#filthy dirty bassline

[falling-down-the-scroll-hole]

I know lewis would sing or play violin but it felt like drawing him playing the bass

[wandsandwheezes]

Brat | G.W

George Fabien Weasley is a Brat tamer. This is not up for debate.

WARNINGS // SMUT 18+, rough sex, oral, throat fucking, brat, cheating, consensual relationship, breeding kink, dirty talk, degradation kink, daddy kink, dom/sub, brat taming, Husband!George <3

A/N // I can only apologise to my vanilla beans on this one... its pure, raw filth. 

The bass was pumping through your veins as you danced, swaying your hips to the beat against some poor man’s crotch, liquor glazed eyes locked only, however, on your boyfriend from across the dancefloor. He sat with his legs spread on a bar stool, his full body turned towards you as he observed your every movement. George wasn’t mad yet, you hadn’t quite pushed him far enough to get there but he could already feel his own possessiveness begin to creep up on him, while a part of him loved watching other men (and sometimes women) throw themselves at you, another part ached knowing full well he would always be the one to take you home.

Your hand was on the man’s chest as you leaned up to speak into his ear, shouting over the music. The way you pushed up onto your toes with that movement made your ass stick out perfectly, the skirt you were wearing riding up just enough to give your husband something to think about. You liked this game just as much as George did, having set out the clear rules of the relationship, way before you would have let things get this far; he didn’t stop you from kissing other girls at the clubs you went to, he couldn’t deny the way it made his cock twitch when he caught your lips locked with another girls. It would always drive him crazy, seeing you so needy but knowing that the true ache was only for him. You both drew the line at kissing other men however, unless you were searching for a particularly rough punishment, which tonight you were not; only wanting to play. 

Your hands were threaded in a gorgeous brunette’s soft shoulder length hair as you pulled her in for a kiss. She smelled divine, like the strongest flower in a whole garden and in that moment you were shocked to feel her pull a more dominant rank in the kiss, her hands firmly cupping your cheek as her tongue explored the dip and curve of your own. It was an unusual experience to be dominated by a woman but it was something you enjoyed, her touch more feminine than George's, but still just as firm, making you weak at the knees. She pulled away, ears pressed against your ear as she spoke.

“Guy in green by the bar can’t take his eyes off you, wanna give him something to stare at?” Your breath hitched in your throat as her lips trailed along your jaw, watching from across the dancefloor as he twiddled with the wedding band, no expression on his face but his eyes were locked on you. You breathed out a ‘yes’ in response to her, her hands coming up to grope at your ass as she went back in for another kiss. Something bubbled up inside George, wanting to tear you away but he was far too pleased with the show. So it seems, a few other men in the club, ogling at the sight of two gorgeous girls causing a scene. 

You loved the way other boys would stare, It drove George mad; making him all the more possessive and commanding. When you broke away from her lips again, you caught your husband’s eyes once more, watching as he lazily beckoned you to him with his middle and pointer fingers, his elbow resting against his knee. 

“Mm sorry, I’ll be back.” you whined against her lips as she tried to pull you back in, focused now only on George. She gave you a wink as you slipped from her grip, the burning eyes of your lover drinking in the sight of you, making his heart beat out of his chest in sync with the bassline of the pulsing song playing.

“What was that all about, doll, hm?” his hand found your hip as you nestled between his thighs, your head resting innocently on his shoulder as you caught your breath, still winded by the intense kiss. 

“You know I like it when other boys give me attention, daddy” your fingers raked delicately through his hair, knowing you’d pushed him to the right space, your eyes trailed away from him, causing you to tilt your chin up so that your eyes could lock, he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was all too sweet for now and it seems he was easing you in gently. 

“And other girls it seems, is my cock not good enough for you, princess?” You were fully aware that you were surrounded by other people, but the dirty looks the two of you got never seemed to deter either of you, knowing full well that you loved each other deeply, trusting of one another so much that you could do things like this. His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out your wedding band, slipping it back onto your finger. The sign he was ready to take you home, already riled up enough by what he’d seen. 

“It really is such a shame you’re such a disobedient little brat, we could’ve had lots more fun tonight” His hand held yours as he pulled you through the crowds, slipping past the bodies till you reached a hall, making you stop in your tracks, crossing your arms. 

“I don’t want to go.” you pouted at him, feet planted firmly to the ground in protest, you'd gotten this far and you were more than ready to push your luck. He instead stood there waiting, not even attempting to continue to entertain your charade, no matter how bratty you wanted to be. You stood with silence between you as the thump of the bass filled the air, elevating the tension. 

“Ready to behave and be a good girl?” He spoke softly as she shoved his hands in his pockets, watching you shake your head as you stood your ground. 

“No? Wrong answer” He mocked, while he quickly spun on his heel, heading towards the exit, leaving you to call after him, stopping dead in his tracks when when you yell his name at him. "Where are you going, George?" 

“Where am I going? I’m leaving you here, daddy doesn’t take bratty girls home, since you want to stay so much.” His tone made you rethink your action, quickly falling to his heel as your arm wrapped around his, pressing yourself into his side to steady yourself as he guided you out of the club. 

“That changed your tune quickly, still… you need a lesson in obedience, I think.” You walked along the bustling streets of London, finding a small secluded alley to hide away before you are apparated back to yours and George's shared home. He wasted no time, having you pinned against the wall as he kissed you hungrily, showing exactly who was the dominant one as his grip tightened on your jaw. You let him kiss you like a filthy whore, even let him pull away to observe how your lipstick smeared so perfectly with his rough kisses. 

It wasn't long until he had you on your knees for him, hand wrapped around his shaft as you stroked him gently, but your teasing touches weren't enough for him, holding your jaw open with one hand as he slapped the tip of his cock against your begging tongue. His eyes burning into yours with every passing moment. 

"Does my desperate little brat want her mouth fucked, hm?" You nodded eagerly as you began to take his length in past your lips, attempting to bob your head, but every time he pulled back, tutting at you. His fingers running through your hair to pull it out of your face into a makeshift ponytail as he used his other hand to tease your mouth in the same way he did your cunt when you desperately wanted him, pushing his head just past your lips before pulling back out and repeating it 

"Open that throat up for me, doll, you ready?" you hummed a quick please off of your tongue before his cock was pushing into your mouth, hardly managing half of his length as the tip hit the back of your throat, causing the sound of a gag to echo through the room. His hand was on the back of your head, pushing your mouth to take him a little deeper before pulling out completely. Leaving you gasping for air as a trail of saliva connected his cock and your lips together, mouth open and ready again to take his length. 

