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skinks · 4 years ago

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I had a REALLY intense beatles phase in my late teens and i had the hots for paul mccartney and one time i found this story where this woman said she met paul at a party in 65 and he took her home and they talked until the sun came up and then he got a call telling him to come to the studio and he started to say he had to leave and she was like "not before you fuck me" and he laughed and then he DID and he left her alone in his house after and she stole his underwear (1/2)

(which she kept for decades until her husband threw them into their muddy front yard one day in a fit of jealousy) and a teapot and it always made me absolutely FERAL with jealous horny rage and like?? just this incredulous feeling of How On Earth Did That Really Happen and anyway bill hader’s dumpster mattress one night stand story is my new version of that (2/2)

The fucking journey this just took me on, holy shit. Did she at least get to keep the teapot?

I love that you had an intense teenage horny phase for a Beatle, I had one for Bob Dylan and I remember watching one of his electric era tour documentaries and being HORRIBLY jealous of the 60s girls hanging around outside his hotel... anyway that’s besides the point

I UNDERSTAND!!!!! THE MATTRESS STORY HAUNTS ME.... Bhader knows what he’s doing, he can try to couch it in as much self-deprecating oh-I’m-just-an-awkward-nerd fronting as he likes but he KNOWS what he’s doing and that woman knew it too. You ever notice how it’s the most competent ones who don’t feel the need to loudly prove themselves by being anything other than humble?? What did he SAY in that club! “It was going well,” he says, what does that MEAN, BILL, what did he fuckjfdkjcnnfkcning do that convinced this woman to leave the club, go to her place, lift a bed onto a car, go to HIS place and move furniture when she was literally moving to a new city the next day all so sHE COULD FUCK HIMMMM HOW IS HIS GAME THAT GOOD I FEEL LIKE A CHARACTER IN AN EDGAR ALLEN POE STORY BEING SLOWLY DRIVEN MAD BY THIS UNANSWERED MYSTERY

Ok sorry, I’m back. This is making me want to read a fic where (before they get together) Eddie watches an old interview of Richie telling the mattress story and he’s a seething ball of jealousy too. Then Richie comes out, he and Eddie sort their shit and get together, and one day Eddie laughingly comments that he had no reason to be jealous after all since Richie was obviously making the story up.

Richie looks at him weirdly. “I didn’t make up—that story did actually happen, Eds, I only changed it so people thought I went home with a chick.”

They are lying in bed. Eddie’s eye starts twitching. “Pardon?”

“Yeah?” Richie stretches, draping his right arm over his own head to scratch his left ear. Eddie will not be distracted by his chest right now, what the fuck. Richie squints at the ceiling. “I think his name was... Marco, or something. At least, that’s the name he gave to quote unquote Chris.”

“Marco, okay. Huh.”

“I wanted to be Lance or something cool, but my friend said I inhabited Chris better, I dunno. I didn’t even tell him why I needed a fake name, he was just like, big into method.”

“Yeah, mhmm.” Eddie sits up, nodding. He can’t stop nodding. His head feels like a champagne cork fizzing at the top of his spine. “So you, you uh—you were such a fucking player in your plaid and your baggy jeans that, that, that were the only things you even owned back then, Rich—don’t try to deny, it I’ve seen the pictures—that you convinced some guy who was moving town the next fucking day—”

Richie’s eyebrows shoot upwards. It makes his eyes look rounder, more delighted. “Convinced? Eddie—”

Eddie can’t stop, twisting the sheets in his hands til his knuckles go white. “Yes, convinced, you convinced him to go pick up some dirty mattress right off the street with a complete stranger even though you always make such a big deal about how awkward and nervous and repressed you were, you still, you still—”

“I was probably on molly or something at the time, man.” Richie’s beaming up at him. He pokes Eddie in the arm. Eddie feels how tense the muscle is, and fights to relax. “I’m kidding, at worst it was just a little tipsy driving. A little Wacky Races. Just call me Dick Bastardly.” Richie grins at his own dumbass joke, poking Eddie some more. “And it wasn’t just the mattress by the way, it was the whole bed. That’s a key detail. Headboard and everything.”

“The headboard?!” Eddie tries not to yell, but it comes out louder than he means to anyway. More of a shriek, embarrassingly. He lurches around in place to glare at their own flat bar of wood behind them. He holds onto that thing! It supports him, even when Richie’s fucking him into the wall!

Betrayal is neverending today, apparently. Eddie turns his glare onto Richie, who is laughing. “Stop laughing!”

“Your face,” Richie gasps. He covers his own face, then changes tack and yanks Eddie down over him to cackle into his flaming-hot throat. “What’s the problem! You’re acting like this is the same fucking bed, oh my god, you think I haven’t at least changed my mattress since I lived like a—like a Beavis and Butthead parody in Westwood, fifteen years ago?”

Eddie squirms miserably. Not even Richie’s broad nakedness against his can salvage this, he’s well and truly destroyed their sweet afterglow with his stupid overreaction. Feels like being fifteen again, ruining clubhouse hangouts with his snappy sulking as soon as Richie mentioned some girl at school. “No! No, obviously fucking not, just. I dunno.”

He doesn’t really deserve the gentle tease in Richie’s voice. “What don’t you know?”

“I don’t know!”

And that’s the part he hates most.

“Okay, okay. I think I do. Jesus, you’re actually jealous,” Richie breathes. He bites his lip, the way he does when he’s so happy about something he’s making a real effort not to talk over it. He’s still a little sweaty and pink from their Friday night activities, bedraggled hair and no glasses. The expression always scrunches his left eye into a full squint, something Eddie finds so helplessly appealing he can’t imagine what it’s like to watch that interview and not feel jealous.

Eddie grunts, shrugs as best he can under Richie’s heavy hug. Fucking Marco.

Richie’s hand is firm on the back of his neck. There’s pressure from his thumb at one point of Eddie’s jaw, the soft part between ear and bone that has him gulping open for Richie’s low murmur, “Eddie baby, don’t be jealous.” Their mouths meet and Eddie sighs into the slick warmth of it, feeling grateful and abashed and idiotic all at once.

