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heyidkyay · 7 months

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Seventeen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: Okay! Hi!:) Just have to say thank you for all the love you lot keep showing this series, it’s so mad and so very appreciated. Honestly makes me want to carry on writing. But I also wanted to add a quick warning to this update.. There is a lot going on, we finally get what we’ve been waiting for!! But there are other topics that also come into play. SO that being said please read the warnings below.

Warnings: Mentions of drug and alcohol abuse (past tense), as well as sobriety, also a previous death, bit gruesome but needed- this relates back to a conversation held between Matty and Jamie in Part Eight.

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

She never did call.

Matty waited, and then waited some more. He fidgeted the rest of the day, smoked his way through a pack of fags when they’d been down at the studio, and then nursed a single pint after having allowed the guys to bully him into one of the local pubs.

It wasn’t until much later that night that he heard anything from her at all, and it hadn’t been a call, but instead a text.

Messages now Squeaks xx I listened to it

He’d been cooped up in his office since the second he’d gotten home, looking through a couple of older demos and other sound clips in hopes that he’d find something that would fit with the current sound of their new album. George had been on his case about it all, claiming he’d been too spaced out as of late, so Matty had huffed but ultimately followed through.

Songbooks from years before were piled up high on his desk and on the floor, pages full of chords and scribbled lyrics cluttered the rest of the space, but he continued on, using it to distract him from the torturous wait.

When his phone finally did buzz, Matty had almost decided not to answer it, figuring that it would just be a message from Jamie, or maybe his mum. He was still waiting for that ring. But fuck was he glad that he’d taken a glance. Otherwise he might’ve missed it.

Are you busy?

The next text had come through almost a minute after the first, as though she’d been debating sending it. Matty frowned down at the screen, pushing away from his desk slightly.

She’d heard it.

She’d heard the demo.

He didn’t quite know how to feel about that, or what to take from her clipped response. It was why he had essentially asked her to call him, because at least then he would’ve been able to somewhat determine what she’d thought about it, how she might’ve felt.

His tongue slid between the row of his front teeth in thought, staring down at the messages he’d received whilst his thumbs hovered over the keyboard looking for something to say.

Can you come over?

His fucking breath got caught in his throat just reading that, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. Matty didn't even think before he hastily answered her, worried she might take it all back.

Give me ten minutes.

He could do ten minutes.

Fuck it. He’d fucking speedtail it out of here and try for five if it meant that she’d just let him in again. The last week had been painful enough, no need to fucking prolong it.

So that was what he did, throwing on the first pair of trainers he’d found in the hallway and grabbing at the car keys he’d tossed down on the counter months earlier. Forgetting about the album and the work he’d planned to do, along with whatever else that had seemed so important just a second ago.

She called and he would come running.

…

It was pissing down by the time he made it to her place.

Headlights on and ignition still running, Matty went to make his escape from the driver's seat, practically vibrating with the anticipation of it all. But he did momentarily pause to yank the keys from beneath the wheel before eventually scrabbling his way out of the sidedoor, feet immediately dropping into the murky puddle sat beneath.

He’d parked like a fucking dickhead, halfway onto the curb and his boot sticking out into the empty street, but he could care less about it as he jogged around the front of the car and up the first few steps to her door.

There was blood rushing in his ears, filling up his head and making him dizzy with it all. He raised a fist to knock, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

He’d gotten there in just under seven minutes.

His heart was pounding like mad.

He knocked.

It was minutes or maybe seconds before he heard a slight scuffle on the other side. Before the hallway light turned on and peered through the painted window pane sat atop the familiar front door.

The chain fell with a clang and Matty swallowed, watching on as the hinges creaked, revealing her face.

She stared up at him, standing in a pair of pyjamas he remembered seeing on a late night call of theirs, her hair all tied up in one of those pretty buns, soft curls escaping at the sides.

Her lips parted with her next breath, the sound of it jumped out at him and Matty couldn’t really hold back anymore. It had been six months. Six whole months. Almost to the day they’d met... Back when he’d been cocksure and arrogant. When he’d still been reeling from another stint in rehab, and from the stunt before the summer, and from Luke’s death.

Matty paused.

He hadn’t really thought about Luke so easily. Not ever. Not since that night. Not in passing.

But she was currently staring back at him. Her eyes wide and tired. Shining in the light of the street lamps that crowded the street outside.

Matty stepped forward, reaching for her.

“Tell me to stop.” He muttered.

She didn’t.

And so his hand found the edge of her jaw, fingers nestling into a place at her hairline, skimming the tip of her ear.

“I can’t.” She answered him. Always so full of truth.

And Matty, Matty was a selfish man. He’d been a selfish kid, too. A bratty teenager. A hellish son and an even worse boyfriend. Always so egotistical, so bold, so brazen. But even more so, selfish.

He would take and take. And this moment was no different. He took.

Her mouth met his with an agonising fever, and there was an eager sigh that escaped in the breath shared between them that Matty couldn’t really determine if was his or hers.

She let him in so easily, let his tongue roam. She let him pull her close, let his hand find purchase on her hip and hear her moan.

It was a whimper of a thing, a sound that was swallowed up by his mouth as he consumed her again. But it fuelled that fire within him, that heat which had been simmering so close to the surface of his skin for weeks, months now.

“Mouse.” Matty said shakily, walking her backwards, further into the flat, where their feet shuffled over the hardwood floors. The door swung shut behind them and rattled in the silence before he was spinning and pressing her shoulders up against its cold wood.

“Matty.” She breathed back to him, fingers catching on his neck, then his jaw, winding their way up into his hair. Tugging.

A grunt escaped him and he pressed harder with it, teeth catching on her teeth, hands moulding into her skin.

She tasted of something sweet, it coated the length of her tongue and melded well with the cigarette he’d lit on his way over. He wanted to taste more of it, found his nose pressing against the skin of her cheek in an attempt to do so.

It was a second later that he felt himself rut up against her, accidentally mind, but the zip of his jeans tugged at the band of her bottoms and the movement made him realise he was hard. Had been half-way there from the moment she had texted him, but now, in her hallway, with her grinding up against him, and with those pretty little sounds she let slip, it was almost painful.

“Squeaks.” He managed to force out and she swallowed her own name right up, one arm wrapping around the length of his shoulders whilst the other tugged at the nape of his neck.

Matty followed her demands effortlessly, a hand slipping under the hem of her shirt to feel at the warm skin hidden beneath, a calloused thumb brushing against the jut of her hip.

He explored, felt the edges of rigid flesh she kept hidden and out of sight, the freckles that lingered and dotted her torso, then wedged his knee between her legs. Hands grabbing at the backs of her thighs.

One of her knees rode up higher on his side as he shifted even closer, letting her use him like a makeshift ladder to lift herself further up in the little space which stood between him and the door.

He rutted again and the joint of her knee tightened by his hip, the heel of her foot digging into the back of his leg, forcing him even nearer. He grabbed at the swell of her arse, noting the way she arched into him at the touch. How her stomach tensed.

It had just been pissing it down outside, he recalled belatedly, but her warmth in that moment seemed to dry up the remaining raindrops caught in his hair and along the shoulders of his coat. His fingertips pressed harder into her thighs at the thought, feeling the bottom of her shirt ride up higher between them upon catching on the zip of his jacket.