"Just like that, princess" He praised as you took him in once again, this time gagging as he held your head in place to push himself as deep as you could take down your throat once again, you were getting there, you just needed the training before he could really make use of your mouth. You were eager this time he pulled away, taking another gasp of air before spitting into your hand, pumping his cock before letting him slip inside your mouth once again. You let him push, let him sink his entire length in your mouth, feeling his cock slipping down your throat with every push.

"That's my girl, take it all in darling" The symphony of moans that fell from his mouth were hidden by the fact that he could hardly function. He slowly began bucking his hips as he fucked your mouth, the room filling with wet gagging sounds as you choked over him, saliva falling from your lips whenever he gave you a breather. His hand was smoothing down the hair at the back of your head gently while his hips set their relentless pace. You enjoyed this as much as he did, moaning over him as you looked up at him with begging eyes. 

"You look so pretty with your mascara running down your cheeks, baby." he cooed as his thrusts grew rougher and slower, causing more tears to spill from your eyes, drawing his favourite gagging sound from your lips more and more often. 

"Fuck, I love your Throat." He moved you to the bed, letting you lie down on your back before he was fucking your mouth again, at first his slow thrusts were to watch the way his cock made your throat bulge, hand coming down to press against it, the sensation made him twitch but he held himself strong as he fucked your throat until you were begging between every breather. 

"Use your words, brat, what do you want?" 

You were taking deep breaths as you tried to voice what you needed from him, reserved only to needy whines and moans for him, causing him to stuff his cock inside your mouth once more. 

"Daddy doesn't understand whimpering, Princess, words only." He pulled from you again, this time you found the breaths within you to attempt to ask for what you wanted. 

"Fuck me, Please." You begged, eyes desperately searching for his as you reached for him. Still you took deep shallow breaths as you watched him walk around you like a predator stalking its prey. 

"You think bratty girls get their cunt fucked? You've been a very good girl tonight though, I may have to oblige." He didn't take much convincing before he was buried deep inside you hands gripped possessively to your hips as he set his pace, begs falling from your lips every time he hit your back wall. 

"Want me to fill you with my cum, angel? Fuck a baby nice and good into your belly?" His delicious words ripped a moan from your throat as his hands brushed your hair out of your eyes, it didn't take long for you to be on edge, thumb rubbing across your clit as he fucked you. The way you squeezed around him as you came helped milk him of his cum, feeling it drip from your cunt as he pulled out. 

"You've been such a good girl, let's get that makeup off your face, hm?" He reached into your bedside table drawer, grabbing the makeup wipes, using one to glide along your tear stained cheeks, part of him guilty to remove such a stunning mark left on your face. He took extra care in gently caressing your skin as you came down from your orgasm. 

He ran you a bath, sitting outside of the tub as he helped clean the sticky sweat from your skin, massaging your scalp as he washed your hair and making sure that you were comfortable, relaxed and feeling safe. He had pushed you far this evening and it was only fair to check in and make sure you were happy and satisfied. 

He carried your clean body to bed, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you. you snuggled into your fresh, clean sheets that your husband had prepared, waiting for his presence in bed patiently, immediately feeling safe the second he was next to you. 

"Georgie, I was thinking… What if we stopped using the contraception spell?" His eyes went wide, pulling you into a cuddle as he hummed in satisfaction, fingers finding yours to tangle together. Bringing your hand up to press a kiss to your wedding band.

"I love you, If you're ready to be a parent, we can try for a baby, as many times as it needs, if you want a baba, we'll have one, Princess."

TAGLIST // @starlightweasley​​ @slytherinsunrise​​  @gcdric​​​ @theweasleysredhair​​​ @whiz-bangs78​​​ @vogueweasley​​ @minty-malfoy​​​ @vivianweasley​​​​ @feetoffthetablee​​​ @thisismynerdyself​​​ @witch-and-a-half​​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​​ @rip-us​​ @hopemalfoyweasley​​ @pigwidgexn​​  @pansydaisy​

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Night Crawling

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Some explicit smutty goodness in a dive bar bathroom, some recreational drug use, some Sam feels. 

A/N: I really thought I was going to write PWP for once. As usual, some feels snuck in. Set at some vague point in Season 5. 

I’ve had the new Miley Cyrus album on repeat all day; inspiration, title, and bathroom graffiti quote all came from “Night Crawling.” Listen to that and “Gimme What I Want” if you want maximum ~atmosphere~ or whatever while reading. 

“Another?” Sam asks, leaning in to make himself heard over the music. He gives me a twisted, wicked version of his usual dimpled smile. There’s a drop of tequila clinging to his lip, and I want to lick it off. He’s so close. 

My head is still spinning from the last shot and from his attention. I shake it off. 

“Bathroom, I’ll be back,” I tell him. 

Sam’s in a fucking mood tonight. Not that I blame him. Time is ticking away, faster by the day it feels like; if Lucifer was after me, I’d take whatever escape I could get. 

Dean’s at the motel, hopefully putting some ice on his twisted ankle or maybe sleeping, and normally Sam would be fussing over him like an overgrown fucking mother hen. Instead, he suggested that we go “blow off some steam,” looking at me with this glint in his eyes, like he was daring me. 

So… here we are, getting fucked up in a grimy rock club, watching some Nine Inch Nails wannabes wail like a porn soundtrack over a dirty industrial bassline. 

Sam fucking Winchester. Always full of surprises. 

It’s one of those single-occupancy dive bathrooms where I don’t want to touch anything or, like, inhale too hard. It’s impossible to tell what color the walls originally were under the layers of concert flyers and graffiti. There’s probably enough cocaine residue on the chipped porcelain sink counter to get an elephant high. That kind of place. 

He wants me almost as much as I want him, I’m pretty sure, but I never thought either of us would act on it. Too many complications, too many ways to fuck it all up… now, though? The entire world is fucked. Might as well get laid before it all goes to shit.

Two lines of red Sharpie scrawl next to the mirror grab my attention: night crawling, sky falling, gotta listen when the Devil’s calling. 

Yeah. Well. 

I don’t think either of us will make it out of this alive, but he doesn’t want to. That’s what this is all about, really. He started this apocalypse. He’ll never forgive himself if he lives through it. I’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t. 

I wash my hands and splash some water on my cheeks, bracing myself. I can feel the chemicals kicking up my spine, now.

If Sam fucking Winchester needs to indulge his self-destructive streak and get out of his head for a night, I’ll keep him company. Fuck knows I’ll never say no to him. I’ll stay with him til the end, if he lets me. 

It hits me again: this is the end. The world is about to end, and that sweet, sexy, puppy-eyed motherfucker out there is at the center of all of it. Heaven, hell, good, evil… and Sam. If tonight is what we’ve got — if this is all we’ll ever get — I’ll take it. I’ve always wanted more, but… this’ll do. It’ll have to do. 

