old touring bike from the 60’s or 70’s I was envious and I had decided my next bike would be something from that era. After another period of scouring Craigslist and  a couple friends persistently coaxing me to get a bike, I became the owner of a burnt orange 1977 BMW R75/7.

I thought I was purchasing a classic motorcycle that would take me to the farthest reaches of the NYC metro area and beyond. I would get plenty of looks speeding around the city on this museum piece as old guys nodded their heads in approval. But what I actually purchased was more like a new puppy that constantly needed my attention. Purchasing this BMW began a two year crash course on the fundamentals of the /7 (pronounced “slash seven”) and the proper care and maintenance required to keep it on the road.

The reason I share this long back story is because I never intended to do significant work on my motorcycle. I might have romanced the thought of changing the oil and doing little projects here or there but I grossly underestimated the time investment becoming a useful mechanic requires. These series of fortunate or unfortunate events, depending on how you look at it, led me to buying a bike that was going to need a lot of work. I started off small projects like replacing the fuel lines and adjusted the timing which gave me the confidence to begin working on larger and larger projects. Eventually I was tearing the bike down to the engine block and more importantly putting it all back together correctly. As someone who lacks significant experience working on engines, this kind of undertaking required a great deal of effort and if I have gained anything while refurbishing this classic motorcycle, it is how to learn a new skill.

When Was The Last Time I Learned A New Skill?

Learning any new skill is especially difficult when you are quite literally getting your hands (and clothes) dirty and spending long hours of your precious weekend in the garage with nothing to show for it except frustration, fatigue, and an unquenchable thirst for cocktails. As time goes on you have fewer and fewer days filled with frustration and eventually have enough knowledge that you might be so bold to consider yourself “useful” which is a rather satisfying feeling.

When I sat back and thought about it I haven’t learned a completely new skill in a meaningful way since I graduated from college. Sure I have learned little things like how to shoot a rifle, brine a turkey and how to catch a wave on a surfboard. But learning how to tear apart an old engine and put it back together correctly is a rather large undertaking and seemed intimidating to an inexperienced mechanic.

Why Learn a New Skill, Anyways?

As I expressed earlier, my intention was never to learn how to rebuild old engines. When you leave the part of life where you quit asking “will this be on the test?” there does not seem to be a great incentive to learn new things other than to make more money or for leisure activities and enjoyment. This may be the prevailing wisdom, but through this process I have discovered there is quite a bit to be gained by doing my own motorcycle maintenance beyond having a bike that works (most of the time).

Confidence to Solve Other Problems - Demystifying the /7 has helped me gain confidence that I can most likely find a solution when confronted with other technical problems. Armed with an internet connection we are able to find an answer to many of the technical challenges life throws at us. Almost everything we encounter in our world is part of a system or is a product of some kind of process that we can figure out. Whether it’s how to play a Beatles song on a guitar or play a Beatles song from your phone in a rental car via the touch screen display while driving, the answer is out there and you can probably find it.

The Pleasure of Figuring Things Out - Nothing quite beats the dopamine hit after having a breakthrough on a problem you have been working on for hours or maybe even weeks. There have been times where I thought to myself that I need to sell my bike and get something more modern and reliable. Every time a problem made itself evident I hunkered down and attempted to fix it and up to this point I have been successful and finding the solution (knock on wood).

Oh, one more thing, the beer at the end of the day always tastes better after finding a solution to the day’s problem.

It’s Good to Be Uncomfortable - there were many times when I got to a point in a repair job and I became nearly paralyzed with doubt. What if I break this piece? What if when I’m done I realize I need to go back in and redo it? What if I do permanent damage to the bike? What if I get in over my head and I need to burden a friend with helping me or pay a mechanic? And on and on it goes.

I learned somewhere along the way that this unsettling feeling is actually where the magic happens. You are experiencing the fear of the unknown and the only way to rectify that is to figure it out. We have many great resources like YouTube, User Manuals and experts that we can reference but sometimes the only way out is through.

The more I experienced this sensation the more familiar I became with it and the less intimidating the fear of the unknown became. Every other time I was at a supposed dead end I found a way out. Especially with a low stakes hobbyist project, it’s not scary, it’s just part of the process.

Use Your Brain In A Different Way - Like most of you, I spend my work days in front of a computer. Computers are incredible and allow us to get many things done in a short amount of time, but after a long day in front of the screen, my brain also feels like a giant pile of mush. When I spend an afternoon in the garage I may be physically tired at the end of the day but my brain does not feel like it needs to shut down and watch TV for an hour or two before bed. The tangibility of your progress and the ability to physically deconstruct and later reconstruct something is quite rewarding.

