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volantium · 4 years ago

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your doorstep calls my name aka soft boys painting each others nails

for @venomondenim 🖤

also available on ao3

The thing is, Peter’s noticed, is that Harley’s always got chipped nail polish.

It begins out as a fresh coat, clean and without a single mark marring the shiny surface. But it doesn’t take long—usually only a couple of hours—before it starts flaking off. Harley never seems to notice, or mind. It chips because Harley’s so hands on, no matter what he’s doing. The likely cause is the fact that he’s always in the lab, and both of them know you aren’t meant to be wearing nail polish with all the state-of-the-art tech Tony lets them play with.

But Peter’s noticed when Harley’s tapping his fingers against the kitchen bench, and it chips off in small terrazzo pieces. Or how Harley will pick at his fingers when he’s nervous, and it peels back underneath the curve of his nail. Peter doesn’t know what any of this means, that he has this knowledge lurking in the back of his head. It’s just another Harley-ism he’s taken stock of, analysed and put into the drawer of everything else he knows about his best friend, and thusly resolutely and absolutely not thought about again.

He almost always wears black nail polish. Peter can count on one hand the amount of times Harley’s had bright yellow or red fingernails. It follows, logically, that this only occurs whenever Harley’s looking after Morgan.

The thing is, Peter thinks, as he watches one such time, Morgan painting careful lines of bright purple half on Harley’s thumb nail and half on his skin, is that he wouldn’t mind if that was him instead.

Peter’s never had nail polish on before.

He wonders what it’s like.

This thought sits with him for the next few weeks, as he watches Harley chip his black nail polish without a care in the world. Would it be okay if he asked Harley? Would it be okay if he asked why it’s always black? Would it be okay if he asked Harley to paint his nails, maybe, just once, so he knows what it’s like?

They’re hanging out after class one day, supposedly studying for their upcoming midterms, but Harley’s sat at his desk with a bottle of black nail polish and is slowly rubbing off the remnants of his last paintjob with a cotton pad. Peter’s leaning with his back to the wall on Harley’s bed, watching him from across the room, his biology exam notes spread around him.

He watches Harley carefully tip the bottle of acetone upside down so it soaks the cotton pad and presses it to his nail. Peter knows he’ll leave it for a little while, so the chemicals break down the polish, he’s watched Harley do this often enough that he knows black’s hard to get off.

Peter takes a breath, steeling himself for reasons he doesn’t even know.

“Harl?” He calls, just slightly louder than the music playing from Harley’s computer.

Harley doesn’t look back when he replies. “Yeah, darlin’?”

It’s been years of Harley calling him darling in that honeyed accent of his, Peter’s used to it, but like everything else that Peter resolutely and absolutely doesn’t think about, this time it makes something swoop low in his stomach and butterfly settle high amongst his rib cage.

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Harley says, and even from across the room Peter can see a hint of a smirk flirt across his face. “But you can ask another.”

Peter isn’t in the mood to deal with smarmy Harley James Keener attitude right now. Too focused on the fact that this is finally his chance to figure out Harley just a little bit more.

“Why do you wear nail polish?”

He can tell Harley wasn’t expecting that particular question in the way his shoulders tense and he goes still.

But this is Harley—Harley should know why he’s asking.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” he rambles anyways, because Harley still hasn’t said anything. “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to tell me, like you’ve done it the entire time we’ve known each other, I think it’s cool—”

“Peter, darlin’,” Harley interjects, fond amusement colouring his voice. “Calm down.”

Peter takes a breath, lets it out. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

Peter’s shoulders slump when Harley remains quiet for the following minute, only for Harley to get up from his desk and make his way over towards the bed, settling in amongst Peter’s textbooks and worksheets and the green bedsheets.

“Because my dad always hated it,” is what Harley eventually says.

“Oh.”

It’s kind of half the answer Peter was expecting. He knows enough, between Tony and what Harley’s told him, to connect the dots.

“I’m sorry.”

“Darlin’,” Harley says, looking at him with those sea-blue eyes. “You gotta stop apologising for stuff that ain’t your fault.”

Peter flushes. “Do you think you could paint mine? I’ve never done it before.”

“I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t want black though, right?”

“Do you have any pastels?” Peter asks, in a smaller voice than he means to.

Harley nods. “I’m sure I’ve got some somewhere, I usually save ‘em for Morgan or Abby.”

Harley stands up to go find them, and Peter starts nervously playing with the fraying hem of his hoodie. It’s a faded red and too large and has Rose Hill High scrawled across it in big block letters and not his hoodie at all.

This is when it clicks—the oh moment in his head, that maybe he likes Harley just a bit more than friends should.

Harley returns in the midst of this revelation, setting the handful of coloured polishes down on his bedside table, clinking as the glass bottles knock against each other.

Peter wonders how his world hasn’t been tipped upside down and come to a grinding halt, too.

“This was all I could find,” Harley says, sitting across from him on the bed. “Gonna look like you dipped your hand in a bag of Easter eggs.”

He’s right—there’s pale pinks and blues and yellows like right out of a candy store, but Peter loves them.

“No, it’s fine. They’re nice colours.”

Harley smiles at him, bright and beautiful, and Peter has to marvel, just a bit how he didn’t realise before the depth of his feelings.

“Give me your hand.”

Peter holds his hand out for Harley to take. They’ve held hands before—Peter’s a tactile person—but there’s something new about this, the way Harley gently twists his fingers around so he can paint them comfortably and correctly.

“What colour do you want me to start with?” Harley asks, quiet, his voice barely a rumble in his chest.

Peter looks up at him. Harley’s looking down at his hand and back at the colours on the table every now and again, like he’s thinking of the perfect pattern for Peter’s nails. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is starting to set; it floods the room in a wash of orange-gold, and in the sunlight Harley glows. The freckles across his nose, the faint blonde in his hair gilded and shining, and the clear crystal of his eyes, hidden ever so slightly beneath gold eyelashes. It makes Peter a little breathless, just looking at him.

“You chose,” Peter finally says, maybe a little but too long after Harley asked. “You know more than me.”

Harley sweeps the pad of his thumb over Peter’s fingernail, just enough that it catches amongst the groves of his fingerprint.

“Yeah, okay,” Harley says, and reaches for the yellow.

They sit in silence as Peter watches Harley paint his nails. Yellow on his thumb, then egg-blue on his forefinger. The pale millennial pink goes on his middle finger, then blue, then yellow again.

Harley’s moved onto Peter’s other hand by the time Peter figures out how to say it.

“Harley?”

Harley hums in acknowledgement, too busy concentrating on painting his nail blue without leaving streaks.

“I really like you,” Peter confesses.

Harley gives a short laugh, still doesn’t look up. “I’d hope so, we are best friends, right, Parker?”

“No,” he says, and waits until Harley stops painting and lifts his head. “I like you like you.”

“Oh, okay,” Harley gives a simple shake of his shaggy blonde head, and goes back to painting Peter’s nails with careful concentration. “I like you like you, too.”

Peter blinks. “Don’t just say that.”

“I’m not.”

“Harley.” “Peter,” Harley parrots, finally looking up at him. “Have you met you? Of course, I like you, dumbass.”

“You’re the worst, Keener.”

Harley smirks once more. “No, I’m not. You like me like me.”

“I—” Peter starts, cutting himself off, because Harley’s leaning closer.

“Peter,” Harley says, his voice soft and low. “Can I kiss you?”

Peter nods, unable to speak, and then—

Harley kisses him.

It’s soft and it’s sweet and it’s not at all how Peter imagined his first kiss with a boy would be. But it’s Harley and that counts for something. Harley’s hand comes up to cup his jaw, light and tender, and Peter has to remind himself he currently has wet pastel paint on his nails and can’t sink his hands into Harley’s hair without tragedy occurring.

Harley tilts his head, thumb sweeping across Peter’s cheekbone, deepening the kiss just enough that those butterflies in Peter’s stomach all fly off at once.

“So,” Harley says, after they pull back and the both of them smile like fools. “Do you wanna paint my nails?”

“They’ll look bad.”

“No they won’t,” Harley disagrees, and, because he knows that Peter likes him likes him, says, “They’ll be perfect, ‘cause it’s you.”

Peter leans forward to brush a shy kiss to Harley’s cheek, and reaches for the black nail polish.

#parkner #parley #harleypeter #harley keener #peter parker #i've written like 6k in the past week for fics and NOT my thesis someone make it make sense #drabble #u: mcu #p: parkner #f: fire escape verse

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lyssismagical · 5 years ago

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Hi! Are you taking Parkner prompts? can you write one where Peter discovers he has to get glasses but is really insecure cause it reminds him of his pre spider bite days so Irondad and Harley reassure him with fluff? thanks!

Peter first got glasses when he moved in with Ben and May. He’d thought the strange blurry vision was just endless tears, the blurriness looked exactly like when he was crying and he had to squint through them to see the world clearly.

He didn’t realize he needed glasses until Ned pointed it out in their English class. His sister had glasses, so he knew how to spot the signs. It wasn’t too hard to tell anyway, Peter kept asking Ned to read the board for him and he was squinting to the point where his eyes were shut.

At first it wasn’t that bad.

He got glasses and he wore them without complaint, and he didn’t mind. It made life easier so there was no point in fighting it.

Until he reached high school.

It wasn’t really a big deal, there was plenty of people with glasses. The difference between him and everyone else was that he was also the biggest nerd. He was on Academic Decathlon, chess club, and robotics, he was kind of a teacher’s pet. Not by choice, just because he was nice and smart.

It got worse when he started getting shoved against the lockers or hit occasional by stray elbows.

May and Ben didn’t have the money for replacement glasses more than once a month, so he was left with cracked lenses, barely held together with tape.

When he got bit by the spider, everything changed. He suddenly didn’t need glasses, he didn’t have asthma, he could stand up for himself and help instead of feel helpless all the time.

He finally felt comfortable in his own skin.

And then, a year and a half later, it was ripped away from him.

He knows it’s not a big deal.

It’s just a pair of glasses. Black square-framed, not as strong of a prescription as he used to have, that he has to wear to see long distance.

But he hates it.

It’s a small thing, a small change, but it reminds of a time where he felt helpless, a time where he wasn’t comfortable being him, a time where his glasses got stepped on when he was shoved into lockers and teased relentlessly.

He hates it.

He doesn’t wear them.

It gives him godawful migraines at school, squinting at the board or taking photos to copy off his phone instead. The worst is leaning over to copy MJ’s notes in Spanish because he can’t possibly see the notes on the projector.

He shoves his glasses case into the bottom of duffel bag when he stays over at Tony’s. Harley’s living at the tower, and the last thing he wants is to wear the glasses in front of the two most important people in his life.

But it only takes a couple hours in the lab before he wants to tear his eyes out. A headache throbs behind his eyes as he squints up at his computer and down at his webshooters, vision foggy and worse than normal.

“You okay there, kid?” Tony asks.

Peter’s too far away to make out the expression on Tony’s face, but he nods anyways. “Just a little tired, is all. I think I might call it an early night, if that’s alright?”

Harley comes up behind him, hands resting on his waist as he presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Let me walk you. You look like you’re one breath away from collapsing.”

He nods and lets Harley lead him out of the lab and to his bedroom.

He’s about to close the door behind him when Harley grabs his arm. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m just tired, Harls. I didn’t sleep well last night, I had that big chem lab due and I stayed up late to finish it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. I love you.” Harley kisses him quickly before flashing one of his dorky grins and stepping out of the way of the door.

“Love you too.”

When morning rolls around, Peter’s sick of not being able to see anything. His head still throbs angrily and he tries, despite himself, to blink away the unrelenting blur.

He can hear Harley and Tony in the kitchen already, coffee machine humming and pan sizzling.

So he figures he’ll bite the bullet.

He fishes his glasses out of his duffel and shoves them on, holding back the residual anger that makes him want to snap them.

He almost chickens out when he passes the mirror. He looks like the nerdy kid from before the spiderbite. The kid who had thick glasses and wore braces for all of his seventh year, the kid who got pushed around and teased and floated through middle school with only one friend. The kid who couldn’t run in gym class without needing his inhaler and who couldn’t go more than one class without talking about Star Wars.

Hair mussed from sleep, glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, wearing his old Hello Kitty pajama pants and one of Harley’s hoodies that make him look small and young.