He’s slouching against the wall, right outside the bathroom hallway. He gives me this dark, hungry grin when he sees me, and maybe whatever was in that pastel blue pill is making itself known, or maybe it’s just Sam that’s sending a wave of prickly heat over my skin… either way, it feels good. 

“C’mon,” he says, passing me a cup of ice water, and then he’s gripping me by the wrist, pulling me into the crowd. 

Sam doesn’t dance, and he sure as hell doesn’t dance with me, but he’s not fucking around: hands on my waist, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at me, cheeks flushed, moving with the beat. I rest my free hand on his upper arm, right where the swell of his bicep flexes against the soft cotton sleeve of his t-shirt, and I can’t help but squeeze slightly, feeling hot skin and muscle under my palm. I swallow hard. 

Sam leans in closer. I can smell him, the natural scent of his sweat under the spice of his deodorant, and it’s so overwhelming that I shiver. 

He gets his lips right up against my ear, the deep rumble of his voice a physical thing that I can feel as well as hear: “Ever just get sick of being yourself?” 

Jesus. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, mouth dry. I don’t know if he hears me but it doesn’t really matter. 

“I think too much. I don’t want to think tonight. Is that okay?” 

I suck in a breath. “Don’t need to explain, Sam. I get it.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, heavy-lidded, golden skin shining with sweat in the flecks of light coming off the disco ball. “Dance with me.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, Sam, anything you want.”

I toss back the cup of water, gulping it down, too eager; some of it trickles down my chin. I don’t care. I drop the cup and run my hand up Sam’s chest. His eyes flutter closed and he licks his lips, sinful, gorgeous. For a moment I think he might say something but instead he spins me around and hauls me closer, my back to his chest. 

The song is filthy, all thudding funk hooks and wild drums. There’s this frantic heat behind it that has me sinking under the surface, swimming through the riff, and the pulse of it wriggles down my spine and works itself out through my hips as I toss my head. It’s the kind of rhythm that’s made for sweating all over a stranger. 

Sam might as fucking well be a stranger right now. I never knew he could move like this. 

His hips swivel and twist, and his hands slide down to my thighs, pinning me against the solid muscled heat of his body. I feel reckless. I feel high and overstimulated and utterly fearless, and I can feel his touch echoing through me, inside me, throbbing down my belly to where I’m empty and suddenly aching. 

As soon as I think about it, the emptiness hits me hard. My cunt is clenching around nothing in time with the gritty slap of percussion. I arch my back and rub myself against Sam shamelessly. 

He’s hard against my ass, hard and getting harder with every shrieking lick of guitar, and the awareness of it sends a thrill down through the core of me, like a bolt of lightning striking between my legs. My breath catches and hisses out of my lungs like I’m a punctured balloon. I feel dizzy. 

It’s all so intense right now. Every inch of my skin is fizzing, and the simple curl of his fingers around my wrist has me shuddering like he’s stroking something much more intimate. 

On any other night I would try to step back, to get myself under control… I’d start thinking, and I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I’d get stuck in my head instead of giving in to the mind-blowingly intimate thrill of his fingertips pressing into my pulse. 

We’re not thinking tonight. I couldn’t think straight even if I wanted to. 

The beat changes, segueing into something low and slinking and goddamn obscene. I’m dripping with sweat — mine or Sam’s? I can’t tell — and my skin is on fire, and I want Sam in this awful, all-consuming way that I’ve never wanted anything or anyone.

So I don’t think about it; I just turn, twisting in his arms until we’re face to face, or rather, face to chest. He’s biting his lip, expression almost pained as he grips my waist and slots a thigh between mine. I snake my arms around his neck and roll my hips, feeling the seam of my jeans dragging up the sensitive spot between my legs, and I’m absurdly grateful for the way the music drowns out any embarrassing noise I might make. 

There’s a drop of sweat sliding down the corded muscle of his neck. It trickles to a glittering halt right at eye level, in the hollow of his throat, and I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I could fall down and worship whatever god invented the v-neck. 

I don’t fall to my knees, but I do lean forward and taste his skin. Salt floods my tongue. 

Sam’s hand runs up my back, cups the nape of my neck, and he doesn’t so much guide me as yank, tilting my head to meet the rough urgent sting of his teeth and the soft slide of his tongue. I groan into his mouth, and his hands flatten at the small of my back, pulling me impossibly closer. I want to shove myself against him until I can burrow under his skin. 

His mouth. He nips and sucks and explores, lips on mine with crushing force one second, whisper-sweet the next. 

I’m melting. I must be melting. 

I hold on for dear life, delirious, drunk on the way he’s kissing me. I’ve imagined this before, but I never imagined it like this. 

We’re still dancing, or something like it anyway; his hips swivel, and I rut against him, my entire body throbbing with animalistic need. Sam shifts his weight, grinding against me, and I can feel the fat stiff length of him right up against my center. I whimper, desperate and wanton. 

One hand slides up my back, around my ribs, up, until he can trace the curve of my breast with his thumb and then pinch my nipple through my bra. When I buck against him, he does it again. My knees don’t want to support me any more. 

I’m a half-second away from coming just like this. I’m shaking. 

“The fuck are we doing?” Sam says roughly. He nips my earlobe.

“Not thinking, remember?” I snap, and then I’m stumbling back, almost falling, tugging him by the wrist as I start to weave through the crushing press of bodies. My heart is pounding. Everything blurs together. My skin feels too cold without him all over it. 

There’s one open bathroom, no line, no reason to hesitate. The heavy door closes behind us and the deadbolt slides home with a metallic echoing thud. 

He’s already crowding me back, hands on my cheeks, tip of his nose brushing mine. I grab at the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in the sweat-damp fabric. My ass hits the counter and I surge up clumsily to kiss him. The angle’s off; our teeth clack together. 

We laugh and fit ourselves back together, bodies like puzzle pieces in that fucking song Sam would never admit he loves, and I could cry with relief at the way he feels under my hands. I can feel him breathing, the harsh rise and fall of his chest, and I can feel the heat of him, blood and sweat and bone, solid and real and here and mine, at least for tonight. 

He fumbles with the button of my jeans and kisses me like he’s drowning. Then he curls two long fingers up and into me, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit. I lean back, heels skidding on the dirty tile as I try to brace myself and rock my hips up all at once. 

“Need you to fuck me,” I bite out, remarkably steady considering the way I’m trembling. 

“You gonna regret this tomorrow?” Sam asks. He twists his fingers, knuckles stretching me open, so good my eyes roll back in my head. 

Tomorrow… we’re not going to think about tomorrow. 

“Might regret waiting this long,” I groan. Understatement of the century. 

“You ‘n me both. You sure?” He’s staring down at me and he looks wrecked: pupils blown, lips swollen, hair clinging to his temples where his skin is streaked with sweat. 