She nipped at his lip, then his jaw, hands all but clawing at his neck and his back.

“Squeaks.” He tried again, brain hazy with want but needing to do this right. He had to do this right. “Squeaks.” Again he said, a plea within a shared breath between them, “Baby, please.”

She retreated all too quickly, letting him go with a sharp inhale. Lids heavy with avidity as she blinked back at him.

Matty realised then that he’d had her pinned to the door, crowded against the wood and practically having lifted her up off of her feet. He swallowed thickly at the sight and willed his dick to calm the fuck down. But it had been way too fucking long.

He was unhurried in the way he shifted beneath her before carefully letting her go, unwinding the leg he held at his hip before she slid slowly down his front. Feet hitting the cold wood floors with a soft thud.

He blinked and gone was that selfishness they had just shared, that immediate heat, and suddenly she was all wary, shy almost. Matty reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before he steeled himself and finally took a step back.

“You came.” She murmured after a breath, and had his mind been in better shape he’d have been quicker with his quip.

But yet, he was left drifting in between the heady thrill and the uneventful come down they’d shared.

He blinked slowly at her. Could see that the hallway light was the only one on, but somewhere, further down the hall, a soft glow from one of her many lamps crept its way past a door.

“You said you’d call.” He found himself saying in reply, though it wasn’t the reprimand he’d thought it was.

Her smile was soft then. Fond.

His breath caught at the sight of her, still laboured from the minute before.

“After.” Squeaks whispered in recall. And Matty heard himself repeat it, “After, you said.”

She took a small step closer to him, the padding of her feet echoed in the narrow walkway. Matty’s hands twitched at his sides.

He saw her throat bob.

“Tea?” She questioned, and Matty was both thankful and resentful for the quiet offer.

He nodded, blinking owlishly at her.

They stood there, not moving, for a long moment. The sound of a car passed, then the scuffle of a person or two outside, as well as the far off yap of a neighbouring dog. And still they just stood there, staring.

She took another step nearer and Matty attempted not to react to the way her fingers caught on the front of his coat, memorising the careful way she started to peel it off of him, turning so that she could claim it and then hang it off some place to the side. He looked at her the whole while, scared to take his eyes off her, in truth.

He licked at his lower lip when he caught her staring too and captured her hand in his when she went to step around him.

“Tea.” He reminded himself and she smiled, eyes flickering across the length of his face. As though she was seeing him for the first time.

“Tea.”

…

Her kitchen always felt so homely.

She had spices fixed to a rack on the wall, wound in growing ivy attached to the potted plant that sat on the windowsill beside it. Her fridge was dotted in magnets and polaroids, and a drawing of Teddy’s hung front and centre. The table was always so neat, though still cluttered with the odd crayon and lego piece, a bowl of fruit was perched in the very middle. She had one of those kettle cosy’s too, a knitted one that reminded Matty of days spent at his nana’s house when he was just a boy.

His favourite part of all of it though, had to be her.

He stood in the doorway and just watched as she puttered about the space, flashbacks of previous visits coming back to him. She had this easy grace about her, an elegance he always seen but could never quite make out. She was a piece to many puzzles in the way she typically held herself, so ready to fight and so willing to wilt, but in that moment she just was.

And Matty could hardly tear his eyes away from her, from the length of her back to the curve of her waist. The taste, the memory of her still coating his tongue.

He’d kicked off his shoes before he could trail a messy track throughout her home, so his footsteps were quiet when he finally crossed the kitchen tiles. He paused just behind her, his hands falling to her hips whilst his chin dropped to rest on her shoulder.

She allowed it. Picking up the kettle to pour over two mismatched mugs, he simply watched her work.

It was a difficult task not allowing his hands to wander, or to keep his mouth from pressing against the pulse in her neck, but he withheld, content to just hold her. Humming when she picked up the milk and thinking over the last day they’d spent together. That night at his.

They moved over to the table not long after, her kitchen blinds were still open so the moon gifted them all the light they needed. Matty kept close, knocking his knees against hers at the very corner of the table, unwilling to go without.

She was quiet still whilst she danced a finger around the rim of her steaming brew, Matty was mesmerised by the delicate motion.

A hum of hers broke the silence they had since settled in, the softness of it causing him to blink and look up, immediately recognising the faint tune of the demo he’d sent her.

He smiled, his eyes caught on to the one she wore too. Practically conspiratorial.

His legs reached outwards to capture one of her ankles between his feet, her gaze flickered back and forth between both his eyes. He wondered what she saw in them, what she made of him.

“I’m guessing you liked it then.” Matty spoke, voice ever so low, still scared to break their languid solitude.

Mouse dipped her chin in a nod, peering up at him through dark lashes that made him want to catch her by the neck and pull her in again. He knew what she tasted like now, he felt as though it would forever haunt him.

“Thank you,” She whispered after, fingers cupped around the bottom of her mug. His brow furrowed.

“For what?”

She smiled again, blinking at him sweetly, “For my gifts, for always being so lovely, for sending me that song.”

Matty snorted, knowing that the last thing he could possibly be was lovely.

Fingertips touched his chin then and she guided his face back up to meet hers, he hadn’t realised he’d even looked away. But it was then that he was reminded of that night in his own kitchen, crowded between her legs and the counter, her kind eyes. You’re enough.

“Was it for me?” She questioned, watching him closely again. Something she tended to always do. “‘Cause that kiss, it sort of made it feel like it was for me.”

Matty grinned, eyes squinting with the strength of it.

It was so easy- too easy, even- for her to make him smile like that, and he couldn’t even begin to decide whether he loved or hated the fact that she had the ability.

“Yeah, Squeaks. It was for you.”

Her cheeks dimpled in an attempt to dim the smile she then wore, elbows pressing against the table’s edge, her foot resting on top of his own. “Good.” She murmured, leaning in closer now.

“Good?” He chuckled, following the motion. Eyes caught on the curve of her mouth.

“Uhuh,” She breathed into the small space between them, nose brushing against the side of Matty’s own. “Really good.”

He laughed again, low and breathy this time around, before he finally closed the distance and kissed her for a second time.

She laughed too, smiling against his lips.

–

For an insomniac, the dark was a place full of many contradictions.

Matty had spent countless hours staring up at all types of ceilings, in all sorts of places, and in all kinds of countries. But hers, he reckoned, was possibly his favourite. As most things had come to be in the short time he’d spent with Mouse.

Because even as she slept on beside him, bundled in the duvet and a blanket that smelt of her, he didn’t stress over the fact that he was still wide awake.

His mind was too preoccupied to stress. Just thinking back to the expression she’d worn when she’d first opened the front door. To the breathy gasps that had escaped her in the hallway. The way she’d gently carded her fingers through his hair after she’d lured him into bed. Promising to talk more tomorrow.

He thought of Luke then, as well. As he often did whenever the darkness plagued him.

The fucker would be laughing if he could just see him now, obsessing and all soppy over some bird. Smiling away to himself in the dark.

But Matty knew that he’d be happy too. Glad that he was finally getting back on the right track. Actually trying this time around. Because Luke had known the hardships of addiction just as well as Matty had- it was what had killed him in the end, wasn't it.

