#going to be loading up the jimi hendrix after this

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Regardless of how many times Eddie has made a complete ass of himself, he’s never let himself be perceived as soft.

It was easier when he lived with his uncle — the boys would come over for game night, or to rehearse for their next gig, and they wouldn’t ask him uneasy questions.

Even after he came out about his relationship.

For them, he assumed, it was out of sight and out of mind. Eddie still had loads of free time to dedicate to his friends, so there wasn’t really much to address.

The first incident happened on the three month anniversary of when he got together with his partners, which of course happened to fall on a night he had a session of D&D to attend. His request to push the game back until the next day was denied profusely until he shrugged and through gritted teeth said, painfully, that he would just have to miss the game if they wanted to carry on with it so badly.

So the game got pushed back. And when Eddie showed up that next day, he was greeted with an intervention rather than snacks and beer.

Ever since then, after the handful of ignored calls and cancelled band practices that followed, he’s mostly been able to skirt by with his friends without issue.

Then he had to go and move in with his boyfriends like some lovesick loser, as Gareth had put it when he first found out.

Eddie’s enjoyed the freedom of having a newer, slightly larger living space. He likes not having to go home and sleep alone, or sneak into someone else’s bed just to have to sneak back out before dawn.

It makes him feel soft, which makes him feel pathetic.

Which is why his skin is crawling at the thought of hosting in the new place for the first time.

He makes sure the fridge is stocked with beer, that there’s an array of snacks to choose from on the counter, and he has a selection of rentals from Family Video lying on the coffee table.

None of that stops the air from going tense and heavy when his friends show up.

They’ve abstained from asking questions about his relationship thus far, but the temptation must grow impossible to ignore when they step into the house and see evidence that it’s real. That Eddie moved all of his shit into another place and he’s serious about it.

That it’s clearly not just hooking up or whatever like he’s been saying for forever.

It’s for real and there’s the faint beat of water against tile from somewhere at the back of the house, the only noise aside from the stagnant tension in the air.

Eddie bounces his leg restlessly, tapping the neck of his beer bottle with his index finger as he stares down at the untouched tapes on the coffee table. Anxiously waiting for the inevitable.

“Where’re your guitars?” Gareth asks, and then clears his throat. “Thought you’d have ‘em hanging up in here.”

“They’re in the bedroom.”

Gareth nods. He’s slouching on the sofa, arm draped over the back of it as he looks around.

“Who picked out the fugly carpet and matching curtains?”

Eddie purses his lips when Grant and Jeff both snicker.

“Steve, uh, likes flannel.”

“Are those your posters?” Grant asks.

“Those are Billy’s, actually.” Eddie glances over at the wall behind the tv, featuring everything from Dolly Parton to Jimi Hendrix, and he spreads a little smile. “Well, the ABBA poster is Steve’s, but we keep telling him it’s not a permanent addition.”

“Where are your posters at?” Grant asks.

Eddie looks at him, perched next to Gareth on the couch, and nods his head toward the back of the house.

“Bedroom.”

“Do you have anything of yours out here? Or is it all in the room?” Jeff asks.

The question sounds accusatory. Eddie almost winces at the word bedroom, like referring to it as the room reinforces the fact that he shares a bed.

He would give almost anything for that little bit of information to not be processed. Hell, he’d give anything for this conversation to be over and done with.

It would save him the embarrassment.

“I mean, most of my shit was out of my room at Wayne’s, so it doesn’t really fit with the rest of the—“

“Why don’t you have the guitars out here? Seems kind of impractical to have them in your bedroom,” Gareth interrupts. “Not enough room to jam.”

Eddie swipes his thumb in a circle around the rim of his beer.

“Not really enough wall space.”

Jeff blows a raspberry and chuckles. The mismatched armchair that he’s sitting in almost looks like it’s about to swallow him whole.

“There’s a fucking decorative skateboard rack on the wall, but you couldn’t put your guitars up?”

“Oh, those aren’t decorative, Billy skates. He’s actually pretty g—“

“Did they at least let you help pick out furniture or anything?”

“Yeah, this stuff doesn’t really seem like it’s your style,” Grant adds.

Quickly, the three of them are attaching their inputs and observations together like train cars, one after the other, and Eddie’s vision goes hazy as he tunes them out.

Thinly-veiled insults here, passive aggression there.

Vaguely, in the background, the water stops running. How Eddie can still pick that up, he has no idea, but he can feel his ears quirk when the blow dryer starts whirring. Then his head is turning when he hears footsteps.

The chatter stops immediately when a figure emerges from the bedroom.

Steve pads out with a towel around his waist, hair wet and slicked back, and makes a direct line for the kitchen counter. Ignores the eyes that are lingering on him as he pulls a drawer open and unearths a pack of smokes and a lighter.

When he shakes a cigarette out and hastily lights it, pulling the smoke into his lungs, his eyes flick up to meet several gazes. All but Eddie turn their heads away.

Steve huffs amusedly. Drops everything back into the drawer and shuts it, crossing the small distance into the living room.

Eddie laments the fact that the blow dryer is still audibly running — Billy and Steve obviously showered together, and it makes Eddie want to go lie down in the street. Even more so when Steve comes to stand beside the recliner and Eddie’s eyes linger on the droplets of water dripping down his chest.

“Thought you were havin’ movie night,” Steve says, cigarette pinched between his lips.

He combs his fingers loosely into Eddie’s hair, and the other brunet exhales a stiff sigh as he tilts his head back to rest against the top of the recliner.

“We are,” Eddie says. “Giving a metaphorical, verbal tour of the house.”

Steve hums. Blows smoke through his nose and smiles, and Eddie swears he can feel the warmth of it on his skin.

“Well, be careful if you take a literal tour. I don’t think I’ll be able to wrangle Bill back into clothes tonight.”

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth with his free hand and leans down to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead before he pulls away. It spurs a surge of unwelcome butterflies in the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

“‘Kay.”

Then Steve takes his leave, retreating back into the bedroom. Eddie’s gaze lingers on the cracked door, listening for the muffled sounds of arguing when Billy sees that his stash has been robbed. A little smile quirks at the corners of Eddie’s lips.

He almost forgets for a moment that he’s not at home with just his partners.

“What was that about?” Gareth asks.

Eddie returns his gaze to the sofa and quirks a brow.

“What was what about?”

“The way he came in here.”

A beat of silence passes. Eddie shrugs.

“I mean, we’re all guys, I didn’t think it was weird that he came out in a towel,” he says.

“No, the way he came in here to check on you. Right out of the shower, like he was jealous and couldn’t even bother to dry off first.”

Now, Eddie sputters out a laugh, but he sobers and clears his throat when all three of his friends fix him with nothing but serious expressions.

“Are you serious?” he asks.

“Seemed like he was trying to signal that he didn’t want us here, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Jeff adds. “Like, asking if it was movie night when he already knows? He was basically saying that if we don’t start a movie right away, we might as well leave.”

“Textbook manipulation,” Grant says.

Eddie can’t help that he laughs.

“Holy shit, is there a gas leak in here or something? What the fuck are you guys talking about?”

The three of them all exchange glances, and suddenly, he’s at that bullshit intervention again.

“First,” Gareth begins. Glances over his shoulder to ensure that no one else is listening before he turns back to Eddie, lowering his voice. “They don’t let you put any of your stuff up, and now they can’t even let you be alone with your friends for half an hour before one of them interrupts? How do you not see what they’re up to?”

“Yeah, Eddie, you need to remember your roots. We always hated people like them,” Grant says.

“Them?” Eddie huffs.

“Preps,” Jeff says. “And once a prep, always a prep. They’ll choose each other over the freak every time.”

While Eddie is stared at expectantly, he simply breathes. In and out. In and out. Listens to his blood running in the shells of his ears, like the distant sound of the ocean.

Thinks about how this is so much worse than it was last time, and he swears he can see himself in the third person, sitting in the recliner.

Each second that passes is two seconds lost.

“Did you guys, like, rehearse this before you came over?” he muses, though there’s no humor in his voice. “I mean, what the fuck are you even saying to me right now? That because the shit from my high school bedroom isn’t plastered all over the walls, and Steve gave me a kiss, that I’m in some kind of toxic environment? Do none of you realize how insane that sounds?”

“Dude, you’ve been calling whatever this is a fling and shit for the past like six months!”

Eddie shakes his head and tsks, sitting up and moving to the edge of his seat. About to say fuck it and kick them all out the front door.

“You just seem like you’re rushing in, and we don’t want you to get hurt,” Jeff says.

“Yeah,” Grant adds. “We’re telling you this because we care, man.”

Almost as if it’s by the flick of a switch, Eddie zaps back into his body, and he grits his teeth. Shoots up out of his seat and furrows his brows, veins fixing to pop if he so much as breathes too deep.

“Ever think that maybe I’ve been taking it seriously the whole time? Maybe I just didn’t talk about it in front of you guys because I didn’t want to get made fun of?” Eddie confesses. “I really… I really like my boys. I love them. I love waking up and getting to have morning cuddles with Billy while Steve makes pancakes, and I love the way our place is decorated. Maybe it says something about you guys that my fucking safe haven is with the preps, when you’re supposed to be my people.”

Eddie heaves a sigh once he’s done and sweeps a hand over his face, suddenly so drained that he isn’t sure how many counts he stares at the carpet for. Limbs shaking, heart thundering like he just ran ten miles.

When he looks up, all he sees are ghost-white faces staring back up at him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spies figures in the doorway of the bedroom.

He looks over, immediately flushing red.

Steve stands there in an ugly pair of plaid pajama pants, and Billy is behind him, shrouded in a white robe with the letter E embroidered on the collar.

Earlier, Eddie might’ve blown a fuse over the small detail, worried about how it implies that they share clothes, or worse, that they have three matching bathrobes with their initials on them. Right now, he couldn’t give less of a shit.

Not when both of them are looking at him with glassy eyes.

He stares, dumbfounded by what he just said for a long, long moment. Unsure if he’s sleeping on the couch tonight or if he’s getting the ride of his life once it’s lights out.

“Did you just say that you love us?” Steve rasps.

His chin trembles, and from behind him, Billy chuckles as he sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I did,” Eddie says.

Steve clears his throat and nods.

“I love you too,” he manages.

The tension relaxes out of Eddie’s shoulders, and he smiles as he sets his half-empty beer down on the coffee table.

“It’s okay, baby, you don’t have to pretend to be all stoic about it,” he says with a chuckle. “C’mere.”

Steve immediately crosses the room and moves into a hug when Eddie opens his arms around him, moisture overflowing his red-rimmed eyes. Steve is warm, and he smells fresh. Like clean laundry and sandalwood. Eddie holds him tighter and tucks his face into the bend where his shoulder meets his neck.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them. Eddie kisses his skin, and with every press, he hopes Steve hears the silent I’m sorry I waited so long that accompanies it.

Then Eddie rests his chin on his partner’s shoulder and sighs. Shifts his gaze to where Billy meanders into the room and stops behind the sofa, leaning his elbows against the back of it.

Suddenly, Eddie remembers that they aren’t alone, and the tension in the rest of the room is almost tangible outside of the little bubble he’s in.

Gareth, seated right in front of where Billy leans, is frozen in his seat. Doesn’t move, even when the blond reaches an arm down to touch the label of his vest and examine the closest pin.

Because even in the poofy white robe, with his curls fresh and fluffy, Billy breathes intimidation.

“I know about everything,” he says softly. Flicks playfully at the pin before he pulls his hand away, folding his arms and resting his chin atop them. Conversational. “If you keep it up, Corroded Coffin will be disbanded, and you’ll lose your dungeon master. Stevie advocates for Edd to hang out with you guys constantly, but I don’t fucking like you, and I don’t want you in my house if you’re gonna spew nothin’ but nonsense.”

Gareth, eyes wide, looks to Eddie. A silent plea for help, or for backup of any kind.

Eddie simply raises his eyebrows, hands smoothing over Steve’s back.

“If you don’t want me in your house… then why am I here?” Gareth asks.

“Because I ignored my gut even though I smelled bullshit, hoping to be proven wrong. Back talk me again and I’ll beat your skinny ass.” Billy chews his lip, mulling something over in silence for a moment. “Movie night’s cancelled.”

Steve sniffles and leans away from Eddie, his eyes mostly dry as he turns and fixes the blond with a tired look.

“Bill.”

When Billy simply holds up a finger, Steve rolls his eyes.

“And go ahead and give me twenty push-ups.”

“What?” Grant asks, looking to Eddie. “He’s joking, right?”

Eddie shrugs. Laces his arms around Steve’s waist from behind and leans into him, nosing fondly at his freshly-dried hair.

“I don’t personally know him to be funny.”

Billy chuckles at that.

“Drop and give me twenty or I drop you off in the middle of the woods naked, how ‘bout that?” he lilts. There’s a brief second of anticipation before Gareth decidedly slides out of his seat, and the others do the same. Billy hums in approval as they all get on all fours and assume the position. “No girl pushups, either, knees off the ground. And I’m gonna need an out-loud count.”

Gareth lowers his chest to the ground, arms already beginning to shake as he manages a strangled, “One…”

Jeff and Grant echo him. Billy pushes himself up away from the sofa and rounds the side of it, coming to stand beside the couple.

“Two…”

“I love you too, by the way,” Billy murmurs. Reaches up to brush his knuckles lightly against Eddie’s cheek before he leans in to meet him in a quick kiss. “Missed you in the shower.”

Eddie chuckles.

“Three…”

“It’s too cramped for all three of us in there.”

“Don’t care.”

Billy tilts into another kiss, his thumb tracing the cut of Eddie’s jaw all the while.

“I’m glad you like the way our place is decorated,” Steve says. “Dustin and Rob gave me so much shit when they came to help set stuff up.”

“Four…”

“I like the curtains and the rug… reminds me of sneaking into your old room,” Eddie says.

“That fucking wallpaper used to give me headaches, I’d only fuck in there if it was dark,” Billy snickers.

The three of them share a laugh. Then, Billy glances down at the floor and purses his lips when there’s silence.

“They made it to four,” Steve whispers.

“Just four? Pity.” Billy claps his hands together a few times. “Up, ladies, let’s go.”

The three boys on the floor push themselves up, faces flushed red. Gareth brings a hand up to his chest and rubs near his shoulder, walking warily toward the front door when Billy steps over to it and grabs the handle.

“Are you… are you really gonna take us to the woods naked?” he wonders.

Billy makes a face, like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and pulls the door open.

“No, man, just go home. Get naked there if you want, I don’t care.”

At the words, Gareth and the others look confused, but they file outside anyway. Then Billy shuts the door behind them and locks the deadbolt before he sighs.

“You’re so mean,” Steve murmurs.

“I like assertive better,” Billy says. Closes in behind Eddie and sandwiches him between his partners, hands moving around their waists and pulling them back against him. “Plus, I wasn’t really gonna kick any of their asses. Unless you wanted me to.”

The last part is murmured softly into Eddie’s ear, and he gets goosebumps.

“Got the job done,” Eddie sighs. “I feel like I just came out for the first time again.”

“Give it a couple weeks, they’ll wanna come back again when they’ve had time to think about the stuff you said,” Steve reassures.

Eddie snorts.

“Maybe if we put Billy down for a nap before they come over.”

“Hey, I’m so nice until you upset one of my boys. Then I turn into Queen Bitch, and I go for the throat,” Billy huffs. Sets his chin in the crook of Eddie’s neck and pouts. “Also, fuck you, I’m funny.”

The brunet hums at that and tilts their heads together.

“I was kidding.”

“And I’m not a prep. If anything, it’d be me and you against him.”

Steve scoffs, and Eddie snickers.

“Hey, it’s us against the world, alright? Me and my lovers,” Eddie lilts.

He pinches softly at Steve’s sides, causing the other brunet to squirm away and pry himself free. Steve shakes his head amusedly and sits down on the sofa, grabbing one of the movies from the little stack and examining it.

Eddie leans further against Billy and smiles when big arms encase him.

“‘M sorry your movie night was a bust,” Billy murmurs.

“We can still watch something if you want,” Steve offers.

Big brown eyes gaze up at him, and Eddie chews his lip. Doesn’t push down the butterflies that start to swirl around in his tummy.

“Take your pic, princess.”

[theprisonerandthebeast]

Headcanon list for wolfstar on vacation,

Can be sfw or nsfw

thank you for requesting, anon! i hope you are having an awesome day :)

- The car ride there Remus drives and lets Sirius play music. He plays Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie, Blue Öyster Cult & ABBA.

- If they are at the beach, Remus definitely gets self-conscious about his scars & Sirius has to reassure him that nobody is looking and he looks great.

- Sirius wants to learn to surf, parasail, swim with the sharks, eat fancy dinners, & take sexy pictures. Remus wants to read a book in a different place other than their couch and make a sexy mess of the hotel bed.

- They compromise by having a "Remus day" and a "Sirius day". On either of their respective days, the word "no" is not allowed to be uttered by their partner.

- On "Sirius day" he wakes up Remus at 6am to work out with him in the hotel gym. He also makes him build sandcastles, go to a drive-in, and eat a rich dinner with a nice bottle of wine.

- Sirius takes FULL advantage of this situation because Remus always tells him "no". He asks him to take out the trash, get him water a million times, unlimited kisses. He asks him for everything.

- On "Remus day", he makes Sirius read a few chapters with him in bed. After that, they go to a small cafe for tea. They visit a local history museum with details all about the city they're vacationing. At night, they have wild, romantic sex, order Chinese takeout, shower together & fall asleep skin-to-skin.

- Sirius lovessss the hotel pool. Remus loves "reading a book" while Sirius does laps. He's actually watching how the water glistens off Sirius' back and arms while he attempts to tan.

- Remus only drinks the complimentary coffee in the mornings while Sirius stacks two plates of food upstairs to eat in bed.

- Actually, Sirius makes Remus carry the food upstairs so he can stay in bed a little extra.

- Months after the vacation, Sirius prints loads of pictures out for Remus so they can always look back fondly on their little trip.

[ginsengkitten]

༺ Beautiful Dangerous ༻

༺☆༻

Chapter Fourteen

Lingering Strays

The razor clinked against the glass hand mirror on your vanity. You put your nose to the edge of the white powdery line and inhale it swiftly. Coke didn't burn you anymore. It was a pre show routine for all the dancers at Sparkplug. And non dancers.

You take one last good stare at your reflection. From the outside-it's almost impossible to tell that a girl as beautiful as you was hurting inside. In the most glamorous state of your life- No one suspected at thing and that's why you were so good at your job. It was a known fact that you were the prettiest dancer at Sparkplug. You had become a household name in recent years, earning yourself your own special number. People came for the main ensembles but they stayed for you specifically. Selling out night after night every weekend. The club was all you had, and you put your heart and soul into it.

-

The microphone whispered feedback into the room as the previous dancers made their exit. Dee took her usual catwalk up the stage with mic in hand. Cheers sprouted through the room. Dee addressed the crowd. "I know y'all wish you could see me up here one of these nights but let me tell you yall ain't that lucky." She bantered to the crowd who endearingly gave her a chuckle. She stood luxuriously above everyone in her signature gaudy silk and lace robes and cigarette in her fingers.

Dee gave a slow waltz around the stage as the room came to a quiet. "But lemme tell yall something.."

"You might just be lucky enough tonight.. - "

a lone wolf gives out a hoot of excitement. Dee grins and continues her monologue.

"Now we here at Sparkplug take pride in taking in the stray animals. The loners. The wanderers. The wounded..and you know me I just have a soft spot for these poor creatures. Can't help myself-they're just too cute.

Many of you may know of our special rescue. A sly little fox from back east...

Ladies and Gentlemen I want y'all to give a very warm welcome to Sparkplugs favorite little stray-

FOXEY!"

.

Slash looked up from his whiskey glass. The name echoed out as the room erupted into excitement and cheers. a silly coincidence, he brushed off to himself as he intended to return to his drink, when suddenly a familiar guitar tune flooded through the room on the sound system. He knew this one by heart.

Foxey Lady by Jimi Hendrix.

Stage lights flashed on and an array of decorative flair stylized the stage. Slash leaned forward in his seat, his attention now captured as a slender, sparkling woman took the stage and strutted confidently and sultrily down the catwalk to greet the audience. The woman flashed a gorgeous and big smile. Slashes heart sped up in an instant. He questioned if he was seeing things. Is that .....her?

His label manager nudged him playfully, "get a load of this babe! Been hearing about it her for weeks now. Most beautiful girl in the whole state. I see what they mean, right?" He chuckled dumbly and didn't focus much to see if slash responded to his remarks. Slash stayed stunned as his eyes glued to the woman. It was you. It was his girl.

He couldn't help but agree with his label manager however. It was painfully obvious how much you had grown and evolved. Into this decadent form of all woman. And the song, does she still go by Foxey? He thought. All parts of him were on fire with emotion and questions. You danced across the stage in a perfect choreography of sexual energy. Your hips swayed to the music as you returned to center stage on the catwalk and began mouthing the lyrics to the hungry audience, who was going rampant at this display. The crowd went crazy for you.

"You know you're a cute little heartbreaker"

"You know you're a sweet little - love maker!"

The crowd ebbed with excitement. You relished the attention and warmth of the crowd. You loved the adoration and admiration you got. You winked at regulars and gyrated your body enticingly towards them all. Hoots and whistles poured through the audience.

Slash watched from the back side of the room from a dark booth. He dared not to blink. His body was unraveling in itself. He couldn't believe his eyes.

You unknowingly continued to dazzle the crowd . Bumped off a line of coke and the energy in the room, you flaunted and taunted and twisted and teased. The crowd was incorrigible. With a heavy layer of lust, came an equal layer of admiration and respect. Loyal visitors paying their dues to their most beloved dancer. The number sizzled to a close with yet more roaring applause. You flashed another smile and blew a kiss out into the crowd. Catching eyes with an old regular in the back as you gave him a flirtatious wink, but your eyes catch someone else just adjacent to his table. You freeze for a moment and your stomach drops. Shuttered in a dark corner of the room your eyes met those staring back of the one person you thought you’d never see again.

Slash.

-

The dressing room door slams closed and you lean yourself up against it to catch your breath. The other girls on the room notice your abnormal entrance.

“That good huh?” Clara jokes as she fixed her hair.

You can’t reply, or speak. Your body felt hot- hotter than it did after a dance. You quickly shed your frilly costume down to your lace undergarments. A different girl named lou takes note of your state and drapes your silk robe around you. Clara comes up to you and lovingly holds your hand, a concerned look on her face now. “What’s gotten into you girl? You mess up a move or somethin out there?”

You share blankly through her.

Clara takes her cigarette out of her mouth and lays it on an ash tray. “Alright alright enough of this come on now” Clara and lou usher you to your chair and sit you down. “Now you just sit here and cool down alright? What happened out there?”

You want to speak but words fail you. Where to even begin explaining this? Explaining- Him? Before you can address it, the door swings open and Dee files through in her mighty boss like strut. She approached you and gave you a light squeeze, too busy with management duties to fully realize your state of being. “Perfect as usual doll! You killed it!” She shouts out excitedly as she lights a long armed cigarette in her fingers.