He looks like a child, the one thing he was always trying to prove he wasn’t.

Bite the bullet, get it over with. He tries to convince himself he’d rather have vision and self-consciousness than to stumble through another day blindly.

So he steps out into the hallway and forces one foot in front of the other until he makes it to the kitchen.

He pretends to act nonchalant, moving straight for the fridge so he can try to cool his burning cheeks, waiting for the teasing to come, but when he turns around, he’s met with his boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare, and Tony just lifts an eyebrow at him.

“You need glasses?” Tony asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t wearing them yesterday.”

Peter shrugs, looking down at his socked feet, shuffling awkwardly. “I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like them?” Harley repeats incredulously. His eyes are almost comically wide as he shoves a hand through his bedhead, a failed attempt at flattening his wild curls. “Why would you ever try to hide this from me?”

He doesn’t know whether it’s a genuine question or not, if Harley’s really asking him to explain the reasons that’s kept him from wearing his glasses, but before he can even try to explain any of it, Tony speaks up, “Didn’t you used to wear glasses as a kid? May’s shown me a few pictures.”

“We thought the spiderbite cured it, but…” he trails off in confusion, part of him still tense as though waiting for someone to tear them off his face and throw them to the ground. He pushes his glasses up his nose and frowns. “I don’t like feeling like the kid from before.”

Tony nods as though he perfectly understands it all, he turns without a word and disappears down the hallway. A moment later, he reappears, a glasses case in hand.

“I, uh, I don’t really wear them all too much, but I suppose getting older sometimes means it’s necessary,” Tony explains. He opens his case and slides the glasses on. “Reading glasses.”

Warmth floods through Peter’s chest. He’s known glasses are normal, he knows there’s a huge number of people who needs them. But seeing Tony, a superhero, needing glasses, that’s a gamechanger.

The shock has Peter silent in return, gaping wordlessly at Tony like this is groundbreaking news.

“My little sister has glasses too,” Harley says, shrugging. “Long distance. She used to get teased in school for it, but pretty much everyone at school got teased for something.”

“Yeah, me too.” The self-consciousness is finally fading. He’s not particularly confident, but he feels a thousand times better knowing the people who’s opinions matter are perfectly happy with it. “Back before the spider, I used to get bullied a lot. I mean, I can’t really blame them, I was the easiest target. Asthma, glasses, dorky, tiny kid who wouldn’t tattle or fight back. I guess I was happy not having to be that kid anymore.”

Tony’s forehead creases, jaw clenching. He never takes that kind of information well, he looks just about ready to get in the Iron Man suit and murder the kids who used to bully him. “You never deserved to be treated like that, kid, and I swear, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. If anybody gives you trouble, you come to me or Harley and we’ll take care of it.”

Finally, a smile graces Peter’s face and he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Thank you. I know I’m being kinda irrational about all of this, so thank you. Really. It means a lot.”

Harley grins, arms sliding around Peter’s waist to tug him into a hug and he kisses Peter’s forehead.

Tony pretends to gag, like he always does whenever the boys are within a foot of each other, but he’s still smiling, shaking his head in amusement.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #irondad #tony stark #peter parker #harley keener #Irondad and Spiderson #parley #irondad fic

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lovejustforaday · 4 years ago

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My Top 10 Albums of 2019

Rose Gold - Kitty

Main Genres: Electro Pop

A decent sampling of: Chill Hop, Chill Wave, Alternative R&B, Cloud Rap, Future Bass, Synth Pop, Trip Hop, Wonky Kitty's sound keeps changing from EP to LP, but one thing that remains constant is her witty, hyper-feminine cool girl persona. On "Rose Gold", she explores a variety of electronic genres while maintaining a near-perfect chill mood and atmosphere. "Rose Gold" easily avoids falling into the traps of repetitiveness prone to a lot of lo-fi chill music thanks to Kitty's charming personality and clever lyricism on tracks like "B.O.M.B. (Peter)" and "Florida". I feel like this is definitely a late night album, one you might listen to while sneaking around your kitchen to make a late night snack while wearing your cutest pajamas. Alternatively, this is the album your stuffed animals all get up and vibe to while you're sleeping. Oh yeah, and "Counting All The Starfish" samples FF7 which is pretty cool. Highlights: "B.O.M.B. (Peter)", “Don’t Panic (Interlude)”, "Mami", "Counting All The Starfish", “Disconnect”

8/10

House of Sugar - Sandy (Alex G)

Main Genres: Indie Folk, Neo-Psychedelia

A decent sampling of: Folktronica, Psychedelic Folk, Indie Pop, Americana I admit, I was completely unfamiliar with Alex G's material until this album came along and garnered a lot of attention. I'm very excited to explore his back catalogue now thanks to this album. Fitting to its name, "House of Sugar" is somewhat like a psychedelic sugar rush, feeling at once strange and whimsical yet also sickly sweet and delirious. Under the album's upbeat folky veneer lies darker themes about loss both personal and conceptual. "Gretel" and the album title itself are both inspired by the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel, which makes a lot of sense because I really just want to get lost in the woods while listening to this album. "Project 2" is a noticeable outlier and the weakest track, forgoing conventional song structure completely for experimental synth music yielding mixed results, but even this short track manages to be oddly beautiful and adds to the overall experience. Likewise, "House of Sugar" is an exceptionally interesting musical journey even at its weakest. Highlights: "Gretel", "Sugar", "Hope", "Walk Away", "Taking"

8/10

Titanic Rising - Weyes Blood

Main Genres: Art Pop, Baroque Pop

A decent sampling of: Progressive Pop, Psychedelic Pop, Soft Rock, Progressive Electronic, Alternative Country Most acclaimed album of 2019? Quite possibly. While it's not my top choice of the year, I can definitely understand the widespread praise this album has received. At its best, Weyes Blood's "Titanic Rising" is a truly lush and cinematic experience, incorporating musical influences from the best of 60s and 70s era pop music with a moving lyrical narrative of coming to terms with depression and getting older. Mering's voice is warm and tender, and her insights about generational woes on tracks like "Everyday" and "Something to Believe" are mature and nuanced. If you're new to being an adult like I am, and you find the prospects of trying to build a fulfilling and meaningful life in the kind of world we live in scary, then listening to "Titanic Rising" will feel like a very bittersweet soundtrack written for a movie based on your own real life. Considerably front-loaded, but the concept for this album is very fresh and ambitious, and when it's good, it's brilliant. P.S. definitely the best album cover of 2019 Highlights: "Everyday", "Movies", "Andromeda", "Titanic Rising", "A Lot's Gonna Change"

8/10

Grey Area - Little Simz

Main Genres: Conscious Rap, UK Rap

A decent sampling of: Jazz Rap, Hardcore Rap

Little Simz sounds like she knows exactly who she is and what she's doing on "Grey Area", like she has her flow and writing lyrics down to a science. The album really feels like seeing the world through her eyes, and Simz holds nothing back, talking about everything from institutional racism and violence, to things like therapy, motherhood, and even video games. "Grey Area" succeeds as well as it does largely thanks to the strengths of Simz's offbeat personality, lyrical insights, and excellent delivery, while the production on the album is mostly smooth and slick in a way that never overpowers her as the main focus. I'll admit, I find at some points that the production on some of the songs falls considerably short of the standards set by Simz's own talent as a rapper, but when the production does reach that level on tracks like "101 FM" and "Venom", the pay off is brilliant. "101 FM" in particular is such an interesting and unique hip hop song, in the same way that Simz is a very interesting and unique rapper. Honestly this album is worth the listen alone just to hear what Little Simz has to say about everything.

Highlights: "101 FM", "Selfish", "Offence", "Venom"

8/10

Pang - Caroline Polachek

Main Genres: Art Pop, Alternative R&B

A decent sampling of: Electro Pop, Glitch Pop, Ambient Pop, New Age, Downtempo Of all the albums I've listened to this year, "Pang" feels like the most varied journey with an impressive collection of 14 songs in under 50 minutes. On this LP, Caroline Polachek takes the listener through her world of romantic fairytales and magic. Some of the songs are poppy bangers like the funky "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings" and the rhythmic "Ocean of Tears", while other songs are more mood-driven and meditative like "Parachute" and "Insomnia". Many of the songs place emphasis on the vocal gymnastics of Polachek herself, who makes great use of her range and techniques like heavy breaths on "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings". The production work of Polachek and Danny L. Harle is sophisticated and intricate, with a lot of attention to detail on tracks like "Door" and "Pang". A lot of the songs are mysterious and cerebral, especially the penultimate "Door" which has an equally cerebral and trippy music video. Overall, I'd say that "Pang" definitely opens and closes with its strongest few tracks, but there’s enough variety and intricacies throughout its entirety to make the album experience highly engaging on repeated listens as you explore the different musical worlds that each song has to offer.

Highlights: "Door", " So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings ", “Parachute”, "Pang", "Go As a Dream", "Ocean of Tears", “Hit Me Where It Hurts”, "The Gate"

9/10

Norman Fucking Rockwell! - Lana Del Rey

Main Genres: Art Pop, Soft Rock

A decent sampling of: Dream Pop, Chamber Pop, Contemporary Folk, Psychedelic Pop, Piano Rock, Blues Rock, Americana, Pop Soul So yeah, this album happened. Lana Del Rey has always been an artist I appreciated for her unique sound and persona, but I found that her 2012 LP "Born To Die" mostly didn't quite live up to her potential as an artist, and I never really bothered with the rest of her work apart from individual songs until now. I'm so glad I checked this one out because "Norman Fucking Rockwell!" rightfully deserves the wave of acclaim it has received this year. Lana Del Rey's songwriting has become so sophisticated on this LP, and the warm, rich soft rock sound that she's adopted on tracks like "The greatest" compliments her vocals better than any other genre she's explored so far. Like most of her work, "Norman Fucking Rockwell!" explores American identity and femininity, and the songs are tinged with sadness and nostalgia. That being said, I actually find parts of this album very uplifting, especially on "Love Song" and "Mariners Apartment Complex". "Venice Bitch" is, simply put, a true masterpiece. It's the reason I checked out the album when I heard the single last year, and it damn near blows everything else out of the water with its gorgeous soundscapes and 9 minute length that could go on for an eternity if it wanted to. Regardless, there's a lot of songs here that I love, even if the LP is a little front-loaded. Lana has outdone herself this time with "Norman Fucking Rockwell!", and I already look forward to the projects she's announced for 2020. In the meantime, I should check out the LPs that I missed in her discography. Highlights: "Venice Bitch", "The greatest", "Mariners Apartment Complex", "How to disappear", "Cinnamon Girl", "Love song", "Norman fucking Rockwell"

9/10

Keepsake - Hatchie

Main Genres: Dream Pop, Indie Pop

A decent sampling of: Shoegaze, Synth Pop, Twee Pop, Jangle Pop

This album pretty clearly derives a lot of its sound from a particular era of early 90s dream pop, shoegaze, and jangle pop. So what makes "Keepsake" so special? For one, Hatchie knows her sound niche and does it incredibly well. Songs like "Stay With Me" and "Kiss The Stars" feel like lost gems from an era when they could've been heard on college radios in between the Cocteau Twins, MBV, and the Cranberries. While her sonic timbre is pure retro, Hatchie's own take on classic dream pop from a songwriting perspective is fresh and unique. Her lyrics and melodies are pure and saccharine in a way that reminds me of feel-good teen romcoms about sappy high school romances, only I mean that in the best way possible. Songs like "Without A Blush" and "Secret" feel like what I thought falling in love was gonna be like when I was 11 years old. "Stay With Me" is a rush of euphoria, and the song feels like prom again whenever I listen to it. Her pop songwriting sensibilities are well-crafted in a way that makes it look like she's been doing this for years and years, when really Hatchie only started putting out her own music in 2017. The sequencing of the tracks is well thought out, and I find "Keepsake" is at its strongest in the middle portion. There's just a certain essence of carefree youth and sentimentality that Hatchie has captured so vividly with this album. If you're looking to recapture the feeling of your best memories as a teenager, "Keepsake" will take you there. Strongest debut LP of the year, and I super look forward to whatever she does next. Highlights: "Stay With Me", "Secret", "Her Own Heart" "Kiss The Stars", "Without A Blush", "Unwanted Guest"

9/10

Djinn - Lingua Nada

Main Genres: Indie Rock, Psychedelic Rock, Noise Rock

A decent sampling of: Noise Pop, Progressive Rock, Math Rock, Neo-Psychedelia, Indietronica, Experimental Rock

Lingua Nada is that one really cool indie band that only I and a few others seem to know about. The band has a very distinct and creative sound which combines explosive noise with jerky, whacky rhythms and upbeat melodies. Last year's "Snuff" was a very raw and experimental album experience, and another year-end favourite of mine. This year's "Djinn" boasts slightly more conventional song structures, but the sonic timbres and rhythms are just as strange and beautiful, if not more. As its name would suggest, "Djinn" is partly inspired by Arabian folklore and evokes a sort of mysterious, ghostly presence on songs like the title track and "Salam Cyber". The mix of noise, acid-y psychedelics, and complex rhythms on "Habiba" and "Dweeb Weed" results in alien, otherworldly sounds. "These Hands Are Royal" is a very evocative track as well, with its propulsive beat and dusty guitar riffs giving me the distinct imagery of travelling a desert by foot. Lingua Nada never overwhelms the listener with their explosive songs on "Djinn", and the band takes time to mellow out a bit towards the end of the album with the bubbly, psychedelic indietronica bop "Yalla Yalla" and the minimalist folk tune "In Limbo". Lead vocalist Adam Lenox is buried pretty deep in the mix of guitars, and I wouldn't exactly say he has the strongest presence as a vocalist, but I can't say that this takes away much of the appeal because "Djinn" is clearly meant to be a more impressionistic experience. Lingua Nada have come out of the past two years with a strong 1-2 punch of innovative noise rock albums, and with "Djinn" they've proven themselves to be one of the most daring and multi-talented rock bands of the decade.