Enjoying the Fruits of Your Labor - There is an indiescribale feeling when you begin the day with a machine that is not functioning properly or sometimes at all and ending the day riding that very machine with an understanding of what is happening beneath you to make you go. Similar feelings are closing your first sale in a business you started or presenting a dish you learned how to prepare at a dinner party.

How I learned

I was a lousy student when I was in school. For me, the studying techniques of rote memorization or sitting through lectures don’t usually deliver the desired results of truly understanding new information that I have been presented. I have found that I absorb information much better by watching someone demonstrate the proper way to do something and then I attempt to to try to replicate it. This style of learning lends itself much better to the hard sciences than for other disciplines such as history or sociology.

YouTube - It’s hard for me to imagine what it was like to fix motorcycles or an issue with any appliance before YouTube. The catalogue of high definition videos on any given topic never ceases to amaze me and some even provide enormous entertainment value (exhibit A and Exhibit B). Access to this information is perhaps humanity's greatest achievement (sorry wheel and alcohol). I have gained a new appreciation for YouTube’s utility throughout the rebuild of my bike and its applications which are seemingly limitless. There is no greater resource for learning how something should be done than having a more experienced human walk you through the process on demand for almost no cost.

Mentorship - YouTube and internet forums are great for what they are, but when you’re really stuck there is still nothing that replaces a more experienced human to help you get unstuck. I have had the good fortune of making friends with several hobbyist mechanics who are far more experienced and knowledgeable than I am. Sometimes you can get yourself 90% of the way there, but it takes a “teacher” to uncover what you’re missing or to think of it in a different way.

The money you can invest in mentorship or lessons will return enormous dividends whether you’re learning how to fix a machine, downhill ski, or get that handicap into single digits. Especially for those of us who work 40+ hours a week your free time is invaluable and paying for access to an expert is almost always worth it.

Long Form Articles - Before I dive into a new project I like to read an overview that somebody else has written to give myself an idea of what kind of fun surprises I may be in for. Youtube videos are great as are forums surrounding a specific question. But in order to fully wrap my head around certain concepts nothing beats a well written long form article by an expert.

For instance, I wish I read this article before purchasing my Airhead.

Trial and Error - Despite all the tools, resources and knowledge we are surrounding with there are some questions the internet does not have answered in a 12 minute HD video. There are also days when nobody picks up the phone or your buddies aren’t able to help you. And for such occasions you have no choice but to figure it out.

There are several episodes in my mind's eye where I was floundering with bleeding my brakes, reassembling the throttle grip drive, or adjusting the points gap and on try number 50 something clicked and it worked and I now magically know how to do these things for the next time around.

Wrapping Up

Learning how to rebuild this motorcycle has provided me with satisfaction and enjoyment that have added an enormous amount of joy to my life. Undertaking the rebuild was never my primary intention and more or less a fortuitous accident. As Dan Gilbert outlines in his book “Stumbling on Happiness” humans are usually pretty bad at forecasting and we are particularly bad at predicting what will make us happy. I guess it should be to no one's surprise that my love of fixing motorcycles was serendipitous.  

If there was one thing I would tell my 20 year old self what I should do differently it would be to try new things and learn more new skills. Preferably something you can really get lost in like cooking or woodworking. It makes your brain work in different ways and think about the world through a new perspective. You will meet interesting people whom you wouldn’t normally cross paths with and you will also have a lot of fun doing it.

I hope you find my experience interesting enough to go out and stumble upon your own project or hobby that will make your Saturday afternoons that much more incredible. 

Trust me, it makes the beer taste better at the end of the day.

A view of the piston after the cylinder has been removed

Carburators, valves, valve covers, push rods, and nuts and bolts in a somewhat organized manner after removal

After several hours of soaking, scrubbing, and scraping she looks good as new!

First big ride of the summer after a long winter in the garage.

[the-easy-lay]

Tuning (part 6)

Roger was standing with his back against the red brick wall of the pub. He was wearing a big black coat that almost swallowed him, and the vicious wind tossed his blond hair about wildly. In his fingers was a burnt cigarette.

“Why didn’t you come in? It’s freezing out here.”

“I needed a smoke,” he shrugged and followed Brian inside.

“That’s not good for you, Rog,” Brian warned, even though he knew that Roger didn’t smoke as a habit. Roger must have been pretty nervous and needed to calm down before coming in. To be honest, he was quite anxious himself, but he would never touch a cigarette, not when he had seen how it had destroyed his father’s health.

“Let’s get a few drinks to warm up,” Tim suggested. They made their way to the bar, and Tim ordered two shots for each of them. The pub was one of the big ones in the area and was frequented by the fashionable youngsters because of the stylish décor and live bands featured every weekend. People were starting to stream in, crowding the bar and chattering loudly. The drink really made Brian feel better, he was all fuzzy and hot inside, which was good because it was time for them to go onstage and get ready.