“Do you feel how close I am?” I grab his wrist with one hand, holding him there, fucking myself on his fingers as I try to pull my jeans down with the other hand. 

Sam’s mouth drops open and his eyes go unfocused for a second. Whatever self-control he had left is gone. He pulls his hand away, and I whine at the loss, but together we get my pants down, and I kick them off as he gets his belt open. He’s just as big as I always imagined, proportional to those sinfully long elegant fingers, and my mouth fucking waters as I watch him stroke himself. 

He bites his lip, chest heaving, and tugs me up onto the very edge of the grimy sink counter. Before I can find my balance he’s right there, hooking an arm under my knee so that he can spread my legs wider, and he’s guiding the hot velvety head of his cock down my center and in, and the slick blunt pressure of it makes me claw at his back, trying to get him closer even though I can barely handle how good that first thick inch feels. 

“Fuuu - unnhhhhh - fuck, Sam, I need…” I choke out, and then all I can do is pant breathlessly, incoherent, as he rocks his hips and starts to stretch me open. I’m helpless like this, no leverage to do anything but sit there and take it, and he moves so maddeningly slow that I’m going out of my skull. 

“God, look at you,” he breathes. “So fucking good. Always wondered what you’d look like taking my cock. Always imagined you begging. Are you gonna beg for me?” 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up and give it to me, Sam, I swear —” 

“Yeah?” he growls. He grips my hips hard enough to bruise.

I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles together, leaning back on my hands, and then I can arch my back and pull him deeper, working myself onto his cock. 

“Sam —” I start, but before I can say anything else he slams home, grinding in hard and fast, and my voice cracks on a stuttering, incoherent whine. It’s blindingly good. He’s steely-hard and so goddamn thick I feel like I’m about to split open, like one wrong move is going to pull me apart. His first rolling thrust sparks this wrenching wave of pressure that fills me up and shakes me down to the tips of my toes, my entire body rippling with feverish heat. 

“That’s my girl,” he pants. He pulls me against him and twists up, rough and filthy, and I shudder against him, writhing, mindless and overwhelmed. 

“Sam,” I choke out. My voice is high-pitched and squeaky-thin, and the next sharp thrust makes me forget whatever I was going to say beyond, “Nnnnhhhhhyesohgod.” 

“There?” 

“Fuck. Yes.” 

He moans, low and broken, and finds that perfect spot again, grinding into it with eye-popping force.

I can feel it, pleasure cramping through me with every movement, coiling up, building around the deep throbbing ache where he’s fucking into me. I feel like a wild animal, primal and lost.

“Good girl. Fuck, feels so good.”

I clutch at his shoulders, muscles quaking, burying my face in his neck as all that white-hot pressure peaks inside me. I let out an ugly, anguished sob, can’t hold it back, and then all I can feel is the all-consuming spasm of my orgasm, tension rocketing through every inch of me, sending me out into space for a long paralyzed moment. The first pulse of it is so scary-intense that I can’t breathe, can’t control myself, can’t keep track of my own body… 

Then it all comes back at once, and I’m exquisitely aware of Sam against me as he fucks me through it, hips surging forward as I squeeze around him and urge him deeper. 

“Thought about this so many times,” he’s confessing, ragged and raw. 

“Me too,” I gasp.  

He sucks in a shaky breath, moving slower as I start to come down, and I can feel him holding back now. “Think about you so fucking much, I can’t —”

“Me fucking too, Sam.”

He kisses me, gentle in a way that could very easily destroy me. 

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he whispers, forehead sweaty where it rests against mine.  

“Fuck, Sam, don’t — this is —” 

I feel so strange and strung-out, caught between the shivery aftershocks in my belly and the startling tenderness in his voice as he mumbles, “Wanted to take my time.”

“Sam.” 

“Wanted to take my time with you,” he repeats. He moves against me with this slow, snakelike undulation. “Wanted to lay you out and kiss you everywhere and fucking worship you.” 

“We can. We can — I want that.” 

“Never gonna be enough,” he chokes out. “I knew — I knew, if I did this, I’d never want to stop.”

My skin is lit up with the feel of him, liquid heat gathering in my gut as my body responds to every perfect touch, but I’m afraid my ribcage is about to split open with the way my heart is hammering. 

We’re in a goddamn dive bar bathroom, for fuck’s sake, and I’m fucked up, and maybe this will feel cheap and tawdry and silly in the morning, but… somehow I don’t think it will. Somehow this feels like the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. 

“Why’d we wait this long?” I ask. There’s an embarrassing wobble in my voice. 

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he grits out. “Because I was scared.” Before I can respond, he kisses me, all teeth and desperation, twisting his hips and swallowing my moan. He slides his hands under my shirt, sliding them up my back, and drags his fingernails down in trails of stinging heat. It’s pleasure and pain and fucking obliteration, and the sensory overload has me spiraling out again. 

“Fuck that,” I half-laugh. My back arches and my voice breaks, and I bite his lip hard enough that I taste copper. 

He groans, full-throated and shameless, and ducks his head, sinking his teeth into the sweat-slick curve of my neck. He sucks, nibbles, and it sets off fireworks behind my eyelids. 

“Close, Sam. So close,” I babble, breathing harsh and heavy. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull, and I can feel him moan. “Never thought it’d feel like this. It’s — this is so much better —” 

He shudders against me, lets out this long, guttural sound, and then he shifts and pounds into me harder, and all I can do is cling to him, pulling him closer like I’m never going to let go. “C’mon, then. Fuck. Tell me what you want.” 

“Please, Sam. Just — please. Please.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he growls. “You know that, right?” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

“Don’t leave me,” I blurt out, as the unbearable tension starts to crest. “Don’t leave me, Sam. Please.” 

I know he hears it. He gasps like I punched him. I can feel him jerk, twitch, fingers clawing at my back, cock twitching and swelling inside me as he starts to come. I bite down on the meat of his shoulder as I let go. My orgasm feels like it’s ripping something loose, an earthquake in my core, and I don’t trust myself not to say exactly what’s on my mind. There’s a surge of pleasure, one glowing wave of it then another, and I’m dimly aware of shuddering against Sam as he rocks into me one more time, clutching him close… as if I could get close enough to keep him here with me. 

It’s impossible to be sad right now. I’m chemically incapable of sadness, still soaring high, but this is so much bigger than sadness anyway. I just feel like I’m about to break. 

“That,” he says, with an ugly sound, half-laugh, half-sob. “That’s what I was afraid of. That I wouldn’t ever want to leave.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Let’s just — let’s not think about it. Okay? Can we go back to the motel and — can we do that again? Take our time?” 

“Just for tonight?” he asks raggedly. 

“Just for tonight. We’re not going to think about what comes next.” 

He nods. We both know it’s a lie. 

,

,

,

[falling-down-the-scroll-hole]

System Overload!