“Thanks, I-“ you begin

Dee looks you up and down. “Oh girl you can’t be undressed already! Not tonight baby I just got a special request for a private VIP dance for you. Go on and get yourself prettied up now, ion need them waitin too long you hear?” She instructed. “It’s gonna be good money.” She gives you a wink that usually- you would be delighted to witness. But you now had barely any time to process your thoughts, let alone what just happened. Were you imagining him there? Just like all the other times? You admit it’s been a long time since you imagined him anywhere. His presence used to surprise you at times and you’d have to shake your head to ward him off like some evil spirit.

“You look like you seen a ghost.” Dee says.

“Well sort of….” You utter.

[kibasniper]

Trick or treat!

well, what a lovely trick or treater! a gift of dion/gisu is under the cut for you!

Away from the hustle and bustle of the corridors strewn with streamers and cobwebs, Gisu finds herself nestled in the comforts of a cozy den. The orange and brown lights are considerably brighter, evoking the spirit of autumn. As much as she likes verbosity, it’s pleasant to get away from the throng of tight-knit bodies either standing where she wants to go or dancing by the Whispering Rockers, who are currently in the middle of their next round of spooky, scary synths. 

She leans into the wall, surrounded by inflatable decorations. Cartoonish skeletons and werewolves are a bit of a cry away from the dense cluster of costumed partygoers. Cooling down from a solid half hour of grooving, other guests lounging in armchairs and loveseats around them, she knocks back her drink and sighs from the dry, fruity tang of her punch.

Next to air, Dion stretches and yawns. He’s been out later than originally expected. She knows he has to run a tight ship with the circus, always on the move, always perfecting his personal performances. But as it’s once in a blue moon, Dion has taken a load off his tense shoulders, allowing himself a night revelry with an old flame, who smirks as she leans into the crook of his arm.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, peering up at him through her round, yellow goggles.

Out of the corner of her eye, near the door, people jerk aside. Footsteps stomp and hurry passed the den. Gisu catches glimpses of a plastic, revving chainsaw held high in the air, and close behind, so close that his hand could have snatched the back of Bobby’s smock, is Raz with a wild grin. She guesses it’s another one of their moments and decides it’s in her best interest to ignore them, as many others seem to share her sentiment, returning to their conversations as if they hadn’t blown up the stairs.

Dion clicks his tongue. “Well, that was my brother running after some crazy guy in a mask, so I’d say this night’s going pretty good.” Gisu snorts as Dion takes a long, slow sip from his red Solo cup. The party is still in full swing. From the living room a hallway and half over, she hears the grinding, hardly dulcet notes of a haunted mixtape. Quentin, looking like he had waltzed out of medieval times, had declared he was bringing on his scariest beats, and Phoebe had rolled her eyes, dressed as the king of guitar riffs himself, Jimi Hendrix, but Gisu discerned the amused glint twinkling as they played. 

She rolls her shoulders, hearing her spine crack. Adorned in a sleek, puffy, white lab coat, heavy boots, and oversized goggles, she’d fit right in with the best of mad scientists. Her hair is extra frizzy, playing up her image, and if any nearby balloons wanted to be comfortable in her locks, then they would undoubtedly stick.

Dion snapped his fingers, gasping quietly. “Oh, hey, you know who you vaguely look like?” “Shoot.”

“Like a villainous cross between that dentist guy who tried to steal Raz’s brain and your old-timer boss.”

She pauses, murmuring the names under her breath. Dion has made quite the claim, considering he’s dressed in his usual daywear. Fancy, patterned silks are woven into his stitched acrobatic tumbling suit. He had stated it was his favorite outfit to wear on any occasion, and somehow, it perfectly blends in with the array of Halloween delights.

As for herself, she tugs at her coat. She supposes it’s reminiscent of Otto’s favorite coat, but she can’t discern the influence from Dr. Loboto. When Dion taps the side of his face, Gisu blinks, taken aback by the assertion that her goggles are anything like his optical lenses. Yanking them off her head, she twists the strap around her wrist, hums, and quickly throws them back on.

“Sure, sure, I’ll let you have that in the spirit of the holiday.” She finishes her drink and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She snickers when Dion plainly misses, the cup bouncing off the rim and skittering in a circle near a leftover plastic pumpkin full of wrapped candies. “Heh! You know, it’s like we can’t get away from our day jobs, but I know I pulled off the mad scientist look way better than Kitty.” He recovers quickly, throwing out a hand. “Yeah! Who wears a damn bedazzled top hat when you’re trying to be Victor Frankenstein?” “Exactly,” she drawls, and her gaze lowers, focusing on the pumpkin. The storebrand candies were free for everyone. Although the name of the homeowner completely escaped Gisu, they were generous enough to supply everyone with exactly what they needed, whether it was candy or alcohol. It was like they were operating their own trick or treating within the comforts of their home.

But Gisu wasn’t in the mood for more punch. She levitated a few candies into her palm, springing a question onto Dion. “Hey, think people will still give us candy?” “At our age?” He huffs a short laugh. “No way. That works for Tala, but not for me. Parents aren’t that willing to fork over chocolate to a guy with a full beard.” “Can’t hurt to try! Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Gisu winks, linking her arm through the exposed space between Dion’s chest and his arm. Bringing him closer, she raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “It’ll be worth your while. What do you say?”

Heat colors Dion’s cheeks. It’s a pleasant hue, one a vampire would have enjoyed. If she had a second choice for an outfit, in the moment, Dracula is preferable.

Dion’s grin tugs upward. His eyes crinkle. His confidence is palpable as he agrees, slipping his hand to clutch her hand. And as their fingers lace, departing for the outside, Gisu curls into his broad shoulder, noting that he smells faintly of cotton candy and cologne.

[jellostories]

AJ the Very Whimsical, Ch. 24: Rock Your Socks Off

To my parents

~~~~

Today, AJ and Twist had hopped on their bikes and ridden three blocks down to their local record store, Wrockout Records.

The store was filled with metal shelves containing cassette tapes from every music artist you could think of, from Green Day to KoRn to The Beatles to Uncle Kracker. The walls were decorated rather nicely, too: guitars, gold records, posters of famous musicians like Michael Jackson and Jimi Hendrix -- this place had everything!

"Ooh, la-la~!" AJ breathed as she and Twist walked down the acid rock aisle. "Zey've decorated zis place like an actual music store! I mean, sure, eet leeterally eez a music store, but--"

Twist rolled her eyes and started combing through the tapes on the bottom shelf of the aisle while Twist continued yammering on and on about the store's decor. The girls' parents had given them 30 minutes to find what they were looking for and Twist was determined to make sure they didn't leave empty-handed.

Luckily, after 15 seconds of searching, Twist gasped as her eyes fell upon a truly valuable treasure: a cassette tape with a red sticker, four crudely drawn tires, and the words "FULLY LOADED" on the side-label.

"AJ," Twist tugged on her friend's skirt to get her attention, "look at this: I found the mother lode!"

AJ crouched down and dropped her jaw in awe at Twist's discovery.

"C-Can eet really be...?" the French girl breathed.

Gently, reverently, Twist picked up the tape and turned it to the front.

Surely enough, the front cover was a picture of a fuel can in front of a flaming junkyard, with the words "RED CEMENT: FULLY LOADED" written in bold, blood-red text. A yellow "13+" sticker had been placed right next to this text, but Twist paid it no mind, thinking it was just the price tag or something. 

"It is!" the scar-cheeked girl exclaimed, her hands shaking with excitement. "It's Red Cement's latest album, in all its glory!"

The girls jumped up and went into full-on fangirl mode, squealing and stamping their feet.

"Eet's ours, Tweesty!" AJ proclaimed, spreading her arms out emphatically. Her stretched-out sleeves hung from her hands like limp sausages. "Eet's all ours, and eet only costs us $13+$0!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but let's go buy it!"

The girls ran up to the counter and placed Fully Loaded on the counter for purchase.

"Just zis today, si'l vous plait, monsieur," AJ declared enthusiastically to the brown-bearded cashier.

The cashier picked up the tape and gave it a once-over.

"No," he said bluntly.

The girls felt like the bearded man had just thrown ice-cold water in their faces. Twist's jaw dropped about seven inches below her chin. This must've been what her parents had meant when they told her about "stranger danger": strangers were crooks!

AJ began sputtering confused nonsense until she finally managed to stumble out: "I -- non -- what -- moi -- what do you mean, monsieur!?"

"I mean, I can't sell you this album," the cashier answered, sounding bored and weary.

"Why not!?" both girls exclaimed.

The cashier leaned over the counter, picking the cassette tape up and pointing to the yellow 13+ sticker on the front cover.

"The Music Rating Board won't let us sell any tapes or vinyl records with a yellow sticker on them to any child under the age of 13 without their parents' written permission," explained the cashier. "And, by the looks of you two, I'd say you're about seven, so you've got about...six years to go before you can buy a 13+ album unsupervised."

Twist burned beet-red and looked like she wanted to clock* the man, but was restraining herself from doing so.

AJ, on the other hand, was more outspoken with her outrage: she let out an offended scoff ("Le tch!") and got on her tippy-toes so she was eye-level with the cashier.

"Excusez-vous, Monsieur Cashier," the silly girl said, putting on her best (and rather comical-looking) "confrontational" face, "but I'll 'ave you know we are eight-going-on-nine, and are both very 'matchure' for our age. Our teacher sat on a Whoopee cushion last week, and I only laughed for five minutes. And Tweesty 'ere likes ze monster truck rallies and ze Smi--"

"Mmeep!" Her face burning brighter than a Washington Red apple now, Twist leaned over and cupped her hand over AJ’s mouth. The less people who knew Twist still liked Smiley Bears, the better.

The bearded cashier nodded at the girls like he knew what to do, then he pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and pressed the "TALK" button. Twist slowly removed her hand from AJ's mouth as both children eyed the man with confusion and curiosity.

"Security, we have a Code: Orange," the cashier said into the walkie. "I repeat: security, we have a Code: Orange."

"'Code: Orange'?" AJ muttered as the sound of a door opening and closing came from the store's backroom. "What ze cauliflower does zat mean?"

The silly girl didn't have to wonder for very long; mere seconds later, a burly security guard had shown up at the front counter and picked the children up by their collars, not unlike a farmer picking up one of their bunnies.

"'Ey!" AJ protested, squirming like the energetic girl she was. "What geeves, Monsieur Beeg Guy? Deedn't your mommy ever tell you eet's not nice to man'andle ze girlies? You should be learned 'ow to act like a proper gentleboy, oui?"

Twist burst into tears and swiped an entire pile of tapes off the counter in a sudden tantrum.

The cashier threw up his arms in exasperation and yelled: "Aw, corn nuggets!" 

And when Twist threw a $5 bill in his face: “Ah! Paper cut!”

AJ gasped in shock as the security guard threw her and Twist out the front door of the shop and changed the "OPEN" sign to "OPEN TO ALL BUT 2".

Meanwhile, Twist started digging in AJ's shoulder bag.

"What a couple of rude boys!" the silly girl declared rather haughtily. "Why, I 'ave 'alf a mind of calling zeir mommies and telling zem to -- Tweesty, what are you doing?"

Twist looked up at AJ with her hand still in her shoulder bag.

"I'm looking for your cassette-player so we can--" Twist began.

Once the scar-cheeked girl said the words "cassette-player", however, the tape in Twist's other hand exploded, literally blowing the girls' socks off.

"Heeheehaha!" AJ laughed. "'Ey! 'Ey, Tweesty! Eet rocked our--"

"Don't say it," Twist said in a blank, super-annoyed voice.   

Footnotes

*: To hit or punch someone.

[greensparty]

Album Review: Brian May and Friends “Star Fleet Sessions”

As the guitarist for Queen, Brian May gets loads of respect. It’s hard to be noticed in a band where the singer is Freddie Mercury, one of the greatest singers ever. I got into Queen as a teen. The band’s albums A Night at the Opera and A Day at the Races are classics. The band went beyond genres and labels. They were bigger than the sum of their parts, each member being a virtuoso musician,even if it was Freddie Mercury’s voice in the spotlight on some songs! But just listen to the guitar solo on “Bohemian Rhapsody” or “Tie Your Mother Down” and you can hear the musical genius in May. But May’s solo work is highly underrated. He released some solo albums in the 90s after Mercury’s death. But prior to that in 1983, he recorded a solo EP Star Fleet Project that is getting the 40th anniversary treatment this week.

album cover

In 1983, during some down time with Queen, May brought in various friends to record a new solo project: drummer Alan Grantzer (of REO Speedwagon at the time), bassist Phil Chen (1946-2021, known for his work with Jeff Beck), keyboardist Fred Mandel (Alice Cooper) and of course guitarist Eddie Van Halen (1955-2020, the guitar legend of Van Halen). I can not overstate how exciting it is to unearth a long lost album where two guitar virtuosos played together. EVH and Brian May - WOW! The original EP was a 3-track EP released in October 1983. The new anniversary edition is a 2-CD set that also includes some live tracks May did at a concert in 1993, some radio interviews, and various takes and versions of the songs.

May and friends in 1983

The original EP is an absolute buried treasure. So cool to hear May and his friends rock out to these sci-fi laced rockers. But the alternate takes become For Fans Only after a while. When you hear alternate takes on, say for example, anniversary sets by The Beatles or Jimi Hendrix - the listener knows the iconic songs and hearing the alternate take is shedding new light on the songs. Here - it’s alternate takes of songs I (and many more) are just hearing for the first time now. So it’s a different experience. Some of this is cool and guitar geeks are going to eat this up. But I think it might’ve been a stronger album if they had combined the EP with another May solo album. But EVH fans are sure to devour this album. Glad to see it’s being brought back!

For info on Brian May: https://brianmay.com/

Original EP: 4 out of 5 stars

40th Anniversary Edition: 3 out of 5 stars

[starblaster]

whenever i’m the mood, i load up pink floyd’s the wall on spotify and i always think it’s really cool that the song-popularity-meter on the righthand side (on desktop spotify) is pretty equal across every track. like, that tells me a majority of the people who listened to music from this album listened to the entire thing, probably in a linear fashion from beginning to end, and idk why but i find that really sweet

[timefadesaway]

Hi! I love and 100% agree with your post about albums/Album Era. I even expressed the same sentiment in discussion with my gf a few weeks ago. I absolutely adore just laying back and playing an album from start to finish uninterrupted, really engaging with it and letting it wash over me.

Anyway! I wanted to ask if you could list your favorite albums (organized in any way you wish, by decade or by genre, whatever etc) and maybe if you have the interest/time maybe a blurb about why you love the album?

thank you so much ! Oh and I hope you a great day! :)

hi!! thank you so much!! i agree - it's so nice to just... actually take the time with music these days when it's so easy to let things pass you by or listen passively. i listen to music most of the time so i know sometimes it can just be background noise, but i do really love sitting down and engaging with it properly.

i'd love to!! i'll pop them under a read more because i'm pretty sure i'll start and won't stop lol. hope you have a great day too!!

okay so i’ve been doing the 1001 albums thing chronologically and i’m up to about 1970 right now so this’ll be very 60s-loaded i think but i’ll pull some of my favourites from after that as well!! i’ll do it by decade (even if the other ones i say by an artist might b outside that) :) i’ll write a little blurb for some just if i do for all i think it’ll get too long to post!

pre-1960

billie holiday - lady in satin. also really enjoy an evening with billie holiday!

miles davis - kind of blue. also bitches brew

1960s

bob dylan - the freewheelin’ bob dylan: i loveeee early 60s american folk music so i mean. yeah. i think it’s really well-rounded album in terms of the songs and i just really like all of them! also: highway 61 revisited and blood on the tracks

sam cooke - live at the harlem square club: this album knocked me out the first time i listened to it. the mood in that room is chilling they LOVE him and it’s brilliant. just so involving it’s one of the albums i’ll recommend to anyone i just think it’s phenomenal

otis redding - otis blue: so so so good!! im a big fan of his stones cover :)

the beatles - rubber soul: unfortunately i enjoy like all their albums but this might be the only one i’d pick as a favourite generally? i mean maybe not i do love a couple of others lotsss but my beatles album thoughts are for another time haha

beach boys - pet sounds. because it’s pet sounds <3 also surf’s up

vashti bunyan - just another diamond day

nina simone - wild is the wind: phenomenal album maybe her best in my opinion!! she’s so so brilliant every song she sings even if she didnt write it feels like her own. amazing :) also: here comes the sun

buffalo springfield again: i love buffalo soooo much this i just think is my favourite of their’s :) i just love their sound i love neil young and stephen stills and um. the other guys. all of their albums are brilliant and there r only three and i’d pick them all 🧡

norma tanega - walking my cat named dog

tim buckley - goodbye and hello: one of my go-tos vinyl wise... i just love it. i know he’s not obscure but i still feel like he’s underrated. i like feeling like im at the renaissance faire for half the album and feeling insane for the rest of it

love - forever changes

the moody blues - days of future passed

the velvet underground and nico (self-titled). also velvet underground (self-titled but minus nico lol)

leonard cohen - songs of leonard cohen: adoreeee leonard cohen his lyrics are so phenomenal and i think his melodies are wonderful and rlly understated. my favourite is either this, songs from a room or new skin for the old ceremony!

the kinks - the kinks are the village green preservation society: it’s great :) just such a fun album i really enjoy it. this and arthur by them!! that one i think is rlly well-rounded and i enjoy that it has a plot kinda

jimi hendrix - electric ladyland

simon & garfunkel - bookends. WONDERFUL album. like it feels like such a complete work of art to me. plus i cry at america always. also bridge over troubled water <3

the zombies - odessey and oracle

led zeppelin - led zeppelin i, led zeppelin iv

fairport convention - unhalfbricking: i’m english, like folk music and grew up in the countryside i kinda have to pick them. this is a great album i adoreee sandy denny

king crimson - in the court of the crimson king

frank zappa - hot rats

1970s

GEORGE HARRISON - ALL THINGS MUST PASS: i could write an essay on how much i love it. but i will not. i just think it’s a brilliant set of songs i love that he brought together a triple album and i think it’s such a showcase of his talent. awesome. plus i have the boxset so i love getting use out of it lol

crosby stills nash and young - deja vu: spectacular wonderful beautiful harmonies great set of songs love it to bits. also crosby stills and nash debut

nick drake - bryter layter, pink moon: he was so brilliant. both really beautiful in their own ways but i think pink moon is more cohesive. both phenomenal and i adore the instrumental moments in BL

paul mccartney - ram: aged great well done paul. the only solo album of his i really love sorry mccartneyheads. anyway such a fun album and yeah. indie pop

funkadelic - maggot brain

neil young - harvest, after the gold rush, everybody knows this is nowhere... and many more <3 i love his voice i love his writing

graham nash - songs for beginners

bruce springsteen - darkness on the edge of town. easily my favourite of his even if i dont think it’s his BEST but i do think it’s wonderful. i love to be emotional and listen to him i just sit there and absorb. also born to run and born in the usa and nebraska are probably my MAIN favourites of his

fleetwood mac - rumours

joni mitchell - blue, ladies of the canyon, song to a seagull. 

wings - band on the run

yusuf/cat stevens - tea for the tillerman

carole king - tapestry

steely dan - can’t buy a thrill: love to sit and chill with the sun out to this 👍 

david bowie - hunky dory. not the biggest bowie fan in the world but i do love this one!! i think it’s a really good album in my favourite time period of his. also the rise and fall of ziggy stardust

queen - queen ii. i think it’s a really interesting complete work for them and the songs are really good and not overplayed especially so i love it a lot!! i am partial to night at the opera, day at the races, sheer heart attack and news of the world though lol

marvin gaye - what’s going on. i think there’s a case to make that this is the best album of all time. not kidding

eagles - hotel california. makes me think of my dad so i like it <3

stevie wonder - songs in the key of life

joan armatrading self-titled - really brilliant such a lovely album. bought it on a whim knowing one song and it’s just such a beautiful album. and she’s such a great songwriter!!

1980s

traveling wilburys - traveling wilburys vol 1: just fun innit

the smiths - the queen is dead: first vinyl i ever bought! still really enjoy it. love all the songs and a good night-listen i think. also strangeways and hatful of hollow

talking heads - speaking in tongues. all these songs slap. great work thank you david byrne 👍 also remain in light

xtc - skylarking

new order - power corruption and lies. my new wave moment! really brilliant especially knowing the history of new order i think it’s phenomenal that they came out with this after ian curtis. 

kate bush - hounds of love

paul simon - graceland

tracy chapman - self-titled. definitely top 5 albums ever for me. so so wonderful and her voice and her writing... can’t describe how it makes me feel. love it to bits

1990s

modern life is rubbish - blur: LOVE THIS ONEEEE <3 im a britpop fan at heart and this one is so awesome. and such a showcase of the fact they were actually good (and better than oasis). such a great album lots of good songs and a really good overall feel to it i think. really obviously 60s influenced too i think which i like a lot! also parklife and self-titled

lauryn hill - the miseducation of lauryn hill. just phenomenal all round in terms of quality across the board

different class - pulp: best album of britpop no joke. i feel like it’s almost a concept album but not quite, so many good songs and such a brilliant immersive general feel to it. probably also top 5 for me...

mazzy star - so tonight i might see

daniel johnston - 1990

radiohead - ok computer. sorry for being cliche but it is so good. i forget how good it is. was my favourite album of all time up until a couple of years ago. i rank radiohead albums reallyyyy highly though i think they deliver nearly ever time in creating something fresh and interesting and cohesive. also the bends, in rainbows, kid a, moon-shaped pool. and all their others. 

dummy - portishead

pj harvey - rid of me

fiona apple - tidal. she’s so wonderful i think all of her albums are brilliant. her songwriting is amazing and i love to sit back and just take it all in. i really enjoy all her albums but i’d say my other favourites are when the pawn and the idler wheel. and boltcutters probably...

neutral milk hotel - in the aeroplane over the sea

the magnetic fields - 69 love songs

2000s

godspeed you black emperor - lift your skinny fists like antennas to heaven

life in cartoon motion - mika

whatever people say i am that’s what i’m not - arctic monkeys. also favourite worst nightmare. i am partial to suck it and see too but i wouldnt put it as a favourite maybe...

tallahassee - the mountain goats. sorry i love divorce and i think the lyrics are wonderful. really enjoy that tmg often have a theme across a whole album i think it’s awesome. i also love beat the champ i love the wrestling thing

outkast - stankonia

mcr - the black parade. lol

joanna newsom - ys. also have one on me

sufjan stevens - illinois. amazing. so many good songs and so brilliant as a whole album. i really enjoy the consistent theme and how purposefully the album feels like it was built :) also love carrie and lowell. 

the hoosiers - the trick to life. the first album i ever bought! such a great indie pop album all the songs are great and i do have a lot of nostalgia tied to it

lily allen - it’s not me it’s you. changed my life as a 10 year old honestly

amy winehouse - back to black

brian wilson - smile

2010s

fka twigs - magdalene: brilliant. i think fka is such a phenomenal artist and i think this whole album is so tied together and tight. it’s brilliant

mitski - bury me at makeout creek. also puberty 2 and be the cowboy

kendrick lamar - to pimp a butterfly. i think maybe the best album of the last ten years. i think how he incorporates all these different styles is amazing.

hozier self titled 

the last shadow puppets - everything you’ve come to expect. i just like it 👍 

lana del ray - born to die. sorry i suffer from been on tumblr since 2011 disease

courtney barnett - sometimes i sit and think and sometimes i just sit

yola - walk through fire

2020s

rina sawayama - sawayama

phoebe bridgers - punisher

okay kind of fell off towards the end there description wise but i have a lot of love in my heart and love a lot of music!! always changing but really i listen to a lot so i hope you don’t mind me listing so many... also it’s really obvious how much i dont listen to current things sorry </3 i’ll be working on it soon hopefully. i’m sure i’ve missed some too!! but these are just the ones that were immediately coming to mind. thank you so much for the question !!

[yikeslads]

A Relaxing Evening - Yandere Sero Hanta x Reader

Trigger Warnings! - 18+ only. Non Con (sex and non con drug use). If this bothers you p l e a s e do not read this fic! You are responsible for your own consumption and this is your official warning. Also they smoke a lot of weed in this but I don’t think that really needs a warning but idk

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Long time no see (please don’t kill me, I’ve been hella busy). I’ve started my last year at university so I am super thrilled about that, just turned 21, and I have spent my entire summer working full time. But enough about me, I’m sure everyone is dealing with a ton with the pandemic plus whatever they have. Anyways, I will be doing my best to update more! I have a WIP that should be released soon (i only have like 400 words left) so that should be fun. 

Big big big big thanks to @yanderart ! If you don’t know recognize the name, she is a phenomenal artist (both in visual and literary works, an icon) who shares the yandere/dark love. Thank you SO much for your super helpful edits/comments/encouragement with this <3 

Also thanks to @opheliadawnwalker3 for the advice to start small when getting back into the writing game! I took that to heart and tried to keep it shorter this time and helped me get this out so thank you!

And thanks to @rat-suki @weebsinstash @drxwsyni because I have definitely binged all of y’alls content and used the immaculate yandere vibes you write as inspo so thank you <3 

Now let’s get started!

It was eerily silent in the hallway as your feet made their way to their destination through the mostly abandoned college dormitory. Your mind was so preoccupied with the many thoughts that demanded your attention that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Not that it mattered. You had made this walk so many times, you could find your way even if you were blindfolded and hammered, that you were allowed to fully slip into your thoughts without having to worry. Before long you were standing in front of a very familiar door, the only one in the hallway with light peaking through the crack at the bottom. Music could clearly be heard through it, Jimi Hendrix’s singing the only sound of human life that you had encountered during your entire walk over here.

It took you a moment to snap out of your thoughts and come back to reality and notice that you were already standing at your destination. Clearing your throat awkwardly at the realization, you raised your arm and knocked solidly on the door to be heard above the music and waited as patiently as you could for an answer.

From behind the door you could hear someone swear, causing a small smirk to rise on your face, along with the sound of some rustling. A few moments later the door cracked open a bit as the familiar raven haired male peaked into the hallway, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he  regarded you.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise!” Sero chirped, opening the door all the way, seeing that it was only you standing in the hallway. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?”

His cheery, warm response to your presence unknowingly brought a small smile to your face, a needed break from your tense, concentrated expression you had been wearing when Sero first opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Sero,” you began, stuffing your hands into the pockets of the jacket you were wearing to stop you from wringing them anxiously. “I’ve just been really stressed with final exams and choosing which agency I want to officially sign for and… it’s just been a lot.” As you explained, Sero’s face softened slightly as he listened intently to your words, not liking the fact that you were so stressed.

“Anyway,” you continued with a chuckle, bringing yourself back onto the subject, “I was wondering if you had any of your stash left that I could buy from you? I know I bought from you a little while ago, but I’ve been more stressed out than I can handle,” you admitted, hoping that Sero might still have some weed hidden away in his room somewhere that you could use.

It was a little into sophomore year of college that you found out that your classmate, Sero, was a bit of a stoner. And as someone going through the hero course, you are understandably dealing with a lot of stress. So what’s wrong with smoking a little Mary J every once in a while to relax, right? Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you first asked Sero if you could buy weed from him. Ever since then he had been your personal plug, but over time, you two became close friends. “I think you might be in luck, sunshine, I think I have some on reserves. Come on in,” he welcomed, and you crossed the threshold without a second thought. As you stepped inside and took off your shoes, a large but gentle arm carefully looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into the tall man’s side as you led you to the couch and sat you down on the soft fabric in front of his laptop that was open and had various work assignments in different windows.

“Tell ole Sero what’s troubling you,” Sero propositioned as he moved to his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing his needed paraphernalia as he waited for you to begin speaking. He settled down next to you on the couch, pulling the small table holding the laptop in front of you a little closer as he set down his bong, and pulled out his grinder and began the process of loading you a bowl.

You were about to begin venting, but you paused as you took in the sight of Sero wordlessly working for your benefit, and you pulled your wallet out of your jacket pocket after a few seconds. “Sorry, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” You asked, opening your wallet and beginning to pull out a few bills. You didn’t get far though, as a warm hand covered yours, drawing your eyes to meet his black ones. He gave you a boyish smile and shook his head at you, giving a small laugh. “No way, sunshine. You need a little break, this one is on me,” he offered with a grin. You were hesitant for a few moments, not seemingly convinced that you should let him give you part of his stash for free. The potential feeling of guilt ebbed away as Sero’s warm smile never faltered, kindness seemingly exuding from his every pore. What was the harm, right? Nodding, you gingerly took the loaded bong from his large, calloused hands into your own smaller ones.

“Alright,” you agreed thoughtfully as you mirrored his smile, “but I want you to smoke with me. It’s no fun getting high alone,” you countered to which you could almost see Sero’s eyes sparkle in response at your words.

“I would be happy to,” he assured, never one to miss out on the chance to smoke, especially with you, but you added one more condition.  

“And,” you drawled, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited patiently for you to continue. “Whatever food we order when we are stoned off our asses is on me.”

A soft chuckle resonated from Sero’s chest as he nodded along to your stipulation, finding no qualm with having the promise of food.

“Deal,” he agreed, and with that you went to take your first bong hit of the evening.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your sides ached as you tried to force yourself to stop laughing, but your efforts seemed trivial as Sero laughed just as hard, if not harder, alongside you as you finished Sero’s favorite flick, Scott Pilgrim vs the World. It felt so good to let go and really laugh, it had started to feel like it had been too long. Time seemed a distant concept to you at the moment, as nothing from the outside world weighed on you as you merrily enjoyed your high with Sero.

Your eyes were pink from smoking, little tears forming at the base of your lower eyelashes as you gasped for breath as your laughing fit began to subside. You don’t even remember what you had been laughing about exactly, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Your attention was brought back to Sero as he began to rise from his spot beside you on the couch, your eyes following his lazy movements as the movie credits began to roll.

“I’m getting a bit of cottonmouth,so why don’t I get us some drinks while you choose something else for us to watch?” Sero offered to which you agreed, lazily beginning to scroll through the other titles that were currently available on Netflix as Sero made his way over to the little kitchen he had equipped.

“Thirsty for anything in particular?” You heard his voice call out to you, but you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop screen, still searching for another flick to watch.

“Just water would be fantastic,” was your response as you searched through the comedy section, knowing that Sero preferred comedies.

A few moments later, Sero had returned to your side, a glass of water in one hand for you and a soda can for him in his other hand. Thanking him as you gently took it from his hands, you took the glass and raised it to your lips. Taking large sips, reveling in the cool feeling of the water flowing over your tongue and to the back of your throat, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch your every movement adoringly.

“Wanna take another hit?” Sero asked as you finished taking a drink, setting down the mostly empty glass back down on the table.

You hummed in thought at his question, before nodding, a small giggle escaping your lips, “What’s one more hit, right?”

Sero, the practiced stoner he is, had another bowl set up for you ready to go in what seemed like seconds, graciously handing you the now loaded bowl. Gently taking it from his hands and placing it in the bong, you fired up the lighter and took a huge hit.

A h u g e hit. It was a little larger than you had meant, but being high had made your judgement a little empaired. You coughed a bit as you expelled the wave of smoke from your lungs, waving your hands as Sero laughed.

Your cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at Sero laughing as you tried to regain your composure. “S-Stop laughing!” You cried, setting the bong back down, but Sero just shook his head.

“I can’t help it, sunshine. Seeing you not being able to take that hit is hilarious,” he continued to laugh, as your cheeks burned warmer at his words.

“Its not my fault that I don’t have your iron lungs,” you mocked, picking up your glass once more and finishing the contents in an attempt stop your coughing fit. “Not all of us are stoners.”

A small gasp tore from Sero’s throat, as he held a hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised by your words. “Me? A stoner? How could you even say such a thing?” He asked, shooting you a kicked puppy look which just made you giggle in return, your head feeling a little fuzzy from the extra hit.  

“Oh don’t be a baby,” patting the spot next to you, you flashed Sero a loopy smile, “come on, lets watch another movie,” you countered to which Sero agreed to, settling back down in his spot beside you. You reached forward, setting your now empty glass next to the laptop and hit play on the movie, before moving back into the cushions. Your body began to feel heavier as  you gingerly leaned into Sero’s side, who in return wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gently tugged you a little closer to his chest as the intro finished and the movie began.  

You weren’t long into the movie before you were struggling to keep your eyes opened. You shifted slightly, trying to force yourself to wake up, but the more that the time wore on, the harder it became to stay awake.

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes into the film before you were out cold, your deep and even breathing soft in Sero’s ear as your tired figure slept against his shoulder.

“Sunshine,” Sero whispered, tentatively placing a hand on your knee and gently shaking you. He watched your face carefully for any sign of rousing, but your breathing continued at its deep, even, undisturbed pace. An eager smile danced across Sero’s visage at your lack of response, his heart pounding in his chest in excitement. Wrapping his strong arms around your pliable person, Sero gently maneuvered your sleepy shape to be laying on your back, tummy up, the skirt you had worn riding up on your thighs as your leg lay limply, slightly apart.

Sero took a moment just watching you, drinking in all of your beauty. You looked so sweet and vulnerable asleep on Sero’s couch defenseless. He gazed at your unconscious body oh so lovingly as you lay completely helpless to the danger that lurks around you. It makes Sero’s heart squeeze in his chest in realization that you need him. You needed him to protect you and Sero would happily be your knight in shining armour.

“Her knight in shining honor”, Sero thought to himself merrily, infatuated with protecting his little ray of sunshine. His fingers began to skim the skin of your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up higher and higher. Shouldn’t your knight get a little reward for his services? Sero certainly thought so, afterall it was only fair that he get to enjoy his sunshine in return for all he does for you.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of your black laced panties, skirt bunched up past your hips, leaving your panty clad intimate parts exposed for his greedy eyes. There were no such things as imperfection to Sero when it came to you. All of your little bumps, blemishes, and things you didn’t like about yourself were all things that Sero adored about you. It's what made you you, and he simply ached to worship you.

Hungry hands hooked fingers into your panties, swiftly pulling the soft material down your supple skin in earnest. A groan tore from Sero’s throat at the sight of sticky, clear strings sticking from the fabric to your little treasure.

Fuck was he glad he slipped you an aprodiasic alongside the sleeping pills. Seeing your hole already wet and begging for his attention had his pants quickly tenting uncomfortably. He could not wait to get started.

Moving quickly and silently, he settled himself on his stomach between your thighs, carefully placing your thighs over his shoulders. His starved stare meets your slick slit and he couldn’t stop himself from licking a stripe up your lips, moaning at the delicious taste of your essence. His eyes flickered back to your face where he found you still sound asleep, unaware of reality.

“Perfect”, he thought to himself at your unconscious state, “just like last time.”

Confident in his security, Sero began to feast on your unprotected pussy, his tongue swiping through your folds as he drank every ounce of you in. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at your taste as if he was tasting the most divine thing ever created. He couldn’t seem to get enough as his hands encased your thighs, hungrily pulling your closer to his famished mouth. Your breath quickened in pace at Sero’s ministrations but the sleeping pills kept you nestled peacefully in between complete unconsciousness and your dreams, deep asleep. It seemed almost as if Sero had been eating you out for hours when he had finally come up for air, sucking in deep gulps of air into his lungs greedily.  He knelt in front of your vulnerable body, lips and chin shiny with your slick as he slipped a finger into your heat, quickly followed by another as he gently began to scissor your walls apart. Your warmth gushed around his fingers as he worked you open for him, using his free hand to slip down to his belt and make quick work of that before tugging his boxers and pants down. His cock now free of confinement slapped against his abs before he gently removed his fingers from your heat. Your juices completely soaked his hand as he brought it to his cock, using your wetness to get him slick for you. He watched your sleepy face as he stroked himself, his bottom lip caught between his lip as he intently drank in your features. With both of your bodies prepped, patience grew thin, so he tilted his hips down, nudging your dripping entrance with his plush tip, your legs lazily spread and looped loosely around his hips.

Slipping himself between your folds, Sero took a deep breath before pressing himself into your warm, wet, tight cavern. He didn’t stop slowly driving his cock into your twitching heat until he became fully sheathed inside your awaiting pussy. He groaned softly at the feeling of his cock being encased by your velvet walls, his eyes never leaving your face as he adjusted to the delicious feeling you were giving him. After a few moments of adjustment, Sero pulled his hips back, feeling his manhood drag against your plush walls, a soft moan escaping your sleeping shape as you stirred slightly in your hazy state. Once you settled and he was positive you were going to stay asleep, he drove his hips forward into your cunt his eyes moving away from your face and down to where his cock was buried deep inside of you. The erotic sight of you being fucked by his cock kicked him into gear as he soon found a steady rhythm as he pounded into you.

With every thrust of his hip, your cream coated his silken rod, making Sero almost feral with the sight. It took every ounce of self control he had to not fuck you the way you deserved, the way you needed him, but he couldn’t risk having you wake up during your little relaxation session. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed to keep himself from fucking you silly, but with plans for the pair of you in the future, he was willing to wait to rock your world for when you were awake and in more of a … receptive position to receive the full force of his love for you.  

It wasn’t long before Sero found himself reaching his end, much to his displeasure, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was able to get to do this again. He always made excuses to get the two of you alone, for “purely innocent reasons” according to your knowledge. He couldn’t help it! He loved you too much, and he needed to get his fix.

“F-Fuck,” he moaned as he fucked himself into your pussy, panting softly as he drew close to his completion. “You feel so good, sunshine. You were made for my fucking cock, shit,” he swore, his thrusts becoming increasinly sloppy. He pulled himself out before he came, hips hovering over yours as his hand frantically worked his length trying to finish himself off.

“Fuck yes!” Sero growled as he came, hot white, sticky ropes of cum decorating your glistening pussy as he furiously worked his hand over his cock. “God, love you so much,” he groaned as he finished,  hovering over you as he caught his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, becoming entangled with your own juices. Without skipping a beat, Sero reached over and grabbed his phone, taking a quick snapshot of your fucked out pussy covered in his essence and saved it in a secret gallery of pictures he kept of you. He needed to add to the collection, something to help tide him over until the next time. Setting his phone back down, he leaned over you and gently kissed you, like a lover would, savoring your lips while you were still asleep. Breaking the kiss, he gazed lovingly down at you, gently playing with a strand of your hair. He wished this moment would never end, but he knew that he had to get going, sighing softly to himself.

It was time to start up the cleaning process.