They separate with a little snick of spit. Richie lids his eyes open just a touch, looking drowsy with affection. Eddie lowers his forehead to Richie’s shoulder and speaks to his collarbone. “I just—I hate it when you act like people are just doing you a favor for, for liking your shit or fucking going home with you when clearly it was—you’re fucking hot, Rich, and, and sexy when you’re not trying to be, and you were hot back then too, but you still act like it was a miracle anyone wanted to even touch you when I—I always would’ve picked the stupid dirty bed up off the street too. For you. And I wouldn’t’ve moved town the day after. So.”

Richie doesn’t speak for a moment. There is a cloud above their shared, clean bed, implicit with shared memory of all the times they dirtied each other’s sheets with grass stains and grubby feet, chip crumbs and even tears, just once, just before Eddie really did move town and forgot all the things he cared about so much more than he ever cared about getting sick.

He would never leave again though, is his point. Richie always seems to know what he means before Eddie does. He tries to think it loud enough, brings his hand up blindly to Richie’s face and strokes back his hair, not because Richie is a mind reader, but because he knows what it means that Eddie has never wanted to touch someone else like this.

Eddie’s spine then, curving under Richie’s knuckles like brushing a shiver along a set of wind chimes. His hand lands on Eddie’s tailbone, an X marks the spot that still throbs with loosened heat and pleasure from his orgasm. Lying on your front is bad for your posture.

I’m not lying on my front, Eddie thinks, with a little of the vicious defiance he doles out to that cloying voice sometimes, the one that tries to ruin quiet moments with its fretting. I’m lying on Richie’s. He’s good for my posture. He’s gonna snap my spine back into place and this time I’ll let him touch me.

Richie presses their temples together, small-voiced. “I guess... I find most of the flattery shit hard to believe. I didn’t like myself or the stuff I was making, so I’d automatically assume they were lying, y’know? If I agree it implies I believe them, which makes me feel like some giant, arrogant dick—don’t say it.” He pats Eddie on the ass. “But, on the other hand, if I think I’m somehow important enough for people to lie to, that’s kind of an arrogant dick move too.”

Eddie pushes up to eyeball him. “Even with sex? That’s so fucking dumb.”

This second ass-pat is harder, more of a stinging smack. Richie’s guarded look coils into a grin again at Eddie’s bared-teeth hiss. “I never said it wasn’t.”

“Well, I mean, what do you think it meant that fucking Marco—” Richie snorts at the projectile venom burning acidic holes through Eddie’s voice, “—was clearly willing to catch fleas or goddamn tetanus just to fuck you? What about me? You think I’m pretending it’s good just to encourage your weird, unnecessary inferiority thing? ”

“No, you’re right,” Richie laughs. His snorts have bubbled into full-blown giggles now as he squints down at the mess between their stomachs. “That’s pretty hard evidence you’re providing there, Eds.”

Getting harder too, rubbed up against the soft crease of Richie’s hip. Eddie can feel the lingering red throb of heat on his ass, like closing his eyes and still catching the gold-coin flash of the sun branded on the inside of his eyelids. Richie digs his blunt nails into the stung tenderness of his skin and gently pulls Eddie’s asscheeks open. He feels Richie’s quickened breathing against his wet mouth, and wonders how to ask for another spank in a way that isn’t gonna make him want to enter witness protection afterwards.

“I can’t believe you were jealous, you’re the last guy in the world who needs to be jealous,” Richie moans. Eddie feels the vibration of it on his tongue, now sucking on the knot of Richie’s adam’s apple. “Wait, can you really get tetanus from abandoned street beds?”

“Ugh!” Eddie bites him there and pulls off slowly, sucking so the stubbled skin of Richie’s strong throat is released from his mouth’s suction with a wet pop. Richie’s hips flex against him. “I almost wish this was the same fucking bed just so I had something to throw out into the yard!”

“O-ooh, how telenovela of you, I like it.”

Oh Christ, Eddie has to put some kinda stop to this before Richie starts speaking Spanish. He needs to last. He needs to beat Marco. “I’ll throw you out with it,” he says, too breathy and honest for anywhere else but here. “Trashmouth. Sweetheart.”

Richie’s face is flushed, eyes dark and desperate. He grips at Eddie’s ribs so hard Eddie feels them bending. “Dumpster diver.”

Eddie rolls his hips down, plants his palms on either side of Richie, shoves them under the pillows. He braces his elbows hard into Richie’s shoulders and grinds their sweaty foreheads together, but whatever aggression there is within him is softened by his catapulting heartbeat, harmonising with his own laughter. With Richie’s, always.

“Nah, ‘fraid the only thing left to remember that half-night stand with Marco is, well.” Richie looks down between them again, eyes almost crossed. “It’s me. My dick, more specifically.”

Eddie can feel as much. Another wave of possessiveness froths through him, crackling in the pockets of his joints, feels like cartoon steam whistling out his ears. “It better not be half-standing because it remembers anything about fucking Marco,” he snarls.

Richie raises his hands in a down boy gesture. It shifts his arms and shoulders in the way that sometimes makes Eddie wish he were a door, just so Richie could ram him open, and so he pins Richie’s wrists to the bed instead.

“Please don’t throw my dick out into the yard, babe,” Richie says.

“Gonna give you something to remember this fucking bed by,” Eddie says, and slides down Richie’s body to do just that.

#ficlet #hhfhchfjjf SORRY #this is why it takes me so long to answer asks 😭#im like 🤔 i’d love to see a fic about x 🤔🤔🤔 and then there’s a harp timeskip sound effect and i wake up to stuff like this

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asphalt-cocktail · 4 years ago

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Hey congratulations on 1900 followers that's amazing! 😄 Id love to hear your commentary on Sour, its such a great fic I love the whole tense dynamic between them at the start, the whole thing is super hot 😍 and the ending is so cute ! Thanks💕

Hi dear! Thank you so much and I’m glad you liked Sour! It was so much fun to write and I really miss it. I wrote kind of a lot and a little bit about my inspiration and each chapter! I’m so happy you asked me about Sour because I miss talking about it!

I can’t add a read more because I’m on mobile but I hope you enjoy my little commentary!