[failedintsave]

@little-murmaider recently introduced me to her big-brain concept of Stevie Wonder as skwistok listenin', and since then I've been personally attacked by several songs. SO! Here's another one-off because my brain is full of holes now.

(For extra fun, the song mentioned is All I Do. Listen to it on loop for 259036648 repeats like I did when writing this)

Hotter than July

Toki woke to the squeal of sirens driving past the apartment building, a lance of pain shooting through his skull. Peeling his clammy cheek away from the cracked porcelain of the bathtub he slowly, deliberately worked himself up to sitting, groaning as a wave of dizziness sent the world spinning. His teeth felt fuzzy, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. Lank strands of hair were plastered to his sweaty face; the apartment's air conditioning was broken and the Florida heat was merciless, but since they were so behind on rent, the landlord was dragging his feet on the repairs.

Racking his brain, Toki couldn't quite recall getting home after the party they'd gone to following their gig last night, only a vague image of watching his arms dangle towards the ground, the backs of Nathan's boots flashing beyond his fingers. The sense of vertigo that followed sent him lurching for the toilet.

He wandered into the kitchen on wobbly legs, still nauseous but out of fluids to expel or sweat out. Searching the cabinets yielded nothing so he fished a plastic cup from the dirty dish pile in the sink and rinsed it as thoroughly as he could be bothered, gulping tepid tap water until he had to surface for air.

A tinny sound from the other side of the pass-through penetrated the throbbing haze inside his skull. He stuck his hand under the faucet and scrubbed the stale sweat from his face, drying it on the hem of his shirt as he turned the corner into the filthy living room.

Sprawled on the couch like a swooning Victorian damsel was their beanstalk of a lead guitarist. He'd cuffed his jeans halfway up his calves, socked feet propped on the coffee table next to a box fan aimed directly where he lounged. His eyes were closed and one arm was propped over the top of his head, fingertips twitching out a rhythm to whatever was playing on the cheap headphones covering his ears. Sweat had soaked through the neck of his shirt, the material flattened over his clavicle like a second skin, his face and neck flushed with the heat. Toki's stomach gave a little flop, but not enough to send him running back to the bathroom.

He took a seat on the floor nearby, hoping to get at least partially in the path of the fan for some relief against the cloying humidity. At this range he could make out a little better the song Skwisgaar was listening to, or at least hear the cadence of the singer's voice. Melodic and boppy, definitely not metal, but not something he recognized either. Toki closed his eyes against the breeze from the fan, music reeling him in without him realizing he was leaning in the direction of the couch until his shoulder bumped the cushion. He started and turned to look at the Swede, jumping again when he was met with a single blue eye cracked open to observe him.

"Oh! Sorries, I…" he trailed off as his mouth went dry. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, it was just reflexive.

The eye looked him up and down, scrutiny making him wriggle, before it closed again. This close he could see the perspiration glistening at the other man's temple, a thin sheen on his upper lip as well. He had pretty lips when they weren't twisted into a judgemental sneer, Toki thought, blanching and looking away as soon as the notion crossed his mind. His pulse hammered in his aching, dehydrated joints.

"You smells like throw ups."

The drawl brought his attention back to the couch again, coming face to face with the very sneer he'd just been remembering. He felt his shoulders rising towards his ears in an embarrassed shrug.

"Dat probably cuz I dids a lot of frow ups…"

Skwisgaar's disdainful expression transformed into one of amused pity. "Ja well. Dat why you shouldsn't do shots wif Pickle."

Nodding, Toki pushed away the remembered smell of dark, spiced liquor before it could make him ill. He'd only just started drinking when he joined the band a few months ago and his tolerance was measley in comparison to their drummer's, but he'd jumped at the opportunity to pal around with them. Now he was learning the price.

Scattered memories of last night stirred his brain like a dirty spoon, and he cast his eyes around for something to distract him from the spins. His gaze landed on the walkman balanced on Skwisgaar's ribcage.

"What ams you listenings to?"

Skwisgaar followed his eyes, considering the cassette player for a moment before passing the headset over with a wordless shrug. Their fingers grazed and Toki felt another strange flutter behind his sternum. Had those drinks been spiked?

He placed the headphones over his ears, head immediately filled with the soulful vocals and groovy bassline. An irrepressible grin took over the bottom half of his face as he bobbed his head to the beat. Toki returned his focus to Skwisgaar's face and immediately all the breath left his lungs.

The blonde mirrored his smile, nodding as if they shared a secret. "Right? It's good stuffs."

He groped for anything to say, mind fuzzed under the ice blue spotlight of the Swede's gaze. "Ja...nots what I expecteds but...ja. Good. G-good...it good sounds." He winced.

A straw-colored eyebrow rose towards Skwisgaar's hairline and the smile turned to a crooked smirk. He shook his head, then picked up the tapdeck and passed it over to Toki as well.

"Here. You cans listens for a while, just don'ts kill deh batteries. I'm fuckin' hungovers as shit, I'm gonna takes a nap. Wakes me up for prackstice, okej?"

He swung his feet from the table to the couch and scooted down into a more comfortable position, white shirt riding up as he shifted and exposing a torso almost as pale as the material. Toki stared at the creamy patch of skin, the last bony ribs prominent above the hip poking over the top of white denim. He checked to make sure the fan hadn't died, face burning worse than ever.

In typical fashion, Skwisgaar was snoring quietly within minutes, leaving Toki alone with his suddenly jumbled thoughts, music still pulsing in his ears. His eyes travelled the long line of the other man's body to his face, tranquil in slumber. Skwisgaar's pale eyelashes glowed bronze against high cheekbones, catching the afternoon sun streaming through the open window. Toki's hand moved of its own volition towards the hollow of Skwisgaar's cheek before he snatched it away, forcing it and his gaze down to his lap where the walkman lay. He had to still be drunk.

Holding the tape deck reverently, he noticed the spindly S.S. marked on the corner in black sharpie. He traced the letters with the pad of his thumb, grin returning as the song continued in his ears, saxophone solo accompanying the flock of butterflies blooming in his belly. As the track faded out and the next began, Toki leaned back to lay on the grungy carpet, clutching the walkman to his chest. A blonde curl cascaded over the cushion as Skwisgaar rolled onto his side, and Toki held up a hand, letting the lock pool in his palm for a moment before slapping the heels of both hands against his eyes.

"Oh noes…" he giggled ruefully.

His life had changed drastically in the last few months; he had a home, he had friends, he had a band. And now? He had a complication of a different sort.

But the heat and his hangover were suddenly much less distracting.

[falling-down-the-scroll-hole]

This seems like the right first piece of art to post on tumblr. 