Highlights: "Habiba", "These Hands Are Royal", "Djinn", "Salam Cyber", "Yalla Yalla", "Proto", "Gucci Mecca"

9/10

Ginger - Brockhampton

Main Genres: Pop Rap, Contemporary R&B, West Coast Rap

A decent sampling of: Alternative R&B, Emo Rap, Conscious Rap, Indie Pop

This album feels like it's all about growth. Brockhampton have undergone a lot of changes as a band since they first blew up in 2017 between sudden fame, signing a major label, and kicking Ameer for his toxic behaviour. Last year's "Iridescence" felt like a raw, anguished, and messy response to the sudden changes the band had to cope with. Now it's 2019 and we have "Ginger", a more lowkey and sometimes deeply sad album, where members of Brockhampton are still processing many of the same problems. This time, however, the album is far more consistent, more nuanced, and overall, masterfully crafted. There's a lot of talk of male identity and what it means to be a man on "Ginger", and some of the traits brought up are moral integrity, honesty, and vulnerability, all which are part of emotional maturity and subvert machismo gender expectations. True to its album cover, "Ginger" is like a big hug for young guys struggling with depression, but anybody can get something out of this brilliant piece of art. The highlights are many: Joba's verse on "BIG BOY", Kevin's verse on "BOY BYE", and Matt's verse on "NO HALO" just to name a few. But the defining moment of "Ginger" is Dom's takedown of Ameer at the end of "DEARLY DEPARTED", a brilliant 66 seconds of anger, remorse, pain, and condemnation. Guest rapper Victor Roberts rapping about his traumatic childhood experience with the police on album closer "VICTOR ROBERTS" is also a key highlight, and serves as a fitting note to end an album that so forwardly tackles depression and coping with traumatic life changes. The production is fantastic, from the effortlessly cool R&B jam "SUGAR" to weirder tracks like the off-kilter "IF YOU PRAY RIGHT" which is built around a cartoonish trombone riff. I simply can't praise this album enough. Brockhampton have matured as artists, and "Ginger" will go on to prove their legacy as one of the best rap groups of the 2010s. Highlights: "DEARLY DEPARTED", "NO HALO", "SUGAR", "GINGER", "BOY BYE", "VICTOR ROBERTS", "IF YOU PRAY RIGHT", "BIG BOY", “ST. PERCY”

10/10

Magdalene - FKA Twigs

Main Genres: Art Pop, Glitch Pop

A decent sampling of: Progressive Pop, Ambient Pop, Alternative R&B, Post-Industrial

It's hard to describe what makes this album so brilliant because it's so subtle. "MAGDALENE" slowly unravels to reveal its beauty, in the same way that a flower slowly blooms, petal by petal. Likewise, FKA Twigs slowly strips away all of her defenses, track by track, to reveal the heart of a wounded lover. "MAGDALENE" is all about the breakup of Twigs' highly publicized relationship with Robert Pattinson. The lyrics explore her lover's emotional distance on "home with you", her feelings of inadequacy after being thrust into the broader public eye on "cellophane", her lover's lies on "fallen alien", and the physical pain she endured undergoing fibroid surgery that rendered her feeling weak on "daybed". Like the rest of her work, many of the songs on "MAGDALENE" juxtapose the unnerving with the beautiful, with tracks like "mirrored heart" and "fallen alien" alternating between ethereal vocals backed by piano and glitchy, spine-tingling production that evokes earthquakes and mirrors shattering into hundreds of pieces. There's also a lot of empty space on this album, and a general appreciation for minimalism. Tracks like "mary magdalene" and "cellophane" are made stronger by allowing enough room for Twigs' vocals to carry the music, and boy does she ever. Twigs breathes, moans, cries, screams, whispers, and commands with her voice to utter perfection throughout. The vocal highlights are all over "MAGDALENE", but my absolute favourites include the last line of "home with you", the dark incantations of the verses on "fallen alien", and the withering refrain after the beat-drop on "cellophane". "cellophane" is the centerpiece of "MAGDALENE" and the perfect closer, like listening to the music of a dying flower as it slowly wilts away. Overall, "MAGDALENE" is a stunning piece of art. Twigs has reclaimed her pain on this album by turning one of the lowest points in her life into the most beautiful album of the year. Highlights: "cellophane", "home with you", "fallen alien", "mary magdalene", "daybed", "sad day", "mirrored heart", "thousand eyes"

10/10

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harley-quinnn · 6 years ago

Text

Not Afraid Anymore

Jared Leto x Reader

Prompt: Merry Christmas harls! ❤️ Can I request a Jared x reader based on Not Afraid Anymore by Halsey? It doesn’t have to be a song fic but the concept

{A/N} I kind of pictured this as a prelude to Violent Delight halfway into writing it, since I mentioned in that story that the reader had already met him at a show months prior! This was so fun and once I got to writing it, I couldn’t stop! It is not a song fic, but just based on the concept of the song. I hope ya like it, puddin’! xo Harley

Warnings: Sexy sex. Daddy kink, choking, gagging, a slap or two, teasing that probably killed me more to write. (Also a very, very disgruntled best friend.)

“I can’t believe we’re here!” You enthused, your wide eyed friend hopping in place a few times as she waited in line beside you.

You won them on the radio, the VIP tickets to the show. At first, you weren’t even sure if you should even try to call the station, but knowing just how badly you and your friend Claire wanted to attend the meet and greet with Thirty Seconds to Mars, you figured there was nothing to lose.

“God.. If he touches me, I’m going to scream,” Claire said emphatically, her eyes rolling back at the thought before she grabbed onto your shoulders. “What if we get invited to stay behind or something!?”

“Claire, please. It’s us and a million others right now. We should just be lucky we’re here at all,” you gently remind her, your eyes drifting toward the long line ahead of you, and then to the rest of it behind you.

She pouted, her perfectly rosy cheeks puffing out as she blew a few strands of brown hair from her angelic face, reminding you of an upset toddler.

“I can dream, can’t I?” She asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Yes! Of course. Just don’t get your hopes up too high,” you said.

Claire was the dreamer, always excited, always hoping for the most unlikely situation. She helped balance out your usual level-headed-ness. It was fun to play pretend, but you didn’t necessarily want to play groupie, you just wanted a chance to meet the man you adored; and adore him in your mind where no one could hear you scream as he stared you in the face and pretended to care that you were there.

It seemed like only seconds passed when the entire room began to shout with joy. Your eyes shut automatically as you lifted your brows, your hand reaching to rub your ear as you looked around the room again. Claire was hanging over the edge of the rope that held the line together, waving her thin, pale arm frantically at the front of the room. You decided it was safe to assume Jared and Shannon had finally arrived.

As much as you wanted to get caught up in the overwhelming wave of excitement, all you desired was to catch a glimpse of Jared up close and in the flesh. Try as you might- no dice. The other members of the crowd were in your way and weren’t willing to give up their spots to look at him so easily. You shrugged to yourself and hung back.

I’ll see him later.

Suddenly, you were being swept up in Claire’s arms, a rough hug capturing your frame as she raved.

“I saw him! I saw him! Oh my.. {Y/N}, he’s even more gorgeous up close!”

You forced a smile. You’d ruined her fun enough, you thought.

“Really? I can’t wait.”

“Well didn’t you see him?”

“No, but that’s okay! I will once we get closer.”

She nodded, her demeanor suddenly changing to something like feeling sorry for you as she pulled out her phone and opened the camera. She tousled her brunette locks from under the barrette she wore and reapplied her lipstick. You immediately knew what she was planning.

A pang of jealousy peaked in your chest as she puckered her pout in the camera. You were pretty, sure, but Claire had a way about her that even models didn’t possess. Should her little daydream come true, you were certain you’d have no part in it. Still, she was your best friend, and you set all those feelings aside to be happy for her. You gave a soft nudge to her side.

“You don’t need to do all that. I’m sure he’ll fall in love the moment he lays eyes on you.”

The color red that painted her cheeks was like none you’d seen before as she quickly put her phone and lipstick back in her pocket. She suddenly gave you a shy smile and an even shyer shrug.

The crowd roared again and the photos began. You could only catch glimpses of the camera flash, and hear his voice laughing and carrying on with fans amidst the chatter of everyone else. The line seemed to move agonizing slow; He seemed to take his time with everyone, and so did Shannon. Butterflies began to kick up in your stomach as you drew near enough to see his handsome face. Before you knew it, there was only one other person ahead of you. You’d both turned away from the scene, not wanting to lose your heads prematurely.

“We’re so close!” Claire squealed, clasping her hands together as she looked at you.

“You’re next!” You heard from behind, the familiar velvety voice that you’d grown so infatuated with over the years musically filling your ears.

Claire lost it, tears of joy welling up in her eyes as she pushed past you and headed right into Jared’s arms, embracing him in an unashamed hug. You quickly felt betrayed. She was hogging him all to herself, not even giving you a chance to say hello. When you finally approached them, he was teasing her; pulling the hat from her head, tracing his fingers over the writing on the sleeves of the bands shirt she had on. You were a ghost next to them as you approached Shannon, who automatically noticed your upset mood despite your forced grin.

“Don’t look so sad!” He said. “I’m not Jared but I’m just as cool. Better yet- cooler.”

“No! Oh my gosh, no. I love you!” You gushed, your emotions doing a complete turn around as he swept you into his arms for a big hug. You had almost forgotten about the scene playing out next to you.

Claire always got what she wanted.

The photographer gathered you, Claire, Jared and Shannon, and counted down for the photo. You smiled, despite feeling like you didn’t even get a chance to smile in Jared’s direction. You adored Shannon, and he was so kind. Though they both had your loyalty, Jared would always be your favorite.

A click of the camera and you were done. Just like that, you were being shuffled off by assistants to make room for the next fan. You gave Shannon another hug before he turned his attention to the person behind you. Your eyes remained on the floor as you passed by Claire giving Jared her last bits of affection in hopes for an invitation back to the tour bus, or wherever he might be staying. You bowed your head just slightly, becoming invisible and blending into the background just as you were used to.

Walking past them, you felt a knot in your stomach that pushed its way to your throat as you tried not to cry out of hurt and just a twinge of anger.

That was, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, what’s your name?” He asked, stopping you dead in your tracks as you came face to face with the Jared Leto.

“I..” You looked at Claire, who might as well have been hooked away from him like an actor in an old fashioned play. “I’m {Y/N}.”

Your eyes met his again, and you swallowed hard, trying to push the feeling of crying and excitement away all at once.

“Jared, we have to get going,” an assistant said, nervously eyeing the people next in line who were chatting with Shannon.