Background: so I got inspired to write this from Lou Reed’a song Hanging Around. I really liked the lyrics and wanted to base my story off it but when I began writing I went an entirely different direction. I still kept the you know... Arrogant and full of herself reader but I at first wanted it to be an all girl punk band traveling with queen on tour but then that idea got to be too much so then I did a female in a mostly male punk group. I chose bass because its a well known fact that girls that play bass are hot. I chose a punk band because T. Rex toured with a punk group to try and unite the two genres and audiences together.

Chapter 1.

OH GOD this is perhaps my second favorite chapter. I came up with the chapter title after never naming my chapters and kind of ran with it. I was pretty feral at this time and was very touch deprives so I got all my aggressions out here. I also had reader drink my favorite combination of drinks called a boiler maker which is a shot of whisky chased with a full beer and made her experience that night based off of one of my own I had earlier this year (that’s a story for another time). It’s just HOT AND FERAL AND I LOVE THE HATRED BETWEEN THE TWO

Chapter 2.

So at this point I knew I wanted it to have long ass chapters and to be shorter because I tend to dwindle off when writing long fics (*ahem* see FSC) so for this chapter I picked up the pace. I wanted something feral and something soft which hopefully I made. I wanted roger to be slightly touch deprived and needy for physical contact due to his divorce and other life issues which is why I made the s*x scene between the two so soft but then added the Intense one towards the end. This is also where we see the two of them beginning to develop feelings. The arguing during the recording in the beginning was inspired by all of the Beatles out takes i would watch on YouTube.

Chapter 3.

This was my all time favorite chapter and low key the hardest to write for some reason. I loved the Rogerina part I added in at the beginning because it was entirely self indulgent. I love the part where reader tries to leave and Roger stops her. This is really a turning point for the whole story because it becomes slightly more domestic and GAH the s*x scene between the two of them is just so FBDKFJSJ I also wanted to add more to her bandmates. I really enjoyed them as side characters and thought they added some good comedy to the overall story line

Chapter 4.

I also really liked this chapter. Here reader and roger are in a somewhat established relationship. It’s new and they set up boundaries like when they are on tour. I like having jealous!reader and drunk!reader make an appearance. I feel like they are both big babies and I love it. I also liked the teasing through the whole chapter and then the reversed roles and slight revenge reader gets. I honestly didn’t like the ending part but I couldn’t think of anything else and the story was getting too good. They needed something to disrupt their lives so I made reader have a pregnancy scare. It’s kind of a cop out but fics with cheating hurt my feelings too much.

Chapter 5.

So I DIDNT want reader to be pregnant because I thought that would literally ruin her whole career(my own personal opinion) but I like that roger is supportive and not mean about it. I like the relationship I have the band with their manager. I really wanted Hank to be a total nerd and square that managed a group of young rambunctious punk rockers. The interview scene is actually one of my favorites and inspired by the Beatles interviews I have watched where they are sassy and don’t give a fuck. I also wanted to make dad!roger make an appearance because I think it’s soft and sweet but I realized I am bad at writing children I’m honestly not satisfied with the ending very much but I could t think if anything else to right. I had a morning after written but I hated it and knew I wanted the series to end with this chapter and if I didn’t end it where I did the chapter would have been endless boring nonsense.

Overall I thought the whole story was fun to write and I would love to write more where roger and reader are older but I would have no idea where to start haha.

#sour fic #directors cut #roger taylor x reader #ac asks #scorpiogemini

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formerly-rosaline · 6 years ago

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About Rose

I’m not sure if I already have one of these, and I can’t find a template to make one, so I’m just gonna shoot my shot and do my best here.

Full name: Rosaline Pearl Sirena Draconus Durant

Time and place of birth: Wednesday, April 1st, 1992 at 3:01am (the witching hour) in the Touro Infirmary Hospital of New Orleans, Louisiana.

Zodiac: Aries sun (fire), Pisces moon (water), Aquarius rising/ascendant (air). Pisces, Aquarius, and Capricorn (earth) dominate her natal chart. Monkey (water). Alder tree. Red hawk/falcon.

Species explanation and list: Came about through ritual as well as conception originally; her soul collects more species each time she’s born (reincarnated) to non-human souls. Her soul is fragmented, there are more Roses throughout the world of different names. She only inherits certain traits from each species. She is predominantly draconic, sirenic, and succubic. Rose also has some wolf/lycanthrope, vampire (tribrid - blood, energy, and sexual separate from the succubus), banshee, Valkyrie (last life as one), Amazonian, basilisk (possibly only for this life), fairy, human, and possibly more - she doesn’t know everything just yet. Without feeding, her abilities become even more drastically limited.

Characteristics: Abilities may begin in childhood, but Rose’s memories don’t begin to resurface until teenhood and young adulthood. She may also repress her memories, furthering the process, in attempts at normalcy. Jack of all trades. Artist, but not in the layman usage of the word - dancer, singer, creative writer, musician. STEM major, always good at STEM. Linguaphile; often multilingual. Current fluencies: English and French, with some German, Spanish, Latin, Greek, Korean, and Russian. Much of her interest in languages and ability to learn them rapidly stems from former lives. Very pensive and philosophic, a stoic in the regular sense of the word but an existentialist in practice.

Favorites:

Fast food: Whataburger

Ice cream: chocolate chip cookie dough

Sushi: eel

Starburst: pink

Jolly Rancher: blue

Color: every shade of blue

Feature: her eye color

Dish at Olive Garden: The Tour of Italy

Italian dish: Alfredo anything

Asian dish: Japchae

Steak: Medium rare filet mignon

Eggs: over easy

Pizza topping: pineapples

Comfort food: macaroni and cheese

Wine: Riesling

Thanksgiving dish: Stuffing

Ice cream topping: mochi or cookie dough

Alcoholic drink: Scotch

Starbucks drink: Chai latte, affogato

Harry Potter film: Deathly Hallows part 2, but book is Goblet of Fire

Marvel movie: Avengers Infinity War

Beatles Song: Hey Jude

Instrument: drums

Band: Snow Patrol

Person: George Lewis

One Hit Wonder: Cars by Gary Numan

Beach: Pfeiffer Beach, Los Padres National Forest, California

Animal: goat

Season: fall

Thing about a rainy day: staying in

Flower: Lily. Seriously. Don’t fucking buy her roses, it’s not funny.