~~~~~~~~~~

A phone ringing caused you to stir from your deep slumber, a deep yawn escaping your lips as you stretched your stiff body from sleeping on the couch. You rubbed your eyes slightly as you woke up, before you took in the room before you. You saw Sero back turned to you as he spoke in hushed tones over the phone, hearing Bakugo’s voice grunting something to him over the phone about working out later that day. You glanced around the room as you yawned again, slightly confused as to how you got here before remembering coming over to Sero’s place the previous night after being really stressed and wanting to take a break. It wasn’t long until Sero finished his phone call, turning back to your and finding you awake, looking back at him.

“Sorry,” Sero began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized sheepishly with a small smile, taking in your figure.

“It’s no worries,” you hum out sleepily finding yourself naturally returning his smile. “Did I pass out last night?” You asked, not fully remembering what had happened after that last bong hit.

“Yeah! You fell asleep about maybe half way through the first movie? I don’t remember exactly when, I was paying too much attention to the movie,” he lied smoothly, your face showing telltale signs of embarrassment at having fallen asleep during the movie. Especially in Sero’s room after having come to his room for a favor. How could you ask to hang out with someone then fall asleep on them!”

“Oh… Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” you laughed a little uneasy, but Sero was quick to reassure you. “Don’t worry about it! You said yourself that you were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed that you needed to give yourself some rest. No need to apologize,” Sero soothed you easily, a smile returning to your face as you nodded. He almost felt bad lying to your face, but this was just more proof that you needed him! He had placed all your clothes back on properly, cleaned up the mess last night and you were none the wiser! Your lack of realization of what had happened, though it pleased Sero to know he got away with his little love session, cemented your need for him in Sero’s mind.  

“Well will you let me buy you coffee as a thanks for letting me crash? We can study together at that cafe near the gym if you want? ” You offered, wanting to express your gratitude to your friend, who graciously accepted your idea, pleased to spend more time with you.

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” he chirped, quick to pack up his things in his backpack and get ready to go.

The sun was rising slowly from the horizon, fluffy white clouds moving lazily across the sky, as the two of you walked to the cafe together. The birds sang so sweetly as the pair of you made your way, but their songs meant nothing to Sero, too entranced with your own sweet voice as you chattered happily with him about whatever came to mind.

Opening the door for you once the pair of you arrived, you flashed him a sweet smile in response before stepping inside the warm coffee shop. The smile you gave, to him, was brighter than the sun, warmer than the core of the Earth, and he realized he needed it. Just like you need his protection, he needs you, his sunshine, to bring warmth into his life and make him whole. With your back to him, browsing the menu of its many drink options, you failed to notice the pair of eyes drinking in every inch of your form with intense infatuation. You had no idea the danger that lurked behind those kind eyes, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that Sero’s friendliness was more until too late.  

[howdon-aldi-death-queue]

NEW SAM FENDER INTERVIEW FOR NME

THE BIG READ

Sam Fender: “This album is probably the best thing I’ve done in my life”

The hometown hero has distanced himself from the ‘Geordie Springsteen’ tag, but there’s no shortage of rites-of-passage yarns and colossal tunes on the upcoming ‘Seventeen Going Under’

“You can see the ghost of Thatcherism over there…” says Sam Fender, pointing across the water to a vacant shipyard, where once the shipbuilding industry was so healthy that vessels towered higher than the rows of houses on the shore. We’re on the waterfront in North Shields, just outside Newcastle, and our photographer is snapping away for Sam’s first NME cover shoot.

The singer-songwriter stares stonily into the lens as wafts of seaweed and fishing trawlers are carried by the northern coastal breeze. He’s already been stopped for a few pictures with fans, but remains eager to point out the impact that Tory leadership has had on his working-class town over the last few decades. “It’s been closed since the ’80s, from the ghost wasteland of the shipyards. You’ve got all the scars of Thatcherism from The Tyne all over to the pit villages in Durham.”

It’s as good an introduction as any to the outspoken musician, whose 2019 debut album ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ was a record for his sleepy hometown to be proud of – tackling themes that range from male suicide (the heartbreaking ‘Dead Boys’) to world tensions (and the “kids in Gaza” he eulogised on its soaring title track). He set weighty topics against blisteringly well-executed Americana with the fist-in-the-air euphoria of Bruce Springsteen’s colossal choruses and sax solos. Much like his hero, Sam smartly weaves his own political standpoint and personal circumstance into gripping anthems of a generation, which earned him the ‘Geordie Springsteen’ tag.

“I can’t exactly bat off those comparisons, can I?” he says back in his cosy recording studio nearby. “At the same time, I don’t feel worthy of that tag. The first time I heard it, I was like, ‘That’s fucking sick’, but you don’t want to be riding off the coattails of The Boss for the rest of your life. I can write my own songs, they’re different and my voice doesn’t sound anything like Springsteen’s. I don’t have his growl; I’m a little fairy when I sing.”

He may have toned down the Springsteen vibes slightly on his highly anticipated second album ‘Seventeen Going Under’, due later this year, but there are still plenty of chest-pounding anthems capable of making your hairs stand on end: “I much prefer Americana to the music we have in our country at the moment. I love the leftfield indie stuff like Fontaines D.C, Squid and Black Midi, but I love a chorus and melodic songs. I think the American alternative scene has that down with Pinegrove, Big Thief, The War On Drugs.”

‘Hypersonic Missiles’ thrummed with a small town frustration almost that every suburban teenager could surely relate to. This was most notable on ‘Leave Fast’, where he sang about the “boarded up windows on the promenade / The shells of old nightclubs” and “intoxicated people battling on the regular in a lazy Low Lights bar”, a reference to his beloved local. But album two sees him fully embrace North Shields, an ever-present backdrop to cherished memories and harrowing life events of his youth and surroundings.

It’s no coincidence that the 27-year-old has turned inwards and penned a record about his hometown while being stuck at home like the rest of the country: “I didn’t have anything to point at and I didn’t want to talk about the pandemic because nobody wants that – I never want to hear about it again. It was such a stagnant time that I had to go inwards and find something, because I was so uninspired by the lifetime we we’re living in.

“I’ve made my coming-of-age record and that was important for me – as I get older, these stories keep appearing; I’ve got so much to talk about. I wrote about growing up here. It’s about mental health and how things that happen as a child impact your self-esteem in later life. On the first record, I was pointing at stuff angrily, but the further I’ve gotten into my 20s, the more I’ve realised how little I know about anything. When you hit 25, you’re like: ‘I’m fucking clueless! I know nothing about the world.’ It was a humbling experience, growing up.”

Early last year, before the pandemic hit, Sam was set to jet off to New York pre-pandemic to record in the city’s infamous Electric Lady studios founded by Jimi Hendrix. “Looking back, I’m thankful that it happened,” he says. “If I went off to New York and did my second album there… it wouldn’t have been the same record. I will go and do the third one in NYC, come hell or high water – I’m fucking out of here!

“The forced return home really informed the direction [of the record]. I was on the crest of this insane wave; we’d sold out 84,000 tickets for the [‘Hypersonic Missiles] arena tour that we still haven’t played yet. I’m still waiting to hear when it’s going to be rescheduled. It’s incredibly frustrating; I’ve got loads of frustrated fans. That was all cancelled on the day of the lockdown. I thought it was only going to be a couple of months and that it would be another swine flu thing, but fool me – I was stuck in the house like everybody else.”

It’s not the first setback that Sam has dealt with in his career. In the summer of 2019, he was ready to make his Glastonbury Festival debut with a Friday afternoon set on the legendary John Peel Stage, a rite of passage for any emerging artist, but had to pull out due to a serious health issue with his vocal chords. The mood in the room shifts dramatically at the mention of this devastating period: “I don’t want to focus on that, to be honest, because it’s just negative news and it’s in the past.”

“The further I’ve gotten into my 20s, the more I’ve realised how little I know”

Looking back now, he says, it was a tough decision, but ultimately the right thing to do: “We were doing so much at the time and I just burnt out. If you damage your vocal cords, you can’t take it lightly. If something happens like that and you keep going, you’ll fucking lose your career forever. I never want to end up behind the knife; I just refuse to put myself in that situation.”