“I didn’t get to talk to {Y/N}, just give me a minute please,” he told her kindly and calmly, turning aside to speak to you.

You couldn’t believe he was stopping the entire order of things just to make sure he said hello to you. Maybe dreams did come true. Still, you felt bad for getting him in trouble and messing with the schedule.

“Thanks for coming. I’m glad to see you here,” he grinned.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” you said meekly, trying desperately to keep your blush at bay as you stood before him. “You don’t have to keep everyone waiting, though, I’ll get out of your way.”

“No, it’s okay! I love meeting you guys. It seems like we just didn’t get enough time together. Please, stay.”

Stay.

Where you had almost turned to leave, you shifted back to your position in front of him, finally allowing your eyes to really drink him in. He was tall and slender, his athletic build hidden under the long sleeved shirt he wore. His long locks were lustrous and his blue eyes reminded you cold pools on a hot summer day. His jawline could cut ice and his hands were masculine, but still held a touch of softness. An image of his hand trailing down your bare waist flashed in your mind, bringing the blush in your countenance forward again.

“Are you sure? I think my friend Claire sucked up enough camera time,” you joked shyly.

Every move he made was smooth as he rested his hand on your upper arm, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully at your statement.

“Oh, actually,” he started as though recalling a distant memory before turning to the photographer and assistant. “We didn’t get a picture together, let’s get one,” he said, waving his finger lightly at the camera before taking his place next to you.

His arm reached around you in a half-embrace, and what he said next, in a low and gentle tone, just loud enough for you to hear, shocked you.

“You’ve got a very beautiful face. The rest of you is just as amazing.”

There was no doubt your expression was full of surprise and bashfulness when the photographer looked at his camera’s screen and suggested taking a new photo.

“Take a few!” Jared enthused before looking down at you.

“Me?” You asked with a grin, suddenly surging with a confidence you knew was only going to last a few more minutes. “Did you tell Claire that, too?”

“Not so shy anymore, are we?” He smirked as the camera shutter sounded, your eyes fixed on his.

“She’s pretty, no doubt. But I prefer you. You weren’t clamoring for my attention like miss Dirty Diana over there,” he quipped, referencing the Michael Jackson song every musician knew like the back of their hand.

“Well, I don’t really need to fawn all over someone to get what I want,” you responded, and the look on his face screamed ‘impressed.’

“You ever try your luck with the devil, sweetheart?” He asked in a raspy tone, sending your senses atwitter. “When I play, I play to win.”

Claire was absolutely your best friend, but in the moment, she had already cast you aside in an attempt at Jared. You quickly peered over your shoulder as you noticed her still being shuffled back into the crowd that had already had their time with the band. Still hurt over her total disregard for you, you decided to look out for yourself instead of worry about her.

Your heart couldn’t pump fast enough as you continued to absorb his words. You quickly feel as though you’d just gotten yourself into something you’d been dying for, but hadn’t had time to prepare for. What you wanted, desired, was impure, and it seemed like he was just the man for the job.

“Game on, then,” you spoke just loud enough for him to hear, noticing a darker kind of smirk slide across his features shortly there after.

Though Claire had been the hopeful one all night, it seemed like you were getting your (and her) every dream. Lust was a hell of a drug, and it seemed he liked you more than just taking one hit.

The camera shuttered once more as he bent down to kiss your cheek for a photo, your eyes closing instantly with a flirty grin. Before he pulled away, he pressed his lips to your ear.

“Stay after the meet and greet.. Just you. For me?”

You looked back up at him, noticing the gleam in his eye as he pressed his palms together and gave you a pleading smile.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

His face lit up like the crystal ball on New Year’s Eve as he squeezed your shoulder and discreetly instructed the assistant to lead you to the green room of the venue. Her eyes snapped from yours to his, then back again before she sighed and obeyed his order- something you assumed happened quite often to anyone he may have spoken to.

“Come on,” she urged, clearly annoyed before walking past him and toward a large door.

You looked at Jared one last time, and he threw you a wink before turning to meet the people in line behind you with an enthusiastic expression.

Following closely behind the woman leading you past the door and down a hallway, your eyes roamed around the mostly empty space. She stopped at another door before pulling a key from her pocket and swiftly sliding it into the doorknob.

“It’s not everyday he asks this,” she assured you, but something in the back of your head told you otherwise.

“Just take a seat anywhere,” she said again as the door popped open, revealing a large room void of anyone else, clad with couches, snacks and vintage arcade and pinball machines that silently flashed fun colors. “And please don’t talk to anyone else. I could get in so much trouble for this.”

The atmosphere of the room was nothing like you were expecting. It was dimly lit, one would even say completely dark, save for the bright glowing neon signs that hung on the walls paired with lava lamps and faux candles that falsely burned on tables. It was an aesthetic dream as you stepped inside, and it took an immense amount of effort not to lose your head over the room itself.

When you turned to thank her, she had already disappeared, the door cracked open just an inch. You suddenly felt unsure of why you were there. He could’ve had anyone else.. Claire, mostly. Why me? You moved to plop down on one of the couches and pull your phone from your pocket. A sense of dread washed over you at the thought of checking your texts, knowing Claire’s name would be there. Cringing, you unlocked your phone.

Thirty-seven new text messages. Only one of them was from your mom hoping you were having a good time. You replied to her without bothering to glance at Claire’s messages before locking your phone again. She would just have to deal with it.

A bowl of skittles on the table looked awfully appetizing as you soaked in the room, leaning forward from the couch to pick at it. Even the flavors seemed to come alive more than usual as you awaited his appearance in the doorway.

Time passed quickly, too quickly as your heart hammered in your chest harder with every passing moment. Before too long, you stood up, thinking of leaving.

But, what if?

It was a chance you didn’t want to take. Instead, you walked toward the arcade machines, lingering around them slowly as you thought about just what happened tonight. It was even more unnerving to think about what was possibly to come.

You weren’t as experienced as your friend, but you knew enough. Though you’d had the chance to act on your deepest fantasies, something always held you back. It was a strange fear that kept you; maybe of attachment, maybe of simply liking it too much. Because of that you remained vanilla most of your sexual life, save for the places you’d gotten down and dirty.

You’d heard the rumors about him, you’d seen the signs in his music and in his speech. The gifs on Tumblr and the way he like to tease the audience during concerts. Still, there was the slightest pang of worry as you wondered if that was what he was expecting. If he assumed you’d be just as into the darker side as he was.

You wanted it, him and all things that came with him, there was no doubt about it. Who wouldn’t want him? But that faint panic started running through your body as you realized if those rumors were true, you wouldn’t just be on your back on the couch for twenty minutes. You’d be apart of something darker, rougher; something sickeningly beautiful.

Your skin crawled at the thought. You wanted to try it so badly, to finally give up control and act on impulse. The fear almost melted away as another image flashed through you mind; his hand pulling on your hair, his teeth in your neck. There was electricity in the air as you caught yourself breathing just a bit heavier, running your finger along the tops of the arcades and pinball machines one by one as you walked past them as slow as molasses.

He seemed into me- maybe laid on the charm a little thick.. but if he didn’t like me at all, he wouldn’t have. Would he? Sure, he teased Claire, but he didn’t ask her to stay behind. He could have anyone tonight.. he could have anyone ever. Why me?

Your thoughts trailed back to what the woman said as she opened the door in the first place.

“But why?” You asked yourself quietly in the silence of the room.

“Because you’re different,” the intoxicating voice you’d know anywhere chimed in from the doorway, starling you as you curtly turned to face him.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you coming,” you said, a soft, nervous laugh escaping you.

“You will,” he quipped quickly before continuing on, the joke making your emotions leap. “Sorry, that took a little longer than usual. It was a crazy crowd tonight.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him before making his way to the same bowl of skittles on the table, picking up a handful and walking towards you.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, attempting with every ounce of might not to lose your mind completely as you watched his every move in awe. He was even more charming and enamoring alone, without having to keep a guard up to defend himself from hundreds of people at once. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip gently, you turned around quickly to hide your face from him, absentmindedly eyeing the flashing pinball machine you’d stopped in front of.

“You like them?” He asked as he stood next to you, gesturing to the glowing machines.

“Oh yeah. They remind me of my childhood, actually. I used to hang out at the arcade and.. do stupid stuff with my friends.”

“I always liked the green room here. Every venue is different, but this one stuck with me.”

His attitude was cool and aloof, but never to the point of completely uncaring. It was immediately disarming as you cracked a smile.

“You must see the inside of so many of these places.”

“I do,” he said. “Everywhere is different. But sometimes, you find that one element that makes a place worth remembering.”

“Just one? What’s the element here?” You asked, curious.

“Tonight, it’s you.”

Your breath remained in your lungs as you stilled beside him, your eyes daring to drift from the pinball machine to meet his heart stopping gaze. Every time you looked at him felt like the first time. Your words weren’t available to you as you held his stare. The tension building couldn’t be cut with a knife, but rather something more of a chainsaw as you tried to gather yourself.

“Don’t be nervous,” he finally said, his tone soft as he stepped back a bit. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s really not the case,” you quickly responded, you eyes closing for just a second. “I’m, so, so far from uncomfortable.”

Where you had no words before, you were suddenly revealing too much. Nervous, yes, uncomfortable, absolutely not. It was bad enough you were completely infatuated with him, it was even worse he was into you, too- even worse in all the good ways, anyway. If only for the night.

You were stuck between going as far as you’d always wanted, to politely declining anything other than a hug and a conversation and being on your way. In that moment, you refused the thought of the latter.

“Are you?” He asked, his tone gruff, yet still soft.

“Yes,” you assured, your voice breathier than you anticipated it to be. “But I am a little intimidated.”

He noticed it too, breathing a soft chuckle as he moved to push some hair from your face, his hand staying on the side of your head tenderly.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t intend that.. Not maliciously, or anything,” he added nonchalantly with a faint, lighthearted grin.

A soft giggle emitted from your lips and you rolled your eyes playfully before his hand slid from your head to the side of your neck. When his eyes traveled from yours to your lips, you could almost hear the blood rushing to your cheeks again.

“Do you always blush so easily?” He smirked. “It’s precious.”

Bringing a hand to your cheek, words spilled past your lips without any way to control it. “You’re just, far more handsome than even I expected,” you gushed and looked away, unable to reel it back as your hand gripped onto the pinball machine behind you. “And I can’t help but want you.”

Your breathing grew staggered as he moved closer. There was something even more alluring about him in person, and you knew you were about to crumble to pieces when he leaned in and gripped onto your chin, turning you to face him in a rougher manner than you were used to.

“How do you want me?” he asked under his breath, leaning over you against the machine as his free hand gripped onto it beside you.

That was all you needed. The darker, submissive side to you would be hidden away no longer. There was something you needed that you felt only he could give you. His grip got just a bit tighter on your chin as you inhaled, holding his dangerous gaze. The masochistic craving you felt in your loins was insatiable as you opened your mouth to speak.

“Hard and fast,” you breathed, your slightly trembling hand moving to grip onto the collar of shirt as he leaned you back just a bit more. “Destructive.. I’m not afraid anymore.”

He didn’t waste any time. He picked you up and threw you onto the pinball machine, his lips meeting yours like there was a magnet attracting him to you. His kiss was suffocatingly deep as he parted your lips, smearing your nude-colored lipstick on your mouth as his hands explored your body. The taste of his lips was sweet as the candy he’d just ingested, sending you into a whirlwind of heaven. Still trembling just slightly, you moved your hand to touch his flesh; to finally get what you’d been dying to have for years. You hardly realized you were digging your fingers into his back when he pulled away for just a moment, ripping his shirt off of his toned body and exposing the tattoo on his chest you’d always dreamt of running your tongue over. You kicked your heels off quickly, wrapping your ankle behind his body as the intensity heightened between you.

He tugged you down closer to the edge of the surface he had you on, ripping your shirt off before pressing his lips back to yours with a force to them you’d never felt from anyone before. Your nether regions burned with a desire that you’d only heard of in movies as you pushed back, kissing him with same fervency he was giving you. A soft groan filled the air, and it was all Jared needed to hear as his hands tugged at your jeans, yanking them down your legs and dropping them to the floor. Without warning, you felt his hand on your barely clothed sex, pressing his fingertips against it roughly.

“Such a sweet girl, and yet so filthy..” he growled as his lips trailed down your neck roughly; a mixture of bites and kisses peppering your skin.