Sea creature: her damn self

Winter sport: luge

Fairy tale: Vasilisa the Beautiful

Eye color: green

Day of the week: Saturday

Way to relax: hot bath

Thing to do: make others smile

Mental disorders: PTSD (doesn’t deal with her past traumas, emotionally detached, dissociates regularly), bipolar disorder. Eating disorders, elaborated on at the end of this post to prevent triggering. Substance abuse disorder (alcoholism and more).

Abilities: generally, able to do much by pure will and thought. “If looks could kill,” incarnate. Some technopathy. Outbursts of preternatural strength. Slight elemental control, minor mind control. Communication with entities beyond the veil despite her attempts to shut them out. Astral projection.

More abilities and characteristics, positive and negative, by species:

1. Dragon: old soul/wise beyond her years, increased intelligence, heightened senses, increased empathy and strength, stronger persuasion via a golden tongue, foresight or future-delving. Manipulation, word twisting, speaking in riddles. Strong debater. Bloodthirsty. Intensely greedy. Power hungry. Delusions of grandeur. Arrogant. Pansexual. Extroverted. Stubborn and/or hard-headed. So cold you’d bet she’s anemic. Close-minded. TOO LOUD. She wants your heart, but on a GOLDEN platter; she’ll never love you. You are so beneath her, who the fuck do you think you are? Enemy of the siren. Fiercely loyal to those who have earned it. Family is the most important thing. Money can buy happiness, and it has for her. Warmest smile. Tacky bitch. Really good at Words with Friends, Scrabble, fighting you, chess. Wants you to succeed in life, and gives you unsolicited advice on how to do it all the time. Annoying. Always has an upset tummy. Does she have IBS? Beyond the veil: red with orange eyes. Your typical bigass crimson red dragon, will breathe fire on you. Her kind is less prevalent than they once were.

2. Siren: leads people astray readily. Seduction. Outright deception. Enticement and intimidation via a silver tongue. Increased strength and agility. Strong swimmer. Telepathy with other sirens. Enemy of the dragon. Brutal bitch. Savage, almost feral at times. Ambivert. Manipulative. Intensely maternal. Your mom friend to the extreme. Loving. Pansexual. Invasive. Monster. Might eat your liver in the pool. Always too hot. God, that voice, let’s hope you never hear it. Opera. SUSHI!!!!. Friendly, communal even, but only with those she considers family. Too good for pop music unless it’s Ariana Grande; increased hearing, gets audio overload at any normal volume. Subtitles, please. Can’t fucking understand English to save her life. Will teach you sirenic, but you can’t speak it. Whistle notes. LOWER YOUR FUCKING VOICE. Half-naked, huge tits. Firm hugger. Beyond the veil: ugly ass deep sea thing you never want to see, but her Venetian red tail is pretty... Second, translucent eyelid. Sirens of the sea are populating as rampantly as always, given the content of the earth which is saltwater. Avoids all of her kind to protect one she loves.

-Unpopular with both dragons and sirens due to some old war. These two species are most dominant.

3. Succubus: a touch that can manipulate, seduce, control, compel. Feeding, starving. Glamour. Conceited. Preppy bitch. Sarcastic. A gaslighter. Manipulative. Extroverted. PANSEXUAL, literally doesn’t care, will fuck you, don’t let her. Fake. Craves you. Enemy of the siren. She’s that overly sexual friend where you can never really tell whether they’re kidding or really trying something with you, you know? She’ll never tell, either. Got that?? Fear her. Run; she will definitely fuck your brains out and fucking eat you, God she’s fucking starving. RUN. Don’t give her a drink, and so help you if she gets to three or more. There is no God; God is dead, she has killed him, she drained his chi. RUN AWAY: fucking demonic. Don’t let her in. She made sure no one is here to help. Don’t look at them. They won’t help you; they’re under her control. You will be too. Beyond the veil: Horns. Tail. Wings. Greyish-purple all over, even her eyes; looks like a gargoyle. She doesn’t eat enough to pigment, and who cares? Glamour will make her perfect anyway. Finds feeding unethical. Slip-ups happen, though; I’m coming for you.

4. Wolf: increased agility, strength, and durability. Heightened stamina, senes. Increased stamina. Fast healing. Telepathy with other wolves. FIERCELY loyal. Respectful. Hungry. Bloodthirsty. Feral. Beast. Aching in her soul and bones. Titanium. Sushi. Friendly and communal all the time. Pansexual. Major ambivert. Audio overload too. Will cry if someone raises their voice from across a room. You’re too boomy. Stop that. Will kill anyone who makes you shed a tear. Don’t let her. Specifically tell her not to while you are crying. She will do it, I swear. Alpha bitch. Beyond the veil: albino Eurasian wolf, mistaken for an Arctic wolf. Icy grey eyes. Her kind is dead; those eyes show it. What’s an alpha without a pack? Heartbroken.

5. Valkyrie: Literally wishing to death, has to stop herself from it because it’s so easy. Planting doubt in the minds of the steadfast and resolute. Asexual. Will give you hallucinations. Manipulative. Spooky bitch. Might want you dead, might not. Don’t cross her or she’ll imagine you to eternal slumber. You won’t be in Valhalla, either.

6. Amazonian: Increased strength. Tracker. Skilled with weapons. Will navigate. Misandry. Lesbian. Introverted. Feminist bitch. Will stab you.

7. Banshee: Future-delving. A screech that will drive you mad and physically harm you only when members of inhuman royalty are dying. Introvert. Asexual. Beyond the veil: Blind as a bat, deaf as a white cat. Only sees the astral world in her head. Just looks like herself minus the white eyes. Only brought out by screaming, and terrified the entire time, but can remain after. Will cough or vomit blood for a while after screaming. Can’t control it. Scared bitch. Voice may not return to normal for weeks. Enemy of the siren. Prefers to, and sometimes must remain after screaming, mute. Cannot sign. Can see and feel your energy.

8. Basilisk: Increased ability to intimidate. Muted. Affinity for reptiles. No other abilities or notable change. Beyond the veil: she cannot turn into the giant snake of lore, nor turn to stone. If looks could kill, she would just kinda spook you. Literally just herself. Angry bitch.