He could still picture his face, both before and after the fall. One second they’d all been grinning on that roof, high as kites and drunk out of their minds, having the time of their lives, and then his had hit the concrete.

Matty’s stomach rolled at the thought.

At the eerie silence that had followed.

He’d been struggling that night, trying to get clean, to stay clean. And they’d only gone to the party, Luke and Danny, to appease him. Luke, having tagged along wanting to look out for him, to make sure that he didn’t get too caught up in anything he couldn’t get himself out of.

Luke had been sober three months at that point. Clean of the drugs and the drink. All of it. He’d drank that night though, the party had been at one of his dodgier mates places and he wouldn’t have been able to have stayed in the clear.

Matty remembered egging him on, telling him to live a little. To have a beer. A shot. And then another. And another. Someone else had offered him that line though.

He’d been hammered by the time some idiot had come up with that dare and they’d all thought it had been a sick idea to try and walk the length of the roof. Like they were at Zippo’s sodding circus.

Luke had been doing so good. Matty had known it too. What with his first EP coming out that September, something which Jamie had made happen, and his new flat that he’d not long moved into. Away from the familiarity of street corners he knew far too well and faces of dealers that he’d seen time and time again before.

He’d been good. Been going steady.

Then he was just dead.

Matty didn’t close his eyes then, even as they began to water. Didn’t want to see him like that. Knew that he would if only he shut his eyes. Because he couldn't stand to see the reminder, the life that had left him too quickly.

A slight sniff broke him from his thoughts then and he stilled as Mouse moved and turned in her sleep.

He let himself breathe a little easier once she’d settled again, tucking her face into the crook of his shoulder and nestling further into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, needing her close, and then finally allowed his eyes to fall shut, burying his face in the top of her hair.

He wondered if she’d let him stay from now on and pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

He hoped that she would, listening to the quiet that hummed throughout the rest of her flat as his mind began to let go of what consciousness it had once clung on to.

‘Tomorrow’ was his final thought before he eventually drifted off. It had been a long time since he’d thought that he’d ever make it to a tomorrow.

–

It was a grunt I woke up to. The heavy and unfavoured kind, the type that was only ever forced out of you when you received a hefty blow to the stomach.

I felt my face wrinkle as I pressed in closer to the warmth beside me, unhappy to have been woken. But then I heard a whisper, followed by a giggle, which had me blinking blearily and peering up at the toddler now towering over me.

“Wake now?”

“Teddy.” I heard someone else laugh right above my head, and I was quick in the way I looked up, recognising that the warmth I’d been clinging to had been Matty all along. “You’re an actual monster, you know that?”

Teddy squealed happily when Matty tickled his sides, but seemed content with his place on the man’s stomach and the fact that Matty was here at all.

I wanted to groan at the very idea, I hadn't much thought this through. Not when I’d heard the song, thinking back to the night I’d spent at his, the fight we’d had, the way he’d held Teddy and promised him that things would soon be alright.

It hadn’t felt real. It still didn’t.

“Wake?” Teddy said to me again and I had to give a soft laugh when I felt his finger prod at my cheek, which was probably marked with the line of Matty’s t-shirt now. “Yeah?”

I chuckled again, peering up at him. “Yeah, I’m awake.” I replied, smiling before I rubbed at my eyes.

Matty’s arm seemed to be tucked up under me because it twitched a tad when I moved. I grimaced at the loss of feeling he must have experienced and murmured a quiet “Sorry,” shuffling over slightly so that I could free the limb. But he merely laughed to himself before his hand came up to rub at my arm, keeping me close.

“It’s fine.” Matty replied, his voice tinged with sleep and grainy from lack of use, but then he winced and flexed his fingers, “Oh.”

I snorted softly and glanced up at him, “Pins and needles?”

His nose wrinkled further, as did his lips when he tilted his head back and tried to shake loose the feeling from his wrist. I let him have his arm back, turning over onto my stomach to simply watch him, drinking in the sight of him whilst I still could.

“Yeah.” He hissed out and Teddy, who was watching too, started to shake his arm alongside Matty.

Matty only noticed the mimicking movement when he felt the toddler shift on his torso and opened his eyes up only to laugh at the way that Teddy was now copying him.

“Oi,” He admonished, using his other hand to playfully pinch at the boy’s side, “What you think you’re doin’?”

Teddy giggled, hair a mess from having just woken but grinning all the while. “Dancin’! Like you!”

I shook my head and bit back my sudden amusement before dropping it down into my hands when I couldn’t quite manage to hide my growing smile.

“Oh, we’re dancing are we?” I heard Matty say, and could feel the grin he probably wore. Then Teddy was laughing again and squirming beside me once more, sounding so happy, before the bed tilted more so to one side and a soft thud was heard. “Oi, where you off to!” Matty asked him whilst Teddy’s giggles still echoed around the space.

“Tele!” Was the only response he got and I listened to the way Teddy’s feet hurried out of the room, having escaped Matty’s merciless tickles.

There was a quiet for a moment before I felt a hand come to cradle my head and fingers card their way through my hair.

I leaned into the touch, savouring it. I didn’t think anyone had ever touched me with such a softness before, like I was something to be treasured, to be held and kept close.

It was a long while before I finally raised my head again, blinking at the sweet sight I was met with. I smiled at the mess his curls were in and the way his eyes squinted in the dim light of the room.

“Hi.” I whispered and his fingers stilled in my hair when he looked back at me.

Matty didn’t say a thing though, merely shuffled further down the bed, the duvet being kicked somewhere to the bottom before he finally settled in beside me, both our heads now resting on a single pillow.

His fingertips skirted along the edge of my jaw and trailed across the bottom of my lip before his thumb reached out to catch it too, pinching the flesh ever so slightly.

“You snore.” Matty said to me then and my mouth dropped open slightly in offence.

“I do not.”

He snorted to himself, grin widening, “You do.”

I shoved him but his hands were quick to grab at my arms, wrapping them up and moving to press them against his chest. “It’s cool though, they’re cute snores.”

“How the fuck can they be cute, Matty?”

He rolled his eyes at the ask, still grinning away. “Like, just soft and stuff. Don’t stress, I’ve roomed with George and he’s got the lungs of a whale or summat. I could probably sleep next to a fog horn and feel at home.”

A bright laugh escaped me at that, before I was shaking my head gently and looking back at his sleepy smile. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Matty smacked his lips around another grin, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t pressed to the mattress. He reached out then, brushing a loose strand from out of my face and let his thumb linger on a freckle.

“Your breath stinks as well.”

I bit into my bottom lip at that, narrowing my eyes at him. “Well yours is no better! And besides, you didn’t seem to mind it much last night.”

I went to turn over then but he was hasty in his movements to grab at me, tugging me back towards him, closer this time. I laughed joyfully, “Hey!”

“Hi.” Matty grinned smugly once we'd settled, his hand falling to the small of my back.

I was gripping one of his shoulders now whilst my other arm laid in the little space between us. “I said that already.” I told him, feeling each soft exhale that escaped him.

He hummed, thumb rubbing circles into my skin. “I missed you, you know.”

My brow furrowed, “You slept right beside me, you muppet.”

He pinched my hip in retaliation and so I chuckled. “You know what I meant.”

I did know.