The fact that his 2019 breakthrough ground to a halt again in COVID-decimated 2020 “was frustrating as fuck”, he says, “but I took solace in the fact that everyone was stopped in their tracks that time; it wasn’t just me.” This was in stark contrast to the singer’s experience of pulling the biggest moment of his music career in order to rest his vocal cords: “I didn’t talk for three weeks; I had to be silent and just watch Glastonbury on the TV, going, ‘This is completely dogshit’. But you can’t even say that out loud – you’re just saying it over in your head like a psycho. I’d take a pandemic over that any day.”

There was a brief flash of light when he headlined the opening night at the world’s first socially distanced arena, Newcastle’s Virgin Money Unity venue, to an audience of 2,500. Yet Sam’s not in the mood to wax lyrical about that, either. “It was amazing,” he says, “but it didn’t happen again.” A local lockdown in the North East brought the following shows – which would have featured Kaiser Chiefs and Declan McKenna – to a premature end in September: “It was another false start. We thought everything was going to get moving again but then we were just sat around [again].”

As for this reaction to the Government’s handling of the pandemic? It perhaps says it all that he’s selling face masks emblazoned with the words ‘2020 Shit Show’ and ‘Dystopian Nightmare Festival’ on his website. “I think everyone has said enough haven’t they?” Sam suggests. “I never want to see Boris Johnson’s or Matt Hancock’s face ever again. As soon as they come on the TV, I just turn it off.”

Political tension bubbles through ‘Seventeen Going Under’. Its second half boasts tracks such as ‘Long Way Off’, a brooding but colossal festival anthem brimming with angst and unease. “Standing on the side I never was the silent type,” Fender roars, “I heard a hundred million voices / sound the same both left and right / we’re still alone we are.” It’s gripping stuff; a Gallagher-level anthem ripe for pyro and pints held aloft.

Sam says the song is about feeling stranded amid political divisiveness here and in the US, epitomised when Donald Trump supporters stormed the Capitol in Washington back in January: “You’ve either got right-wing, racist idiots or you’ve got this elitist, upper-middle-class section of the left-wing, which completely alienates people like myself and people from my hometown.”

“The polarity between the left and the right has me feeling like I have no identity”

Closer to home, the last UK election, in 2019, saw the so-called ‘Red Wall’ crumble as working-class voters in the north defected from Labour to Tory. “The polarity between the left and the right has me feeling like I have no identity,” Sam says. “I’m obviously left-wing, but you lose hope don’t you? Left-wing politics has lost its main votership; it doesn’t look after working-class people the way that it used to. Blyth Valley voted Tory just north of here. Now, that is saying something! We’re in dire straits when a fucking shipbuilding town is voting for the Tories – it’s like foxes voting for the hunter.”

He’s even seen his own working-class friends peel to the blue side: “I’m like, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I understand it, though. I’d never vote for the bastards because I fucking hate them and I know what they’re up to, but I get why people don’t feel any alliegiance to left-wing politics when they’re working-class.”

As ever though, Sam isn’t masquerading as an expert: “I’m not fucking Noam Chomsky, you know what I mean? I’m not going to dissect the whole political agenda of the Tories and figure it all out because I can’t. All I see is a big fucking shit sandwich – every day through my news feed – and it’s just, ‘Well: that’s what your dealing with.”

The singer is fond of describing North Shields as “a drinking town with a fishing problem”. Today he adds: “That’s been the backdrop of my life: all of these displaced working-class people. It’s a town that’s resilient that still has a strong sense of community. In a lot of big cities that’s dead. In London everything changes from postcode to postcode, but everything is quite uniform up here.”

When NME was awaiting Sam’s arrival outside the studio before the interview, a passerby clocked our photographer’s gear and asked, “Oh aye – are you waiting for Sam? We all know Sam – a good lad; very accommodating with nae airs or graces about him.” Another pointed to The Low Lights Tavern down the road, where Fender used to pull pints on the weekends: “He was a terrible barman, and he’ll be the first to tell you that. I think he got sacked about six times during his time there.”

Sam (who confesses of his bartending know-how: “He’s totally right!”) hit the local to celebrate when ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ won him a Critics’ Choice gong at the BRIT Awards in 2019, placing the trophy on the bar. “I owed The Low Lights one for being such a shit barman,” he says. “I wanted them to be proud of us because they fucking certainly wasn’t proud of us when I was around working there!”

“Celebrity stuff freaks me out. I’d rather just live my life”

He’s clearly a key member of the local community, then. How did he see the pandemic impact on his family and friends – especially when the North East faced the toughest Tier Four lockdown restrictions last December? Sam pauses before bluntly saying: “I lost more mates; there was suicides again. Mental health was the biggest thing. We lost friends who had drunk too much.”

A track on the new record, ‘The Dying Light‘, is an epic sequel to ‘Dead Boys’, with the poignant last line of the album ringing out “for all the ones who didn’t make the night”. Sam, unable to truly distance himself from The Boss after all, explains: “It’s very Springsteen. It’s my ‘Jungleland’ or ‘Thunder Road’ – it’s got that ‘Born To Run’ feel; there’s strings and brass [and] it’s fucking massive. It’s a celebration. It’s a triumph over adversity.”

He stresses that it was vital for him to be in regular contact with his friendship circle through that traumatic time: “It becomes important when you lose friends to suicide… You realise it’s always the unlikely folks. We lost a friend to suicide at the beginning of last year and it was someone you’d never expect. It really hits home; it’s important to check in on your mates.”

Sam has alluded in previous interviews to a health condition that he’s not yet ready to fully disclose, and tells NME that he spent three months shielding at the beginning of the pandemic: “I was alone for three months and that was very tough… When you’re completely alone and isolated, it’s impossible. I spent a lot of time drinking and not really looking after myself and eating shit food, but I wrote a lot of good lyrics.”

There’s a certain resulting bleakness to some of his new songs, but Sam also wanted light to shine through. “It’s a darker record, but it’s a celebration of surviving and coming out the other end,” he explains. “It’s upbeat but the lyrics can be quite honest. It’s the most honest thing I’ve done.”

You might expect a young hometown hero to rail at having been denied the chance to capitalise on his burgeoning fame in the last year or so, but Sam insists, “I still have imposter syndrome,” adding: “I don’t feel like it’s happened… I’m walking around the street and people ask for photos and it just feels bizarre. I’m like, really? I feel like I haven’t come out of my shell yet.”

Sam has rarely been one to court celebrity, and revealed in 2019 that he’d turned down the chance to appear in an Ariana Grande video. “It was an honour but I would have just been known as that guy in the video,” he tells NME. “All of my mates would have been flipping their heads off, but I don’t think she would really want an out-of-shape, pale Geordie. I’d rather just live my life, because all of this celebrity stuff freaks [me] out, you know?”

He might have to get used to it: things can only get bigger with the arrival of the new album. “As a record I think this one is leagues ahead [of ‘Hypersonic Missiles’],” he says, “I’m more proud of this than anything I’ve ever done. It’s probably the best thing I’ve done in my life. I just hope people love it as much as I do. With the first album, a lot of those songs were written when I was 19, so I was over half of it [by the time it was released]. Whereas this one is where I’m at now.”

“This is a dark record, but it’s a celebration of surviving and coming out the other end”

Still, he adds: “At the same time, this record is probably going to piss a lot of people off.” He’s referring to a line in one of the more political tracks, ‘Aye’, where he returns to his most enduring bugbear, divisiveness, and claims that “the woke kids are just dickheads”. Sam’s no less forthcoming in person: “They fucking are, though! Some 22-year-old kid from Goldsmiths University sitting on his fucking high horse arguing with some working-class person on some comments section calling them an ‘idiot’ and a ‘bigot’? Nobody engages each other in a normal discussion [online] without calling each other a ‘thick cunt’.”

He’s eager to make this statement, though, come what may: “I don’t fucking care any more. I’m not really sure how the reaction is going to be. People used to say things online about me and I used to get quite hurt about it, but now I’m like, ‘Well, they’re not coming to my house’… [But] I get so angry. In Newcastle we say ‘pet’ and someone was trying to tell me that was fucking offensive towards women. You’re not going to delete my fucking colloquial identity. It’s not even gender-specific; we say it to men and women. My Grandma calls me ‘pet’! That brand of liberalism is fucking destroying the country. We could be getting Boris Johnson and all them pricks out of office if we stopped sweating over shit like that”.

Sam might be outspoken, but he’s self-aware, too. When we were talking politics earlier, he said: “I didn’t want to start on ‘cancel culture’ because I don’t want to sound like Piers Morgan [and] I fucking hate that cunt. But there is a degree of it which lacks redemption; people fuck up. Everyone is a flawed character. If you’re not admitting that you have flaws, then you’re a fucking psychopath. The left-wing seem to be that way and the right-wing are fucking worse than they’ve ever been. Politically I have just lost my shit.”

In all of this uncertainty, though, it seems a sure thing that Sam Fender will take his rightful crown – as soon as the world lets him – with the colossal ‘Seventeen Going Under’. “It’s going to be a hell of a return,” he insists. “I know the fans are still there, you know? So I’m not really worried – I’m ready to go out there and do my thing. Finally!”

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Wherever They Have Roamed: Kirk Hammett

Kirk Hammett was born on November 18, 1962 in San Francisco, California. His ancestry combines Irish, Scottish, and German from his father’s side, along with Filipino on his mother’s side. As a child, he developed a passion, still strong to this day, for horror movies. He soon became enthralled with his brother’s Frankenstein toy figures after watching a horror movie on television. This led to the young Hammett spending almost all of his milk money on horror magazines. This all changed when he began listening to his brother’s record collection including UFO, Led Zeppelin, and Jimi Hendrix. He soon began selling all his horror magazines in order to buy records leading him to purchasing his first guitar at the age of 15. This first guitar self described by him as quite “unglamorous” was purchased straight out of the Montgomery Ward catalog. Kirk would soon pick up more of a standard Gibson guitar after failing to customize a Fender Stratocaster copy. In high school, he would meet Les Claypool of Primus, who is still a close friend to this day. He even later appeared in a music video for Primus, while Claypool actually auditioned for Metallica as a replacement bassist following the tragic death of Cliff Burton.

In 1979, at the age of 16 he joined the band Exodus named after the Leon Uris novel of the same name. He would remain with them for four years even playing on their 1982 demo. This band is still remembered to this day as highly influential in San Francisco’s early metal thrash scene. In April 1983, Hammett joined Metallica after original guitarist Dave Mustaine was fired by the band. James Hetfield said this of his audition. “The first song we played was "Seek and Destroy", and Kirk pulled off this solo, and it was like ... things are going to be alright!" Hammett has played on every Metallica album since their second one, Ride the Lightning. He has written a number of popular riffs for the band including “Enter Sandman'' and “Creeping Death.” In 1986, bass player Cliff Burton died in a bus accident as he slept in a bunk bed. Before their departure, Hammett had intended on sleeping there, but he lost a bet to Burton. The tragedy of this accident and how close it came to being him still haunts the guitarist to this day. He has said, “You know to this day I just think, it could have been me or it couldn't have been me but ... its never left me to this day."

The guitarist has also studied other forms of music including a period involving blues and jazz music. His contributions to the Load and Reload albums were probably heavily influenced by his interest in those other genres at that time. By the time of Death Magnetic, he chose to stop listening so much to jazz music because he felt it was heavily influencing his own roots in metal. One thing he has said that really helped when listening to other genres was seeing the origins of their own metal riffs within other music. In 2005, he contributed to the song “Trinity” along with guitarist Robert Randolph on an album by Santana. They had met five years earlier at a benefit show, which even led to Metallica inviting Santana to their St. Anger sessions. In 2006, the guitarist embraced popular culture by appearing as himself on an episode of The Simpsons. He has also lent his voice in various ways to Adult Swim shows including Metapocalypse and Space Ghost Coast to Coast. In 2009, Hammett along with other members of Metallica past and present was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

In 2012, Hammett published his first book entitled Too Much Horror Business. This represented a photographic collection of the expansive memorabilia collection on horror films he had purchased over the years. Items included costumes from actors such as Bella Lugosi, movie posters, movie props including one from George A. Romero’s Day of the Dead, and more. The work also includes three conversations focusing on his childhood, the connection to horror comics, and how this was translated into Metallica‘s music. He would write, “This is my gift to all the other horror nerds out there who are just like me. It's (the book) been made with great love for all the many characters and movies which guided me through childhood, into adulthood and which still keep me on track today.” In 2014, the guitarist began his own horror fan festival called Kirk Von Hammett's Fear FestEvil in San Francisco. The convention featured panels, autograph signings, live music, and vendors. Some notable guests included the son of Bella Lugosi, Tom Savini of From Dusk Till Dawn and other George Romero films, Kane Hodder of Friday the 13th fame, Robert Trujillo, Scott Ian of Anthrax, and Slash from Guns N’ Roses. The festival proved to be so successful that Hammett would host a second one the following year in San Jose, California. His love of horror has always held a special place personally as he has talked about his addiction to cocaine during the Damaged Justice tour. Kirk was able to stay away from that lifestyle after reaching the decision that it made him much too depressed. He would even go on to say that his fascination with horror comics helped him in finding a safe alternative to drugs. Lastly on a personal note, Kirk Hammett has been married twice. He has been married to his current wife Lani since 1998 with two children.

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and Her Gunn (Part 115 2Xs2) "True Intentions"

@crystalbaby12 @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @5sosfam1dlover @rosefilledhearts-blog

"I've got different colored sticky tabs for the different spaces." Luna announces as she enters her storage unit.

Jackie and Sam are there with The Movers. Luna goes through picking out which pieces will go to The Brownstone, her Studio Apartment and the Recording Studio she just bought. She had signed the closing paperwork electronically with Monica and Ben earlier this week on the latter properties. The Apartment is ready but the Recording Studio needs a contractor for the equipment installation. Jackie being on top of that, they start the gutting process next week. Everything else is being moved out today.

"Whoah!!! Be carful with that!!" Sam cries out in concern as she watches The Movers roughly handle an original, stretched Mapplethorpe.

"What the FUUUUUCK." Luna groans as she rubs her forehead. "Why wasn't that crated?" She asks no one in particular as her phone rings. "Hello?" She sighs into the receiver.

It's Kylie. Luna's therapist. Calling because it's 2P on every other Thursday. Luna excuses herself, trusting Sam and Jackie while she finds an empty stairwell.

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"It's just conflicting, Ky... " Luna let's out with an annoyed sigh and a cloud of smoke from her pen while playing with Colson's padlock around her neck.

She's been on the phone with Kylie for the last 45mins talking about everything and anything. Colson, Justin, trust, feeling over exposed, setting up the lable. Her therapist advising her to breathe as always and to make a Pros and Cons list regarding marrying Colson. Knowing there is no option, Luna humors her with an Okay before they get off the phone.

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"How do we look?" Luna asks after coming back in from the stairwell.

"Good." Jackie begins to reassure her. "Everything you want is loaded into the two trucks. I'm gonna ride to The Brownstone and Sam to The Apartment... Uhm, Lee said you're good to go at Electric Lady Land around 7P... "

"And I talked to Mikey, he'll be there no problem." Sam chimes in.

"You guys are fucking AWESOME. Thank you." Luna pulls them in for a three way hug. "I gotta go meet Petey." She informs them once they release. "You guys good without me?" She asks.

Both women nod. Giving promises of phones calls if there's any problems as Luna heads back towards the stairwell; popping another XR and two 30s during her descent. It shouldn't be THAT hard... They're only responsible for moving half of her life.

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Colson gets in touch with The Boys and heads to Amsterdam Billiards for pool and beers. Popping his own handful of Adderall along the way. Stepping out of the cab, Mod greets him with an excited hug.

"What up, Kid!" He squeezes his unhappy friend. "Aww, come on... Don't be like that, you know Luna'll come around. She always does." Mod tells him with a slap on the back as they walk inside.

Benny, Baze, AJ, Rook and Slim have a table racked up. Mod grabs more beers as Colson joins them. They're all talking about the GMA performance. Agreeing it was killer. While Rook also can't stop talking about Jackie.

"Good luck with that, Rookie. I don't think Loons is doing any of us any favors right now." Colson sighs as he leans down to break.

"Shit. Speak for yourself, that's my homie, Dawg." Rook disagrees with him as he swigs his beer.

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Luna meets Pete on The Delancey's rooftop bar. He's already sat when she walks in. Noticing her, he stands for them to hug Hello. His normal excitement clearly missing as she orders a drink.

"I heard you and Colson got into it after I left." Luna cuts right to the core.

"Yeah. He wants to blame me for him running his mouth." Pete starts to complain to Luna's silence. "Like I started all this shit."

"You kinda did... I love you Petey but whether I cheated on Colson or Justin, like I told you last night, it's none of your business. My betrayal didn't land on you or even Colson so really the two of you are fighting over some shit that doesn't even concern you. It's that simple." Luna explains.

"So you did cheat on Beebs?" Pete asks her, ignoring everything else she had said.

"Yeah, Petey. I told you last night that I had an affair. I'm not proud of it but it happened." Luna shrugs as she fights back tears of guilt.

"Who was it?" He pries.

"What? No. You don't get to ask questions like that... Like, I don't understand why this feels like you're mad at me for some reason. I didn't do ANYTHING to you." Luna furrows her eyebrows at him as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Yeah but you did do something to my friend that he never did to you." Pete looks into his beer and then up at Luna.

"You didn't know Justin and I's relationship as well as you think you did. Just like you don't know nearly as much about me and Colson as you think you may. My turn? Your judgmental attitude towards me is really disappointing and if you're so worried about your FRIENDS than go make up with the one that's still in town. I'm outta here though." Luna swallows the rest of her Old Fashioned with two gulps. "Hit me up when you're done being a dick." She calls over her shoulder as she walks out of the bar.

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Mike's sitting alone outside of Electric Lady Land when Luna arrives. Lighting a cigarette, he looks up. Green eyes taking her in as he stands to grab her guitar case from her.

"What's goin' on, Luna?" He asks as he sits back down and takes a drag from his Marlboro.

Luna fishes around in her bag for her joint box and flask. Finding them both, she takes a swig before offering it over to his acceptance. Lighting a joint, she sighs out a cloud of smoke as they sit in silence. Sometimes no talking is good.

After a while Sam shows up. The three of them head inside to meet up with Lee. Thanking him, he tells Luna no one was even booked as they begin to set up in Studio A.

Realizing they need producers, Luna calls Slim. Then Snaps Colson. Setting her bag on the table, she pulls out supplies. Weed, whiskey, cigarettes and more weed. Popping another few 30s before laying her guitar back onto her body.

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"Yeah! No problem, we'll be down there ASAP." Slim says into his phone. "That was LunaTic, she wants us to come produce the track." He says excitedly to Baze once he hangs up. "Dawg! We gonna make some music in Jimi Hendrix's fucking spot, Yo!!" He exclaims as they slap hands across the pool table.

Colson's just about to put his two sense in when his phone goes off. Digging in his pocket, it's not the message he was expecting. It's a Snap from Luna.

"If I want? What kind of fucking shit is that?" He scoffs in his mind. "Why's she so fucking hot even while she's being such a fucking a bitch." He finds himself becoming annoyed with how much he wants her and her resistance towards him. He shoves his phone back in his pocket without responding.

The Boys are getting ready to head to  Greenwich Village when Colson's phone goes off again. It's the message he's been waiting for. Telling The Boys he'll meet up with them later, he's out the door before they pay the tab.

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Luna's leaned towards Mike in the booth when Colson walks in. He can't hear them but he doesn't like that he can see him making her laugh. Mike's a little to comfortable in his interactions with Luna in Colson's personal opinion. Luna catches the back of his blonde hair and significant tattoo as she looks up, watching as he walks out of the room. He quickly heads down the hall towards the bathroom, promptly pulling out the quarter ounce of cocaine he'd grabbed from Nipple.

Colson walks back into the studio just as Luna, Sam and Mike begin recording. Sitting with Slim and Baze at the soundboard, he grabs a pair of headphones and slips them on. Listening and watching intently. Luna can feel his eyes burning straight into her soul.

Nailing it on the third full take, they leave it alone. Luna doesn't want it mixed. Layered, yes but not mixed. She's always preferred the gritty, garage rock sound over studio polish any day. Coming out of the booth, she approaches Colson as he stands up.

"You came." She purrs with a drunken slur to her sentence as she wraps her arms around his waist.

"I go where you go, Kitten. Always." He promises her before lifting her chin to kiss her deeply; enjoying their first real kiss of the day but opening his eyes half way through to stare down Mike from around the side of the top of her head.

Hanging out afterwards, they celebrate with beers and lines. Luna declining as everyone else partakes in Colson's party favor. Having done enough other drugs all day, she's still buzzing from earlier so she's solid without it. Preferring to burn and drink instead.

"What do you have recorded so far?" Mike asks Luna about her upcoming album.

"I think maybe three out of an ambitious twenty!" Luna laughs softly at herself.

"I'm down to help with anything you need." Mike offers as he passes her a joint.

"Thanks... I'm probably gonna take you up on that." Luna answers. "I don't really have a band right now and we... "

"That's why you got us." Rook interrupts her while plunking down on the couch beside her and tossing an arm around her shoulders; he doesn't like the way Mike has been hanging around Luna either.

"That I do." Luna giggles as she kisses his cheek.

"We backed her on Nightmare and I produced Outlaw." Rook declares proudly while studying to the musician.

"That's cool, Little Man." Mike responds unfazed by Rook as he stands up. "Luna, you got my number if you wanna use it for anything. I gotta run though." He smirks at Rook as he leans down to peck her cheek.

"You want me to walk you out?" She offers.

"Nah, I'm good... I'll catch you around though." Mike smiles at her before heading for the door.

Watching the entire interaction, Colson follows behind him. Calling out his name, he catches him in the hallway right at the front door. Mike turns around unamused.

"You know we're engaged, right?" Colson questions him with an irritated tone.

"Yeah... And?" Mike cuts back while cocking his lip.

"AND? And I don't like the way you fucking act around her so back the fuck up." Colson snaps at him.

"Gonna be kinda hard since it seems that SHE wants ME as her new bassists." Mike laughs at him while slapping him on the shoulder.

"Gonna be kinda hard to play ANYTHING when I snap your fucking fingers." Colson warns him as he shoves Mike up against the wall; Mike's 6'2 so there's not much of a height difference between them.

"Try it, My Man." Mike chuckles, unimpressed by Colson's threat.

"You know what, you're right... " Colson let's him off of the wall. "Maybe I overreacted." He says as he opens the door for Mike and he begins to walk through. "Or maybe I FUCKING didn't!" Colson growls as he grabs Mike's right hand and jerks him back.

Slamming it with the door, in between the frame. One. Two. Three. Four times. Most likely breaking it.

"YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!" Mike screams as he grasps his mangled hand.

"You can walk away right now or you can crawl away with two broken legs also." Colson advises as he props the door open again.

"You're gonna FUCKING regret this." Mike snarls to Colson's emotionless stare as he holds his hand and turns to leave. "That was a bad fucking move, My Man." He calls out from the sidewalk.

"Maybe it was... Maybe it wasn't... But DAMN if it didn't feel good." Colson walks back to the studio with a pep in his step for the first time today; having released a majority of his stress. "I never liked that motherfucker anyway." He thinks as he opens the door, looking to locate only Luna. Knowing in the back of his mind that her and Sam are gonna probably fuck him up for what he just did but he doesn't care. Fuck that Dude, he doesn't want him around Luna regardless of the cost.