You brought his head against your flesh harder, your eyes falling shut as you moaned under his touch. The emotions and sensations within you bubbled like champagne in a glass with every word he spoke. There was no stopping the immense amount of arousal that he inflicted on you with every coy sentence; with every ounce of affection.

“Harder,” was all you could manage, and he swiftly obeyed.

His teeth sunk further into your skin, his finger rubbing circles over your engorged clit before slapping it a few times. Each slap sent a warm electric shock from your core to every other centimeter of your body, eliciting a new, delicate moan from you every time.

“Already, sweetheart?” He taunted softly. “Damn, such a fucking slut for daddy.. And I haven’t even fucked you, yet.”

His voice was gruff and full of lust as he spoke. He stood up again, shoving you down onto the pinball machine, rattling the pieces inside of it as his hand gripped around your throat. His other hand moved to tear your panties off your body. You gasped, opening your legs for him as he stood between them, rubbing his groin against your core through his pants. You watched as he bit his lower lip, his eyes roaming over your body lecherously as he gave your neck another squeeze. There was no question he was getting harder in his pants as he did so. It was enough to get you going even more, the thought of being the reason he needed you just as and much as you needed him.

“Then fuck me.. I want you to push me completely.. No limits,” you begged.

He lifted a brow with a smirk, his eyes landing on your pussy, glistening under the buzzing neon lights as he drew a breath between his teeth. It all drove you further up the wall with every passing second. He was addicting already, like a sweet kind of venom that you never knew you needed rushing through your bloodstream.

“No limits, huh?” he pondered, his hand moving to pull his length from his pants, still pinning you down with the other.

“None. I want it all. All your wrath..”

“Such dirty words coming from such an innocent face, {Y/N}..” he said, tapping the head of his shaft against your swollen folds a few times, eliciting a whimper from you.

With one, quick thrust, he pushed his large member into your core, your mouth slightly agape as you inhale at the sudden pleasure laced with the slightest twinge of a blissful pain. He was bigger than you were expecting, filling you up with no issue, but as he began to rock back and forth, the sensation quickly melted into nothing but pure, unadulterated euphoria. There was nothing like it, the high he had you running off of as you fit his rigid member like a glove.

“Oh, daddy..” you mewled, not used to such a filthy term coming from your lips, but aroused even more just at the opportunity to use it.

Jared picked up the pace, his hand dragging itself down your breasts before squeezing each of them over your favorite bra. Your leg pushed him even closer to your body as it bounced underneath him. He slid his hand beneath your bra next, pinching and tugging at your taut nipples as you moaned out his name, watching him bite into his lip as you did so.

Your senses tinged right along with his own as your shoulder blades pressed against the hard glass surface he had you on top of. When you moved to prop yourself up on your shoulder, his hand quickly met your cheek with a slap before smearing his thumb over your lip and grabbing your chin again, shoving you back down against the machine as he thrusted into you harder, his fingertips connecting with you cheek again. Your tight walls clenched around his solid cock, only offering the both of you more friction to get off on as he kept it up.

“You don’t move unless I move you,” he rasped, his hand moving to rub your clit again, this time with more pressure.

You were on cloud nine as you took every inch as deeply as he could possibly give it to you, crying out between gasps. His grunting was temperature rising, his moaning almost too hot for you to handle, and when saw his hand move to tear the belt that hung on his pants from its place, a whole new sensation of need appeared.

Your back arched as he ran it over your skin, the material was cold and smooth as he curtly leaned over you, and held it over your mouth, his hands on either side of your head as he fucked into you relentlessly.

It was obvious, plainly obvious, that he was only using you to tease himself as he began to slow down, towering over your helpless frame as one hand gripped onto the back of the pinball machine above you, the other squeezing your own breast with an eagerness to feel everything at once. His skin was just slightly damp as he pulled his thick cock out slowly, then pushing into your sweet spot again at the same pace, over and over.

“That tight little pussy is all mine, isn’t it kitten?” he groaned, his expression intense as he watched you with the belt over your mouth.

You bit into it, whimpering with a nod as your nails clawed at his shoulder, next. Your hips lifted to collide with his groin as you tilted your head back against the machine. He let go for a moment, the material still hanging over your mouth as he lifted your legs over his shoulders. His hand swiftly met your backside, slapping it violently with a firm squeeze before he leaned back over you and held the belt down again. His cock hit your g-spot with such a mouthwatering deliciousness, that you began to feel overwhelmed with pleasure; tears forming in your waterline. All you wanted was more of him, to feel the beautiful release that he was building you up to. Your stomach was in glorious, anticipatory knots as he continued.

“So helpless, trying to play with me like you can handle it..”

He lifted the belt just a bit so you could respond, a glint in his eye as he smirked down at you, still thrusting slowly.

“I can, baby..” you assured, your tone just as helpless as he knew it would be; just as desperate to please him.

With that, he pushed into you all at once again roughly, a cry falling from your lips as your chest heaved. You were close, so close. How he managed to get this far himself was beyond you as he chuckled, low and sensually.

“Does that feel good, baby girl?” he asked, taunting you now as he mercilessly stroked into you harder.

“Oh, fuck.. Yes, daddy! Fuck me!”

Your pussy throbbed around him, leaving you no time to keep your climax at bay as you finally let go. When he noticed you were at the finish line, he threw the belt aside and reached for your neck, squeezing it just right as your body writhed in response. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your veins, sending a warm, sizzling sensation through your core. When he felt your walls squeeze his length repeatedly, he let himself go, too. A carnal groan bolting out of him like a freight train as his thrusts grew harder and animalistic. Riding out his ecstasy only helped you into another release as your overstimulated center sent nerve singing ripples of the most intense orgasm you’d ever felt- alone or with someone else.

“That’s right baby, cum for daddy.. Let me feel that pussy cum just for me,” he groaned into the open air.

Your pulsing clit was sensitive, only growing increasingly more sensitive as he reached to slap it over and over before his hands slid to grip onto your hips violently, thrusting into you with the same urgency as before.

Leaving you breathless and senseless all at once while he spilled inside of you was just the game he wanted to play. His fingers digging into your soft skin was painful, adding to the amazing feeling between your thighs as your swollen pussy swallowed his throbbing shaft with ease.

Jared’s eyes were glued to yours as you shuddered beneath him, watching your every reaction intently. It only got him off even harder on the fact that it was all because of him. The immense wetness that was dripping from your center made him slide in and out of you swiftly, your moaning turning into a soft whining as he slowed down, pushing back into you a few more times before finally pulling out with a sigh of satisfaction.

He set your legs back down and pulled at his pants, fixing himself again as you laid on the pinball machine, heaven in your eyes and mind. Suddenly, you wondered if you were going to be able to walk at all as a soreness replaced the fullness you’d just felt.

Giving into him, getting what you wanted, it all felt surreal as you looked up at the ceiling. The sex was rough and on fire, a total one-eighty from what you were used to. It was exciting, and honestly? Igniting. You wanted more of him, so much more. You wanted the darkness and the rage; the violence and the loss of control. You’d just gotten it all, but you were still hungry for him; still hungry for more. If what you’d just experienced was any indication, you were fast on your way to the sick and twisted desire you shared with him, no longer afraid to give it and receive it. Jared had satisfied you thoroughly, but as you laid on the pinball machine with an aching between your legs, you realized when it came to him, there was no way you’d ever be completely finished

A deep breath was all you allowed yourself before sitting back up, the puddle underneath you coating the back of your thighs as you looked for your clothes on the floor. He moved to pick up your jeans and panties, handing them back over to you with a smirk.

“Do you live around here?” he asked, and you almost couldn’t believe he’d moved into regular conversation so quickly.

You reminded yourself that he was Jared Leto, after all. You were probably just one out of a million when it came to tour flings. You attempted to shake the envy quickly.

“Yeah, just about twenty minutes away,” you breathed, still trying to bring yourself back down as you carefully took your clothes back.

You slid off of the pinball machine and into the articles of clothing he handed back to you.

“I get back home in a few months.. Maybe we can hang out again.”

The snort that escaped you wasn’t meant to be rude, but it was inevitable.

“You want to see me again?”

He mocked the expression on your features playfully with a light chuckle. “Of course I do. Are you kidding?”

You grabbed your shirt off the floor, slipping into it and looking at him meekly.

“Sorry, I just.. You’re.. You know, you can have anyone.” “Oh, I just spent all that time giving you my undivided attention and you still think I’d want to give it to someone else?”

“I know how you sweet talking band guys work,” you retorted, showing him you weren’t just another naive girl, even if you felt like it.

“So you’ve done this before?” he quipped, a sly grin on his features.

“No! I just.. Assume. You’re all a special kind of breed..” You stammered, huffing and regrouping as he stepped closer to you. “ What I meant is, I don’t expect you to all of a sudden be in love with me endlessly and want to give up.. Tour life,” You stated, knowing he knew exactly what you meant.

He chuckled again softly, shaking his head as he wrapped a hand around your waist, looking down into your {E/C} eyes.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll give you my personal line.”

You hesitated, studying his expression as you reached into your back pocket, suddenly glad it didn’t slip out during your rendezvous. When you pulled your phone out, he took it gently from your hand, unlocking it to put his number into your contacts.

“Claire is pissed,” he joked, drawing out his words as he lifts his brows, his thumb scrolling through the thread.

Had it been anyone else, you might’ve been mad that he went through your messages with her like that. However, he was different already, and she was showing her ass.

“Oh, yeah… She was hoping it would was going to be her getting railed tonight. Definitely not me.”

He laughed, looking at you and saving his contact.

“Getting railed, huh? Such a lady,” he joked.

You blushed in return as he slipped your phone into your back pocket for you, a soft giggle emitting from your chest as he gave your rear a firm squeeze. A faint pain made itself known under his hand from where he’d spanked you earlier, and you chewed on your lower lip.

“You know there’s more where that came from, right? Pushing your limits.. I’ve barely started.”

His icy stare landed on yours, a silent moment hanging between you as your breath hitched nervously in your chest all over again. Something told you if he did ever call you again, he’d just keep going. He’d keep going harder and harder every time you saw each other, until you were completely devoted to his every need. You were about to respond when-

“{Y/N}! What the fuck! How could you just leave me like that?!” you heard Claire calling out, the door swinging open and slamming into the wall behind it.

“As if on cue..” he said under his breath to you.

You jumped, trying to calm back down as Jared turned to face her.

“You must be Claire,” he grinned, and she automatically melted at his presence.

“Oh, yes.. Hi, again,” she said, pouring the flirt on thick. “Fancy meeting you here, babe.”

He only smiled, turning back to you and pulling you close with one arm before leaning in to plant a passionate kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, he winked and headed for the door. “Text me your address. I’ll call you when I’m back,” he said, grabbing his shirt from the couch he threw it on in the heat of your moment and walking cockily out of the room. “Be good, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the grin on your lips as you thought about what just happened. When you turned to Claire, you saw envy, confusion and rage written all over her features as she seethed, practically chomping at the bit to ask what the hell any of that was; but she didn’t need to ask. You simply shrugged, suddenly uncaring of her behavior.

“What can I say? He’s one hell of a guy.”

#jared leto x reader #jared leto #jared leto fanfiction #fanfiction #joker x reader #the joker #harley quinn #smut #jared leto smut #thirty seconds to mars #30 Seconds To Mars #fanfic #one shot

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jokers-sweethearts · 8 years ago

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Jokers Daughter Imagine: Speak of the Devil

Request: (anon) Can you do one where the CP is all distraught when Jerome gets killed(s2)And J is all like good riddance,but then Jerome comes back(s3)and reunites with the CP,both still madly in love,and J is just there like,WTF?And HQ is like,ew his face is cutoff

//////

You watched the clip over and over again. Keeping your hand on the remote so you could quickly rewind. Just that one moment when Jerome took his bow. The memory of the live broadcast and how happy you were when you watched it haunted you. No one could have predicted what was going to happen next. Not even Jerome. If he could, surely he would have stopped it. Just like he promised. That nothing could stop him from coming back to you.

You watched it again but paused on his smile so it was permanent on your laptop. You laid your head back on your pillow and set the screen down beside you. So you could just stare at him. It had been months since he was gone but it felt like years without him and at the same time like you had just felt his touch.