“Missed you, too.” I murmured, letting my fingertips trail up over the side of his neck, liking the feel of his barely there stubble. “But-”

He stopped me then, nudging my cheek with the tip of his nose, “I know. Later, yeah?”

My eyes fell closed and I hummed in agreement, later was fine. We could talk later.

His hand pressed against the curve of my back, forcing me even closer, and so my fingers worked themselves into his hair. I exhaled softly and tilted my head forward just a touch. He closed the distance between us in a single heartbeat.

Kissing Matty was different, everything about it just felt right in a way that no other kisses ever quite had. Things appeared to click. Fall into place around me.

But don't get me wrong, it was painful too, because there was that ache in my chest again, the hole that hollowed out my unforgiving heart. I wanted him but at the same time, I was too terrified to reach out and touch.

Our lips brushed, once, twice, then a third time, hesitant and careful, before something shifted and I was taken back to the previous night. To the way his fingers had dug deep into my thighs, to the front door pressing against my spine, to the way he’d held me so weightlessly.

Talking could wait til later, I reminded myself.

Now, all I wanted was for Matty to consume me and I immediately gasped at the cold hand that dragged its way up my side to tease me, thumb brushing against the nipple that hardened beneath it.

I wouldn’t let him have all the fun though, so without a second thought I rolled him over and settled on his hips. He was surprised by the change but adapted seamlessly, rutting up off the mattress to meet me, one hand still toying with me, taunting, whilst the other cupped the back of my head.

It was back and forth for a short while, mouth chasing mouth, chests heaving with the force of it.

But then, a bang hollowed out the flat.

I jumped at the sudden noise and shot my head over towards the door, listening in closer.

“Okay?” I called out, noting the breathless quality my voice now had. I waited and didn’t move even when Matty’s hands came to just sit on my waist.

“‘Kay!” I heard Teddy shout back and I released a semi-amused huff before turning back to face the man beneath me, “Sorry.”

And I was. I really was, especially when I forced myself to drop back down onto the bed sheets next to him.

Matty simply chuckled and I glanced over at him, smiling slightly when he reached out to swipe a gentle thumb over the scar on my jaw. “You’re good." I wondered if he was just saying that, but then, "What do you think he’s actually done though? Sounded like the bike to me.”

I sighed at the very thought. The bike had been one of my mum’s many Christmas gifts to Teddy, one which I hardly had any room for in the flat. I silently hoped that it wasn't the bike, but was caught on the way Matty had so easily adapted, moving on without complaint.

Was that normal?

Matty’s hand coaxed me back into looking at him again and I softened when I saw the smile he wore. “Later,” He reminded me, knocking a knuckle against my chin before he withdrew completely, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “How about a fry up then? There's that bakery by the studio or the cafe up near mine, choice is yours but it’s on me.”

“Matty.” I huffed, not a whine but near enough, extending an arm out in hopes that it would call him back to bed.

He smirked, glancing at me from over his shoulder once he'd stood. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Come on, got a growing boy to feed- Teddy too, I 'spose.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help my grin. “You’re an idiot.”

“So you’ve said.” He quipped and I could hear how his laughter filled the flat even as he headed for the bathroom, “Teds get ready, mate! We're getting bacon!”

I fell back onto the mattress with a smile, staring up at the ceiling above me with a little bit of hope.

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mybeingthere · 10 months

Text

Tom Seidmann Freud (1892-1930)

Tom Seidmann Freud, nee Martha Freud, a children's book illustrator and author celebrated for her deceptively simple yet modern style. An eccentric niece of Sigmund Freud, she was born in Vienna in 1892 and moved with her family nine years later to Berlin. She was an artistically gifted child, at fifteen changed her name to Tom (allegedly to avoid sexism she might encounter as a female artist). She eventually studied art, first in London and then in Berlin and in Munich, where she focused on Art Nouveau illustration.

From 1914 to her death at thirty-eight in 1930, she published nearly a dozen books of her own and contributed illustrations to others. Today, nearly one hundred years late, her artwork looks surprisingly contemporary with its simple, folk art aesthetic and fantastical story lines about rabbit words, talking fish, and magic boats. Her illustrations are childish but not babyish, and surreal while also being thoughtful and narrative.

Strikingly fresh in its day, Seidmann-Freud's work was an example of how seriously people took children's literature as an art form. While Seidmann-Freud wrote, and illustrated her own stories, she also illustrated classical fairy tales, such as those by Brothers Rimm and Hanns Christian Andersen, in her Ten Tales for Children. She released her most well-known children's book, Die Fishreise (The Fish's Journey), in 1923.

Seidmann-Freud created her illustrations using the ancient pochoir technique that was experiencing a revival. She drew the figures, foreground, and background with ink and then overlaid watercolors using stencils. Seidmann-Freud experimented with several different kinds of children's books, including ABC books, songbooks, game books, and movable books such as Das Wunderhaus (The House of Wonders, 1927) and Das Zauberboot (The Magic Boat, 1929), subtitled "a book to Turn and Move." She also produced a series of counting books known for their typographical innovation, one of which was chosen for the Museum of Modern art's 2012 exhibition Century of the child: Growing by Design, 19000-2000, in New York.

In the early 1920s, she and her husband, writer and journalist Jakob Seidmann, founded publishing house Perergrin Verlag in Berlin. It was named after the main character in The Fish's Journey, who seeks to overcome his outsider status by escaping to a dreamlike utopia. Tragically, the demise of their publishing venture in the wake of 1929 global financial collapse led to her husband's suicide, and in 1930, to her own. (Their seven-year-old daughter, Angela, went to live with Tom's sister, the actress Lily Freud, and her husband in Hamburg, before they all moved to Prague in 1939. Angela, (Aviva) emigrated to Israel just before the outbreak if Word War II).

Seidmann-Freud died the same year that the liberal democracy in Germany, the Weimar Republic, started its frenzied downward descent. Until Hitler took dictatorial control in 1933, her work continued to receive accolades from her peers, including the legendary literary critic and philosopher Walter Benjamin. Because she was Jewish, however, by 1933 her books began to disappear.

Despite the Nazis destruction of "suspect" literature, and her untimely death, copies of her innovative children's books have survived as an important part of the history of avant-garde book-making in twentieth century Europe.

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pasukiyo · 6 months

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LEECH.

| a collection of one-shots.

DISCLAIMER: these fics are simply works of fiction and are in no way, shape, or form claiming to be a reflection of how leon kennedy is canonically portrayed as a character. this is an au, meaning it is an alternate reality written for fun, so please heed this warning and keep it in mind while you read.

** none of these fics necessarily need to be read in any sort of order **

— to join the taglist, follow the link here and choose “leon kennedy” in the character list.

leon kennedy x fem!reader warnings; SMUT, angst, leon is a stalker, leon is also a bit of a loser!, themes of dark!leon, mentions of death, blood, and gore, obsession, alcohol use collection summary; letting her go was easily the biggest mistake leon has ever made, and he's made more than he can count. so when he finds her again, he vows she’ll be the one thing he clings to, like a leech in skin.

💿 // collection songbook

COLLECTION MASTERLIST

\\ LEECH. // letting her go was easily the biggest mistake leon has ever made, and he's made more than he can count. so when he finds her again, he vows she’ll be the one thing he clings to, like a leech in skin.