[akaiikowrites]

i like the dirty rhythm you play

Summary: “How does it go? Save a drum bang a drummer?” Zuko falls in love with the girl in the band. [Modern AU]

Notes: for @zutaramonth 2017, day seventeen, dancing. ao3. be the awkward zuko content you want to see in the world.

Most of the bands that come through the Jasmine Dragon are on the decent side of neutral. Clientele’s upscale enough that they won’t tolerate the shittier garage bands, but mostly it it’s got a good enough beat they’ll dance to it. The alcohol probably helps with that.

Gaangsters falls on the okay side of good. Crowd’s responding accordingly. It’s a little more experimental than any of them are used to but it’s working.

It helps that the band’s engaging. There’s the girl on guitar who’s killing it and has flipped off at least nine people since the set started. A lead singer with a decent voice and terrible jokes. A boy on tambourine who pulls off acrobatics for reasons unknown to man or god. And the last person in their little ensemble, the drummer, who in a normal set up would be the lead singer.

Zuko can admit he’s mostly interested in the drummer. Not because she’s pretty, though she is with her long curling hair and her vivid blue eyes, but because she’s taken no shit. First sight of her had been her with an amp in her arms, strain highlighting the taut definition of her biceps, as she chewed out a guy from another band for trying to cop a feel. Only gotten better from there.

Right now she’s intent. Focused on the beat she’s pounding out for everyone on the dancefloor. There’s never any hesitation in her. Drumsticks come down with vicious precision and he’s pretty sure she’s broken at least two since they started. It’s beautiful.

“I’d like a cranberry vodka?” Reluctantly he tears his eyes away from the drummer to alight on a girl at the bar. He’s got a job to do. He does it now on automatic. After nearly three years of working part time at this particular bar he knows how to do most requests on muscle memory alone. This girl watches him from beneath her eyelashes, almost coy, and waits until he’s pushed the cocktail across the bar to her. Then she pulls out some money from her cleavage and says, “You have a break soon?”

“No,” he says. Short, to the point, so it can’t get misinterpreted.

Someone claps his shoulder. “You can take your break now, man.” Holding back a wince, he looks over his shoulder to see Suki giving him the kind of shit eating grin that makes him fear for his soul.

The girl on the other side of the bar lets out a delicate giggle. Most of his life he didn’t have to worry about girls coming onto him. Scar scared them off if his perpetual scowl didn’t. Kind of girls who come to the Jasmine Dragon take it as a challenge. Maybe he could’ve escaped. But now Suki’s thrown him so far under the bus he’s breathing from the exhaust pipe.

Panic begins to set in. Vaguely he hears people cheering. Why are they cheering. The girl is leaning across the bar. Suki must’ve made change for her because she’s slipping it back into her cleavage. “My name’s Jin,” she says.

“Hey, Zuko!” Automatically he looks toward the sound of the voice. It’s the drummer, sweaty and grinning, hands planted on the bar. “Can I get a water?”

Zuko beats Suki to the fridge where they keep water for the performers and pulls out a bottle. Normally he’d sling it down the bar and let the person catch it. This time he walks it all the way down. It’s not running away if he’s helping a performer. It’s not.

“Thanks,” she chirps as he hands the bottle of water over. Their fingers brush and he tries not to notice how warm she is. Cracking open the bottle, she downs half of it in the space of twenty seconds. Swipes over her mouth with the back of one hand. God, she’s still grinning. “You need help escaping from the girl down at the other end?”

Reflex makes him check over his shoulder. Jin is still at the bar, raking her eyes down him in a way that make him regret wearing this pair of jeans tonight. Before their eyes can meet he turns back to the drummer. “No. It’s. It’s fine.”

Both of her eyebrows go up. “Uh huh.”

A blush crawls up the back of his neck and he coughs awkwardly. There hasn’t been a whole lot of time for him to imagine how this would go, but this still isn’t how he imagined it going. But she’s smiling like they’re both in on the same joke and that has to count for something. “What did you have in mind?” he asks, barely containing a wince. Then, almost in afterthought, “And why do you want to help me?”

Hard to say but he thinks she blushes as she downs the last of her water. Won’t quite meet his eyes as she says, “You helped me earlier.” Reaching up, she tucks some of her hair behind one ear. It’s almost a nervous gesture.

“That’s different,” he says.

“No, it’s not. You nearly got into a fist fight to defend my honor—” which she had promptly ended by threatening to brain the other guy with her amp “—the least I can do is chase off a pushy girl by dancing with you.”

Somehow it’s easier to agree with her than it is to argue. By now Zuko’s learned that most things in life don’t come easy and he wants this one thing to be easy. "I’m going on my break,” he tells Suki.

Then he lets the drummer lead him by his wrist out onto the dance floor. Puts his hands on her hips when she tells him to. Lets the heavy bassline of the current song take over. Before long they’re tangled up in each other, her fingers buried in his hair, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh. It’s almost filthy, the way they move, but it’s no different from the way everyone else is dancing. One song melds into the next.

“What’s your name?” he asks. It’s probably been more than his twenty minute break. He doesn’t entirely care, but he knows he needs to head back to help Suki with final call.

Maybe she senses it, because she turns in his arms and laces her fingers together behind his neck. “Katara,” she says.

Gathering up all the courage he has, he asks, “Can I have your number?”

For a moment she blinks at him. Under the strobe lights her eyes are so blue they’re almost unreal. Giggles burst from her, almost like an afterthought, as she says, “You want to go out with me?”

“Well, yeah,” he says. “You make me want to try out that pick up line. How does it go? Save a drum bang a drummer?”

If anything she laughs louder, harder, one of her hands thumping his shoulder in a mock punch with no real heat behind it. “You can have my number,” she says. Breathlessness edges her words, like she’s trying not to laugh, and he’d take offense except she looks so happy. Pulling her closer, he rests his forehead against hers and feels the drift of their hips. One corner of her mouth kicks up. “But first you have to kiss me.”

Zuko leans down and kisses her. It’s nothing like how they’ve been dancing. Soft and slow, chaste in all the best ways, more like a promise than a dare. Because he likes the way it contrasts to the thumping music and the way it makes her gasp into his mouth so he can swallow up the sound. When he pulls away, she chases after him, so they keep kissing.

Fuck it, Suki can handle last call on her own.

[wedie4music-blog]

Dirty Filthy Nasty Bass - WaY uP HigH D.F.N.B is an Electronic duo from Denver, Colorado Members: Dirty-D & Filthy I69I Flip. Our mission is to make bangin' electronic music that people can dance their ass's off to with Dirty Filthy Nasty Basslines and killer vocals! Check out this brand new EDM/House track, like and share!