The knock on your door startled you and you grabbed onto the screen as if to protect Jerome from further harm.

“It’s me princess” you recognized your fathers voice. “Can I come in?” Joker never asked permission for anything, but he knew his daughter was in pain and didn’t want to further upset her.

“Yeah, daddy you can come in” you replied in a low voice.

As soon as your father walked in the door you reached out your arms and tears started to pour. The view of someone you could trust allowed you to be vulnerable to let it all out. Joker quickly headed his daughters request and ran to her bed to hug her. You rested your head on his shoulder and he felt his shirt dampen with tears.

The rage was burning inside of him when he saw the laptop screen. It was Jerome, still. Joker was hoping he’d be gone from your mind by now. He hated the boy. Ever since he first set eyes on him, warned him not to go near his daughter, and even more when his baby admitted she loved him. But Jerome did make Joker happy one time, the day he choked on his own blood.

“Princess?” Joker said lifting her head off him in his hands “You need to let him go” he spoke sternly trying to hold back his anger and jealousy.

“Daddy that’s like me asking you to let go of mommy. What if I said that while she was in Belle Reve?”

Jokers spine tingled instantly making him uncomfortable to remember those times. “it’s not the same thing princess. He wasn’t good enough for you. It wasn’t meant to be”.

You hated the words coming out of his mouth but he was still dad, you still needed to feel his warmth in a hard time. You rested your head against his chest and this time Joker didn’t have the heart to pull you away.

“I just miss him”.

Joker sighed, he felt partially responsible. If he hadn’t have let Jerome get close in the first place his baby wouldn’t be crying in his arms.

“If he really loved you he wouldn’t have left you” Joker whispered into your ear.

“It wasn’t his fault!”

“he should have seen it coming. Or he shouldn’t have made that promise you told me about. Have I ever broken a promise?”

“No...” you used your dads loose tie to wipe your tears.

“Well you have me here, he’s not, I can make you happy again. I was the first person to make you laugh you know!”

Your fathers confidence never ceased to amaze you, or make you smile. You looked up at him wide eyed and exhausted from being sad. You ran his finger tips over your face and placed a kiss on each one. You took another look at the computer screen. Joker was so prideful that you looked up at him like he was your whole world again, he slammed the laptop shut when you looked away. Joker had his princess back, he was the only man in her life again, he wanted it to stay that way.

“it just takes time ya know?” you said pushing away from your father.

Joker kept his hands on your arms caressing them.

“In the mean time what about a distraction?” Joker reached into his pocket and pulled out the golden keys that operated the purple lamborghini and dangled them in front of you. Your face lit up and you shook your head.

Your father drove you all around gotham trying to cheer you up, but everything you saw reminded you of Jerome. You kept a smile on your face to keep your father happy knowing he was hurting too. You wondered if the pain would last forever.

...........

The months dragged on and it didn’t get much easier. Everything you did reminded you of Jerome whether it was walking around the streets at night setting casual fires or putting a bullet into a cops head or laying around watching movies. Every red head you saw, every laugh you heard had the faint memory of him close tugging on your heart,

Joker and Harley were somewhere between furious and devastated seeing their daughter in this condition. Harley could sympathize with her baby, she couldn’t imagine losing her J.. and Jerome was so much like puddin she could understand why her daughter liked him. If Harley was being honest with herself, she always pictured her daughter and Jerome like the next generation. Their beautiful smiling faces would take over the town and carry on the legacy that they had created.

Joker on the other hand would prefer to erase his memory completely. He saw himself as immortal and the only clown family was himself, Harley, and their princess. He didn’t want anyone new, he just wanted things to be like they were before and his daughters heart to belong to him and only him.

You sat on the living room floor with your back against the couch watching tv, seeing what criminals were escaping Arkham each week always helped you feel better. It gave you a sense of confidence seeing your fellow looney tunes getting out and living their lives, like Jerome should have been able to do. Joker and Harley found their daughter watching and took their places on the couch, they positioned their daughter in the middle of them as usual so she could rest her head on either of their knees.

“Those poor people...” Harley said as the tv showed patients being tackled to the ground. “So misunderstood...”

“Should have planned it better” Joker hissed. “Or get a cute doctor to help right Harls?” his tense face softened to a smile and he kissed her neck making her giggle.

You loved seeing how adoring your parents were of each other, but it didn’t mean you weren’t somewhat envious. They had each other and always would. You stood up in between them and began walking away but your father grabbed your hand in his.

“Where are you off to?” he said, face growing stern again.

“Just to my room daddy” you replied solemnly.

“Oh no no no you stay in their all the time, sit with us a bit”. He ran his finger along your knuckles with still keeping a firm hold.

You didn’t even think about a response, you just wanted to feel the comfort of your bed so you pulled away from your father and began to walk again. Joker shot up off the couch when he felt her pull away and his feet slamming on the ground seemed to shake the whole house. You turned around and saw him furious.

“Princess I know you’re upset but it’s been months, you have to let him go” he demanded.

“Daddy we’ve talked about this before!” you shot back sick and tired of him acting this way.

“Am I just supposed to sit back and watch you hurting? He was never good for you and now you’re finally rid of him and..”

“How can you say that? You knew I loved him?” you were screaming at this point and your face was hot from rage and trying to hold back tears.

“You have me to love! Your mother!” Joker fought back with no sign of giving up, Harley sat on the couch stone faced knowing what they both were feeling.

“If Jerome was here it would be different and I wouldn’t have to act this way I just..”

Joker scoffed interrupting his daughter, “If Jerome was here I would slice his face off!”

Just as Joker said that an explosion like sound erupted from outside the front door. Joker saw the flashes of light he was all too familiar with and reached out to pull his daughter to him. He threw her on the couch with her mother and then climbed next to them wrapping his whole body around their frames to protect them. The door and windows shot inward spreading glass throughout the whole house. Smoke filled the air around them in the aftermath and Joker rose up pulling his gun from his holster to aim it at the intruder. When he saw the gcpd uniform he laughed, the usual encounter. But then, Jokers hand trembled with the weapon for the first time since he lost Harley at the sight. The red headed bastard boy was walking towards him. Joker felt like he was in a dream because what he had just threatened was real and it was in front of him. Jerome’s face was horribly mangled along the edges and slapped on over his bones.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear!” Jerome said clear as day and then threw his head back and cackled.

When you heard his voice the hairs all over your body stood up and an electric shock wave ran down your spine. You let go of your mother and stood up next to your father. Your jaw was dropped and eyes wide as you stared at him, unable to process if it was reality or not. You didn’t move a muscle after you stood scared that if you were dreaming, you’d do something to wake up.

“I’m back baby!”

After hearing his voice again speaking to you a wave of warmth washed over your body.

“Jerome!” you called out and started to run towards him. But you felt a strong arm cross over your stomach and pull you back.

“Princess no!” Joker yelled and pulled you behind him steadying his gun at Jerome.

“Daddy what are you doing?”

“What are you doing? Look at that thing!” he said disgusted holding onto you.

Harley stood and looked over Jokers shoulder in awe at the sight. “Yeah baby I wouldn’t get too close it looks like my leather gucci bag I left in the rain one time”.

“Hey!” Jerome said adjusting his face to make sure it wasn’t slipping off.

“Please let go of me!” you cried out fighting to get out of your fathers grip.

“You’re supposed to be dead” Joker ignored his daughters pleas and focused his attention back on Jerome.

“Supposed to be” Jerome said walking closer. Joker pointed the gun at his temple so he put his hands up and stepped over to the chair opposite them and took a seat as casual as can be. “Now I’m back. Better than ever!”

“I wouldn’t say that” Harley chimed in followed by an evil glare from Jerome and her daughter.

“I couldn’t let (y/n) think for one more second that I was dead, I couldn’t let her feel that pain any more” the words left Jeromes mouth in a deep and pained voice that took everyone by surprise, everyone but you.

You knew Jerome would never hurt you intentionally. You had so many questions running through your head of how he survived but it was incredible how it all didn’t matter. How did he survive? Where was he? When did he come back? How? What happened to his face? But the only thing in that very moment that was on the tip of your tongue was,

“I love you”.

The words left your mouth on their own followed by a short gasp after realizing you said it. You felt your fathers hands leave you and fall to his side.

Joker felt like he had been punched right in the stomach and his lungs stripped of air. Hearing his baby say it for someone else was almost enough to make his knees give out. He himself couldn’t deny the authenticity in Jerome’s voice. His words reminded Joker of himself and he hated it, hated to admit he had anything in common with Jerome. But the caring and the protectiveness for his daughter was something he could share without a doubt.

Harley studied Jerome who was breathing heavily looking at her baby, it was the same look she saw on the highway all those years ago. In that moment she knew how real it was. She was confused about everything in the situation besides one thing. How clear their love was.

Joker looked down at his daughter who was staring right back up at him. You looked deep into your fathers blue eyes, vulnerable and a bit broken. Like you had never seen them before.

“I love him daddy, please, you know it” you said in a defeated voice. “What’s so wrong about that?”

Joker was all but paralyzed. He wanted nothing more to lift her up in his arms and never let her go, he just wanted to make her happy and the fact that he made her happy was something he had to accept. Joker felt Harley’s hand squeeze around his and he knew what he had to do. He ran his finder tips along his daughters cheek and have her a slight grin.

That was all you needed to know that you wouldn’t be stopped when you tried to go to the man you’d been waiting for. Jerome stood up from the couch when he saw Jokers shoulders loosen up and you look at him. He extended his arms to you and within seconds you were being spun around in his embrace. Joker didn’t want to look but he couldn’t help himself. Seeing his daughter in total bliss forced a wide smile across his face.

You buried your hands in Jeromes red hair and took in his scent. It was like not a single day had gone by. His touch and taste of his lips was all the same. You looked down at him while he had you picked up in the air.

“Still think I’m handsome huh?” he said with his voice cracking slightly, nervous.

“Hey it’s not the weirdest thing we’ve ever seen” you giggled and it made Jerome’s eyes light up.

“Okay okay okay” Joker interrupted the love birds and walked over putting his hand on his daughters back. “Put her down”.

As much as Jerome wanted to run away with you right there and then he did as the clown king commanded not wanting to ruin the little chance he got.

“Now you need to explain what the fuck this is about” Joker poked the loose skin on Jerome’s face and his daughter pulled his hand away.

“Yeah uhm.....” Harley said standing up and walking over to join them. She circled Jerome like a wild animal stalking its prey. “But can you wear a mask or something while you do it”.

“Guys!” you protested humiliated.

“It’s okay babe I..”

Jerome was cut off by a furious look Joker shot him. Joker was willing to accept him in their lives a bit but not that anyone else was allowed to have pet names for his baby besides him.

“I mean uh.. (y/n) it’s okay. I don’t mind. You guys ready for story time?” Jerome laughed again and was joined this time by his love.

They all took seats again waiting for Jerome to begin. You cuddled up next to your father on the couch ready to hear the explanation. You wanted to let your father know how grateful you were and also that you still loved him. Joker felt his heart pounding when his daughter rested her head on his shoulder. Relieved to have her back next to him. He nodded his had signaling for Jerome to begin. Never once loosening the grip on his gun.

#imagines #joker #the joker #harley quinn #jerome #jerome valeska #jerome x reader #jerome valeska x reader #joker x reader #jokers daughter #joker!daughter #leto!joker #joker imagine #harley x joker #joker x harley #harley quinn x reader #suicide squad imagine #gotham imagine

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batmanie · 5 years ago

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Maybe a little late for Valentine's but: Harleen searching for the perfect valentine present for Pamela?