\\ LEECH: ALL AROUND ME // long shifts two days in a row apparently called for drunken measures. she knew it had to be because she was drunk that she was breaking her routine, that she was thinking about leon kennedy again, that her hand was slipping between her thighs, that she could feel him all around her...

\\ LEECH: PULLING ME DOWN // months of pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into leaving her ghosts behind fall into fruition when the one that’s haunted her the most shows up in the hospital she works at in a city she thought she’d be safe from him in. as the day unravels, she realizes that perhaps she was wrong to spend so long trying to forget him. and that’s what she’s afraid of.

\\ LEECH: PAST PRAYING FOR // (TBD)

\\ LEECH: YOU NEVER HAD WINGS // (TBD)

\\ LEECH: TIL HE HAUNTS ME AGAIN // (TBD)

\\ LEECH: BOILING IN MY BLOOD // (TBD)

#pasukiyo's leech collection #pasukiyo #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 5 months

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Shun the Light - Ch. 6 - Thin Mints

Author's Notes: I wanted to lighten things up a bit so here, have this. Sorry I haven't made a taglist yet.

Content Warnings: vampire whumpee, werewolf whumpee, exhaustion, mention of being burned alive, hunger

----

His visitor sleeps for so long that Dante checks in a couple times just to make sure he isn't dead...and to remind himself that what happened was real.

Exhausted by the ordeal, Dante ends up sleeping through the next day himself. At nightfall he wakes as usual, still a little weak and sore but feeling almost normal.

He checks the other bedroom. Sure enough the man is still there, still real, still asleep. Dante has to force himself not to stay in the room and stare at him, or worse, touch him just to feel warmth again. To distract himself he heads down to the piano and practices from one of the few songbooks he hasn't mastered yet.

That's what finally reaches Matteo through the thick fog of sleep. The soft music and even softer bed provide the gentle sort of wakeup his worn body needs. He comes close to dozing off again just because he can, but he's just awake enough to remember where he is and why.

Moving feels like trudging through thick mud. His limbs are heavy, his joints stiff, and he's so, so hungry. Twice he nearly trips down the stairs but he safely reaches the lower floor and follows the music to a nearby room. There he stumbles and falls, bumping into an end table holding a lamp. All three go down with a crash.

The music stops abruptly.

Matteo breathes tremulously through gritted teeth. He props himself up and rubs his aching side.

"Ow, ow..."

I'm so sick of being in pain.

Across the room the vampire stands but only crosses halfway before hesitating. Matteo can sense him holding back, lingering. Afraid.

Matteo is afraid, too.

He gets back to his feet. He must look as pitiful as he feels, because the vampire takes one look at him and visibly relaxes. The tension shifts into awkwardness.

"Are you alright?"

"No. No, I'm really not."

He glances out the window, across the overgrown lawn that disappears into a pitch black forest. Wind howls, the harbinger of a coming storm.

"Um. Do I need to leave?"

"You should," the vampire replies, but when Matteo's face falls he's quick to correct himself, "I mean that someone must be looking for you by now. And they can't...they can't find me."

Matteo swallows around the growing lump in his throat. He understands, of course he does. To be caught by the wrong person would be a fate worse than death. But...

"Trust me. No one is looking for me."

The vampire's piercing gaze softens.

"So you're - you're a drifter or something?"

"Or something."

Matteo's stomach chooses that moment to growl. He rubs at it and sighs.

"No, you're right. I should go. But, um. Any chance you have some food around?"

"No - wait. Yes."

"...okay, I have to ask..."

"I had to get them to go away somehow."

"So you bought all the Girl Scout's cookies?"

Stacks of colorful boxes line the counter, unopened. Matteo checks several for expiration dates and finds they're still good.

"I can't eat them. Everything tastes bitter now."

"No thin mints? That's worse than being burned alive," Matteo jokes as he starts tearing a box open. He pauses, realizing that just maybe the vampire didn't want to be reminded of his immense suffering...

But when he looks over there's a strange look on the vampire's face. It might almost be called a smile. He quickly turns away, but not before saying,

"Have as many as you want."

#vampire whump #werewolf whump #exhaustion #hunger #injury #whump writing #my writing #my ocs #dante #matteo #shun the light

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stitcherofchaos · 2 months

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Coco: Héctor Rivera - Life vs Death

I noticed this about Héctor is that he is quite exuberant through most of the film, he seemed like a loud character, but I noticed that during his flashbacks of his death that he was more quiet. The only words he said to Ernesto were “I’m going home Ernesto, hate me if you want but my mind is made up” (not to mention he was firm, but not yelling, and had this expression that spoke louder than the words he’s said) it’s a short and simple sentence. While Ernesto proposed a toast, Héctor did not say anything. He simply accepted the toast with a smile and drank. Héctor doesn’t even tell Ernesto anything when he’s dying, in pain. Doesn’t ask him for help or any questions, he’s even silent as he’s dying.

Maybe I’m overthinking it but I noticed how much Héctor was quietly thinking while shutting his songbook, accepting his ‘friend’s’ toast. When he’s dying, it’s like his thoughts are in hyperdrive at that moment and yet, he doesn’t say anything.

During the end, the one year epilogue occurs and there is a lack of this ‘loudness’ which we saw during the majority of the film. He gets checked at the gate, sighs, and goes to meet his family, only saying his daughter’s name, and then he doesn’t speak for the rest of it. Heck, he’s not even singing with Miguel, he’s playing the guitar and smiling.

This is either a timing factor for the film (because speaking is a waste of time) or if this is done intentionally to show that, in life Héctor was a quieter person. In death, he’s suffering, isolated, and rejected by his family, due to that, he’s loud, erratic, and unhealthy almost as if he’s behaving ‘louder’ in order to avoid his internal pain. Then when he’s with his family in the epilogue, he’s quieter again and less erratic. Despite everything happening, the Rivera’s helped Héctor heal. Even though I have personal opinions about Iméctor, it was a sweet ending seeing the healing, forgiveness, and love in the end.

It’s just makes me think about Héctor’s personality and how different it was in life compared to what we see through the majority of the film in the LOTD. He has his basic personality: silly, joyful, inventive, compassionate. It just find it weird that I’ve only seen one other post that noticed his living self’s quietness/calmness but didn’t dive deeper into it.

(Said personal opinion was: I didn’t think it was healthy or realistic for Pixar to shoe-horn a last minute romance when there was- albeit justified- 97 years of anger and resentment due to a misunderstanding on one end. That’s not even mentioning the rest of the Rivera’s. It always rubbed me the wrong way.)

Oh and I would love to hear other people’s opinions and/or disagreements 😊 I want to hear different perspectives, I tend to lack imagination when it comes to perspective.

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #Coco Rivera #didn’t the book also say he was off staring dreamily into the distance a lot too daydreaming?#I saw someone mention that in another analysis #Disney #animated movies #psychology #character analysis #hector rivera #Hector coco

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jinghengology · 11 months

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Cloudcry Songbook x Jingheng Comparison:

“Sitting bored on my bed one dusk, half the beaded curtain peeled back. In no mood to awaken yet no mood to sleep,”

“clothes half-worn and eyes half-slack.”