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"There's stuff!!" Rook exclaims pointing at the large, round arial rug, crates and boxes in The Living Room as they return to The Brownstone. Everyone but Luna is zooted, even Sam. "Yo!!" Check out these fucking chairs!" Rook continues to holler, now from The Study.

It's also stacked with boxes of Luna's books and vinyls. Having one wall with floor to ceiling bookshelves, she's looking forward to using them. Walking in, she finds Rook lounging on one of the two highback, purple velvet chairs she owns along with the exposed Mapplethorpe.

"What's up with that picture?" Rook asks as he accepts a beer from Luna.

"My grandfather shot it." She tells him proudly as they clink their beers together.

"It's really cool. Like the two flowers are reaching out for each other. Like death grasping for life." He says thoughtfully.

"I think that's what he was going for." Luna smiles to herself, admiring the exceptional piece.

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Luna makes her way upstairs to the shower. Turning Fletcher on, she lights up a joint as she cuts up another two 30s and swallows two Xanax bars. It's been a long day, she hasn't been to sleep in almost 48hrs and she's incredibly shaky from all the Adderall. Wanting to simply wash everything away and knock the fuck out.

"Hey... " Colson's sitting on the bed when she comes out of the bathroom.

"Hi." She answers as she stops and looks at him with a sigh.

"Please come're, Luna." He asks for her as he reaches his arms out yet again.

This time she does. Sitting on his lap in her towel, she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her head into her spot in the crook of his neck. Resting his chin on her head, Colson and Luna hold each other silently besides his constant sniffling.

"Loons, I'm sorry." Colson speaks first. "I shouldn't... "

"Please. I'm SO tired." Luna whines. "But, Colson, it's not the secret that you told. I would've told Justin had he cared to notice or ask. It's that you told A secret because I've got bigger ones than that. You have no idea." She sighs sadly.

"Like what, Kitty?" Colson pries with concern.

"Seriously, I am so fucking tired, Col. Can I please just sleep. I promise I'll tell you everything." She pleads with him as the Xanax begins to take over.

"Okay... " Colson agrees as he kisses her forehead. "Lay with you?" He asks.

"There's no way you can lay down right now... Just come to bed eventually, please." Luna requests.

"Yeah." He promises "I love you." He tells her before taking her face in his hands and kissing her passionately.

"I love you too." She kisses him lightly on the lips again once they release before crawling off of his lap.

Dropping her towel, Luna climbs into their bed. Wrapping herself in the warm, custom blanket, she snuggles into the pillow with heavy exhaustion. Colson leans down and kisses her cheek. Dropping another I love you into her ear as she mumbles the same. She's out before he closes the door.

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Colson, Sam, Baze, Rook, AJ, Benny, Mod and Slim are downstairs for the next few hours. Jamming, talking uncontrollably and bouncing in and out off the front stoop to smoke cigarettes as they blow through the bag of coke. 

The house is still bare so they decide it's a good idea to start setting Luna's books up on the shelves. They're all high as fuck, doing whatever they want. Sam and Mod begin trying to organize her vast collection but are making no sense. Baze gets caught up in a hardback limited edition entitled The Great Big Book of Rock and Roll. Slim and Colson are in awe when they open a box of her records. Sitting on the floor, they start going through them like little kids in a candy store. Rook's really flying and gets bored quickly, heading into The Living Room to beat his energy out on his new drum kit. Benny and AJ are the only chill ones as always. Maxed out in the purple chairs, they continuesly puff on and pass blunts to the other wackos. Luna sleeping through it all.

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Sam and Colson find themselves out on the stoop alone. Their normal awkward silence is gone as cocaine fuels their conversation. Talking all things Luna. This is one of the reasons Sam barely hits the slopes, she talks too fucking much when she's on 'em.

"You can't be mad at Pete." She offers up her opinion. "Luna's like another little sister to him." She tries to explain.

"Yeah but he's supposed to be my bestfriend." Colson disagrees.

"I get that... So can't you understand the fucked up spot you put him in between the two of you?" Sam counters as she takes a drag off of her Camel.

"Yeah... I think he thought she cheated on me... " Colson trails.

"Look, he had a really hard time with Justin and Luna's relationship too. We both did. Justin would disappear and we'd be looking for him with Luna. Sometimes we'd find him sometimes we wouldn't. Sometimes he'd call Pete, me or Izak on his own. Pete and Izak would hide him... It was fucked up." Sam shakes get head in dismay as her own heart breaks. "Justin would get clean, be good for a minute but then relapse all over again and she'd be a fucking mess. If anyone tried to paint their relationship as picture perfect to you than they didn't truly know them. Luna and Justin had a lot of problems." Sam admits to one of the first people ever; Colson seeming to have that effect on people.

"She doesn't really talk about him... I mean a little but I can tell it's restrained." He sighs.

"There's my Sammy Bam Bam!" Baze interrupts them with a grin as he opens the door.

"Make up with Pete." Sam pats Colson on the shoulder as she stands up to head inside with her boyfriend.

The Cocaine Cowboys eventually round their night out. Sam following Baze to his room as Rook, AJ, Benny, and Slim head to theirs. Mod being super grateful for the spare bedroom he slept in last night. Colson making his way up to a still sleeping Luna.

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Stripping his clothes, Colson climbs into bed with Luna. Her body is warm as he slides himself around her. Firmly running his hand up her outer thigh, along her hip and ribcage before crawling around her breast. Feeling every inch of her once more as he runs his hand back down her slender body.

Luna moans as her hips begin to shift back and forth out of need and instinct. Colson grows harder against her back as he slips his fingers along her pussy lips. Feeling her juices spill out as he lightly dips his finger inside of her.

"Mmm... Fuck, I've missed her taste." He mentally moans, not being a able to resist sticking his fingers in his mouth as his tongue dances around her unique flavor.

"I wanna fuck you." Colson husks deeply into her ear while he grabs her tit.

"Mhm." Luna murmurs hazily as she perks her ass into him.

Getting the Go, Colson seperates her delicate lips with his fingers. Taking his time, he slowly guides himself into Luna. Feeling her body tense as she moans and pushes her ass deeper into him. Tangling their legs in each other's, Luna reaches behind and grabs the back of Colson's neck to pull him closer to her. Kissing every inch of her that he can reach, he fucks her sternly while she bounces lazily off of his cock. With her face and closed eyes still resting softly in her pillow; she moans and fucks Colson contently in her sleep and drug induced state.

There's something about a SleepFuck that's incredibly satisfying to Luna. Her walls clutch Colson's dick in pleasure, making he thrusts harder. Releasing himself as he feels her cum all over him.

"FUCK." He breathes into her bare neck.

"Mmm... " Is Luna's only response, she's already almost back asleep.

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Pete shows up on The Brownstone's stoop with two coffees. Colson meeting him with four blunts. The two friends take a seat. Colson firing up the first blunt after Pete hands him his coffee.

"Yo... I'm sorry, Dawg." Colson starts as he exhales. "I put you in some shit... "

"Nah, Homie." Pete cuts him off as he accepts the blunt. "Luna's business is her own. No matter who it's with." Pete sighs. "I just worry about her, Man. And you too. I've seen you both go through some fucked up shit and I don't want to see it again, I guess." Pete half shrugs as he takes a pull.

"Look, Sam ACTUALLY talked to me last night so I get it a little more than I did before." Colson tells him as he accepts the blunt.

"It was just hard... " Pete shakes his head at the memories.

"I don't want this to fuck us up." Colson bares his soul to one of his bestfriends.

"Me neither." Pete agrees as he reaches for the second blunt and fires it up.

Both friends look at each other. There's an understanding between men that can happen without words. This is one of those times. With a simple nod, Pete and Colson are good. Going on to enjoy their coffee, each other and the NYC morning as they get high and bust it up like nothing ever happened.

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Luna's extra miserable when Colson wakes her up for their flight back to LA. The lack of sleep, too many drugs and her gunshot wound have her aching in every sense of the word. She doesn't shower. Just throws on sunglasses, cuttoffs and an oversized Hotel Diablo hoodie.

They make it to JFK just in time for their 11A flight. Everyone is dragging, not only Luna. Proving that cocaine is a Motherfucker. Once seated in first class, everyone knocks back out. Luna curling up against Colson as his face lays on her head and arm rests upon her bare leg.

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It's just before 8P by time they make it back to The LA House. Everyone is tired. No one is happy. All dropping their luggage in The Living Room before heading to their beds. They're so mentally jacked, no one's even thought to check The Charts, let alone eat at all day.

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Luna and Colson sleep clean until the next morning until her alarm goes off. Colson groans as she shifts away from him. Climbing out of the bed, she reaches high to stretch. Colson watching her out of one slitted eye.

"Why are you up?" He asks flatly.

"So you can truly see me." Luna answers before disappearing into the bathroom.

It takes a shit ton of coaxing and drugs to get Colson moving after Luna's shower. Complaining the whole time as she hands him water and joints. Once in the shower he starts to feel slightly better after he jerks off. He's FINALLY fully functional after his Adderall and coffee kicks in.

Not getting as much sleep as Luna and doing way more drugs, he's really edgy. She hands him a football before they walk out of the bedroom. He's so pissy they leave the house quietly without his trademark WE OUT.

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"Can I have the keys?" Luna asks, she's dressed in an overall romper, white shirt, long socks and one of her leathers as they walk towards the Rover in the early Saturday sun.

"Why?" Colson asks back as he tosses them to her in his own ripped jeans and black T.

"I need to drive and you need to listen." She answers before sliding into the driver's seat.

"You're talking to me now?" He counters with a slight attitude as he buckles his seatbelt.

"Do you think this is a fucking game?" Luna whips her head towards him.

"No." He answers solemnly as he sparks a joint.

"You don't seem to fucking get it at all." Luna shakes her head as she pulls out of the driveway.

"Look Loons, I'm sorry I fucked up with the Tommy and Justin thing. I shouldn't have said shit no matter how I was feeling." He exhales his apology as he passes her the joint and finally pops the Xanax she gave him.

"You still don't get it, Colson. How many times do I have to tell you.. It's not the secret you told. It's that you TOLD a secret. Period. You don't seem to realize that I'm dirtier than a fucking affair... Fuck." Luna let's out an exasperated sigh. "Let's be honest. In the short time you've known me; I've committed coercion, shot a federal agent, am in the process of setting up an underground abortion clinic... Oh! And I was blackmailed into issuing a public apology for fucking up one person out of what? A fucking dozen? And that's only been in the last 3MNTHS... Seriously, I am a fucking criminal." Colson stares at her as everything begins to register. "Fuck, I've got things going on that you don't even know about yet." She continues to worry as she hits the joint a few times while staring ahead. "And now, I'm terrified to fucking tell you about them."

"Like what?" Colson asks her with a concerned, yet amused SideEye as he takes the joint.

"Why should I tell you? Every criminal who's been caught is usually taken down because of their irrational lover." She looks over at him with a light smirk and hazy blue eyes for the first time during their car ride.

"You really gonna play me like that?" He scoffs at her before inhaling a huge hit.

"I don't know. You wanna say don't call Jax but are your stupid ass, jealous comments gonna get me popped one day?" She bites back as she fumbles for her cigarettes.

"Are you fucking serious?" He spits out as he starts to get angry with her. "What the fuck do you think I would do to you and what the fuck else are you doin' that's worse than what I already know? And where the FUCK are we going?" He demands as they continue to drive.

Luna's quiet for a long moment as she smokes her Newport. She's trying to keep herself calm and figure out exactly how to tell Colson about what things. Already having made her decision long before they got into the SUV to give up her biggest secret.

"Tell me, Luna." Colson asserts as he lights another joint.

"All in?" She asks him firmly as she looks over at him and holds his stare while he grabs her hand to reassure her. "I told you... I'm dirtier than you think. I own properties that clean money and stash shit for one of the biggest distributors on The East Coast." Luna admits in a hushed voice.

"It's for Tommy, isn't it?" Colson immediately snaps as his mind flashes back to his conversation with Benny.

"OH MY FUCKING GAWD!!" Luna can't help but scream. "You are so fucking hung up on other dudes that it's insane and probably what's gonna get me caught!" Luna stops. "How can you not see that I tell you more about myself WILLINGLY than any other human being on This Earth? That you know more about me than Justin ever did." Luna's lip trembles as tears escape from her eyes. "So, yeah... It started with Tommy but I have bigger associates now... " Luna shakes her head. "That's only a blip though. There is so much more at stake for me than that!" Luna slams her palms against the steering wheel in frustration as she begins to sob. "You have no fucking idea." She shakes her head again as her voice breaks.

"Then what is it, Luna?" Colson softens his tone with her.

Coming to a stop light, Luna turns her head and looks Colson dead in the eyes. Her hands are clutching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles are white. There's a look on her face he's never seen before. It's a mixture of sadness, pain and determination. Taking a shuddered sigh, Luna flicks her cigarette out the window. She finds herself begging The Universe that he won't betray her this time as she's about to tell only Colson her true intentions. Lighting her own joint, she inhales deeply and holds the hit in. Looking over at Colson, she studies him. He stares back, waiting for her words.

"I'm gonna kill Smurf." She states icily before turning away, releasing the brake and focusing on what's ahead. "Still wanna marry me now?" She asks, puffing on the joint without taking her eyes off of the road.

---------------------------------------------------

Part 2 of 2

To be continued...

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- Part 7 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

hello!!! so i have been trying so hard these past few weeks trying to get this final part of iiw right. i am insanely nervous to put this out there, because i don’t wanna disappoint any of the amazing people who followed this series from the beginning. i wanna thank all the thirsty hoes who have supported this fic and given me feedback, because y’all are the reason i had the motivation to finish the series. this is the most fun i’ve ever had writing anything, ever. i can’t believe this series is finally coming to an end 🤧BUTTTTT don’t forget that there will be an additional, shorter epilogue chapter! so stay tuned for that ;) I LOVE Y’ALL!!!! 

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, teen angst, like seriously A FUCK TON OF TEEN ANGST, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, sexual intercourse, (semi?) public sex, dirty talk

word count: 12.8k (IM SORRY LMFAOOO) 

tags: @alicecooper19 @ritualmichael @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michaelsapostle @trelaney @kissydevil @langdonalien @langdonsdemon @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @wroteclassicaly @cocosfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @theinevitableprophecy @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @pr1ncessd1e @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @prophesieddarling @isoldedax @fckinsupreme @lvngdvns @hisgirlwonder @telexnesis @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @noelle525 @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @anacerta @nuke-em-from-orbit @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @littledemondani @beriveri @dcvilrising @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @imjustasadhoe @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @michaelsfrenchtoast @ms-mead @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy @coollangdon @s7venwonders @littlehouseofleaves @elvahavax @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @alternativepetewentz @maytheforcebewithqueen

(sorry to anyone who asked to be tagged but isn’t in my tag list!! tumblr won’t let me tag certain blogs for some reason!!)

i.

“Goddamn it, how hard is it for you to follow simple GPS directions?” Miriam’s voice was pitched in annoyance as she scolded your father, whose knuckles were near white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

“You know what? Why don’t I just pull over, and you drive instead?” your father snapped. You and Michael exchanged a glance in the back seat for what seemed like the thousandth time since you’d all loaded into the car several hours before.

In celebration of summer vacation, and you and Michael’s recent graduation from high school, your father and Miriam had decided to arrange something of an impromptu vacation. Your father was far too cheap to travel anywhere of any significant distance, so he’d decided that the next best option was to take a road trip down to Myrtle Beach, Florida.

“Oh my god, yes,” Michael had said to you after your parents had broken the news to you both. “Do you know how many half-naked sluts we’re gonna see there? Myrtle Beach is like, white trash central.”

That comment had been the fuel for one of the many arguments you and Michael had engaged in following graduation; there was tension in the air, hanging thick and heavy over your heads as the days crept along, and the mindless bickering between you and Michael was at an all time high.

Not that it stopped either of you from having sex. Quite the contrary, in fact— you and Michael had been having so much sex that it was maybe even getting a little ridiculous.

“Seriously, Michael?” you’d said after his crude comment, your tone far whinier than originally intended. “Go fuck one of those half-naked white trash sluts instead of me, then.”

It’d taken him several minutes to convince you that he’d been joking (even though you were still fairly certain that he’d been dead serious) followed by some admittedly top-quality make up sex, which proved to be enough to convince you to move on.

Maybe something was in the water, you thought. Even Miriam and your father had seemed to be fighting constantly as of late, and the stressful atmosphere of the household made you feel constantly on edge; it almost felt like there was an impending disaster coming, one that was impossible to prevent. You only hoped that whatever disaster might be on its way would avoid you and Michael.

Right now, Michael was leaning with his forehead resting against the window, a bored look on his face as he skipped through the music playing on his phone. He only had one earbud in, the other draped over his shoulder (presumably so he could eavesdrop on your parents’ ridiculous arguments), dressed casually in light gray sweatpants and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt.

Fuck, he looked good. He was jostled slightly with each slight motion of the car as it moved forward, the muscles in his arms subtly flexing as he reached up to run his fingers through his soft, tousled blond hair. For a second, your mind was clouded with images of a beach-bound Michael, his tanned, water-speckled torso lean but still toned, swimming trunks clinging to the lowest point of his narrow hips and leaving almost nothing up to the imagination. Your mouth watered.

“You know, if I’d driven, we would’ve actually arrived at the hotel by the time the GPS said,” Miriam said.

“So why didn’t you!?” your father exclaimed.

You locked eyes with Michael yet again, whose pale eyes glimmered with slight amusement at the nonstop back-and-forth between your parents.

“Because you insisted on driving.”

“Insisted? All I did was offer to drive out of the kindness of my— oh fuck, I think we just passed the hotel.”

“We did,” offered Michael flatly from the backseat, the soft glow of the neon hotel sign reflecting in his pupils as he craned his neck to follow the building.

“Goddamn it,” your father muttered, scanning the road for somewhere to make a U-turn.

“Nice going,” Miriam muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

You were jerked forward as your father abruptly turned the car around in an act that you were ninety-nine percent sure was illegal; in a matter of seconds, the car was parked in the hotel parking lot, officially marking the end of the several-hour-long trek. Everyone seemed to let out a unanimous sigh of relief.

“Fucking finally,” said Michael, opening the door and swinging his legs outside so his ratty Converse sneakers made contact with the asphalt. You followed suit, making your way around to the trunk, which you popped open to retrieve your colorful travel bag.

The sound of crickets chirping through the mild Florida night was soothing despite its incessantness, and you found yourself smiling idly, a warm breeze gently caressing your face. So maybe you weren’t in the goddamn Dominican Republic, but you were still prepared to enjoy your time here.

Once everyone had taken their respective belongings from the trunk, your father led the way to the front entrance of the hotel.

The hotel lobby was nice, but certainly nothing special; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the sole reason your father had chosen this place above all others was because it was the cheapest. Your father, weighed down with his overstuffed black bag, trudged over to the front desk with a pained look on his face.

“Imagine this place is infested with roaches,” said Michael lowly, flashing you a shit-eating grin when your face paled at this terrifying prospect.

“Shut up. My dad isn’t that much of a cheapskate.”

“Or what if it’s haunted?” he said, furrowing his brows to mimic a deadly serious expression.

“It’ll be haunted by your ghost in about five seconds if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“I saw this thing online about a girl who went missing, and then they found her in the water tower of the hotel,” he continued, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t at all surprising that he was trying to scare you. “And like, all the people staying there were showering and stuff, but little did they know they were washing themselves in dead body water.”

“Can you shut up, please?”

His plump lips contorted into a devious smile. “What, am I scaring you?”

“No, you’re just being really fucking annoying.”

“Aww, don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll protect you from any ghosts or cockroaches that might be here.” He pulled you into a side hug, squeezing you against him with an iron grip as he nuzzled the top of your head with his chin. You pulled away, exerting minimal strength but still managing to evade his grasp.

“Are you going to be this obnoxious the entire trip?” you said, watching as your father appeared to be looking for something in his pockets. After patting himself down for several seconds, he said something to the man behind the front desk; whatever it was that he’d said resulted in Miriam’s face contorting into a look that could easily kill anyone three times over.

“Here we go,” Michael whispered, mouth twitching at the corners as he averted his attention away from you and onto your parents instead.

“You’re an idiot,” Miriam was saying, practically seething as she spoke. “A goddamn idiot. How the hell did you manage to forget the credit card?!”

Your father’s mouth opened and closed as he attempted to come up with a response good enough to satiate his fuming wife, but of course there was none.

“How did he forget the credit card?” Michael said.

You shrugged.

Miriam huffed loudly as she began to dig through her purse, shooting your father a contemptuous glare when her hand emerged, leather wallet in tow. You watched as she pulled out her credit card, handing it over the front desk to the visibly uncomfortable man standing there.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the muscles in your arms starting to burn from the weight of your travel bag.

Michael, having apparently lost interest in your parents’ altercation, suddenly turned back to face you. “You think I’ll be able to pass for over 21 at the hotel bar?”

Before you could respond, your father was making his way over to you, brandishing two key cards in either hand. “We decided it’d be best for all of us if you and Michael had your own room. You guys don’t mind, do you?”

He handed you a card, and as you looked it over, you tried your hardest not to pay any attention to Michael.

It was truly astounding how clueless everyone seemed to be in regards to your relationship (if you could call it that) with your stepbrother, but you definitely weren’t complaining. Just the thought of having a room all to yourselves was enough to make your heart race.

“Of course we don’t mind,” you said with a smile.

“Just— y’know. Miriam and I have some things we need to work out, and, well, I don’t want you guys swept up in any of the drama,” said your father.

“Totally understandable, dad,” said Michael, beaming as he snaked his free arm around your shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage. What do you think, (y/n)?”

Michael widened his eyes at you, the contorted features of his porcelain face dripping with faux-innocence.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, tone cheerful and sweet.

In unison, you and Michael looked away from one another and back to your father. His eyes were shadowed with deep rings, and he looked more like he was about to head off to a 9-to-5 shift at a dead-end job rather than a vacation with his family. “You kids be good, all right?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, ripples of electricity making their way up your spine as Michael lightly stroked your shoulder with his calloused fingertips. “We will.”

ii.

“Room number 69, huh?” Michael said with a quirk of his eyebrow, licking his lips as he plucked the key card from your hand and slid it into its designated slot by the door. “It’s like they knew we were gonna be staying here.”

“You are eighteen years old,” you said in a monotone, though secretly Michael’s immature sense of humor and silliness were qualities that never failed in making your heart swell.

There was a subtle beep as the light next to the slot flickered green, and Michael pushed open the door with one shoulder, the other occupied with his bag. “How fucking awesome is this?”

You followed him into the modestly-sized room, discarding your bag at the end of one of the two pristinely made beds. Michael did the same, and without even giving you time to settle into your new surroundings, he pushed you firmly up against the nearest empty wall.

Even despite the fact that he’d been sitting in a hot car for several hours (unsurprisingly, your father was very stingy with the air conditioning), Michael still managed to smell good; the intoxicating mixture of his shampoo, paired alongside his boyish deodorant and woodsy cologne, was dizzying from such a close proximity.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you chuckled, cheeks flushing as he began to pepper kisses along your neck and behind your ear, lifting one hand to brush your hair over your shoulder.