“It’s nothing to worry about, is it,” Roger said to him over the loud noise of Tim tuning his bass. “I mean, we know we’re good, we’re not looking for a confirmation or anything. We’re here just to have some fun.”

“Yeah, how’s the kit? Working fine?”

“Quite a decent kit here, I’m alright. I’m good to go – whenever you’re ready.”

Brian nodded at Tim and he spoke into the mic, “Good evening, folks. We’re a band called Smile and we’ll be entertaining you tonight. Enjoy yourselves.”

Halfway through their set, Brian noticed the crowd had dispersed. They were very energetic at the beginning, but now were moving to corners to make out or to talk and laugh, leaving only a handful left to bob their heads to the music. The band kept playing, the sound quality was actually better than expected, and the drinks were a great idea – Tim was louder and more comfortable onstage than Brian had ever seen him. Their closing song was an instrumental called ‘Blag’ that he and Roger had worked on together. Roger killed his way through the drum solo, his tempo increasing by the second, and they finished with a loud bang on the drums and a screaming note on the guitar. Their small audience clapped and someone asked for an encore. Before Brian could turn to his bandmates and suggest they play ‘Ticket To Ride’ by The Beatles, he heard Roger throw his drumsticks to the floor and walked off the stage, his footsteps quick and loud. Brian bent down to pick up the sticks and hurried backstage, where he found Roger putting on his big trench coat, evidently in a rush to leave.

“Where are you going? Can’t you stay for the encore? It’s going to be real quick, and then we could go.”

“A fucking encore, you must be kidding me,” Roger sneered. His cheeks were red from the full workout he had had on the drums, his forehead shiny with sweat, and he was panting from exhaustion. “You go up there and please them. I’m leaving.”

Brian went back to the stage to tell Tim to end the show, and declined the offer of free drinks from the bartender. He packed his guitar, then grabbed his own coat and ran out into the night. He caught sight of some blond hair just as Roger turned around the corner. Having long legs was an advantage, after a few quick strides, he was able to catch up with Roger’s pace.

“What was that about, Rog? Why are you so upset? It would have been better to tell me about it, you know, instead of suddenly storming off.”

“Why am I so upset? Oh God, Bri, you really didn’t notice,” Roger had lit another cigarette and was holding it to his mouth.

“I thought it went rather well? No errors or anything, and we were all in great shape. The venue wasn’t too bad either.”

Roger parted his lips and exhaled a puff of smoke. “The fucking audience was the problem! Half of them were too busy snogging to listen to us, I could barely hear our music because the moans were too loud. Did you see how bored they were during my drum solo? Damn, I always knew drums aren’t the easiest thing in the world to listen to, but was it that bad? I actually didn’t want to bore anyone, for God’s sake.”

“You do know how good you are, Roger. I could tell you how good I think you are. And you said yourself that we’re not here to please people, we’re just here to have fun. Even a nerd like me had a lot of fun, playing onstage with you. We just haven’t found the right place, the right audience. Or maybe you have taken it too personally. I know you have doubts about people’s attitude towards drumming, but you really are an important part of the band. And I would never, ever get bored of watching you behind the kit.”

“Really, though?” Roger stopped walking and turned to face Brian in the yellow light of the sodium street lamp. He no longer looked angry, only disappointed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just get so worked up about everything. I keep hoping for something big to happen, some sort of miracle maybe, to prove that I’m doing the right thing. I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore. Who was I trying to fool? I’m just a small-town boy looking for a bit of luck.”

Brian knew all too well how Roger was feeling, he had been through the same thing when his previous band 1984 broke up a year ago. “It’s okay to have high hopes, Rog. We all do. And sometimes we feel so unsure because we don’t know what our lives are going to be, or whether we can really do the things we want to do. We’re still terribly young and full of energy, and this is only our first of many shows to come. Listen, just go home and get some sleep, and you’re going to feel better in the morning. We could cancel the gig tomorrow, and come back when you’re ready.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Definitely. Good night, Roger.”

Brian walked back to the pub to meet Tim. He knew better than to follow Roger, although he wanted to, Roger really needed some space. First year of college in the big city and being in a band can give anyone a hard time.

Tim was waiting for him at the door. “What set him off? Was it the audience?”

“Yeah, I think he just needs some time. Good thing the crowd tonight wasn’t half as bad as the one we had last year in Chelsea.”

Tim burst into laughter. “I know! After that gig I really considered quitting music for good. What a bunch of dickheads we met that night. Roger would’ve come back crying to his momma in Cornwall.”

“Come on, he’s only eighteen, and he’s the best drummer I’ve ever seen. He’s like a Ginger Baker of our time. Just look at what he can do with his snare.”

“He’ll eventually come round, don’t worry, Bri. He really likes you, I think so. Now let’s go home for a shower, we both smell fucking bad.”