9. Fairy: No increased abilities but she’s cuter and has more of a sweet tooth. Vocal change to higher pitch. Please give her Jaffa cakes, hot tea, and head pats. Beyond the veil: a tiny, wingless fairy of greens, golds, and purples. Don’t let the look fool you. Evil bitch.

10. Vampire: Increased sense of hearing and smell. Bloodlust. Ability to compel. Seduction. Extrovert. Clean freak. If there's no blood on her, it's like she never did it. Feeds on the environment around her, including people, naturally. Constantly tries to keep that shut off. Wants very badly to eat you. Hungry bitch.

Sometimes she wakes up a certain species, sometimes situations or location bring them out. Sometimes the need to feed or emotions will cause certain species to rush to forefront. This is akin to having different personalities, but it’s all her.

Face Claims:

-Young Adult (main): Penelope Mitchell, The Vampire Diaries, The Curse of Downers’ Grove, Hemlock Grove.

-Adult: Jennifer Morrison, House, Once Upon a Time, Star Trek.

-Teenage: Jenny Boyd, Legacies, Hex, Viking Quest.

-Child: Emily Alyn Lind, Revenge, Enter the Void, J. Edgar.

Physically in this realm: curly blonde, cornflower-eyed, average height (around 5′6″), girl next door but relatively average appearance, with multiple piercings (nipples, several ear piercings, and belly). Birth mark on the top of her left breast.

TRIGGER WARNING: EATING DISORDERS, SELF HARM:

She has a highly fluctuating weight (between 114 and 178) due to eating disorders - anorexia nervosa restrict type and bulimia nervosa binge purge type. Sheuses exercise, laxatives, suppositories, etc rather than the usual purging. Faint cut scars adorned her thighs and left wrist; she had them tattooed to cover them but the white lines still showed. There was a flower over the wrist, a portrait of a fox on her right thigh, and a portrait of a Renaissance-era woman on her left. There were cigarette burns inches below the Renaissance woman and the flower tattoo. There was another one midway on her outer right forearm.

#tw eating problems #tw eating disorders #tw ed #tw ed mention #tw eds #about muse #about rose #ptsd #tw ptsd #tw ptsd mention #tw bipolar #tw bipolar mention #tw mental disorders #tw self harm #indie rp #rp bio #cw alcoholism

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tevotbegotnaught · 4 years ago

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The Boys Club Pool, a strip mine of pale-blue concrete, secured on three sides by a spiked, iron fence and on the fourth, a low cinderblock building. At the bunker’s entrance, you slid money across the counter and received a basket, lock and tethered key for your street clothes. Even on the hottest days (the best days to be there), the cool interior was an ancient cistern of chlorine and wet stone. Under its vaulted ceilings, hovering dragonflies, trickling shadows, droning pumps.

I remember going there first with my parents and their friends. Still small enough that the blue-backed water demanded all my feral navigation. I fixated on the towering steel slide. A quicksilver surface glazed by a bank of water jets mounted at the apex. It spun me off its waterfall lip, arms and legs akimbo, filling my sinuses with buckshot. After decades of "up south" Jim-Crow, the 60’s management allowed Black patrons entry. Under a corrugated plastic roof, the un-ironic jukebox cranked out James Brown’s "Say it Loud" and Rare Earth’s "Get Ready". Mostly girls danced and boys watched, a strict but unenforced segregation.

T, a local Greek guy, his wife and daughters ran the facility; staffing the entry, snack bar and (in T’s case) acting as police force. It was T’s voice hurling plosives through its boot camp PA. His thighs-rubbing-together gait patrolling the deck, pneumatic forearms swinging. Always in uniform: a white t-shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts (55 waist ), white socks and sandals. If a fight started, he tugboated alongside the combatants, pushed in and grabbed each by the arm. Trying to break his grip meant losing your dignity as he easily twisted you flat, then speed-walked you out.

T attended our downtown High School and played football at USC, then 2 games at tackle with the 1942 Detroit Lions, who went 0-11, scoring 38 points while allowing 263. NFL lists his twenty-six year old stats as 6’0", 220. He joined the Marines and fought in the South Pacific, where young men dropped on swampy islands became limping newsreels of biblical suffering and cataclysmic heroism. When he bent a thumb across his palm to ask a lifeguard to buy "Four Roses" whiskey, the jungle rot gulped sunlight.

In and around the pool, I grew up and remained very much a child. My dumpy body narrowed, slumped posture lengthened. I weighed a hundred pounds, none of it soft nor secure. 7th grade meant a new school and old anxieties.

Hannah Penn Middle School sat low in our hilly town. A creek ran through a deep gully next to the athletic fields. Across the street, a cavernous bargain store, "Franklin Discount" and its conjoined parking lot. Beside the store, a factory where the famous "York Peppermint Patty" was made, packaged and shipped. In its reception area, a cardboard box with unwrapped, chipped patties, a penny each. After school, a nickel bought more tooth decay than one thin hand could hold.

School staff, mostly early Boomers, reflected their era. Mr R, an English teacher, legs withered by polio, once javelined a crutch at a recalcitrant student, then calmly asked for it back. Mr S, the "with-it" guy: turtleneck, pendant and Beatles toupee, wrote skits for us and toured our show to elementary schools. Mrs D, algebra, wore a full-length mink to work until her cop husband was convicted of taking kickbacks from towing companies. T, a generation-and-a-half older, was the health teacher, freeing him to run the pool in summer.

Leaning over battleship forearms, he read aloud from our 1950’s textbook. When provoked, he commented. In one ad-lib, he described various types of oral sex in clipped, anatomical language, concluding them all "abnormal sex acts". Eyes straight down, a roomful of teens flexed our toes deep in our shoes, Some days he asked us to read. Quickly impatient with slow or quiet readers, he’d call on his niece, a shy girl, and make her awkwardly finish a whole chapter.

One day, on my walk into his classroom, T said something in Greek to me. I sat down and slid my books into the rack under the seat. He chuckled.

"You hear that?" He said, playfully adding my name.

"What?

"I said, did you hear that?"