“Why would I?” he said, his voice low and seductive. He took a moment to playfully nip at your earlobe, and you squealed, wrapping your arms around him so you could pull his firm torso closer to yours. “What else are you supposed to do when you’re left all alone with such a pretty girl?”

As much as you weren’t willing to admit it, your heart soared at this validation- Michael thought you were a pretty girl. Those words, coming from that perfect mouth, made you feel a childish sense of giddiness, gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach like an innocent playground crush.

Michael wandered one hand up over the curve of your hip and onto your waist, lips still moving open-mouthed against your jugular and around to the front of your throat. Reaching up to the back of Michael’s head, you took a fistful of butterscotch-colored hair at the root, using it to guide him back towards your face. Then you kissed him, hard and passionate, your fingers threading easily through his waves as his tongue slipped past yours and into your mouth.

Ding!

You assumed Michael’s phone had just gone off, but neither of you paid it any mind, your breath hitching as Michael slid one veined hand up under your tank top to grope your left breast.

Ding!

“My pretty baby sis,” Michael breathed, swollen mouth slick with saliva. Panting softly, he continued to ignore his phone, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him haphazardly.

With his upper body exposed to you now, you took the opportunity to trace your fingers down the length of his subtly defined abs, stopping just beneath his navel. Just below that, after the cute trail of fuzzy blond hair that paved the way to his v-line, was the low-hanging waistband of his gray sweatpants; you hooked your fingers there, just barely pulling the fabric down as you eyed the mouthwatering bulge prominent in the front of his pants.

You couldn’t help yourself- biting your lower lip, you brought your hand between Michael’s legs and grasped his semi-erect length through the soft material of his pants.

Ding! Ding!

Michael hissed, but he seemed to be somewhat distracted now; you knit your eyebrows as he twisted around to face the source of the interruption- his phone, which he’d left on one of the beds.

Ding!

“What is that?” you asked, frowning. It wasn’t often that Michael tolerated anything getting in the way of his hookups, so you found it mildly concerning when he broke away from you entirely to go and grab his phone.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his lips as he looked at his screen, and you could tell that he was stifling a smirk. “Oh. Uh, it’s nothing.”

You moved from your place against the wall, approaching Michael with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Sure, maybe it was none of your business, seeing that you weren’t Michael’s girlfriend or anything, but he’d piqued your curiosity.

Ding! Ding! Michael fumbled with the phone for a second before turning it on silent.

You cocked your head to one side. “No really, what is that?”

Michael had hidden his phone behind his back now, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

Okay, now you had to know.

“C’mon, lemme see,” you said, trying your hardest not to sound upset. Why were you upset, anyway? You reached around Michael to take his phone from his hand, which, surprisingly, he allowed you to do without much protest.

You looked down at his phone, jaw dropping as you began reading over the several notifications stretching down the length of his screen.

NEW MATCH! With Sofi

NEW MATCH! With Katherine

NEW MATCH! With Kristen

NEW MATCH! With Mallory

NEW MATCH! With Caitlin

NEW MATCH! With Anna

Your eyes flickered up to Michael’s face, down to the phone screen, and then back again, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to react to such a discovery. Michael just offered you a sheepish shrug, somehow only pissing you off further, and angrily you shoved his phone back into his hands.

“Are you fucking kidding? We’ve been here for less than an hour and you’re already trying to find hoes on Tinder?”

“Well, I mean, that’s one way to put it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to see what kind of girls live around here, I swear. I wasn’t actually gonna-“

“-Whatever,” you mumbled, bending over to unzip your travel bag. It wasn’t like you had any sort of right to be pissed- Michael could do what he wanted, and if what he wanted was to hook up with random Tinder girls, then so be it. Still, though, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You rifled around in your bag until you came upon the neat ziploc bag full of travel-sized shower essentials, which you tucked under your arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I feel gross.”

“Wait, (y/n). Are you mad at me?” You weren’t sure if he actually cared about hurting your feelings, or if he was worried that you wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore; either way, you didn’t think right now was the best of times to be honest about your feelings.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Your voice sounded dangerously close to breaking, and you knew it (and so did Michael, most likely).

“Well… I dunno. You seemed pretty pissed just now.”

“No, no. Do whatever you want. Fuck as many Tinder girls as your heart desires. It’s not like we’re exclusive.” You continued to search through your bag, pulling out your pajamas and hair towel and tucking them alongside your shower supplies.

“Someone sounds bitter,” Michael mused, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in a focused, pointed glare.

“I thought it was sort of established already that this-“ he motioned at himself, and then to you- “isn’t gonna go anywhere. So I don’t really see the harm in looking around.”

Instantly, you felt a lump form in the back of your throat.

He was right. You’d even said it yourself, that nothing good would ever become of this thing you had with Michael; as much as you wanted it to, it was impossible. So why did it hurt so bad to hear it coming from him?

“Which is why I’m not mad,” you said, swallowing thickly. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

But, like the cliché you were, you did care. Thinking of Michael with anyone else made you feel sick to your stomach. But what were you supposed to do about it? You were his stepsister.

God, if only things had been different. If only the universe hadn’t brought you together in the most inconvenient and unconventional of ways.

You turned on your heels, leaving Michael behind as you made your way to the bathroom without another word.

Once you’d started the shower and adjusted the temperature, you stripped down, catching a glimpse in the mirror of the many marks adorning your body that Michael had left behind at some point or another- hickeys (some bright lilac and navy blue, while others were fading shades of yellow and pink, all speckled down your chest and over your breasts), fingerprint-shaped bruises, shallow scratches.

And those were just the physical ways that Michael had marked you; you were sure that if you turned yourself inside out, there would be thousands more markings to be found.  

You thought maybe this was exactly what you needed right now: a long, hot shower to clear your head. Maybe, if the mood struck, you’d even cry a little bit, just to get your emotions in order.

You stepped into the shower, flinching at the intensity of the stream as it cascaded relentlessly over your body. Shutting your eyes, you ran your palms over your face, skin prickling at the pleasant warmth of the water. After you’d allowed your hair to get sufficiently soaked, you reached for your travel-sized bottle of shampoo, squirting some of the coconut-scented gel into your hand and working up a lather.

You were halfway through your usual hair-washing routine when you heard the bathroom door open; you opened one eye, hardly wider than a squint, to see a tall, blond-haired figure through the steamy glass shower door entering the bathroom. Though the thick layer of steam on the door heavily obscured the intruder, you were still able to see that whoever had entered was butt fucking naked.

Fucking Michael.

There was a metallic squeak as the shower door slid open, revealing an image to you that must’ve been hand-delivered by an angel. There, in all his naked glory, stood Michael, one hand positioned by his side and the other gripping his impressively hard cock.

It was a miracle you didn’t slip and crack your skull open right then.

“Hey,” said Michael coolly, a smug smirk appearing on his lips when he noticed you staring at his length.

“Michael, what are you doing?” you asked, attempting to sound just a little less eager than you were feeling. You tilted your head back, quickly washing away the excess shampoo in your hair, and as you did this, Michael joined you in the shower.

“Saving water,” Michael replied, pulling the door shut and enclosing the two of you within the stream.

“How environmentally friendly of you.”

“Aww, are you still mad at me?” You tensed as he grabbed your hips and brought you closer to him, the head of his cock brushing your stomach and sending chills throughout your body.

“I was never mad at you,” you said flatly. You kept rinsing your hair, refusing to give Michael the attention he clearly was so desperately seeking (not yet, at least).

“You were a little jealous though, weren’t you?” he teased, squeezing your tits without warning and making you jump. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve already told you before that your pussy is my favorite.”

“I was never worried,” you snapped, but you couldn’t deny the arousal that immediately resulted from Michael’s words.

“Whatever you say, baby,” said Michael, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. You shivered at the feeling of his big cock on your ass, and all at once, whatever snarky comeback you’d been formulating disintegrated into nothingness.

Your eyes fell shut as Michael’s hands traveled over your body, his touch gentle but still possessive; he stopped at your tits, kneading the smooth peaks in both hands until they stung, kissing your shoulder when you squirmed at the slight discomfort. “Just relax and let your big brother take care of you.”

He retrieved your body wash off the ledge in the shower, gathering some in his palms and returning his attention to your tits. You leaned back, resting the back of your head on his broad shoulder as he began rubbing the body wash all over you (mainly focusing on your breasts, because what else would you expect from Michael Langdon?).

His slippery hands felt like heaven on your tits, pinching and toying with your nipples just the way you liked. It wasn’t until his hand began dipping lower, though, that your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers trailed past your stomach and down to cup your cunt, goosebumps erupting across your skin as he hummed in your ear. Your entire body reacted to his touch, muscles tightening and thighs trembling, hips rolling back so you could better feel his deliciously thick cock against your back.

“You like that? Like how I touch you?” he murmured, his words reverberating against your throat and igniting a fresh wave of arousal between your legs.

With one hand, he used his fingers to splay apart your outer lips, gathering some of your wetness by stroking up and down your slit while his other hand worked at your tits. A familiar heat began to spread from behind your navel, and paired with the near-scalding warmth and great pressure of the shower stream, you felt your head start to spin.

You laid your head back on Michael’s shoulder, trusting him to keep you balanced as you reclined limply against him. His fingers moved upwards again, using the sticky arousal on the tips of his fingers to massage slow, lazy circles over your aching bud; you let out a gravelly moan just as Michael administered a sharp pinch to your hardened nipple.

“Fuck, Michael… feels so good.”

You were well past the point of preserving your pride, bucking your hips against Michael’s hand while trying to squeeze your thighs shut around it, keeping him close to you.

“Hm? Is that right? You like when I touch your pussy?” His voice was husky, rich and warm like a roll of tropical thunder; swallowing noisily, you bobbed your head up and down in agreement.

Garnering what little energy you had left, you extended your arm behind you, spreading your fingers in search of Michael’s erection; tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips at the feeling of his stiff, smooth skin, you followed the slightly jutting vein that wound up the side of his length, stopping at the head of his cock and running your thumb over his leaking slit.

He groaned at the sensation, encouraging you on. You returned your hand to the base of his cock, grazing your fingers along his sensitive balls before taking a firm hold of his shaft, pumping your fist up and down his length with as much vigor as you could manage.

“Fuck,” he grunted, and although he now had the added task of awaiting his own impending orgasm alongside bringing you to yours, his fingers did not falter between your legs. Every throaty groan passing his lips seemed to drive his fingers into more of a frenzy, forming fast, sloppy shapes on your aching bud until you were crying out.

“That’s a good- fuck- girl. Keep jerking your big brother’s cock, just like that. Feels so fucking good,” he breathed against your skin, making you shiver even despite the heavy, humid warmth of the bathroom. You could no longer see anything through the glass door, which had become entirely overtaken with thick fog; for a moment you felt like this was the only place on earth that existed- a closed-off world of steam and water and porcelain made just for you and Michael.

With your eyes shut tight as the coil in your belly prepared to snap, all you could do was listen to the melodic blend of sounds enveloping the small space and attempt to move your body in time with the makeshift rhythm. Not one sound fell upon deaf ears- you were hyper-aware of every vulgar, human noise; every breath and every moan; every squeak of wet feet on the slick white floor.

This might be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, you thought.

“Fuck, Michael— more.” Stretching your other arm back to desperately grab at Michael’s damp mop of waves, you allowed yourself to come undone, arching your back so your erect nipples were pointed up towards the ceiling.

Michael brought his free hand away from your breasts, instead using it to brace himself against the shower door, creating a hand-shaped imprint in the steam that immediately began to drip with condensation.

Without thinking, you let go of Michael’s hair to join his hand on the glass; lacing your fingers through his, you worked at his cock with your opposite hand until his breaths grew ragged and choppy- a sure-fire sign that he was about to cum.

“Fuck, (y/n), keep going,” he moaned breathlessly, pressing his thumb harshly against your clit and nearly causing your knees to buckle underneath you. “Gonna- fuck.”

His cock twitched in your hand, and with that, he was cumming, shooting his thick load all over your ass and lower back. Miraculously, even as he recovered from his orgasm, he still continued to touch you; his fingers were like magic on your clit, and within a matter of seconds, you, too, were being sent over the edge.

“Oh god, Michael—“

Even during an earth-shattering orgasm like the one you were experiencing, you still were able to notice the way that Michael had switched spots on the glass with you, his large hand enclosing around yours and squeezing.

He didn’t remove his hand from between your thighs until you were twitching and overstimulated, and once he did, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.

Your eyes fluttered open and shut again, like a person caught between life and death, when he planted a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m never gonna find anyone else like you,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. You weren’t sure whether it was a reassurance to you, or a solemn statement of distress.

Either way, you swore you could hear something like sadness behind his words.

iii.

Since Miriam and your father were too preoccupied with their arguing to arrange any family excursions, you and Michael were left to your own devices.

Those next few days in Florida, your life was about as close to a teen romance movie as it could get. You and Michael spent the days exploring the nearby towns, trying out restaurants (it’d taken a startlingly long while for you to convince Michael to try out one of the local cafés for breakfast instead of McDonald’s, which had been his original idea) and going shopping; on one occasion, you shared a joint with Michael before dragging him to the local aquarium, which he’d pretended to be entirely disinterested in (even though you could see the wonder and fear in his eyes whilst staring at the shark exhibit- what would happen if the glass broke? he’d asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the paneling as a particularly large shark swam by).

You shared ice cream with him on the boardwalk, licking the chocolate soft serve that had melted off the cone and onto Michael’s hand off his fingers; you rubbed sunscreen on each other at the beach (although Michael wasn’t nearly as thorough as you were, and most of the time you’d wind up with a nasty sunburn thanks to his negligence); you bought 99-cent popsicles from a vendor, making out with cherry-stained lips while the sun went down.

At night, you’d sit on the beach, sometimes stoned, talking and laughing as the waves rolled in and out on the shore.

It was 3 am on your last night in Florida, and you and Michael had snuck out of the hotel room and walked down to the beach, large checkered blanket and a bottle of red wine in tow (Michael had charmed the woman behind the counter in a sketchy liquor store in order to obtain this). You were sitting side-by-side, thoughts clouded from the effects of the alcohol with your knees drawn to your chest, when a sudden realization washed upon you like one of the rumbling waves breaking against the shore.

You were in love with Michael Langdon.

This was an unwavering, undeniable fact; you were in love with him. You loved him, even the parts of him that, at one point, you had hated. The realization was both peaceful and upsetting.

“Michael,” you said, huddling closer to yourself as a cool breeze cut through the night. What were you going to say to him? You couldn’t very well tell him about the epiphany you’d just had- he’d been on Tinder just a few days ago, for god’s sake. But, still, you felt compelled to say something.

“Hmm?” He stretched out his legs, running his palms up and down his sand-covered calves. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the features of his face, save for the sparkling reflection in his eyes as he looked out towards the ocean.

You licked your lips, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle of wine that had been positioned upright in the sand. You winced at the bittersweet taste washing over your tongue, the blood-colored liquid sloshing noisily against its glass confines as you brought it back down to your side.

“I don’t know,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid. “It’s just- I don’t want this all to be over.”

“Me either,” he said, putting his arm around you and drawing you closer to him. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of wine and stale cigarettes and salt water like it was oxygen and you’d just been saved from drowning. “I didn’t think I would, but I had a really great time this week.”

You shook your head. “I’m not just talking about this week. I just mean in general. I feel like it’s all ending so soon.”

“Oh.” He took in a breath, an especially large wave hitting the shore with a startling crash. “God, this fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Michael, I-“ I love you. The remaining words settled on the back of your tongue, refusing to roll off, but perhaps it was for the better. “-I think in another life, we could’ve worked out. Could’ve been something more than what we are. You know?”

If only, if only, if fucking only.

“Lucky us, being born in the universe where we’re fucking step siblings,” Michael laughed, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “But, (y/n). Even though shit isn’t working out the way we wanted it to, and even though it’s gonna hurt when we both go away to college, I’m still so glad that I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

There was only silence for a long moment as Michael reached for the wine bottle and took an indulgent sip. “There’s so much shit I wish could’ve been different,” he said finally, angling his head up towards the velvet blackness of the night sky. “I wish I’d treated you differently. I wish I hadn’t been so fucking scared of feeling something.”

You ran your fingers through the soft sand, forming meaningless patterns there as you listened to Michael open up for what felt like the first time since you’d met him.

“I used to lie awake at night and think of how fucking unfair this all is. That the one girl I’ve ever really wanted is the one girl I can’t have. I used to think if maybe I pushed you away, treated you like shit, that everything would hurt less. But it just hurt me more, seeing you in pain from the shit I put you through. And now I realize that it’s all gonna hurt the same either way. ‘Cause I’ll never have you the way I want.”

You felt a well-known pinching behind your eyes, and you blinked, silently willing away the tears that were threatening to escape. You kept your eyes on the drawings you’d made in the ground, knowing that if you were to look into Michael’s eyes, you’d probably break.

“What’s gonna happen to us, Michael? We can’t just wait for each other while we’re away at college and miss out on life. But god, I wanna be with you,” you said, voice quivering.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I say we just…live our lives. And if it’s meant to be, it will be. One day.”

You nodded, dragging your fingers through the sand and destroying the mindless spirals and swirls you’d formed. “One day.”

“But enough with all that sad shit,” said Michael, taking your chin in hand and moving it so you were looking at him. “What’s important is that we have each other right now. So let’s make the most of that, hm?”

The look in Michael’s eyes told you right away what he meant by making the most of your time together; your cheeks were hot, prickling from the red wine, fingertips burning to touch something. So you did- you grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, yanking him towards you and placing a haphazard, open-mouthed kiss on his lips.

The kiss was aggressive and feverish; it didn’t take long for Michael to lay you down on the checkered blanket, his hands wandering your body like it belonged to him (and, in a way, it did).

When Michael broke away to catch his breath, panting, you decided to try something new: with all the strength you could muster, you pushed Michael off of you and promptly rolled on top of him instead, straddling him with your knees on either side of his torso.

In the faint glow of the silvery moonlight, you could see an indistinct smirk playing at his lips; it wasn’t often that you were the one to take control, but it was obvious, from the growing protrusion in the front of his pants, that he liked the change.

You leaned down to reattach your lips to his, hips rocking back and forth over his bulge until the friction sent shock waves up your spine. With you bent forward, Michael was easily able to slide his veined hands up the back of your short skirt, taking two greedy fistfuls of your ass.

Almost frantically, you tore your shirt off over your head, not bothering to worry about where it landed. Now, the only thing separating your breasts from the nighttime air was a thin lace bralette, which Michael took to palming you through.

“Fuck, (y/n),��� murmured Michael, rolling one of your hardened nipples between two fingers. “You have seriously got the best tits.”

“Yeah? You think so?” you said, a twinge of playful mocking to your voice; you wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrists, maneuvering them so that both his hands were fondling your breasts.

“Fuck yeah, I think so,” he said, and you only wished there was just a bit more light so you could properly admire him in his disheveled, lustful state.

“Even better than those girls on Tinder you matched with?” you taunted, grinding your hips down hard against Michael’s erection. “I wonder what they’d think about all the times you’ve been balls deep in your stepsister.”

At this, he tightened his grip on your tits, twisting them almost painfully before hoisting up the thin fabric of your bralette so your nipples were exposed. You helped him in removing the garment, pulling it off and throwing it alongside your shirt, never once ceasing the motion of your hips against his clothed, twitching cock.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Michael said, running his thumbs over your nipples. “Otherwise I’d take you over my lap and spank your ass raw for being such a little bitch.”

“And you’re lucky you have a big dick,” you shot back, words catching in your throat when he tugged hard on one of your nipples. “Otherwise I never would’ve given your fuckboy ass the time of day.”

This was a lie, of course, but your lighthearted tone of voice was enough to let him know that you were only messing around.

Michael scoffed. “No, I think you’re the one who’s lucky that I have a big dick, considering that you’re a total fucking cock-hungry slut.”

You stifled a laugh. Well, he’s not wrong.

“Is that a complaint?” you said, lips quirking as you scooted your body slightly downward, giving yourself room to pull Michael’s now-fully hard cock out. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you took the pulsing length in hand, moving your thin panties to the side and repositioning yourself so that the head of Michael’s cock was nestled just barely against your entrance.

Michael shook his head rapidly, a throaty grunt passing his lips. “Obviously- fuck- not.”

It was almost amusing to you, the way you and Michael had gone from having a heartfelt conversation to teasing each other relentlessly, but you supposed that was what you loved about your dynamic anyway. Unable to hold off any longer, you guided Michael’s cock inside you, gliding down easily on his length until he was fully seated inside. Your mouth fell open, and as you began to properly ride him, he brought his hands to grip your hips with a tight, bruising hold.

“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, tits bouncing as you rolled your hips forward, increasing your momentum. Michael slid one hand from your hip to your inner thigh, pinching the tender skin before bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.

A pleasant, salt water-scented breeze passed by as you rode Michael, further disheveling your hair, which you ran your fingers through; the lewd noises of your body connecting with Michael’s were overtaken by the unmistakable sounds of the tide.

“Good girl, riding my cock so fucking good,” Michael breathed, lifting up his free hand so he could push two fingers into your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered at the salt of his skin, lips instinctively wrapping around his calloused digits and sucking.

Swirling your tongue over Michael’s fingers, you continued riding him, swaying your hips in figure-eight motions; the thick girth of his cock stretched your tight walls, and from this angle, you could practically feel him in your stomach.

The pad of Michael’s thumb pressed against your clit again, and as electric pleasure rippled up your spine, it took everything inside you not to cum right then and there. Your pussy was clenching tight around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go—you didn’t want to be apart from him. Not yet.  

For a second, you could see every contoured feature of Michael’s face illuminated in the pale light of the moon, the exaggerated shadows and highlights coming together to form an image that was almost otherworldly. His eyes were droopy-lidded, so much so that you might’ve thought his eyes were shut if it weren’t for the glint of his pupils; he’d sucked his full lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on the rosy pink flesh as he admired your curved, supple figure on top of him.

I love him, you thought, matter-of-fact, as he pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth and dragged them down between your tits, leaving a shiny trail of saliva in their wake.

I love him, you thought, bowing your body forward to kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as you hurried your pace on his cock.

I love him.

Why the fuck did you have to love him? It wasn’t fair. Your insides churned with jealousy at the thought of all the other teenage girls who were currently experiencing their first love; you thought of the constant Instagram posts of girls in new, happy relationships, the public displays of affection against lockers between classes. Those things, so seemingly insignificant, would never become a part of your reality (or at least not any reality involving Michael).

In another life you’d have Michael over for dinner to meet your father, holding his hand under the table when you’d notice his thigh jiggling anxiously. You’d kiss him freely without the underlying fear, swirling deep in the pit of your belly, that someone might catch you. You’d be his prom date, match your gown to his bow tie and take awkward pictures with him, his strong arms holding you from behind.

In another life, things would be normal. In another life, you and Michael would be happy together.

“(Y/n),” groaned Michael; the sound of his raspy voice calling your name was enough to send you over the edge, bracing your tense body with one hand next to his head as you rode out your orgasm.