"April Fools'! Hip hip, hooray! Tomorrow is April Fools' Day!" Pamela was trying to watch the news but Harleen's jolly singing was far too loud and far too annoying to be simply ignored. It was going on like that since the very morning – and by 'morning' she meant the moment Harl had crawled out of the bed after the last night's drinking game – and that had been around noon. “April Fools’! Yahoo! Joke on me and joke on you!” The song was coming from their small kitchen along with the strong aroma of coffee and baked eggs. The apartment the two of them currently shared was so small and cramped with Harleen's stuff that the kitchen door didn't even shut, blocked by some unpacked boxes, and one could smell all the cooking smells right away when sitting in the other room – which was a living room and bedroom all in one. Oh, the joy of staying low! Ivy got up from their couch-bed to open the window, before she came back to sit and watch the TV, Harl had already joined her. “Want some?” There was an egg on a fork dangling happily right in front of Pamela's face. “No, thank you,” She declined and watched Harley stuffing it all in one go into her mouth, which was a quite frankly disgusting, yet entertaining show. “So?” Harleen started, her mouth still full, “wanna plan some pranks for tomorrow?” “I'm not really into... that kind of stuff.” “Oh, com'on, Red!” Harl's face invaded Ivy's personal space as the girl looked her in the eye with this expecting, intense gaze of hers. Pamela had to dodge the bread-crumbs spat out of Harley's open mouth while the other continued nagging. “April Fools' is like my favorite holiday ever! We have to do something awesome! We always used to plan something special for April Fools' with Mr. J... Hey! What was that for!” Harleen cried out as a cushion smacked her blond head. Pamela crossed her arms. “We had a deal, Harleen! As long as you're staying with me, you don't mention his name, remember?” “Yes, Red but... April Fools', it reminds me...” Pam's hand was on that cushion again, red nails digging into it fiercely. The look she had given Harl was supposed to be a warning glare but it must have been something more into it because the blonde chatterbox had shut her mouth on her own mid-sentence. “I... sense some tension, Pammy,” Harley pointed out after few moments. “Oh, really? And I thought you were too busy singing and hyping about that meaningless holiday for fools to notice!” Harley blinked with honest surprise but collected herself very fast. She straightened her back, her intertwined fingers rested on her lap as she turned into her more analytical self. “And what is it that bothers you exactly? No plants are harmed during this tradition.” “It's not about plants!” Pamela barked out. “It's just... How come you are so excited about April Fools' but you totally ignored Valentin's this year?” “Valentines? What are you talking about, Pammy?” Harl's voice seemed uncertain. “I gave you this flower.” Her finger pointed at the pot with the pink orchid standing on the shelf. “No, Harley! That was last year!” Pam snapped at her, finally letting her long-time bottled-up frustration out. “And it was me who had given her to you in the first place! You just gave this poor baby back after forgetting to water her!” Harleen opened her mouth to say something to her defense but nothing came out. Pamela hadn't even noticed until now that her palms were clenched, she took a breath trying to relax. Harl observed her from her side of their shared couch. “I'm sorry, Red,” Harley spoke with a small voice. “I'm really sorry that I didn't give you anything. You've been so good to me and I...” Her blue eyes started watering and Ivy felt that annoying pang in her green heart that happened once in a while, mostly in situations that included dying plants or an emotionally distressed Harleen. “...I forgot about Valentine's.” Harley sniffed loudly. “I've been so self-absorbed ever since he dumped me. I'm sorry, Red!” “No,” Pamela shook her head, her voice much softer than before. She reached to touch Harleen's hand and patted it gently. “He didn't dump you. It was you who dumped him. And you did it because he was a jerk who had thrown you out of a window, pushed you off a moving car, electrocuted you and kept abusing you in every possible way!” “Yeah, good times!” Harl giggled through her falling tears. Ivy squeezed her hand harder. “Good times are yet to come. And now you have someone who accepts you as you are.” Harley sniffed again, loud and undignified. “Even if I'm this forgetful?” “Yup.” It made Harley smile her brightest smile and Pam knew she could forgive her about anything. “Even if I want to celebrate April Fool's with you?” “Don't push your luck.” They were going to be fine.

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thrashermaxey · 7 years ago

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Ramblings: Thoughts on Pacioretty, Tavares, the Draft, Carlson, Wideman and more (June 25)

***

Hope you enjoyed draft weekend, even if the trade action was a bit of a lull. I believe that this year the quality defensemen were in abundance and the forwards were lacking in terms of high-end talent. At least, compared to other years. Obviously these guys are talented so I’m speaking in relative terms. But the salary cap era has teams in such desperate need of cheap help sooner rather than later, you saw many of them take a B-type forward ahead of an A-type defenseman. We had four defensemen ranked in the Top 7 and yet just two actually went in the Top 7. You saw Montreal reach ahead and take the top-ranked center (Jesperi Kotkaniemi) two or three spots above his overall ranking. You saw the Senators grab a forward in Brady Tkachuk who will likely join the team by 2019-20 at the latest, even though they are in serious danger of losing their franchise defenseman. You even saw Arizona grab a forward many outlets had ranked out of the Top 10 – at No.5. I find it curious, because in real hockey as it is in fantasy, defensemen are valued more. This obviously wasn’t about trade value but to me was about getting a guy on their roster within two or three years (forwards) as opposed to three or four years (defensemen).

On the plus side, this allowed some very deserving teams to get their hands on real good quality defensemen. Kudos to Vancouver on getting Quinn Hughes at 7 and to Edmonton for Evan Bouchard at 10. Then again, it also allowed other teams to get quality defensemen as well – such as Chicago getting Adam Boqvist. The Hawks have won enough Cups lately, shouldn’t they suffer for a bit now? I kid.

I’m sure you’ve read all the articles giving Detroit pats on the back for the players that landed in their lap much later than expected. Filip Zadina was ranked third on a lot of lists (including our own in the Fantasy Prospects Report), yet Detroit got him sixth. Joe Veleno was ranked 11th on our list and Detroit got him 30th. But here is the Devil’s Advocate point of view – they got a couple of players who sank for a reason. I don’t question Zadina’s talent. I think that one was luck in that Montreal wanted a center and Ottawa wanted a sure-fire scoring-line player who can help very soon. But now I question Veleno, who has seen his stock fall for almost an entire year now. Reminds me of us celebrating the Penguins for drafting Angelo Esposito back in the day. There was a reason Esposito fell, is there a reason Veleno fell? I’ll let someone else take a chance on Veleno for now in my league.

My favorite pick of the first round: Edmonton taking Evan Bouchard

My favorite dark horse pick of the first round: Dallas taking Ty Dellandrea

These are from fantasy standpoints. That’s just how I always think.

The big news of the weekend may not have even come from the draft, or from a player moving at all, but rather from a player staying. John Carlson signed with the Capitals for eight years at $8 million per season. On the open market he would have been capped at seven years, unless Washington traded him. But my guess is he would have gotten $8.5 million per. This way he gets that extra season. This deal was made possible, and happened quickly, once the team got Brooks Orpik off the books in the Grubauer trade.

Just a thought, but why wouldn’t a superstar sign for one year at a time? Make $10 million next year, $11 the year after, and $12 the year after. If you’re the top UFA available, you’ll always make the most in the league, right? Then at 31 or 32 you sign your six or seven year deal. Three years from now, Carlson will be 15th or 20th among defensemen for salary and yet he still might be Top 10 in talent. Just thinking aloud here…”rambling”, if you will.

Speaking of UFAs, John Tavares has reportedly cut his list down to the following teams: Toronto, San Jose, Dallas, NY Islanders and “possibly” Boston as well as one of Tampa Bay and/or Nashville. Vegas now off the list.

How hard is Lou Lamoriello working to keep Tavares an Islander? Well, he’s following Tavares around California as he interviews with teams. I guess the next step is to start sticking bananas into the exhaust pipe of Doug Wilson’s car to make sure Wilson is late. I love the dedication here – he clearly knows what is riding on this and is acting accordingly. Leave zero to chance.

The NHL buyout window ends June 30, which this year is Saturday. Here are the players who are going to be bought out:

Brooks Orpik, COL; Xavier Ouellet, DET;

And here are the players who have agreed to be released from their contracts unconditionally:

Eric Gryba, EDM; Paul Martin, SJS; Sergey Zborovskiy, NYR;

I don’t know why the above players are allowed to just be released. I understand that they have to also agree to it – but what’s to prevent a team from strong-arming them? Or bribing them with head office jobs? I thought the CBA protected players from this stuff, even at their own detriment at times.

Minor trade yesterday – Vancouver traded Michael Chaput to Chicago for Tanner Kero. The latter is signed for the season ahead whereas the former is not, but both are depth players playing in a depth role.

Another minor trade – the Red Wings traded Robbie Russo to the Coyotes for a conditional seventh-round draft pick. That’s about as low a return as possible. Russo is all about offense, so to me he’s the quick replacement in case Trevor Murphy fails to pick up where he left off to end last season. Either way, we’re talking about the No.6 or 7 defenseman with secondary PP time and a bit of upside to move higher. Not unlike what Kevin Connauton brought to the table last season.

You’re seeing an interesting power swing this year when it comes to coaches, and this is the domino effect of Mike Babcock leaving the Red Wings on his own terms and making a big pile of money with the Maple Leafs. This past season, unless I’m having a brain fart, saw zero coaches fired. Yes, the two New York teams fired their coaches after the season. But in-season there were zero firings. And in the offseason, two coaches resigned and then signed elsewhere for big money. Now instead of coaches making $500,000 the good ones are starting to make $5 million. And this is happening without a union! Good for them, well deserved. Looks like organizations are thinking twice before firing a coach now.

Nikita Soshnikov signed a one-year, one-way deal with the Blues. It’s worth $800,000 so the contract can easily be buried, though he’d have to clear waivers. Playing down the stretch he was only seeing about 10 minutes of ice time per game, his hit totals were disappointing and his linemates were nobody of note.

Chris Wideman was enjoying a great start to his season with eight points in 16 games, with two of those on the power play. But then he suffered a hamstring injury that required season-ending surgery. The 28-year-old was set to become an unrestricted free agent but instead signed with the Senators for $1 million. Not really the defenseman Sens fans were hoping to get signed. The background numbers, based on limited data since he only played 16 games, indicates that his 0.50 points-per-game average was too high for him. But we already knew that. Still, if he can remain healthy he’ll be a 30-point guy. He once had 19 goals and 61 points in the AHL.

The Max Pacioretty situation is getting complicated. We all know that he’s on the trade block, and you probably heard that he switched agents on the weekend – Allan Walsh is his new guy. And Friday Pierre LeBrun reported that the Habs had a deal done with the Kings but it hinged on Pacioretty signing an extension and he didn’t so the deal fell through. So perhaps Pacioretty stays now and gets an extension from Montreal. But with Evander Kane getting a ludicrous $49 million deal, that pretty much makes Pacioretty worth a hell of a lot more. Had Kane signed a contract that better reflected his value, then perhaps Pacioretty could have been had for $6.5 million per season. Now the Habs are either forced to trade their captain, or overpay him. There’s really no way for Marc Bergevin to look good here, but at this point his reputation as a GM can’t get any worse.

I think Phillip Grubauer will be the starter for the Avs in a year. But this season? It will be messy. I’d expect Semyon Varlamov to get 40-45 starts, Grubauer to get 35-40 and Pavel Francouz to get a couple. That breakdown is a nightmare for fantasy owners. So expect a rough season for owners of the 26-year-old before you finally get stability a year from now.

DobberProspects team pages and player profiles have a new look. We’re still fixing the team prospect depth charts to fit different screen sizes, but if you’re on a PC you can check out the teams here. From there you can choose a team and click a player profile. You can see where we’re going with it, even if it’s not 100% ready just yet.

At the draft, here is our own Peter Harling (left), Cam Robinson (right) and former Dobber Nation host Andrew Walker (now with the FAN 650)

See you next week

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-thoughts-on-pacioretty-tavares-the-draft-carlson-wideman-and-more-june-25/

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fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

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3 Adult Bedtime Stories That Won’t Put You to Sleep

http://fashion-trendin.com/3-adult-bedtime-stories-that-wont-put-you-to-sleep/

3 Adult Bedtime Stories That Won’t Put You to Sleep

In partnership with CALVIN KLEIN.

I’ve always found the human act of climbing into bed and falling asleep to be one of our most endearing qualities. We can screw up at work, break someone’s heart, then violently knock down a tomato soup tower at the grocery store, but we’ll still end the day by crawling into fluffy, human-sized pockets to drift off to dreamland. I know sleep is biologically required of us, but when you remove the routine-laden context of it all, it’s actually quite a spectacular show of self-love. Our beds are like adorable little nests built with tender and cozy intention, whether we mean for them to be or not.

I think that’s why beds are, for many of us, the safest places in our homes. When we’re kids, they’re where we’re tucked in, read to and comforted. As teenagers, they’re where we collapse in dramatic tears and read books that take us to far-away worlds. As adults, they’re where we nuzzle in when we’re feeling lonely, make phone calls to people we love or even where we get work done when we’re feeling particularly productive. When you think about it, beds are the ultimate metaphor for the human propensity to be vulnerable.