"No"

"I called you a rotten tomato in Greek"

"Well, you’re a fat slob in any language"

T’s mouth opened.

The class inhaled

"Apologize!"

"I’m not gonna apologize. You insulted me, I can.."

"No! Apologize now!"

He searched his desk, drawers whooshing open, then slamming shut, booms

ricocheting off the linoleum.

"Apologize!"

T stood up, empty handed. He moved quickly in front of me.

Someone in the room let out a long, provocative "oooooo"

"Are you going to apologize?"

"No" I said, smirking.

T’s right hand lifted. Up close, I saw its silver dollar-sized nails, tropical mold peppering their cuticles.

His fingers closed on my shirt front. It bunched in his grip along with some skin. The shirt pulled taut across my shoulder blades. Fabric secured, he slowly raised his straightened arm from the shoulder, lifting my torso and legs out of the chair. Tiny tears in the shirt seams audible as I rose.

My knees caught the desk, lifting and tilting it, finally dropping it to the floor with a hollow clang.

Countering my ascent, he leaned away, breathing steadily through his nostrils, left arm and leg backstopped; an Athenian lawn jockey. I rose inexorably until my back was just below the ceiling lights.

Pressure on my sternum emptied my lungs and prevented me from inhaling. Looking up, he held me suspended for an excruciating moment.

"Apologize!"

Lacking the air pressure to actually speak, I mouthed, "I’m... sorry...sorry"

Very slowly, T lowered his arm. My legs found the opening in the desk and my backside, its seat. He released my shirt, turned, walked back to his desk and wrote something. I gulped air and rubbed my chest. T held up a slip of paper. "Take this to the office"

All Principals had "paddles", often more than one and always on display in their offices. My legs reattached. I took the paper and walked out. The windows and lighting fixtures sparked haphazardly. I headed to the wall for balance. In the main office, a secretary waved me toward the principal’s office. He looked up, cradling a phone against his ear, whispering,

"have a seat"

and continuing his conversation. Behind him, a wide board with tapered grip hung from a coat hook. I slid the paper in front of him. His hand unfolded and refolded it, then pushed it aside. He hung up the phone, squared his chair to the desk and asked in an absolutely level voice,

"You know what you did?"

"Yes"

"T took care of it"

That phrase, which I answered reflexively, wasn’t a question. He told me to go to back to class. As I got up, my ears were ringing, the same way they did when I swam underwater. The lobby glowed with afternoon light. I walked unsteadily past rows of lockers. A sonar wash enveloped me, close as my breath. From the open doorways: muttering, desks rattling. I didn’t want to go back to class yet.

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prehistoricsounds · 4 years ago

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This weeks arrivals!

Firstly a little bit of housekeeping... The Warrnambool store will be CLOSED tomorrow. This will allow me to get to Geelong and restock (I heard it was busy there over the weekend!). Normally Narelle would be in the shop but, as we still have children at home for school this is not possible. However, with School starting back next week we should be back to Normal hours/days from next Tuesday going forward. The store will also be CLOSED for the Queens Birthday Holiday next Monday.

Imports from UK/EU/US are still not possible for the time being, freight is too difficult to organise when there are no planes coming to Australia.

So here are the latest new releases AWOLNATION "Angel Miners & The Lightning Riders", Benee combines her to EPs "Fire On Marzz / Stella & Steve" on a single Green LP. Aussie alt-rockers Custard have a new LP "Respect All Lifeforms" Modern Jazz legend Kurt Elling "Secrets Are The Best Stories" Melbourne band Shepparton Airplane have released "Sharks", Swedish punks ShitKid "Duo Limbo / Mellan Himmel å Helvete" which was partially recorded with Paul Leary from the Butthole Surfers! NZ Roots/Rockabilly queen Tami Neilson "Chicka Boom!" and Melbourne's Tony Dork has released "Struggle Street", a split 7" from Kim Salmon and The Scientists which was initially available with the Kim Salmon Biography "Nine Parts Water One Part Sand". On the heavier side, long running Polish Metal titans Vader have a new album "Solitude In Madness" as has My Dying Bride "The Ghost of Orion"

Plus many more!