“A sudden gust of wind pushes forth the boat, in dreams a war with the borisin we wage. Knife in hand, black and red horses leap on, Alongside my husband's warship, in fight I engage.”

“Two twittering orioles land on their branch,”

(note: remember that the branch is the support system of the tree)

“with karma past doth this life's grief cast. Ten times reborn, with all its love and hate,”

“how hard can one take of a husband lost.”

“Gazing up I now see daylight through that verdigris,”

“those past loves and past lives seen only in reveries.”

“When the dragon turns red, then the green pines shall shed.”

Red: Likely a reference to the blood of those that died as a result of the sedition

Green pines: a reference to the “rebirth” cycle of pine trees- needles falling signify the tree’s “death”, but it will revive come spring.

“Cast by the wind of a cold morning, Feeling the weight of your suffering.”

“Spinning our glory through time and space, When will I next come to see your face?”

“Wantonly drinking the silver moon, How many times must we be entombed?”

“Pass like a dream out of sight and mind, six hundred years in this mortal bind.”

#jing yuan #dan heng #hsr jing yuan #hsr dan heng #jingheng #hengjing #danyuan #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr analysis

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hangmanapologist · 2 years

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Lonely Hearts Club Band | Bob Floyd

Bob Floyd x reader

a/n: I liked this idea more in my head but it was my resolution to finish at least one of the ideas in my drafts so you guys are stuck with this one because I miss working in a record store!!!!

summary: Bob tries to find something to distract from the loneliness, he finds her instead

warnings: brief mentions of death, fluff, mentions of grief

Many people knew Bob Floyd but they never really knew about him. Even those who thought they did.

They knew he was a Cancer, that his coffee order was a flat white and that his dog was his best friend. Bob never really seemed much deeper.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to let anyone in. Bob wanted nothing more than to spend hours talking about nothing and everything in between but he came to accept the fact that maybe romantic love wasn’t on the cards for him.

Physically, Bob didn’t think he was completely repulsive but socially? He was always the guy in the back, and no one gravitates towards that guy.

He was always gonna be the geeky band kid who went to prom with friends because he couldn’t get a date, the one who was never asked about what he did on the weekend, the one that everyone he worked with called a wallflower but really, they didn’t actually ask him anything about himself.

So, to feel less lonely, he started collecting things. He started with normal kid things, he had a pretty sick rock collection, Pokemon cards, Spiderman comics. His dad helped him put shelves all over his room to display them. They finally made him an interesting person.

As he got older he graduated to records.

He was 13 when he bought his first record. He had saved all his birthday money and his Dad promised to take him to the small record store on the corner of the block after his piano lessons. All it took was a little bit of begging and agreeing to stop playing the drums after 8pm.

He still remembers the smell and the shrill ring of the bell as he opened the door and the way his eyes widened beneath his glasses, like a kid in a candy store, as he gazed at the songbooks, cassettes and vinyls that spread from one end of the store to the other.

Truthfully, he didn’t know where to start. So he asked his pops for help. He knew everything. Bob thought he was the smartest guy in the world and trusted every opinion he had. That’s how he ended up with his first record, “Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band”.

From there, it was a sordid love affair. He collected every vinyl he saw and played them until the grooves were worn in. He bugged his dad relentlessly, begging him to teach him every song he knew on the piano until his hands were cramped and he was playing ‘Hey Jude’ in his sleep.

When his dad passed, not long after he had left for the navy, Bob played the piano during the funeral. He hadn’t touched any ivory keys since. He was all by himself to face the world.

Curiosity had well and truly killed the cat.

“Will you hang with Rocky while I go take a look around” he questioned, gesturing behind him. “Take your time, we’ll do another round of the block.” Bob didn’t even wait to catch the last part of sentence while he pushed the door open and stepped inside. There wasn’t a shrill bell as he stepped in; but the air smelled like coffee and old vinyl sleeves and he could hear the faint croonings of Sam Cooke echoing through the store.

It wasn’t busy but people filtered in and out of each section, some armed with songbooks, some with records. Others with both.

Bob headed straight for the classic rock section. He still had some vinyls at home, though his collection was much smaller than what it used to be. He still made a habit to listening to them as much as he could. He’d spend most of his mornings off cooking and doing laundry while The Beach Boys played throughout the all too quiet house. He still had a piano. He didn’t play anymore but it was a memory he always liked to look back on fondly.

His long fingers comfidently flipped through the records, trying to find some of his favourites he forgot to bring with him. “You son of a bitch, there it is!” he smilled to himself pulling out the sleeve, handling it the way someone would handle a baby. He browsed a couple of other sections while making mental lists of ones that he wanted to add to his collection. He let eyes flit along the walls of songbooks and merchandise as he made his way to the register with the record safely under his arm. He stood at the counter humming alog to himself while he waited to be seen. He could see someone shuffling around a sideroom and he let out a gentle cough to alert of his presence. Then he saw you.

You know in romantic movies where the love interest appears and a cheesy 80′s song plays in the background? That’s how Bob felt.

“Did you find everything you needed today?” you smiled. Bob thought you had a very pretty smile. It lit up the whole store.

He thought he could hear birds chirping when you smiled. You coughed gently, snapping him out of his trance.

“I have a revolver” he blurted out, referring to the album, which was still half hidden from you. Not his best phrasing. “You know, if you didn’t have such a trustworthy face and an album under your arm I’d be pretty worried right now.” you grinned cocking an eyebrow playfully. Bob felt the blush creep to his cheeks under your gaze as he stuttered out an embarrassed sorry, handing the album over to you as he fished for his wallet.

You kept sneaking glances of him as you rang him up. The way he fished for the cash and pushed his glasses up his nose as he smiled at you endearingly. “That’s $25, whenever you’re ready.” “Oh no, it said $31 on the t-” “Oh yeah, that’s just a pricing mistake. Happens all the time.” you waved him off nonchalantly. You were lying of course, but the handsome man in front of you didn’t need to know that.

Your fingers brushed as he handed you the crisp bills in exchange for the bag. He had nice hands. Gentle but firm, you imagined.

He wanted to say something but he didn’t have a single thought that wouldn’t make him sound like a total weirdo. He just stayed there smiling at you, for what he thought was a second. It was clearly longer as the tapping on the glass broke him from his trance. “I think your friend is looking for you sir.” you smiled softly as you leaned over the counter and pointed toward the window. He caught a whiff of your perfume and swore he had died and went to heaven.

“Oh yeah, work stuff.” He nodded as he pushed his glasses up a little. A nervous habit. Was it hot in here? Was he the only one sweating? God what if you could tell he was sweating?

“You have a nice day now sir, don’t be a stranger!” you chirped watching the the handsome stranger awkwardly half run to the door, all six foot of him. “You too” he turned on his heel in a split second. “It’s just Bob.” “Okay, just Bob.”

You had a feeling you’d be seeing a lot more of ‘just Bob’ now.

“You lied to me.” Bob said approaching the counter, leaning a muscular forearm on it. “Bob?” you turned around questioningly upon hearing the slight drawl you had found yourself thinking about over the past few weeks. “You gave me an employee discount, I kept the receipts” “Look at you Nancy Drew.” you mocked as you continued wiping down the counters.