You were able to move even faster now, both of his hands holding your ass as you leaned far enough forward that you could bury your head in his neck. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you was almost too much now that you’d orgasmed, but you didn’t stop, eager to witness Michael drift into his own realm of bliss.

“Fuck—“ was all that could leave Michael’s lips before he came, using your ass to hold you in place as he spilled his warm load inside of you. You  didn’t move, keeping your face by his neck so you could listen to him catch his breath.

When you finally picked yourself up, Michael looked down to his shoulder and furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you just crying?”

Fuck. Yes, yes you were. Tears had apparently leaked from the corners of your eyes without you realizing, wetting his neck and the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. You said nothing, pulling off him to retrieve the clothing articles that you’d discarded in the sand earlier.

“Just a little,” you said, embarrassed, shaking the sand off your bralette and putting it on. “Red wine makes me angsty.”

“Oh.” There was a pregnant pause as Michael cleared his throat. “C’mon, (y/n), it’s not so bad.”

There was wavering uncertainty veiled beneath the confidence of his words, and you could tell he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment just as much as he was trying to convince you. Your back was to him as you slipped your shirt over your head, willing yourself not to start crying again.

“(Y/n)?”

His hand was on your back, the tips of his fingers circling lightly over the fabric of your shirt. You turned to face him, slowly. “Yes?”

“I…” He halted for a moment, contemplating something. “I really, really like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”

“I really, really like you too.” Somewhere, a chorus of crickets were unknowingly performing a custom symphony for your own teen romance movie moment. Michael took your hand in his, lacing his long fingers through yours, and you swallowed.

He looked down at your joined hands, an almost solemn look on his face. “Just. I don’t want you to forget, all right? No matter what happens.”

No matter what happens. You didn’t want to think of what he could mean by that.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, as if to shield your words from the ocean’s prying ears. “I won’t forget.”

And that, you knew, was an irrefutable fact.

iv.

Late August hit you like a truck, coming by so unexpectedly that you thought surely you’d been caught in some kind of time slip. Your college move-in date was a week before Michael’s, and so Michael had spent the days leading up to your departure helping you pack (he’d also, of course, made plenty of time for “breaks” throughout the process, one of which consisted of you being fucked on the floor amidst the vast array of brown moving boxes).

Your bedroom was now a shell of what it’d once been- the comfortable teenage clutter you’d been so accustomed to was now gone, and you’d finally gotten around to throwing out the pictures and stickers you’d had on your wall since freshman year. It was depressing, hollow.

On the morning of your move-in date, your father helped you bring your belongings to the car and load the trunk. The car ride was going to be fairly long, and you were dreading it, especially since Michael wasn’t coming along. He had his own matters to attend to, what with his own move-in date creeping near, and the car would be far too crowded with all your things there anyway.

You were scheduled to leave at 9, and downstairs you could hear your father and Miriam shuffling around as they prepared for the trip. You sat at the edge of your bed, surrounded by the pale purple sheets you’d had for as long as you could remember, idly scraping the toe of your sneaker back and forth along the wooden floor.

You weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of this, but when had you ever been ready for anything life had thrown your way? You hadn’t been ready to fall in love with your stepbrother, and yet that had happened all the same.

From across the hall, Michael’s bedroom door cracked open, and out he came in his flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt (which now perfectly complemented the slight summertime hue of bronze to his skin), blond hair in beautiful disarray. Your heart ached- you were going to miss seeing him in the morning, all sleepy and soft, voice pitched lower than usual from sleep.

You recalled all the times you’d passed him as he stood at the counter in the bathroom, brushing his teeth; he’d look at you with a lazy half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his elbows resting on the edge of the sink. He always looked so handsome even when he wasn’t trying, a quality you almost envied him for.

He noticed you watching him from the corner of your bed as he approached the doorway, waving at you as he balanced his shoulder against the frame.

“‘Morning,” he said, his bleary-eyed gaze meeting yours. He looked tired, dark rings prevalent beneath his crystal blue eyes, and you briefly wondered if he’d gotten much sleep the night before. “You should be grateful that I got up at the ass crack of dawn to say goodbye to you.”

“The ass crack of dawn? Michael, it’s 8:45,” you said, and if you really tried, you could almost pretend that this was a regular conversation between the two of you, and not the very last time you’d be interacting face-to-face until November.

“Yeah, well, 8:45 is the ass crack of dawn to me,” he said, and you stood up, meeting him halfway in the middle of your barren room. He flashed you a grin, but there wasn’t much happiness behind it, and you could see that he was… uncomfortable? Sad? Angry?— you couldn’t quite tell— from the way he’d folded his arms in front of his stomach. “So yeah. I, uh, wanted to say goodbye. And also remind you not to fuck too many frat guys. You could, like, catch something.”

“I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise anything,” you joked, following the sentence with a forced-sounding chuckle. “Bye, Michael.”

You stepped forward, winding your arms around Michael’s waist and placing your head against his chest; you could just barely hear his heart beating, the warmth of his skin touching your cheek even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, strong arms holding you to him in an unyielding embrace. “So much.”

There were too many things you wanted to say, racing through your mind so quickly that it’d be impossible to articulate them aloud. Instead, you let out a shaky sigh, eyes falling shut as you tried your hardest to immerse yourself completely in Michael’s touch. Sometimes, there didn’t need to be any words for you to understand each other.

“Don’t be sad about this, (y/n). When you’re at college, you’re gonna meet so many guys who are so much better than I am. And you’re gonna wonder why you ever were hung up on a dumbass like me.” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew better than to really believe that he was unbothered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find someone better than you. I’m so fucking lucky that you gave me as many chances as you did. I didn’t deserve them.”

“You’re wrong,” you said, pulling away so you could look pointedly into Michael’s eyes. God, his eyes were beautiful, and you drank in the moment, knowing this was your last chance to really look into them face-to-face. “I gave you those chances because even though you acted like a total fucking asshole, I still knew there was good in you. I could just… feel it.”

He cocked an eyebrow skepticall y. “No, you gave me all those second chances because I give good head and have a big dick.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe those were contributing factors, but they weren’t the only reasons I stuck around.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, licking his lips and settling his hands on your hips. “For the record, your pussy really is my favorite. Like, I wasn’t just saying that.”

“I’m honored.”

The interaction was cut short by the sound of your father calling you from downstairs, indicating that it was time to leave, and your heart sank deep into your stomach. Standing up on the tips of your toes, you planted a chaste kiss on his lips before hurrying out into the hall, waving over your shoulder as you went.

“Bye, (y/n),” Michael said, not moving from where he stood in your bedroom. He’d dug his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, shoulders slumped forward as he watched you go. For a moment, you wished you’d hugged him for longer. “See you in November.”

“See you,” you called back, imitating nonchalance to the best of your ability, only averting your gaze when you felt tears wobbling along your waterline, threatening to overflow and spill down your cheeks.

In that last moment before you turned, you could almost swear that he had tears in his eyes, too.

v.

When you finally made your way up those familiar porch steps again, the November air chilling you slightly even despite the thick sweater you wore, you felt like an entirely different person.

Those first few months of college had been a blur; your life was far more interesting than it’d ever been while you were in high school (if you didn’t count the whole ‘fucking your stepbrother’ thing), with a surplus of boys at your disposal at all times. You’d gotten perhaps a bit carried away with the dating and partying and hookups, but you figured you were simply making up for all the experiences you’d missed out on in high school.

Michael was a thought that you trained yourself to keep tucked away. During those first few weeks, you’d spent several nights crying yourself to sleep, the stiff dorm room bed so uninviting compared to the way Michael’s arms had always felt around you. At parties, you’d scan the crowds for boys with blond hair and blue eyes, hoping that one of them could temporarily stand in for Michael during your time away from him. None of them fulfilled the requirements, of course- you’d come to realize early on that nobody was quite as good as Michael Langdon. It took a while for you to stop searching for Michael in every boy you became acquainted with, but with practice, you became rather skilled in the art of forgetting.

You and Michael kept in contact, albeit only sometimes. His messages to you were comprised mainly of memes he’d found on Instagram that he thought you’d appreciate, along with the occasional drunk text late at night (‘Cna you send me a pci of your tits/??? Lmfao’ was one of your favorite messages from him that you’d received thus far). It made you feel special to know that he was thinking of you, even despite being surrounded by girls like you assumed he probably was.

You tried not to think of him too much, though- you knew you’d drive yourself crazy if you did.

When Thanksgiving time rolled around, you were confronted with the fact that you’d be seeing Michael again for the first time in months, a prospect that ignited your nerves far more than you were willing to admit. As excited as you were to see him, you also couldn’t help but worry: what if he announced that he’d found a girlfriend? What if he wasn’t attracted to you anymore? What if you weren’t attracted to him anymore?

It probably would be easier for the both of you if things played out that way, but you didn’t want things to be easy. It was unrealistic, but part of you was praying that things would be exactly as they were before you’d gone away.

Your hand trembled a bit as you raised it to the doorbell, and you braced yourself before jamming your finger into the button. From inside the house, you heard the muffled, off-key tone as it resounded throughout the upstairs area, followed by bounding footsteps down the stairs that you pinpointed as belonging to your father.

The front swung open and there was your father, a wide smile stretched across his face as he ushered you inside, taking it upon himself to bring in your travel bag for you. “(Y/n)! Finally! How was the train ride?”

“Not bad,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. As soon as you were apart, you started up the stairs, your pulse quickening as you came closer and closer to the moment you’d been anticipating for months. “Did Michael get back already?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.”

Your heart skipped at this revelation; your legs couldn’t bring you to the top of the stairs fast enough, and, sensing your heightened enthusiasm, your father chuckled from behind you. “Hey, hold on a second. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you said breathlessly, the rubber soles of your sneakers making noisy contact with the wooden upstairs floor. You supposed that maybe you should’ve spent more time greeting your father, but you could no longer contain yourself- you needed to see Michael.

Leaving your bag at the top of the stairs, you hurried to the hallway where your bedrooms were located, unable to stifle your eagerness. You felt like a starved animal, finally being presented with food by a pair of benevolent hands, and you were ready to devour.

You didn’t bother knocking on Michael’s door when you approached it, bursting in with such force that you stumbled over your feet. The room was dim, what with the blinds being open so only a few rays of late-afternoon sunlight could peek through; seated in front of his once-cluttered empty desk, now occupied only by a laptop, was Michael, massive headphones positioned over his ears as he fixated on whatever stupid game he was currently playing (does he still play fortnite? you wondered).

The sound of your intrusion was loud enough to catch his attention, and as his head turned from his computer screen to your face, something shifted in his eyes. Immediately, he tore off his headphones, jumping to his feet so abruptly that they clattered to the ground. “Holy fuck, (y/n).”

It was evident, from the way you fell easily into his arms, that the attraction hadn’t faded. If anything, the distance apart seemed to have only made the magnetic connection between you grow even stronger.

Your lips clashed together feverishly (you had no idea who had been the one to initiate this— it seemed that you’d both moved in perfect unison into one another), hands wandering freely over each other’s bodies and teeth bumping against teeth. When you broke away, a string of saliva stretching and breaking between your faces, Michael beamed down at you.

The slight layer of baby fat that had once rounded out Michael’s cheeks appeared to have dissipated, his cheekbones even more pronounced than you remembered them being. His sharp jaw was shadowed with the smallest touch of brown stubble, (which you assumed was there because he’d been too lazy to shave), but you thought the more mature look suited him well.

“Jesus, (y/n), I missed you.” His voice was like smooth velvet; you’d inject it into your bloodstream if you could. “You’re even more fucking beautiful than I remembered.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d be grossed out by my freshman fifteen,”  you laughed.

“Fuck no. The fatter the ass, the better,” he said with a devious smirk, running his long fingers through his overgrown mop of blond hair. He smelled just like you remembered, a mixture of cinnamon gum and cigarettes and cologne (and the faintest hint of marijuana, of course), and you wished you could bottle up his scent and take it with you.

“So you’re still a fuckboy, I see,” you teased, twisting the front of Michael’s t-shirt in your hands and pulling him towards you. “Some things just never change, I guess.”

“Guess not.” He was speaking lowly now, assuming the smooth tone he always used when he was attempting to seduce you, and as if on cue came a dull, throbbing ache between your legs. “I wonder if your pussy is as good as I remember?”

His fingers found their way to the bottom of your sweater, fumbling with the chunky fabric and swiftly maneuvering it off over your head. You mirrored his actions, pulling off his shirt and exposing his torso, pressing your lips back against his with urgency once his upper half had been disrobed.

“Fuck…” you breathed against his parted mouth, palming the growing erection in the front of his pale gray sweatpants (your favorite pair of pants that he owned). “Need you to fuck me, Mikey…”

“Is that right?” He tilted his head to one side, kissing you deeply as he bent his knees, using his own weight as leverage to lift you up. You intertwined your ankles behind Michael’s back, securing your place in his toned arms as he carried you over to his bed; the vulgar, wet sound of your tongues melding together filled the room as he laid you down on his checkered comforter, your legs still wrapped snugly around him. “Did my baby sis miss having her pussy split on her big bro’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you purred; there truly was no man in existence better at dirty talking than Michael. You tensed in excitement when he began fumbling with the top button of your jeans, proceeding to deftly work the form-fitting denim material down your thighs once he’d freed it from its hold. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Impatiently, you reached between your bodies, your fingers coming upon the thick outline of his bulge as he peppered your throat with sloppy kisses. You moved your hand up to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging the elastic as far back as you could; this resulted in him chuckling against your flesh, your body erupting in goosebumps at the sensation.

“So needy,” he mumbled, the vibrations of his plump lips traveling straight down to your cunt. “Did you touch yourself when you were away at school, thinking of me? Thinking of how good I touch you, how hard I make you cum?”

“M-Michael,” you whimpered, rolling your hips in melodic time with his, his clothed cock making friction against your thinly veiled pussy. “C’mon, just fuck me already. Please.”

“I like it when you beg,” he said, smug, standing so he could pull down his sweatpants and boxers, putting his long, weighted cock on display for you. You lifted your knees up for him, and in one swift motion he stripped you of your flimsy black thong. “Beg me again.”

You squirmed, sliding your flat palm down your stomach so you could touch yourself between your parted thighs; slowly, you coated your fingers with your own sticky essence, looking up at Michael from under a canopy of thick lashes. “Fuck me, Michael. I need you.”

“Ask nicely,” he chided, hoisting your thigh up to drape around his waist, eyes darkening as he observed your fingers spreading your slick wetness around your folds.

“Pleeaaaaseeee, Mikey,” you pleaded, syllables so drawn out that it almost sounded like you were singing. “It’s been so long.”

“Fuck.” He brought his lower lip into his mouth, sucking for a moment as he lined the flushed head of his cock up with your dripping entrance. When he released it, it was several shades darker than it’d been before, completely swollen and glossy with spit. “I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I saw you.”

Taking a firm grip of your thighs, he slid effortlessly into your tight heat, your jaw unhinging at the intrusion; you’d definitely be feeling him for the next few days, his thick shaft stretching out your narrow walls to the point where it was almost painful. You liked it, though, liked the delicious burn that only he could create, reminding you of who you belonged to.

“Shit,” he hissed, pausing momentarily to compose himself before assuming a deep, hard rhythm to fuck you with. “You’re so fucking tight. Must not’ve fucked anyone as big as me while you were away.”

All you could manage was a broken moan, your head lolling back towards the ceiling. He bottomed out inside you, bringing himself down to press his chest against yours, indulging in the feel of your warm, wet cunt as it spasmed around his massive length. When you started whining for more, he retracted his hips back until only the head of his cock was inside you, slamming back inside so hard that you were sent halfway up the bed.

“Oh god, Michael…” Your fingernails scraped aimlessly along the warm skin of his back, eyelids flickering open and shut in a fucked-out daze. You’d slept with a handful of guys at college, but none of them even came close to fucking you the way Michael did. He was just… special.

Fuck, I love him.

The thought startled you; you’d almost been able to forget about the little epiphany you’d had, that night in Florida when you and Michael sat side-by-side by the ocean. But now that you were with him— under him, taking every last agonizing inch of his cock, it became obvious that those feelings had remained stagnant.

After all the boys you’d been through at college, you still loved him.

God, were you fucked.

“Missed my baby girl so much,” Michael murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and peering down at you. His forehead was glowing, the sides of his face framed with cute, damp curls of blond hair; he was so beautiful, you thought. How had you survived so long without him?

He impaled you again with a sharp upwards thrust, a string of expletives passing your lips and mixing with the lewd sounds of sex swimming through the air.  “I missed you— fuck!— too.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” he said, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and running his tongue along the salty skin. “Your pussy is fucking dripping for me.”

“Keep going,” you panted, wetting your chapped lips; with each brutal thrust of Michael’s cock, you bucked your hips forward to meet him halfway, desperate for all that he had to offer. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like that? Like how I split you open?” His hips pounded against yours with a bruising intensity, his chest pinning you down as you writhed beneath his lean frame. His voice was becoming hoarse, breaths short and choppy, letting you know that he was close.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, more…” Your affirmations were like a prayer, encouraging Michael to fuck you even deeper, his torso making electric contact with your clit as he moved his body in time with yours. “Make me cum, Mikey, please..”

The wind was knocked from your lungs each time he pumped his length into you, and by the time the coil in your stomach was unwinding, you were struggling to catch your breath. You ran your hands through Michael’s sweat-soaked hair, letting the strands stretch around your fingers as you tugged at the root; Your toes curled when Michael administered a particularly hard thrust inside you, your lips falling open in a silent scream; there was a burst of brilliant colors behind your eyelids as you finally reached your climax, your thighs shaking as they clasped firmly around Michael’s waist.

Like a perfect teen-movie cliché, Michael came just as you did; the feeling of his hot load as it spilled deep inside your cunt was a welcomed one, and your spongey inner walls instinctively clamped down, milking his cock for all it was worth.

With a throaty grunt, Michael pulled out of you, his cum dribbling crudely down your inner thigh and onto his bedspread, which he didn’t appear to pay any attention to. Lying down beside you, he sighed, bare chest shining with slick perspiration.

“I missed doing that,” Michael rasped, eyes focused up towards the ceiling rather than on you.

“So did I,” you said, tracing idle patterns along the expanse of Michael’s torso, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. “I can’t wait to have you all Christmas break.”

Michael’s lips turned downwards at the corners, his eyebrows knitting together in a pained display. “Oh. Yeah.”

It seemed as though he’d wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips shut into a thin line, Adam’s apple bobbing. What the hell? All at once you felt nauseous- there was something about the way he’d said those two words that made you very, very uneasy.

You sat up, your mind already starting to overflow with horrid possibilities. “What, Michael?”

“I, um. I have to tell you something.” Michael’s eyes darted throughout the room before settling on his palms. You frowned, mouth going dry at his apparent reluctance to talk to you, thoughts racing in all directions to try and pinpoint what exactly he might say.

“Michael…”

“So. Um.” He was stalling, extending his arms up so his palms were flat on his forehead, still refusing to look at you as he contemplated his words. “So you remember over the summer when I spilled Red Bull on my laptop?”

You raised an eyebrow. Where exactly was he going with this? “Yeah?”

“And remember how I would borrow my mom’s laptop to play video games while I was waiting for it to get repaired?”

“Yes, I remember. Can you just get to the point?” You were growing impatient, the anxiety increasing with each additional second that Michael continued to leave you in the dark.

“Okay, well…” He inhaled sharply. “I was borrowing her laptop one night and ended up looking at the search history because, well… you can probably guess why. Anyway. I ended up seeing all these searches for, like, new apartments and divorce lawyers.”

Oh shit. Divorce lawyers? Was he about to say what you were thinking he was about to say? “You mean…?”

Michael held up a hand as if to say let me finish, and you held your tongue. “So like, I asked her about it. And she told me that her and your dad are, like, splitting up or whatever. But she told me not to mention anything about it in case they ended up working shit out.”

You didn’t understand— wasn’t this good news? If your parents divorced, wouldn’t you finally be able to be with Michael the way you wanted? You forced down the giddiness that started to bubble up from your stomach and into your throat, knowing that there had to be a catch if Michael was acting so serious.

“So our parents are getting a divorce?”

“Well… there’s more.” He licked his lips, finally gathering the courage to look at you, the expression on his face so grim that it scared you a little. “She found an apartment in California. And she’s moving us there next month.”

California!?

No, this couldn’t be happening. How could this be happening? This was perhaps even worse than the predicament you were already in. If Michael moved to California, it was pretty fucking likely that you’d never see him again.

“I… what? And you’ve known all this for how long!?” Your voice was pitched several octaves higher now, eyes watering uncontrollably, and you felt as though you were on the brink of having a total fucking meltdown.

“I always thought there was a chance they’d get things worked out, or that my mom would change her mind about moving so far away. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I already knew you were sad about us going away to college, so I just thought-”

“-Answer the question, Michael! How long have you known this for?” Hot, angry tears were falling down your face and onto your bare chest, your entire body shaking with an overwhelming mixture of rage and despair.

He sighed. “Since August.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. How could he have hidden this from you for so long? “And you never thought to tell me? So I could at least come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never see you again once you move?”

“I didn’t wanna ruin the rest of our time together,” he said softly, eyes glossy with tears that were still yet to fall. “I fucked up, okay? I should’ve told you as soon as I found out. But I kept thinking that maybe something would change, and…I don’t know. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

“Fuck,” you mumbled. Your limbs felt numb and heavy, your heart hollow. “Why did your mom have to choose fucking California, of all places?”

“I dunno. I think it has to do with this weird religion thing she’s into,” he said. “Look, (y/n), if I had any choice, I’d stay here. But you know I can’t afford my own place right now.”

“I know. It’s just-“ you collapsed backwards, your back making contact with the bed below with a soft thud. “This is so fucking unfair. We’re finally able to be together- like, really be together. But of course there has to be a catch.”

“Remember what I said, (y/n)? How if things are meant to be, they will be?” It sounded to you like Michael was attempting to make sense of a senseless situation, but you let him speak, somewhat comforted by his words. “I only have to stay in California until I can afford my own place. And I’ll still be going to the same college, so we won’t be too far from each other during the school year.”

Your college was a five hour drive away from Michael’s. Would he really be willing to make such a long trip up to see you? Would you be willing to take a trip to see him, with the new knowledge looming on your conscience that he would no longer be an arm’s length away once the school year was up? You wanted to be optimistic, but how could you be? A fresh wave of tears escaped your eyes, blurring your vision, but your cries faded to soft whimpers when Michael pulled you up against his chest.

You tried not to remind yourself of the fact that this would likely be one of the last times you’d be able to feel him there against you, one of the last times you’d absorb the heat from his skin, his distinct scent overtaking you like a natural aphrodisiac, intoxicating you.

You tried to reason with reality: if the universe had tried so hard to keep you apart all this time, maybe you and Michael being together had simply not been written in the stars (or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself— how could a connection so strong not be meant to be?, you asked yourself dejectedly). The way you felt for Michael was special, unlike anything else you’d ever experienced before. He was a natural high, a gust of fresh springtime air, a golden ray of good in a gray-black world of bad.

But, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. Don’t they?

Perhaps you’d always known, in the very back of your mind, that things would never work out. Perhaps you’d always known that your heart would wind up broken (no, not broken— incinerated). The cards had never been in your favor, and there had been a hundred million warning signs that you’d blatantly ignored time and time again.