AWOLNATION - Angel Miners & The Lightning Riders [LP] Benee - Fire On Marzz / Stella & Steve [LP] Black Sabbath - Master Of Reality [LP] Blood Duster - All The Remains [LP] Car Seat Headrest - Making A Door Less Open (Baby Pink) [LP] Civic - Vietnam [LP] Crowded House - The Very Very Best Of Crowded House [2LP] Custard - Respect All Lifeforms [LP] Datura4 - Demon Blues (Coloured) [LP] David Bowie - Heroes [LP] (sold) Dicklord - It's Soooo Boring [LP] Ecstatic Vision - For The Masses [LP] Eddy Current Suppression Ring - Eddy Current Suppression Ring [LP] Edikanfo - The Pace Setters [LP] Frowning Clouds - Whereabouts [LP] Hawkwind - Roadhawks [LP] Hildur Gudnadottir - Joker OST (Purple) [LP] (sold) Iron Maiden - Flight 666 OST [2LP] John Sangster - The Trip [LP] Johnny Winter - Live From Japan [2LP] Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp A Butterfly [2LP] (sold) Kim Salmon / Scientists - The Poison Pen / Dissonance [7"] King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Polygondwanaland [LP] Kurt Elling - Secrets Are The Best Stories [LP] Lime Cordiale - Permanent Vacation [LP] London Grammar - Truth Is A Beautiful Thing [LP] (sold) Mental As Anything - Surf & Mull & Sex & Fun: The Classic Recordings [2LP] Metallica - ...And Justice For All [2LP] (sold) Metallica - Metallica (Black Album) [2LP] Mountain Goats - Goths [2LP] (sold) My Dying Bride - The Ghost of Orion (Pic Disc) [2LP] Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Lovely Creatures: The Best Of [3LP] Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - The Good Son [LP] Nightmares On Wax - Carboot Soul [2LP] Nirvana - Nevermind [LP] Nirvana - Nirvana [LP] Paul Kelly - Songs From The South: Paul Kelly's Greatest Hits 1985—2019 [2LP] Pearl Jam - Gigaton [2LP] Pixies - Bossanova [LP] Pixies - Surfer Rosa [LP] Pixies - Trompe Le Monde [LP] Pokey LaFarge - Rock Bottom Rhapsody [CD] (sold) Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody OST [2LP] Queen - Greatest Hits [2LP] Queens Of The Stone Age - Songs For The Deaf [2LP] Ramones - Road To Ruin [LP] Rex Orange County - Apricot Princess [LP] (sold) Rodriguez - Cold Fact [LP] Rodriguez - Coming From Reality [LP] RVG - Feral [LP] (sold) Scott & Charlene's Wedding - Any Port In A Storm [LP] (sold) Seeker Lover Keeper - Wild Seeds [LP] Sex Pistols - Never Mind The Bollocks [LP] Shepparton Airplane - Sharks [LP] ShitKid - Duo Limbo / Mellan Himmel å Helvete (Blue/Red) [LP] Sia - 1000 Forms Of Fear [LP] (sold) Sia - This Is Acting [LP] (sold) Sleaford Mods - All That Glue (White) [2LP] Steve Earle & The Dukes - Ghosts Of West Virginia (Blue/Gold) [LP] Sticky Fingers - Land Of Pleasure / Caress Your Soul [2LP] Sticky Fingers - Westway (The Glitter & The Slums) [LP] Stiff Little Fingers - Inflammable Material [LP] Stiff Richards - Stiff Richards [LP] Tami Neilson - Chicka Boom! (Buttermilk) [LP] The Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour [LP] The Cure - Greatest Hits [2LP] The Rolling Stones - Exile On Main Street [2LP] The Rolling Stones - Sticky Fingers [LP] (sold) The White Stripes - De Stijl [LP] (sold) The White Stripes - Under Great White Northern Lights [2LP] The White Stripes - White Blood Cells [LP] (sold) Tony Dork - Struggle Street [LP] Tyler, The Creator - Goblin [2LP] Vader - Solitude In Madness [LP] Various - Rough Guide To African Beats [LP] Various - Rough Guide To Brazilian Psychedelia [LP] (sold) Velvet Underground & Nico - Velvet Underground & Nico [LP] Vintage Crop - New Age [LP] X - Aspirations (40th Anniversary) [LP] XXXTentacion - Skins [LP]

#prehistoricsounds #newarrivals

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depechemodespiritera · 7 years ago

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It was a night of heartfelt social messages and raw, unbridled sexuality, a celebration of the qualities that took Depeche Mode's music to the masses with a force that went beyond the synth-pop splendor of their early hits, a few of which they even slipped into a 22-song set that spanned the length of their career.

After setting the tone with the blaring guitar introduction and throat-shredding scream of the Beatles' "Revolution," they made their entrance at Ak-Chin Pavilion with the track that also opens this year's "Spirit."

"Going Backwards" is a brooding meditation on humanity's current flirtation with de-evolution. As David Gahan framed the argument, "We're going backwards / Armed with new technology / Going backwards / To a caveman mentality."

Can't argue that point.

"Going Backwards" was the first of five songs they showcased on Wednesday, Sept. 27, from "Spirit," an album whose underlying themes the front man summed up in an interview with Rolling Stone. "I wouldn't call this a political album," he said, "because I don't listen to music in a political way. But it's definitely about humanity, and our place in that."

On "Where's the Revolution," a song whose chorus demands, "Come on, people, you're letting me down," Gahan sang, "You've been pissed on for too long / Your rights abused / Your views refused / They manipulate and threaten with terror as a weapon / Scare you 'til you're stupified / Wear you down until you're on their side."

In that same interview with Rolling Stone, Gahan recalled a conversation with Martin Gore about the writing of the album: "Martin said to me, 'I know to some people, this will come off as rich rock stars living in their big houses in Santa Barbara with not a care in the world, and it's true that we're very fortunate. But that doesn't mean you stop caring about what's going on in the world.'"

Depeche Mode's work has been concerned with "what's going on in the world" since the early '80s. Take "Everything Counts," the oldest original they played in Phoenix, which touched off a spirited singalong of "The grabbing hands grab all they can." Or "People Are People," a song they didn't do that would have been a perfect fit for the songs on "Spirit" – a spirit animal even.

They rarely dipped into the '80s, as it turns out. The first early song was "A Question of Lust," nine songs into the set, its synths replaced by a single piano as Gore turned in a tender, emotional reading of the lyrics. "Everything Counts" and "Never Let Me Down Again" retained more of their '80s flavor, as did "Stripped," although that one was closer in spirit to the music they ended up making in the '90s to begin with. And Gore kicked off the encore with a gorgeous, romantic rendition of "Somebody."

"Violator," the 1990 album that became their biggest-selling U.S. hit, provided three obvious highlights - "World in My Eyes," "Enjoy the Silence" and the blues-rocking swagger through "Personal Jesus" that brought the encore to a most triumphant finish. And the followup, 1993's "Songs of Faith and Devotion," yielded three more – "In Your Room," "Walking in My Shoes" and the sexiest number of the night, "I Feel You."

Other highlights ranged from "Barrel of a Gun," which included a snippet of Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five's "The Message" as rapped by Gahan, to "Home," another chance for Gore to take the vocal spotlight.

The stage show made excellent use of video, from the colorful pain splatter image accompanying "Going Backwards" to the Anton Corbijn films, including a bittersweet black-and-white vignette of Gahan as an astronaut.

As live performers, Gore and Gahan are a study in contrasts. Gore, who's written nearly every song that brought that massive crowd to Wednesday's concert, exudes an undeniable sincerity and a vulnerability that makes it easy to relate. He's probably a lot of people's favorite member of Depeche Mode (whose lineup still includes one other founding member, Andy Fletcher).

And then, you have David Gahan, a feral force of nature who was clearly born to front a rock and roll band, working the stage with a sexual energy that's equal parts exotic dancer and a sleazier Mick Jagger, preening, sashaying and strutting with equal abandon.

Performing almost the entire concert in a vest after playfully teasing the crowd with the prospect of losing his jacket for all of one song, he worked the mic stand like a stripper pole and swiveled his hips with his back to the crowd to enhance the effect. His most inspired moment may have been the brushing of some unseen nonsense off his shoulder, with swagger to spare, after rapping his way through "The Message." It was brilliant, really.