It was near closing and it was only the two of you in the store. If it was anyone else you would have done your best to hurry them out, but you didn’t mind his company. He’d become somewhat of a regular stopping in once or twice a week, usually buying all the classics everyone started with, you gave him the employee discount every time. Last week it was Queen, A Night At The Opera. This week who knows? He had his favourites though, usually The Beatles and their respective members.

“I brought you a coffee, as a thank you. I hope you like cappuccinos.” He offered the cup to you and you accepted graciously with a wry smile. “A cappuccino is good.”

He went to turn on his heel but you called his name out and he turned back questioningly, almost as if he thought he was hearing things. “We have books- I mean, you like The Beatles right?” you questioned as you dug through the stock below the counter. He popped his head over, looking down on you curiously as you rustled through boxes. “Yeah, Sgt. Pepper’s was my first record” he confided nostalgically, chin resting on his hand. You let out a little hmph of triumph as your fingers curled around exactly what you were looking for. “We got a song book! I remembered you like them so I held it back for you. You said you played piano right?” you leapt to your feet as Bob leaned back, avoiding a collision.

“Oh…” he scratched the back of his neck avoiding your eyes. He felt awful, you were clearly so excited to give this to him and here was, keeping you past closing and probably about to offend you. “I haven’t played in years really… not since my dad passed. It was kind of our thing.”

Bob hated this part of conversations. The part where people’s eyes filled with pity and they started talking down to you like an upset child, but you weren’t.

You grabbed a sharpie from the cup on the desk and opened the book, scrawling digits on the cover before you slid it across the counter. Making your move across the chess board. Throwing the ball in his court. “That’s my number. If you ever want to get back into it. I give piano lessons to some kids after work on Wednesdays but I’m sure I can squeeze you in.”

So he considered it.

Bob thought nothing bad could happen in your presence. Not with the way you smelled like vanilla. Or the way your lipstick stained your coffee cups. Or the way your hair always looked so soft. Not with the way your smile alone lit up the darkest corners of a room. You were like a halo of light in a big, dim world.

He could hear you shifting back and forth on your heels, waiting for any sort of acknowledgment on the offer.

“Can you do Thursdays?” You squinted your eyes in mock concern but couldn’t fight the smile bubbling to the surface. “I’ll ask my guy… see what I can do.” “Then I guess I’ll text you when I’m home” he smiled coyly, raising the book in acknowledgment.

“I take vanilla… in my cappuccino.”

Of course you do.

You paced around the the living room, the only sound being your shoes on the hardwood floors and your quick shallow breaths. Bob had called when he left to let you know he was on his way and all of a sudden you weren’t feeling so sure about this. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if you had been too insistent and you had upset him? You ran your hand through your hair, tousling it until it was somewhat presentable before the knocking on your door echoed in your hallway.

“I told you to just walk in, you know?” you said pointedly letting Bob in. “I don’t know about you, but my mama raised me with manners, miss” he teased with an exaggerated twang, trailing behind you.

His eyes followed every last detail as you showed him around your home. There were pictures lining every wall. With friends, with family, on vacation, in the store… you name it and you probably had it framed somewhere. No sign of a boyfriend though. Not that he had a chance but it’s nice to have a little hope. Ever the eternal optimist.

“…but you didn’t come here to see my bedroom.” you trailed off, nudging him from his trance while guiding him to the piano in the living room. If he was honest he would tell you he only caught the end of that sentence but it’s okay to not be honest sometimes.

Bob was a beautiful man. You studied his features in the warm light of the room as his eyes flit across the notes on the page in front of him. His eyes were honest and when you looked in them you were drowning and you didn’t care about coming up for air. When he smiled he smiled with his whole face. His eyes crinkled, his cheeks dimpled and a lopsided grin adorned his cherub like face. He lit up the room like the sun lit up the morning sky after the long, cold, dark winter nights.”

“You have pianist hands” you blurted out while he half heartedly banged out another Billy Joel song on the ivory keys. The ‘lesson’ was long over and the room was filled with laughter as he attempted to play some of the worst covers you have ever heard. “These are million dollar hands I’ll have you know! I’m not sure how the navy would take that compliment” “Oh shut up. You know what I mean.” In an act of courage or stupidity, maybe both, Bob gently grabbed your hand resting on the keys and held it up to his. “They’re so small” he pouted, only half mocking you. “Maybe you just have freakishly big hands, bully someone your own size Lieutenant.” you leaned in slightly, pushing his hand back.

“Can I play you one more?” He leaned his forehead against yours with pleading eyes. Jutting his lip out for dramatic effect. You rolled your eyes playfully. “If you play one more Billy Joel song I’m gonna get evicted.” “No. I promise. It’s one my dad taught me.” His face softened at the word and your heart sighed for him. “This ones for you papa Floyd” you said toasting your coffee mug to the ceiling. Bobs eyes followed forlornly. “S’ones for you pops.”

Your shoulders pressed flush together as his fingers worked across the keys. A soft, familiar tune came from them and you felt him hum along. “Hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better…” his body pushed against you in encouragement, prompting you to join in softly while he sang.

The last time Bob had played this song was at the funeral but something was telling him it was time to move on. To make it the song he remembers without tears clouding his eyes while he hurries to the bathroom. It was hard to be sad while your head lay on his shoulder and you looked like angel. Sang like one too. Maybe his mama was right. Maybe angels were real.

He finished the song with a solemn smile as you lifted your head. “That was really nice…” you grabbed his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. You wanted him to know that you were there for him.

Your touch sent butterflies to his stomach. He thought about every time your hand brushed his. Every time you called his name cheerily over your shoulder when he came in. Every time he wished he was going home with you. Every time he wished the lipstick stained coffee cups were littering his car.

“I think I want to kiss you” you hadn’t meant for it to come out so suddenly. You didn’t even know you were speaking until you stopped. Your cheeks were flushing red under his gaze.

He felt all the air leave his lungs. He thought about this a lot. Maybe he was still dreaming. But the soft press of your lips on his confirmed otherwise. Your hand cradled his face like he was made of glass. Bob had never been treated so gently. You pulled away but kept a hold on his cheek. He liked that. It reminded him he wasn’t about to wake up to his alarm. “Can you kiss me again?” you barely let him finish the sentence before you were pressed to him. His hands instinctively pulled you into his lap where you fit like pieces of a puzzle.

“Stay the night, I just want to kiss you” “Where’s the bedroom again?”

#✍️#bob floyd #PLS BE NICE TO ME IM NOT A WRITER I JUST HAVE A LOT OF IDEAS #bob floyd x reader #my writing #top gun: maverick

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theglasschild · 9 months

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“I hate a song that makes you think that you are not any good. I hate a song that makes you think that you are just born to lose. Bound to lose. No good to nobody. No good for nothing. Because you are too old or too young or too fat or too slim or too ugly or too this or too that. Songs that run you down or poke fun at you on account of your bad luck or hard travelling. I am out to fight those songs to my very last breath of air and my last drop of blood. I am out to sing songs that will prove to you that this is your world and that if it has hit you pretty hard and knocked you for a dozen loops, no matter what color, what size you are, how you are built, I am out to sing the songs that make you take pride in yourself and in your work. And the songs that I sing are made up for the most part by all sorts of folks just about like you. I could hire out to the other side, the big money side, and get several dollars every week just to quit singing my own kind of songs and to sing the kind that knock you down still farther and the ones that poke fun at you even more and the ones that make you think that you've not got any sense at all. But I decided a long time ago that I'd starve to death before I'd sing any such songs as that. The radio waves and your movies and your jukeboxes and your songbooks are already loaded down and running over with such no good songs as that anyhow.” ― Woody Guthrie

#Woody Guthrie #quotes #music #songwriting

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krispyweiss · 5 months

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Dickey Betts Dead at 80

- “The monuments that he helped to create for Southern rock will never be replicated,” the Marshall Tucker Band says

Dickey Betts, the Allman Brothers Band co-founder who was ousted from the group in 2000, has died, the guitarist’s family said.