But it hurt.

And you doubted it would ever stop hurting. The pain of losing Michael might one day fade from a stabbing agony to a dull ache, but that initial wound would likely never heal completely.

The only thing left to do now was stay entangled in Michael’s warmth for as long as possible, and make weary peace with the tragic ending your time with Michael had come to.

“If we survived being stepsiblings, we can survive this,” Michael said, his lips against your knotted hair, firm arms holding your naked body with a delicate tenderness that you weren’t used to. “You know that when I want something, I make sure that I get it. And what I want, (y/n), is you.”

You nodded, curling into Michael, your bodies fitting together like two perfectly-cut puzzle pieces.

“And I’m gonna have you.” You felt his hand smooth your hair out, and then he placed a kiss on your forehead, as if to imprint his words into your brain. “One day.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and all at once you were lost in a rushing sea of crystal blue, like the one that had lapped against the shore that night you’d fallen in love. As you reached up to caress Michael’s porcelain cheek, thumb grazing the rough stubble that had gathered along his jaw, you couldn’t help but believe him.

One day.

[marymccartneyphotos]

The McCartney Family Album

April 6, 2008 -- The Guardian

To mark the 10th anniversary of Linda McCartney's death, Paul and daughter Mary have selected the best of her photographs for a revealing exhibition. Here, Mary tells Sean O'Hagan why the pictures are so special to her.

When I ask Mary McCartney to describe her mother's photographic style, she thinks for a long moment and says: 'She approached photography the way she approached everything else - with quiet confidence.' You can see that in the photographs spread out before us on the table of the west London members' club where McCartney has met me to talk about a forthcoming exhibition of her mother's work. The show, which opens at the James Hyman Gallery on 25 April, is the first major retrospective of Linda McCartney's photography, and has been timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of her death from breast cancer. The photographs have been selected by Paul and Mary McCartney, with input from Hyman, from 4,000-odd contact sheets.

'It's an incredible archive,' says Mary, herself a respected fashion and portrait photographer. 'Mum never stopped taking photographs, though it may have seemed that way to the public. It's about 30 years' worth of work. The only gap is around the time when Stella and I were born when, as she said, she was up to her neck in nappies. Otherwise she always seemed to have a camera in her hand.'

To many people Linda McCartney was known, first and foremost, as the wife of a Beatle, and then as a vegetarian-cum-animal rights campaigner. Yet it is her career as a photographer, which waned as she embraced motherhood, music and activism, that is her lasting legacy.

'She was an instinctive photographer and always unobtrusive,' continues Mary. 'She wasn't that interested in straight portraiture or art photography - the images she caught were nearly always intimate, relaxed and oddly revealing.'

You can see that intimacy in her shot of John Lennon and Paul McCartney working on lyrics in the corner of a recording studio. Both are immersed in the task, but obviously having a good time. McCartney, his biro poised over a sheet of paper, may just have amended the lyrics. Lennon obviously approves. They seem almost conspiratorial and to have the intimacy of a long-term couple. Which, in a way, they were.

With the Beatles, Linda's access was assured. Before she met Paul, though, she had worked with many of the icons of the Sixties pop scene, including Jimi Hendrix, whom she famously captured mid-yawn. He didn't seem to mind.

'It was a different time,' says Mary, 'before PRs and image makers took over. Back then, she told me, the manager would often be a friend of the band. If you were cool and they liked you, you could friend hang out.'

Mary's younger sister Stella, now a celebrated fashion designer, is in one of the most intriguing family snapshots. It was taken at Paul McCartney's cottage in Scotland, near the Mull of Kintyre, which he famously hymned on one of Wings's more mawkish songs. Paul balances on a fence in dressing gown and slippers. He is watching with some concern his young son James, who has just leapt off the bonnet of the family Land Rover. Immune to the drama, Stella is kneeling on the grass in the foreground, immersed in some private reverie.

'That's Poppy, our family dog,' says Mary, pointing at a pooch in the background. There is also a sack of logs, or maybe potatoes, in the foreground near Stella. It is a detailed photograph but intricately composed: the dark, looming cottage on the right of the image, the fence that arcs away to the horizon, the tall figure of Paul echoed by what appears to be a ring of standing stones in the background on the left.

It is also a perfectly rendered moment, a deceptively casual portrait of a family caught up in one of the small dramas of the everyday. The age is given added resonance by the fact that it is a glimpse into the private life of the McCartney family at a time in the early Seventies when Paul had fled the media-fuelled madness that attended the Beatles, and by the fact that Linda is the invisible, guiding presence.

'I love that photograph,' says Mary. 'It's so weird - the dog, my brother jumping into the air, and Stella in a world of her own. I could look at it for ages. It's not set up at all; it's all about watching and timing. I bet she didn't even change the lens to take it, just used the same old 50mm lens she always did. That's what I mean about instinctive. There's a faith that it will be alright and it is. She just gets it.'

She stares at it some more, and the photographer in her gives way to the loving daughter. 'We used to walk that fence all the time to see how far we could go before we fell off. So it has all those memories, too. Our lives are mapped out in our mum's photographs. I found out her and Dad's story just by looking through the contact sheets: her rock'n'roll stuff, then her photographs of the Beatles, then her meeting Dad. It's like her diary, really, a record of her life.'

Linda Louise Eastman began her career as a photographer almost by accident. While working as a receptionist for Town & Country magazine in Manhattan in the mid-Sixties, she picked up an invite for a press party on a boat on the Hudson. It was for the Rolling Stones, newly arrived in America. She charmed the bad boys of rock as she later charmed Hendrix and Jim Morrison.

Soon afterwards, she forsook the genteel concerns of Town & Country for the more earthy delights of the Fillmore East, a celebrated but grungy New York rock venue, where she became the house photographer, capturing live images of Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, the Doors and the Who. Before Annie Leibovitz became Rolling Stone magazine's favourite snapper, Linda was the first woman photographer to have her work on the cover - a portrait of Eric Clapton.

'Mum liked doing music work when it was all free and easy,' Mary says, 'but when the lawyers and the accountants took over, she lost interest. She was independent always. She did it on her own terms or not at all. Plus, she had children. Children take over your life.'

Contrary to received wisdom, Linda Eastman was not an heir to the Eastman Kodak empire, but she did come from wealthy American stock. Her father Lee was a music-business attorney, while her mother, Louise Sara Lindner, inherited the Lindner department-store fortune. She died in an aeroplane crash in 1962, when Linda was just 20, precipitating in her daughter a lifelong aversion to flying.

'I think Mum and Dad were close because they both lost their mothers when they were young,' says Mary. 'It was one of the things that bonded them. You could glimpse it when certain songs came on the radio, and they'd both be suddenly sad at the same time. I also think it's what made them so family-oriented.'

Family life, one suspects, is also what grounded Paul McCartney after the craziness of the Beatles years - though blissful domesticity also seemed to soften his musical brain. For a long time Linda stopped being a professional photographer to become a musician of sorts with Wings, and had to contend with the wrath of Beatles fans who blamed her and Yoko Ono - but mostly Yoko - for the fall in quality in both Paul and John's solo work. She later admitted that she sometimes sang out of tune on early Wings songs.

Paul met Linda in the famed Bag O'Nails club in London in May 1967, where the new rock aristocracy hung out, and where she was taking shots of Georgie Fame for a feature on Swinging London. That same week, they met again when the Beatles unveiled their Sergeant Pepper album at a party in their manager Brian Epstein's Belgravia pad. In September 1968 Paul asked Linda to fly to London for a date. They married six months later. Mary was born in August 1969. On the back of her father's first solo album, McCartney, she is the curious infant peeking out of her father's jacket straight at her mother's lens.

'It's a beautiful moment, isn't it?' Mary says. Does she remember much about her childhood in Scotland? 'Oh God, yeah! I remember we'd go off exploring a lot, Stella and me, and we didn't have to be watched all the time.' It's a revealing memory, a reminder that they were still the children of one of the most famous pop stars in the world and had to be protected accordingly.

How big an influence is her mother on her own photographic style? 'I'm not sure. It was more her attitude I admired. She was feisty in her own way, but not in a big, in-your-face way. I suppose she was quietly persuasive. It took me a long time to even get to that point. I used to be so green when I started, almost apologetic. I'm more like her in the way I approach my personal projects: just me and the camera and a few rolls of film. She gave me loads of advice all the time and I really miss that, chatting and arguing over the contact sheets. I remember when I used to moan about missing a great moment, a great photograph, she'd say: "Oh, don't worry, it's in your soul camera." I think she really believed that.'

Was it hard to be the child not just of famous parents, but parents who were seen as alternative types - hippies, vegetarians, animal rights activists? 'Well, my friend Josie used to call us hippy convoy kids,' she laughs. 'We were tomboys, that was down to Mum. She was a bit anti-authority, a bit rebellious. At the local comprehensive in Rye I tried to blend in but Mum and Dad would turn up in the Land Rover with the rainbow-stripe fabric on the seats. The rock hippy parents! I did the whole thing of being embarrassed as a teenager. I'd look at her odd stripy socks and go: "You're not going out dressed like that, Mum!" Now I think it's beautiful. Like the way she cut her own hair. It's quite cool, really.'

There is a powerful self-portrait of Linda towards the end of her life in Francis Bacon's studio. I ask Mary if this was the last image taken of her mother before she died. 'No,' she says haltingly. 'I think I took the last photographs of her. I was working on the press pictures for her cookbook. I think the very last one was a close-up where she is looking deep into the lens. Really intimate and poignant. The thing is,' she says, tears welling up, 'I don't think she ever saw it.'

As she composes herself, she sorts through the images. 'That's the thing about photographs,' she says. 'They are wonderful reminders of things, but they also carry memories, sadness.'

It must have been an emotional experience to sort through her mother's archive for the show. 'In one way it was, but in another it was satisfying. Me and Dad have a proper grown-up relationship now. I feel I was a kid for so long, but now we have both been through a lot. We're both divorcés, for a start,' she says, laughing mischievously.

Though I had been warned that the words Heather Mills were not to be even mentioned, it seemed an opportune moment to utter them. Did you, I ask, gritting my teeth, ever do a portrait of her? 'No,' she says, looking perplexed at the very thought. 'No. Not really. I didn't.' Funny that, I say, but she does not respond. The silence, though, says enough. In more ways than one, she is her mother's daughter.

Linda McCartney's photographs will be at the James Hyman Gallery, 5 Savile Row, London W1 (020 7494 3857) from 25 April to 19 July

[ts1989fanatic]

Taylor Swift’s ‘ME!’: What the Hell Is Going on Here?

Welcome to the era of pastels, butterflies and her new cat

By ROB SHEFFIELD

Last night at midnight, Taylor Swift officially closed out the Reputation era and rang in the new. She debuted “ME!,” her tantalizing first tease of the TS7 metamorphosis, a duet with Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco. So much going on. The pastels. The rainbows. The French dialogue. The lovingly framed portrait of the Dixie Chicks on the wall. Her yee-haw go-go boots. Her Pattie Boyd bouffant. The “Delicate”-style vocoder vocals. The Jacques Demy umbrellas. So much disco, so much panic. Her new third cat. Happy New Era’s Day.

At this point, she’s been teasing her new albums with lead singles long enough to show how she likes to do these things. The Taylor Lead Single is a genre unto itself, and “ME!” has all the signs: It’s campy, it’s bubbly, it’s got a spoken-word interlude (“hey kids, spelling is fun!”) and a video loaded with in-jokes. It’s a totally canonical Taylor Lead Single. But the question is: What does it really tell us about the album to come and the new music she’s got up her sleeve?

Keep in mind: The first song Swift debuts is always an outlier. She doesn’t like to give the album’s secrets away too fast. She prefers to throw people off the scent. Why does she like to mess with fans’ minds this way? She just does. “Innocent” from Speak Now (which she debuted at the 2010 VMAs), “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” from Red, “Shake It Off” from 1989, “Look What You Made Me Do” from Reputation—what these songs have in common is that they’re musically far afield from their albums. They’re big thematic statements addressing her public image; they talk about the celebrity Taylor, rather than the personal one. But they usually don’t end up sounding much like the other songs on the album.

“Look What You Made Me Do” was the most cleverly misleading head-fake of her career—everybody thought Reputation was going to be a whole album of celebrity shade, which turned out to be just 2 of the 15 songs. (Whew!) But arguably it did the job too well—it created a false narrative for Reputation that was hard for people to shake, even after they heard what was (pretty damn explicitly) an album of love songs. “ME!” is far more playful, but it still pokes fun at her image, with lines like, “I know that I went psycho on the phone.” You know she’s swerving hard back into Old Tay mode when she includes a line about a boy running after her in the rain calling her name. (But did he throw pebbles at her window?)

Her obvious role model for lead-single-izing: Thriller. Strange as it seems now, when Michael Jackson was preparing to drop Thriller on the world in 1982, the first song he released was…. “The Girl Is Mine.” So everybody thought Thriller was going to be a whole album of corny ballads using the word “doggone.” Even his duet partner Paul McCartney found it baffling — as he admitted, “You could say it’s shallow.” (And this from the ex-Beatle who released a 1972 solo single of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”) That’s part of why “Billie Jean” stunned the world — nobody was ready for it, because he’d fooled us all with “The Girl Is Mine.” That’s how MJ wanted it. And that’s how Taylor likes to do it, too.

Every Taylor Lead Single is required to have a spoken-word moment: “Spelling is fun” joins the tradition of “I mean, this is ex-HAUS-ting,” “the old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now” and “the fella over there with the hella cool hair.” That’s another way she follows the strategy of “The Girl Is Mine,” since the highlight of that song was the Michael/Macca dialogue, e.g. “Paul, I think I told you I’m a lover, not a fighter!” (The “ME!” video has a neon sign that reads “Lover.”)

Taylor’s spent this whole week teasing the still-unnamed TS7 project — she’s now heavily into butterflies and rainbows and moonbeams and roses, like a flower child in a Jimi Hendrix ballad. Her fab looks all week have evoked Prince in his psychedelic pastel phase circa “Raspberry Beret” and Around the World in A Day — which happened to be his seventh album. She posted a photo yesterday sporting a giant rose, under 22 stars. She’s been striking Speak Now-era fashion poses all week, like her dress at the Time 100 gala. And she brought her longtime bestie Abigail of “Fifteen” fame, a callback to Fearless. Is TS7 going to be All the Taylor Eras, All the Time?

“ME!” is a song full of her favorite tropes — Joel Little, who co-wrote Lorde’s “Green Light” and “Supercut,” sounds right in her zone. The video opens with the Reputation snakes turning into butterflies. (Just like the jet fighters in Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock”?) Also note how the butterflies rise up to her open window, a callback to the video for “We Are Never Getting Back Together,” which is still the best Taylor Lead Single in history. (It would also be her best video ever, if not for the brilliance that is “Blank Space.”) “ME!” debuts the new cat who has secretly joined Meredith and Olivia. Also, this video has a unicorn—if I’m not mistaken, that’s a Taylor first, which is weird if you think about it.

Nobody enjoys a strategically elaborate album reveal like our girl — no pop star in history has ever made it such an integral part of her artistic evolution. Every album is a huge musical departure, and trying to guess her next move is a sucker’s game. She is never going to make the same album she made last time, and the lead single is never going to spill the tea on where she’s speeding now. A hint, yes; some clues, bien sur; the full story, never.

As they say in France, “Je suis calme,” which translates roughly as “I might be OK but I’m not fine at all,” and the morning after a new Swift song drops is always a mess. Like any Taylor Lead Single, “ME!” is a lot. But there are still a million things we don’t know about this album. And make no mistake, that’s how Taylor wants it.

[midnightiscoming-kasabian]

Kasabian's Serge Pizzorno: 'Being pretentious is my number one fear'

Tim Jonze - www.theguardian.com - Photo: Neil Bedford

2 Sep 2019

He’s the lairy lad rocker who scored one of the best ever goals on TV – in winklepickers. Now he is aiming to be music’s answer to David Lynch

Serge Pizzorno is looking back at the rise of his band Kasabian and trying to pinpoint when it all became a bit too much.

“You’d turn up at shows and there’d be 20-odd trucks there, a catering team, loads of people everywhere,” he says. “And you’d think, wow, this is actually a job for a lot of people, and it all rests on these four maniacs!”

This was in 2017: the band had just completed their sixth album, For Crying Out Loud, released to mixed reviews, and all was not well in camp. After 20 years together, Pizzorno was worried the band were getting stuck in a rut. And then there was the personal turmoil: not for songwriter Pizzorno, who had settled into family life in Leicester (he has two boys, Ennio and Lucio), but for Tom Meighan, the band’s wild-eyed frontman.

Mimicking their idols Noel and Liam Gallagher, Pizzorno wrote the songs while Meighan brought the stage presence, preposterous quotes (“Our songs sound like we’ve shit ourselves 10,000 feet in the air”) and ludicrous tales. Band legend had it that, whenever Meighan became too much to handle, the other members had to take him to the nearest Toys R Us store to calm him down. But following a split from his partner, the relentlessly upbeat singer was struggling. He cried in one interview at the time.

“Tom’s still figuring things out, but he’s in a much better place now,” says Pizzorno when we meet for coffee in London. But it’s no wonder they needed time out. “I was worried we would get stale. Sometimes you need to go down the rabbit hole to refresh things.”

The SLP is that rabbit hole. It’s his initials – his full name is Sergio Lorenzo Pizzorno – and the name of his forthcoming solo album, recorded at his home studio, the Sergery (yes, really). With its guest appearances from Little Simz and Slowthai, and wild eclecticism, it’s reminiscent of Gorillaz – a cartoonish world constructed as an escape from the pressures of being in an enormous band.

Pizzorno sees it less as a new direction and more a return to the way he started off making music. Back then he was using an old Atari and a Midi keyboard; these days he’s been recording on his phone, stealing snippets from 70s Italian horror movies, “weird Polish shit”, and whatever grabs his attention when he’s out and about.

“I’ll be in Tokyo, hear the buzz of the electricity running through the pylons, and be like...” he waves his phone in the air, as if frantically trying to record the sound. “All my mates will be taking the piss. And even in my own head I’m thinking, ‘I’m never gonna use this.’ But this time I did.”

Indeed, the buzzing pylons make it into The Wu, an incredibly odd song about wandering through hotel corridors in search of the afterparty. It’s a case study in Pizzorno’s esoteric influences, from the South African disco label Heads and Lee “Scratch” Perry to the late Nigerian synth wizard William Onyeabor. Elsewhere there’s Mediterranean house (Nobody Else), mariachi meltdowns (Meanwhile … in the Welcome Break) and, in ((trance)), the kind of joyously anthemic track that wouldn’t sound out of place in, well, a Kasabian set.

Did the rest of the band not think: can’t we have a couple of these tunes? “It’s probably testament to why we’re still together that they didn’t mind,” says Pizzorno. “Tom understands that you need to explore what else is out there. Otherwise you become the band everyone expects you to be.”

The irony is that Kasabian have never been the band a lot of people think they are anyway. When they emerged in the early 00s, with electro-influenced rock anthems such as Clubfoot and LSF, they were stereotyped as lairy lad rockers, when in reality they were just as enamoured by hip-hop and acid house.

“On our first record I would wanna sit people down and go, ‘No, no, no – this is where we were fishing for that stuff, Can and Neu! or whoever. But whatever we said, the journalist would just ask us about the Happy Mondays. I soon realised it was best to just keep your mouth shut, because if you’re still able to make albums and art, who cares where it comes from anyway?”

I interviewed the band a few times back then and always found them far kinder and more erudite than they were portrayed (“On the road carnage with rock’s rowdiest band!” screamed one NME cover line). But it’s fair to say, with their wild tales and boasts, they played up to it.

Was the lad thing a bit of an act? “We knew that journalists wanted it,” says Pizzorno. “But at the same time, we did grow up where, if you wanted to be in a band, you had to have your wits about you. If you’re playing in a village pub in Leicester in front of a load of lads that would throw darts at your head for having long hair, you can either go in and be all art school, or you can snap a snooker cue in half and say, ‘Let’s go!’ But then I still wanted to get them in the corner and talk about Jodorowsky afterwards.”

Pizzorno’s lad-rock credentials were no doubt enhanced by two televisual moments: a goal on Soccer AM, in which he improbably flicked the ball up in the air while wearing winklepickers before volleying it into a tiny hoop; and an even better strike during the Soccer Aid charity match that saw him scoop the ball over former England keeper David Seaman’s head and into the top corner of the net. The mention of these acts of sporting glory makes Pizzorno groan: “You’ll work for ages on a piece of music or art that you’re really proud of. But kick a ball through a hole in an inflatable bouncy castle and it’s what you become known for.”

Come on though, which was his favourite goal? “With the Soccer AM one I’d been up all night, I was hanging. If I was sober I’d never have even tried it. But the [Soccer Aid] one … not only is it a great goal, but for five minutes after scoring it, I’ve never been more off my nut in my life. As a pure sledgehammer hit of adrenaline, it was insane. God knows what it would be like to score in a World Cup.”

Less impressive when it comes to lad stereotypes was a cover of Q magazine, on which Meighan and Pizzorno appeared alongside two naked ladies, something that even back in 2011 looked like a relic of a bygone era. Pizzorno groans again, but this time he means it. “That really kills me,” he says. “It was sold to us as Jimi Hendrix, Electric Ladyland, a celebration of 60s psychedelia. But we learned an important lesson there – we need to take control over every element.”

Pizzorno says the band have always been more inclusive than people give them credit for. “Art can be the start of something. At [Kasabian’s] gigs you only have to look at the first few rows to see there’s people from all over the world, with completely different views on how things should be done, but at least we’ve got them together.”

There’s a song on The SLP that addresses this, the final track Meanwhile … in the Silent Nowhere. “It’s about communication,” says Pizzorno. “Previously, even if you were rightwing or had extreme views, it felt like there could be some sort of dialogue where you could at least hear each other’s stories. Now it feels like, ‘This is my belief, fuck you’ ... there’s a danger in us not sitting down and talking face to face.”

What does he think of the current political situation? “It’s like Vegas. Fundamentally, the system is rigged and whatever you implement, the outcome will be the same. You’re probably talking revolution here but we need someone to come along and start again.” Is Jeremy Corbyn that person? “He’s the best shot we’ve got ... but I think there’s more. There’s someone else out there that can marry spirituality [with politics] and break the system and get us to start again somewhere better.” He laughs: “I think I’m just waiting for the messiah.”

Right now, Pizzorno has more pressing problems than the overthrow of capitalism: how to be a musician without Meighan by his side. He’s planned an impressive stage show, with different characters performing each song. It sounds ambitious. “But in a really minimal way,” he stresses. “Not overblown, the opposite to lasers and screens. It won’t be pretentious. Pretentious is my number one fear.”

Will there be costume changes? “Very subtle ones. There might be a hat. I might be barefoot. Fundamentally, I want it to be like a David Lynch thing, where people feel on edge, as if they’ve entered another world for 50 minutes.”

Pizzorno says he knows he can never compete with Kasabian’s enormous gigs – those gigantic, truck-bearing affairs with catering teams and staff everywhere. “But the aim is to get to that same euphoric point,” he says, “just in a whole new way.”

The SLP is out now. The tour starts on 5 September at Glasgow SWG3.