[dnbvinyl]

Listed below is the New stock and restocks added to our Store on 25/06/2019. Check out these and all our stock on our site https://www.dnbvinyl.co.uk

Nosher (Baron VIP) - Total Science Goldseal EP (Part 1) - Filthy Dirty Rich Bambaata 2012 Episode 1 - Shy FX Be True - Commix Talk To Frank - Commix Another Planet - Pendulum (Picture Disc) Inta Outa - DJ Suv & DJ Patife New Dance - Barcode In Time - The Flava Unit It's Jazzy / Play It For Me - Roni Size / DJ Die System Ready - Air Movement The Licence - DJ Krome & Mr Time Formation 100 - The Remixes (Part 1) - Distorted Minds Atlantis (Bad Company Remix) / Survival - Moving Fusion Wipe The Needle (Remix) - The Ragga Twins Sing Time - The Terrorist (Promo) Tough At The Top (Remixes) E-Z Rollers LK The Remixes - DJ Marky Steppin Stones (Rmx) - Zinc The Original Junglesound EP - Adam F (Picture Disc) Black - DJ SS / Tango (Repress) A Mosca - XRS Let That Shit Ride - D-Bridge Drop Bear - Die Suddenly - Dope Skillz Trip Switch - Spekky (Promo) Tightrope (Rmxs) - Matrix / Fierce I Wanna Be With You - Back 2 Bass 6 Million Remix - Dope Skillz Bounce - Optical Can U Feel It - Noise Factory Humanoid - Bassline & Drumsound (White Label) No Diggity - Blackstreet Choice - Majistrate Baby Its Clear - Swan-E, DJ Motion, Dope Ammo

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If you cant find a track you are looking for on our store, email us with the details of the track you are looking for and we will attempt to find a copy for you.

[jack-barrett-accio-blog]

Lyrics below

Hey, turn the bass up Hey, turn the bass up Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah

[Bridge] Big dirty stinking bass, dirty stinking bass Big dirty stinking bass, dirty dirty stinking Big dirty stinking bass, dirty stinking bass Big dirty stinking bass, bass, bass, bass, bass [Hook] I don't need no speed (no) I don't need no heroin (no thanks) I don't want no coke (not today) You can keep your ketamine (yeah) I'm a bassline junkie (whaat?) I'm a bassline junkie (tell 'em again) I'm a bassline junkie (tell 'em again) And I like it funky What the fuck? What are you doing? Don't touch it Don't. Who told you to touch it? I will fucking kill you Don't ever touch that fucking shit again I'm a fiend for a big dirty bassline When I hear one I have a great time A bit of bottom end's all what I require I let the bassline take me higher My friends think that it's a bad habit But I'm just like fuck you, damn it If you take my bass away I'll blow your fucking face away (easy!) You might think I'm over the top But when I hear that bassline drop I just can't control my actions But I still feel satisfaction So don't come around here whinging I just wanna hear the bassline rinsin' Or we can just skank out all day If not get the fuck out my way [Hook] [Bridge] The other day I got an ASBO order And I think it's well out of order All my neighbors throwing a fit So I told them suck my dick And I told them I got the power And I turn the music up louder All night till six in the morning Old bastards, they just boring You know me, I'm the bassline father Nobody can't tell me nada And the police turned up and they took me We drove out to the nick and they booked me When they said they'd give me a caution If I didn't give them no distortion But I said don't bother, I'm guilty And my bassline's fucking filthy [Hook]

Big dirty stinking bass, dirty stinking bass

[new-aquinas]

i will need you to devote 30-60 minutes to the absorption of this ideal, but i do believe that this is a momentous beginning to a proper empire. make sure you read the empire header thats on my blog too, that was in 2015 when i was fresh out juve, my first times drinking lean and having the internal dextromethorphan and codeine and psilocybin monologues, it was during these introspections that i FOUND the need for empire, that i found the need to leave behind a legacy that will live much further than ive gone.

http://bvggvr.tumblr.com/empire

music-wise though, i want at least one grime slapper that brings out the jcoletaleof2citiez/asaprockydistortedrecords/kendrickblackertheberry type energies, ill have to ask you to check all these songs so you can absorb the energy im specifying for the FIRST track. those are samples of energy, in terms of samples of actual instrumentalism ill provide the following links for sample:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=po9Tmjc1Mts this one is toppppp filthy, exactly this type of isolated, spaced out drumline. i dont like the kicklines too much but theres methods like stacking kicks and also lining up the kicks and snares at the same time and just EQ’ing them till it sounds like a proper ting but ill make sure we have at least 5-8 hours of zinged ass beautiful mastercrafting

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu1U_Imex0c this one is absolutely mythic, i dont give a fuck bro dont work with me unless you play this song ON GOOD QUALITY SHIT because the way the bass shudders is absolutely haunting, ive played this shit on the way to doing some real nasty shit, i used to rap myself the lyrics of this pacing around in my jail cell, this is absolutely thunderous shit and i want this + Showed Up to be the main basis of the first banger that im specifically requesting, showed up and no compadre are quite similar but i dont want nunna that piano shit this time round, pure bangers with a siren or cowbell punctuating the shit, check the next link for the type of high-pitched cowbell sound ting that im talking:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOxKj7nU2YA daddy mez knows and loves this song, we have rapped it word for word togther on conka before but the siren/alarm/morse code thing comes along at 0:15 seconds on Watch My Shoes and if we mix that with the Showed Up + Me No Compadre its gonna be absolute filth, we could even call it M0RSE C0DE FL0W because we see alotta 0′s you knowamsaaaaaayn *kanye sounds*

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NH5RqMACkf0 this is the showed up tings; one time i sat hotboxing a car with hnash and dmartin and dem and they said that i seem to flow offbeat, i specifically fucking twist my flows awry because of the way future manipulates his vocalizations on this track!!!! zero cap

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1z5ROg3AS4 the main synth-line on this one sees a lot of syncopations, its another one of the tracks that got me heavy into rapping and future absolutely floats on this type of swing, imagine how dangerous a fusion of the best aspects of all the above songs will be? thats my specs for the first one man, monday eve/tue eve we talk exact moneys xxxx

to conclude: lots of swing, dirty grime syncopation and please stick to these types of tempos, father figure is exactly the heavy swing of a banger that im into and these sound like grimed up leaned out versions of it so thats the specs for the FIRST one.

the second one, we can go in either direction with the three beats below, the second is proper filthy but as long as we have 2-4 beats im happy as fuck and ill squeeeaaaal if you and i can properly whip up a nasty grimer as i specc’d up there ^^^^^ i really wanna go absolute snap-level berzerk on at least one track. we will slaughter this and it will be a momentous fucking link of everything man. on monday we can talk exact numbers for payment but prolly 40% of it as deposit before we link then the 60% upon finish at the studio xxxxxxxxxxxx