Betts, 80, died April 18 at his home in Florida. No cause was given.

Betts’ family remembered the musician as a “legendary performer, songwriter, bandleader and family patriarch” in their statement.

“His loss will be felt worldwide,” they said.

With Betts’ death, drummer Jaimoe is the last surviving original Allman Brother.

“Sad, sad day,” Tinsley Ellis said. “Rest in peace, Dickey Betts.”

Betts co-founded the ABB in 1969, establishing a 12-string conversation with fellow guitarist Duane Allman and quickly became “an essential component of the Allman Brothers Band’s improvisatory magic,” as the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame said in a eulogy.

“One of the best to ever do it,” Tedeschi Trucks Band said of Betts. “Rest easy, Dickie.”

After Duane’s death, Betts, as lone axeman, was the country to Gregg Allman’s blues, giving the band its biggest hit with “Ramblin’ Man” and imbuing the ABB songbook with epic instrumentals such as the jazzy “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,” inspired by a tombstone in the cemetery where Gregg and Duane Allman now lie, and the countrified “Jessica,” inspired by Betts’ daughter. And Betts’ 1974 LP Highway Call is an album anyone who calls themselves a fan of bluegrass or Americana music must have in their collection.

“Dickie more than anyone had an impressionable impact in shaping and defining the genre of music that has come to be known as Southern rock,” the Outlaws said in a statement. “The influence of his musicianship and songwriting skills are immeasurable and his passing marks the end of an era.”

The Marshall Tucker Band echoed the Outlaws, saying: “The monuments that (Betts) helped to create for Southern rock will never be replicated.”

After a time, the ABB returned to its two-guitar format and Betts played alongside such masters as Dan Toler, Warren Haynes, Jack Pearson and Derek Trucks before he and the group split acrimoniously in 2000.

“He was passionate in life, be it music, songwriting, fishing, hunting, boating, golf, karate or boxing,” the Allman Brothers said in a statement attributed to the “band, family and crew.”

“Dickey was all in on and excelled at anything that caught his attention. … Play on, Brother Dickey, you will be forever remembered and deeply missed.”

4/18/24

#dickey betts #the allman brothers band #the outlaws #the marshall tucker band #tinsley ellis #tedeschi trucks band #gregg allman #duane allman #berry oakley #butch trucks #jaimoe #rock and roll hall of fame #warren haynes #gov’t mule #derek trucks

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warningsine · 1 year

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Tony Bennett, the American pop and jazz singer who became the torchbearer for the Great American Songbook during a seven decade career, has died aged 96, his publicist said on Friday.

Bennett was perhaps best known for his 1962 signature song I Left My Heart in San Francisco as well as for staging an astonishing career comeback during the 80s and 90s that delivered him sustained popularity into old age. He won 18 Grammy awards, including a lifetime achievement award in 2001, and has sold more than 50m records worldwide.

In 2020, it was announced that he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2016. He wrote on Twitter: “Life is a gift – even with Alzheimer’s.” It was revealed that while his cognitive function was impaired, he was still able to sing a whole range of his repertoire.

Bennett’s ability to perform across the genres of pop, big band and jazz won him plaudits and a conveyor belt of willing collaborators. He proved his relevance in 2014 by collaborating with Lady Gaga on the album Cheek to Cheek, which saw the pair tackle a series of jazz standards. It was a No 1 record in the US and made Bennett the oldest living act to reach the top spot, a record he already held thanks to his 2011 album Duets II.

Born Anthony Dominick Benedetto in 1926 to Italian immigrants, Bennett had an impoverished upbringing in Queens, New York. His father died when he was 10 years old, although he was already singing professionally by that point. As a teenager he became a singing waiter, earning money for the family before enrolling to study music and painting at New York’s School of Industrial Art.

Bennett was drafted into the US army in 1944 to fight in France and Germany during the final year of the second world war. It was an experience that scarred him. “It’s legalised murder,” he said during a 2013 Guardian interview.

But he continued to sing while in Germany as part of the occupying force, and in 1949, after returning home, his singing career could begin properly, first under the name Joe Bari and then as Tony Bennett.

His breakthrough came in 1951 with his first No 1, Because of You. The hits continued throughout the decade with songs such as Blue Velvet, Rags to Riches and material that looked towards the swinging sound of his childhood hero Frank Sinatra. Bennett became a teen idol, and when he married his first wife, Patricia Beech, in 1952, 2,000 female fans dressed in black to “mourn” the event outside the New York ceremony.

In 1962 he reached superstar status thanks to his version of the 1953 song I Left My Heart in San Francisco. The song won Bennett two Grammy awards and became a 20th-century pop standard.

Bennett’s style, however, was already looking outdated as the British invasion swept the US charts, and he struggled for relevance during the 1960s. The following decade saw him face a number of personal problems, including the end of his second marriage and serious drug addiction. Yet two albums recorded with pianist Bill Evans would be key to his later re-emergence as a central figure in US music.

The turning point in his life came when Bennett hired his son Danny to be his manager. Ditching the Las Vegas circuit for New York and reuniting with his early 60s pianist and musical director Ralph Sharon proved to be masterstrokes. His 1986 comeback album, The Art of Excellence, was a hit from which he never looked back. Perfectly Frank (1992) – a tribute to his idol Sinatra – topped the US Billboard’s jazz charts, while 1994’s MTV Unplugged saw Bennett win a Grammy for album of the year. Bennett became a fixture on the late-night TV circuit and collaborated with a host of artists such as kd lang, Amy Winehouse, Queen Latifah and Diana Krall, which helped maintain his relevance with younger artists. His 2006 album, Duets: An American Classic, featured appearances from Paul McCartney, Elton John and George Michael.

In 1962 he reached superstar status thanks to his version of the 1953 song I Left My Heart in San Francisco. The song won Bennett two Grammy awards and became a 20th-century pop standard.

Singing was not Bennett’s only artistic pursuit. His paintings, produced under his birth name, are on display at the Smithsonian Institution and the Butler Institute of American Art. In 2001, he founded the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts in Queens, New York which offers qualifications in fine art, dance, vocal and instrumental music, drama and film.

A lifelong Democrat, Bennett was also a supporter of the civil rights movement who participated in the 1965 Selma to Montgomery marches and refused to perform in apartheid-era South Africa.

Bennett remained determined to perform into his later life. Shortly after his 90th birthday he told the New York Times: “I could have retired 16 years ago, but I just love what I’m doing.”

#tony bennett

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