And yet, he manages to do all that without detracting from the emotional content of whatever song he happens to be singing while grinding it out (although it does make their sexier material – "I Feel You" or "Stripped," for example – that much sexier). It's a gift.

The fact that Gahan and his bandmates still invest the live show with that kind of energy is half the reason Depeche Mode are still packing venues as massive as Ak-Chin Pavilion after 37 years. The other half is that they refuse to be stuck in the moment that spawned them. Playing five songs from the new release? That's no nostalgia show. And the fact that the new songs are actually worthy additions to the legacy? Hell, I'm already looking forward to the next tour.

Setlist

Going Backwards

So Much Love

Barrel of a Gun

A Pain That I'm Used To

Corrupt

In Your Room

World in My Eyes

Cover Me

A Question of Lust

Home

Poison Heart

Where's the Revolution

Wrong

Everything Counts

Stripped

Enjoy the Silence

Never Let Me Down

Encore

Somebody

Walking in My Shoes

Heroes

I Feel You

Personal Jesus

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heartsinthebasement · 2 years ago

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25 March 1963

“We pretty much spent twenty-four hours a day with them-we slept in the same hotels, travelled on the bus with them. I recall them writing on the bus once. Paul was sitting on the arm of a seat while John was sitting on the arm across the aisle and they both had a guitar and were writing.”

“They wore pink shirts onstage and after each show they’d roll them up in a ball and put them in a suitcase and then the next night they’d undo the ball and the shirts would have thousands of wrinkles in them from the sweat that had dried, but you couldn’t see that from the audience.”

“John had a little record player he carried with him everywhere and he kept playing [the Miracles’] ‘You Really Got A Hold On Me’.”

“we were in this mezzanine-style room at a hotel and we were all goofing off “and people started going to bed because it was late and John got up and he walked across the floor and when he got to about the centre of the floor his pants fell down around his ankles. He did it on purpose, of course.” Jim Lee, Chris Montez’s manager, March UK tour

— The Beatles 1963 by Dafydd Rees

#feral beatles on tour #the shirt situation!#the mucky things #interesting about the song #was he learning it for their version or just obsessed #the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles 1963 #dafydd rees

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totalrockfiend · 7 years ago

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Superchunk Are STILL Indie Rockin’ Like it’s 1990...

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Nerdy wardrobe for nerdy rockers...

It was button downs all around this past Friday night at Los Angeles’ Teragram Ballroom!

‘90s indie rock darlings, Superchunk, was headlining, and they were all buttoned up! Band leader, Mac McCaughan, went with the long sleeve option. While the rhythm section, drummer, Jon Wurster + touring bassist, Jason Narducy, favored the short sleeve model (which was in explicable, given what, for Los Angeles, were frigid temps nearly dipped into the 40s!).

The band was buttoned up, except, that is, for guitarist, Jim Wilbur, who was not only sporting a ratty, loosed-necked tshirt, but had also managed to rip out the crotch of his pants -- YEOOOW!

Keepin’ the ‘90s Indie Rock Sound ALIVE!

The point here being, irrespective their attire, Superchunk are keeping the ‘90s indie rock revolution, with its feral, unvarnished sound and promise of an outlet for angsty frustration, alive. And doing it far more convincingly than many of the band’s contemporaries. Quite a few of whom are on the road and in the studio cashing in on the recent ‘90s music nostalgia craze with shaky “reunion tours” and questionable new albums.

But unlike a good deal of those portend-ers to the throne, Superchunk’s music and live performances as potent as ever. A fact Friday night’s Teragram Ballroom set showcased...

‘Chunk classics like Punch Me Harder + Package Thief sounded as current and ferocious as ever. And nestled in perfectly next to new material, including Erasure, from the band’s newly released album, What a Time to Be Alive.

As an added treat, Erasure’s outstanding performance brought Angeleno singer + songwriter, and fellow Merge (records) label mate, Allison Crutchfield, to the stage for a vocal duet with Mac. A happening that was just one of many highlights in the band’s hour+ set.

Over course, the show’s highlight came at the close of their set, just prior to a three song encore, when Mac and Co ripped into a furious rendition of Slack Motherfucker. Their classic diatribe against “working for an asshole,” this timeless tune is perhaps the group’s best known work? Whatever the case, this brawny track is certainly a testament to McCaughan’ songwriting prowess.

Secret Weapon...

What makes sooooooo many performances, albums and songs transcendent musical experiences? A Secret Weapon. Every great band has one. That unique, intangible ingredient that sets the group apart from contemporaries... The Beatles had George Harrison’s understated but tuneful ear, the band’s only real quality control between Lennon + MaCartney’s individual excesses. The Stones have Charlie Watt’s right on time, never flashy, but always distinct drumming, which sets their sonic table just so. The Who had John Entwistle’s rock solid rhythmic foundation, which allowed Townsend, Moon + Daltrey to let fly like the the complete wild men each was.

In that vein, Superchunk’s secret weapon are drummer, Jon Wurster, and bassist, Laura Ballance. Or, as is now the case on the road, touring bassist, Jason Narducy.

Wurster’s pairing with Narducy is an interesting match, because the two actually make up 2/3s of the backing band for former Husker Du + Sugar front man, Bob Mould. And the the magic this duo are capable of is palpable in their stunning joint performance.

Wurster in particular is an exuberant delight! Some drummers dazzle you with technique. While others grasp you with a distinct, unmistakable style. And still other simply bowl you over with their energetic, relentless play. And Wurster fall firmly into this camp.

Pounding rhythms, rollicking rolls, and speeding tempos that Wurster manages to make feel as natural as a lovely walk through a park in the springtime, on a fully caffeinated binge (if that at all makes sense?).

Perhaps Bob Mould said it best: “[when Wurster played] it was like sparks were flying off the kit!”

Anyway, you get the idea.

Sadly, the current tour is just a brief run, hitting only select locations on the east + west coasts.

In other words, if you’re lucky enough to live near a venue the ‘Chunks are swing by, don’t pass up the opportunity! Lest you regret it later...

#totalrockfiend superchunk teragram ballroom

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