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zc0euQZMGzA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkY83kvXARM

also the third and fourth ones just has such a gorgeous bassline for such an old wayne mixtape track you know whatim saying?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eguQcZCuFn0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmWMsNdTEAw

IN THE LAST ONE HE HAS A LINE THAT GOES:

me n my clique be in red like russia / i shit these rappers out and sometimes i forget to flush ya xxxxx 

lots of love man, if you and pharoah process this together and prep for them tue/wed/thur session then ill make it worth his time too <3 <3 lots of love from purp

[ghostcultmagazine]

Fvzz Popvli - Magna Fvzz

Rome trio Fvzz Popvli indulge in the somewhat metallic trend of using the letter v as a u, but given their Latin heritage, it’s relatively acceptable. Their music is an enjoyable romp through heavy, hostile Psychedelic haze, and second album Magna Fvzz (Heavy Psych Sounds) offers up black comedy, snarling attitudes and sinister twists in equal measure. Opener ‘Let It Die…’ sees a blistering riff and rumbling drums undercut by a distant, atonal shout from vocalist Francesco Pucci which tickles and terrifies in equal measure. Rumbling bass and some wonderfully emotive leadwork reminiscent of Robbie Krieger light up the path to the coda of this groove machine, and decorate the start of the ensuing, irresistible ‘Napoleon’. That dark holler is extremely effective, chilling and offsetting the heady warmth of the instrumentation. The tracks here are given a deliciously retro feel by a primitive, claustrophobic production which still manages to give a distant resonance to Pucci’s vocal. ‘The Deal’ is an Occult Blues rattle infused with a sneering Punk sensibility, while ‘Get Me’ begins in slower, minimalist fashion and carries the glorious feel of underproduced Indie recordings of the eighties. As the track builds, riff and lead guitar drill through the brain like an army of wasps. MAGNA FVZZ by Fvzz Popvli ‘Rvmpletum’ is dictated by Datio Palatio’s boneshaking bassline and a mysterious drumbeat, the filthy crawl howled over in the wounded, rebellious manner of PiL-era John Lydon. ‘Cherry Bowl’ oscillates through the cosmos on a real greaser of a low rider: the sound dirty, the “Wake up” refrain menacingly spat forth. The closing title track is something of an epic, the early movements carrying something of a Joy Division feel thanks largely to Palatio’s fluid bass and only lifted by some manic wah-wah effects. As electronic loops and weight come to the fore the looming, spectral sound counteracts the sporadic bluster, creating a swelling ebb and flow which finally explodes into a monolithic show of power. Magna Fvzz lacks a little of the gravitas usually required to make such albums true contenders but there’s something refreshing about it; a desire to express different influences and meld them into a startling, gripping whole. In doing so Fvzz Popvli have created an entertaining, absorbing set which deserves more than the odd revisit. 7.0/10.0 PAUL QUINN Read the full article

[purplehassan]

‘MESSING’ WIT YO MIND’ - 30 YEARS OF SIGN O’THE TIMES

Nobody made records as brilliant yet chart-courting quite like Prince. From the gloriously filthy record Dirty Mind to the first bits of serious experimentation in 1999 to the mega hit Purple Rain, Prince established himself as an artist whose eclectic appearance was matched by his music. After the underperforming film Under a Cherry Moon (which at least gave us the excellent album Parade), Prince split with the Revolution and went back to his old multi-instrumentalist ways. He also took the time to work on his lyrics, and the result exceeds even the masterpiece Purple Rain.

Prince's finest album can probably be explained by the circumstances surrounding its conception. Newly divorced from his backing band (The Revolution), the singer/composer recorded a monumental amount of material between 1986 and 1987 that was being earmarked for several different projects.  Eventually, he delivered to his then-record company, Warner Brothers, a 3-LP set entitled 'Crystal Ball', which Warners promptly rejected because of its commercial riskiness.  The compromise was a condensed, 2-LP version baring the title 'Sign O The Times'. The mix of styles is astonishing.  From the electronic beats of the title song to the funk of Housequake & Dorothy Parker. and that's just side 1. Prince never wrote a better rock song than I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man, and he adds a brilliant instrumental jam to end the whole thing. The soulful Forever In My Life is effective, but If I Was Your Girlfriend pairs a clever lyric to an almost trip hop beat to be one of Prince's best songs (if not the best). From the start you can tell that Prince stepped up his game. The title track begins with a simple drum machine beat and a funky bassline before Prince delivers the lines “In France a skinny man/Died of a big disease with a little name/By chance his girlfriend/came across a needle/And soon she did the same” And that’s not even all of the first verse. The song tackles AIDS, natural disasters, drugs, the Challenger explosion, and just a general feeling of impending doom. Of course, as with any non-conceptual double album, the songs are all over the place musically and lyrically, so don’t get too used to this new socially aware tone. While the album deals with a great deal of Prince’s mounting fear of the world around him, there are a number of good old pop songs. "Housequake" is a downright party funk tune, while "It" shows Prince hasn’t lost that marvelous innuendo of his. "I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man" shows off the guitar histrionics that defined tracks like “Purple Rain” and “When Doves Cry” and has such a lightweight yet still rocking feel that it wouldn’t have sounded too out of place on Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A.. If you find yourself missing the feel of Prince with a band, never fear, "It’s Gonna Be A Beautiful Night" is a live track featuring the Revolution before Prince parted ways with them. While the rest of the album has a very electronic feel, this is good old R&B/funk rave-up complete with deft crowd manipulation from the little genius. Near the end of the album, the darker tone of the opener seeps back in, starting with "Strange Relationship", which chronicles a dysfunctional relationship and how the couple struggles with wanting to leave and lingering memories of better times. "The Cross" presages the more religious themes of albums like The Rainbow Children. Here, Prince talks about how the dark times “will be taken by the cross.” While it might put off people who don’t want to be preached to, it is a starkly beautiful song that builds into a riffy and emotional plea and it’s one of the highlights on this perfect album. Things take a turn for the better at the end with "Adore", a tender love song with Prince’s best vocal performance. Effortlessly shifting between lustful dance tunes and dark musings and running the gamut of musical genres, Sign ‘O’ The Times shows the breadth of Prince’s talents and it’s the best argument to support the claim that he is a genius. It's the perfect mix of the one-man-band electronic funk of his early days and the raw emotion and soul of his recordings with the Revolution. It’s one of the precious few double albums that benefits from its haphazard, toss-in-everything-that-didn’t-make-other-albums nature. In short, it’s the Exile on Main St. of funk, a  disjointed watershed that was never bettered. Purple Rain might have the hits, but anyone who wants to hear intelligent yet still fun pop music desperately needs this album. If this record was borne out of Prince’s fear of an approaching apocalypse, the end of days never sounded so danceable.

[wobz4dayz-blog]

Start as you mean to go on! If you love some filthy BassLine you'll love this.