To explore this phenomenon, Man Repeller partnered with CALVIN KLEIN to peek into the relationships we have with our beds. Below you’ll find three human stories that explore life through the lens of our safest place, along with photos of their narrators clad in CALVIN KLEIN UNDERWEAR, shot in the CALVIN KLEIN section of Bed, Bath & Beyond. These aren’t your average bedtime stories, but they’re just as touching, if you ask me.

Kate Barnett

Kate is the President of Man Repeller.

When I first starting working with Leandra on Man Repeller back in 2011, we didn’t have an office. Leandra was working from her apartment, and I was working from a casita in rural New Mexico with an unusually strong internet connection, while my now-fiancé built adobe homes. Northern New Mexico is directly below Colorado and gets freezing — which we hadn’t adequately prepared for that first winter. We moved everything into the living room, placed the bed as close to the fireplace as possible, and closed off the back half of the house entirely.

I spent the next four months huddled under blankets on my bed in child’s pose, with my computer in front of me, bowing to my connection to the world outside and developing Man Repeller’s monetization strategy. For video meetings, I’d throw on some mascara, blush and a blazer, carefully position my laptop to hide the fact that my bottom half was still in a bed cocoon, and casually mention that I was “out West,” hoping people would assume that meant L.A.

Looking back, I think that time mirrors where we were with Man Repeller in a really beautiful way. We were (and still are) super scrappy, hustling to bring this vision to life. The joy and excitement of building the company paired with our passion for what we were actually building led to this crucial, open-ended freedom to be creative in addressing obstacles, while also fueling the bottomless energy a start-up feeds on. When I think back to those big moments of hitting milestones early on, particularly with brand partnerships and revenue, I’m in bed, messaging with Leandra while on a call because I’m too excited about whatever’s going on to just wait and update her after, clad in long underwear, fingerless gloves, a beret and every blanket we had.

Eventually, as the team and company grew, we got our first office, then our second and third, and I moved back to New York. These days, if I’m working from bed it usually means I threw my back out, but there’s definitely some magic when I think back to the early years.

Crystal Anderson

Crystal is the Operations Manager at Man Repeller.

When my partner Shakira recently relocated to Wisconsin for work, I was about as bummed as a person can be. She left super early in the morning, right around the time my little dog Blanche is usually ready to party. But that morning, Blanche made herself comfy on Sharika’s side of the bed instead. I ended up staying there into the afternoon, and Blanche never left my side. She was truly in service of my needs that day and it was the most beautiful interaction I’ve ever had with an animal. It was an incredibly raw moment; I’ll never forget it. It’s like she knew what I needed.

I don’t know if I possess the emotional intelligence that my dog does. I’ve always said that when it comes to Blanche and me, it’s hard to determine who’s taking care of who, so this story reminds me that I am worthy and available to both love and be loved, to be of service and to be served.

My bed has always been a respite for me. It welcomes me and creates a safe space; probably the safest space I know. I crawl into my bed for so many reasons other than sleep. My bed represents raw and real love. It’s the place where I tell (and show) my partner I love her, as often as I can. Where I snuggle with my dog after a long day. It’s where I check in on my friends and family; there’s nothing like a nice long call full of laughing in bed!

Most importantly though, at the moment, given that my life is in a bit of transition with some many new things happening, it’s a place that I’m learning to reconnect with myself (physically, emotionally and spiritually), by myself, and it’s really lovely.

Imani Randolph

Imani is the Editorial Intern at Man Repeller.

I remember months before I left for college, I scoured the internet for the perfect dorm room decor. I put the most energy into finding my duvet cover, as I decided it would be the core piece that held the rest of my decorations together. I eventually landed on a beige one with a subtle floral pattern. My mom thought it was a bit overpriced, but in the end, she agreed to it, because we both wanted my dorm to feel like home.

When move-in day arrived, my parents and I were a jumbled mess of nerves and excitement. The first thing I wanted to do when we got to my room was set up my bed, but my mom suggested we do it last. She was ultimately right; we needed to use my bed as a landing place for my boxes and suitcases in the process of unpacking. After we put my clothes and shoes in the closet (check), organized my school supplies in drawers (check), hung up posters and artwork (check), it was finally time to make my bed. Before I could even locate my fresh new sheets, my mother’s hands were placing them on the mattress: “I’m making the bed,” she declared, with a certain definiteness I can still hear. And just like that, a tradition was born. We’ve maintained this little routine every year of college move-in. Even if I do everything else, she makes the bed.

I can’t remember what sparked it, but upon moving back to school for my final year of college, my mom and I got in a trivial argument that almost led to her not making my bed for the last time. We’re both typically on edge when it’s time for me to head back to school; the separation always feels intense since we’re extremely close. But in the face of the bed-making tradition being broken, I realized how essential it was. My mother’s foremost priority has always been making me feel safe and self-assured, and our tradition has served as a sentimental reminder that no matter how much older I get, how many new experiences I have, or how many far-away places I go, she will always be there to provide the comfort and security that I need.

In the end, I swallowed my pride and apologized and the tradition was upheld, perfectly tucked corners included. Today I feel prepared to make my own choices, but the foundation she’s laid is exactly what has given me the strength to do so.

9 PHOTOS click for more

Photos by Edith Young; Styled by Harling Ross; Makeup by Whitney Ray.

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fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

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5 Self-Respecting New York Women Wearing Scrunchies

http://fashion-trendin.com/5-self-respecting-new-york-women-wearing-scrunchies/

5 Self-Respecting New York Women Wearing Scrunchies

The scent of revolution is impossible to miss. It’s like a cross between the metallic tang of an unspent penny interspersed with notes of freshly mowed grass and Stormi Jenner’s forehead. In other words, it smells like newness in its most intense and promising form.

I caught a whiff of it in the aisle of a Duane Reade in March 2017, but I couldn’t tell from where it was coming. I sniffed it again on the headrest of my chair in a movie theater the month after that. Mysterious! It wasn’t until the beginning of May that I finally detected its source after inhaling a particularly strong gust via my Instagram feed, where an image of Frederikke Sofie washing her face had popped up on my screen. The top of her head practically pulsed with the aroma, and when I looked closer I saw it: a scrunchie.

After that I smelled it everywhere and every day, but that’s probably because I started wearing scrunchies on the regular and thus the back of my ponytail became a mobile diffuser. I felt bold and filled with conviction, like a pioneer tilling soil except instead of turning over dirt I was turning over misconceptions.

In the years since Carrie Bradshaw sentenced scrunchies to the purgatory of fashion faux pas with her fateful proclamation in Season 6, Episode 4 of Sex and the City that no “hip downtown” New York woman would be caught dead wearing a scrunchie, the humble fabric-coated hair elastic has been living in shadow…until now.

Scroll down to witness five New York women who would gladly be caught dead OR alive wearing a scrunchie. Like I said, the scent of revolution is in the air. It’s time to breathe it in. -Harling Ross

Leandra Medine, Man Repeller Founder

“Back when the only people I could communicate with were two ESL parents, they referred to the scrunchie as a “toka,” which you have to say like this — tttttoe-kah, to understand the full impact. When I got to kindergarten, I was trying to make new friends and complimented another girl’s toka. She had no clue what I was talking about but taught me how to say scrunchie. We made fast friends and, from that day forward, I knew my mission as a wearer was philosophically tied up in teaching fellow users about the merit of the toka’s ability to generate companionship.

I worry that the history of the scrunchie has been co-opted because of characters like Full House’s Kimmy Gibbler, particularly because she had a tendency to wear the hair piece recklessly and futilely. Frankly, the scrunchie brings an important value to the table in that it efficiently holds your hair back without creating creases in it. They’re much softer than standard hair ties and obviously add a flair that regular hair ties just can’t. Call them an instant-accessory, whatever. Philosophically, to me, they’re still tokas and a cornerstone of platonic intimacy.

I’ve mulled how scrunchies make me feel quite a bit, and I think the simple answer is effervescent. Suffice it to say I disagree with Carrie’s assertion and in fact have grown to resent it.”

Imani Randolph

American Apparel scrunchie — similar here styled with vintage coat

“I started wearing scrunchies last year, when I realized they weren’t hideous. I think what originally turned me off were the white, red, and navy sets of cotton ribbed ones they would sell at my local Dollar Store in upstate New York. They were puny and lackluster. To me, scrunchies didn’t seem like a stylistic choice; they were more like the absence of any sartorial sense. It may sound harsh, but back then, there was nothing appealing about them to me. I just couldn’t understand them. How wrong I was.

Everything changed this winter when I bought an oversized, baby pink, suede puffer jacket, the kind of marshmallowy outerwear that demands accessories that are equally carefree and lush. After I bought the puffer, I darted back to my dorm to borrow my best friend’s gold scrunchie — I believe she got it from American Apparel for a Halloween costume, or maybe just for shits and giggles. Nevertheless, a look was pulled.

The goal of looking good, chic or sexy has often made looking cute seem like a consolation prize. But that day I realized that, with the right styling, scrunchies have the ability to make you look and feel goddamn adorable and there’s no shame in that. No shame at all, no matter what Carrie Bradshaw said. People say you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve lived here for 10 years; I’m about halfway there, technically speaking, but I’d wager I’m even further thanks to my scrunchie.”

Harling Ross

“My hair isn’t full of secrets, it’s full of scrunchies. They’re soft, they’re practical, they’re unique — a safety blanket in miniature form. Each one is a memory unto itself, from my puffy velveteen number that was handmade in France to the pack of tiny polyester ones I ordered on Amazon Prime. I considered building a glass display case above my bed, but I prefer sleeping with them like stuffed animals instead for ultimate grab-and-go companionship.

I’ve traversed the streets of Manhattan for 26 years, thrown snowballs in Central Park, climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty, retrieved a fallen Swedish Fish out of a Lexington Avenue trash can and eaten it, handed out brochures in Times Square, changed in the back of a taxi cab, dislodged approximately 16 sticks of gum from the bottom of my shoes, moved into four different apartments and danced on precisely one tabletop. I am a New York woman, born and raised, and I wear scrunchies. In fact, they make me feel like New York royalty.”

Amelia Diamond

“Scrunchies are like tutus for your hair.

I didn’t give them their due credit for years, which is a shame, and I think about this with some sort of remorse every single day. The truth is that while scrunchies used to remind me of face washes and sleep buns, they also reminded me of the time I modeled in a Limited Too fashion show at my local mall in San Francisco and was gifted a pink-and-white striped scrunchie to pair with a pink-and-white striped hoodie as a thank you. I lost the hoodie a few months later, got in trouble as a result, was haunted by the presence of the scrunchie that stuck around, and for the years that followed I had a hard time looking at scrunchies — any scrunchie — without being reminded of that formative moment in my childhood.

As the eighties began its recent resurgence in the fashion industry, however, I began to soften toward the soft hair accessories. They made me nostalgic. I longed for my youth and the carefree attitude that comes with the scrunchie’s fluff, not to mention the lack of crease I’d never forgotten.

I finally purchased a pack while on a hair tie trip to CVS, began using them whenever my hair needed a hug, and I’m happy to report I haven’t looked back since.”

Haley Nahman

“A wise man once told me, ‘You can realize a lot in a moment,’ which perfectly defines how I feel about my core-shaking discovery of scrunchies. A friend let me borrow hers when I was in a hair tie pinch. It was rendered in faux fur, soft enough to snuggle with. I initially found it adorable, maybe even a little funny, but as soon as I placed it around my thick ponytail, the veil lifted on my ignorance. I immediately bought five.

How could I have missed the utility, the beauty, the utter versatility of the scrunchie? They make buns, ponytails and wrists look like chic party animals; they are accessories unto themselves, like bangs; they hold my mop back better than any wimpy hair tie ever did; and they never cause a kink. I can wear them in the morning while I wash my face, to lunch, to work. If I ever got invited to a gala, I’d have no qualms about wearing a scrunchie to it.

The possibilities are infinite, really, and that’s quite a feat considering all I needed to seize them were the five America dollars I used to purchase a pack on Amazon. I’m never looking back. Except, of course, to show off my scrunchie.”

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Photos by Edith Young

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