#popped in an old mixed cd and that came on

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Now Presenting...

Starring Suguru Geto in a curseless AU set in the early 2000s.

Synopsis: Neither one of you are quite over your "Relationship" If you could call it that. You had been avoiding him since the breakup for that very reason. He was the last person you ever expected to see at this party.

The wind was bitterly cold. You blew the smoke out of your lungs, watching it swirl into the clouds and praying it would take you with it. You didn't want to be here. You hated parties. You hated this town.

"There you are!" Your friend groaned as she came outside. "God, you're way too good at disappearing. I've been looking for you everywhere." You took a moment to take her in. Her eyes were filled with worry for you, frustration etched into her eyebrows. You hated to admit it, but you liked that she worried. It made you feel loved again. A small smile tugged at your lips. 

"Yep. I'm here. You should have guessed," you chuckled, throwing your cigarette onto the concrete and stomping it out. 

"Come inside," she insisted, "it's freezing out here." She was right. October nights had always been bitter, but tonight had a particular edge to it. You nodded to her as you slipped your hands into your hoodie. 

"I'm coming." 

"Try to look like you don't hate it here" your friend teased, "miserable is not a good look on you." You disagreed. You thought misery was your default. It was glamorous. It was vintage. It was hand tailored for you. At least, that's how it felt these days. Since things had ended. It had only been six months since your relationship failed, but it felt closer to six decades. Suguru’s ghost clung to you, haunted your body and mind. It felt like you were never not thinking about him. You wondered what you’d do if you saw him again.

“Ah, but that's the thing,” you half laughed, “I do hate it here. Frat parties are for people who like other people. And that's not me.”

“While true, they’re also for people who want to get black out drunk and forget their ex, which is you.” Your friend argued. I mean, shit when she was right she was right. The two of you walked back into the party, the music blasting top twenty pop hits into the air and shaking your soul out of your body. You tied your hoodie around your waist, the heat becoming thick faster than you expected it to. Your friend yelled…something you couldn’t decipher into your ear before disappearing into the crowd. Fuck.

 You sighed and made your way through the ocean of college kids, all swaying, making  waves in time with the music. You found your way to the kitchen, mixing yourself a vodka redbull. You drank it far too quickly, made yourself another one, and got about half way through it before you took another breath. You tuned back into the music, just to roll your eyes. Who burned the CD for this party anyway? You were sure this party couldn’t get any worse. Then it did.

You made eye contact with him the moment he walked into the kitchen, looking tired and disinterested. Satoru was going on and on about something inconsequential, you were sure, and Suguru was looking for a drink to help make his best friend bearable. His corpse eyes found a light in them as they connected with yours. You were sure whatever light you may have had left in your eyes faded instantly. You finished your drink. 

“Dude, are you even listening to-..oh.” Satoru cut his own sentence off as he realized what, or rather who his best friend was staring at. Shit. There was a solid five seconds of the three of you just staring at eachother in a fucked up standoff. Each waiting for the other to make a movie while Brittnay sang about genies in the other room. He looked better than you were fully willing to admit, wearing tripp pants and an old Korn tee over a mesh shirt. Your breath felt heavy in your throat. Memories of the last night you saw him exploded in your mind like war flashbacks. The tears, the fighting, the begging. The goodbye. Fuck.

He made a b-line to you and you b-lined to the back door, your closest escape. “Dude, stop!-” You heard Satoru call, no doubt chasing after Suguru. You were thankful for him. He was rarely the rational one between the two of them, but he was normally able to bring Suguru back to earth when he lost his mind. Maybe that was why they worked. You didn't really care to give it much thought anymore honestly.

“Y/n!” you heard your ex call for you. Fuck he sounded close. You could hear the chains on his tripp pants rattle as he made his way to you. You started to run. You hated making a scene but you couldn’t see him. For all the times you wondered what you’d do if you saw him again, running wasn’t ever really one of the options, but you’re here now. You made your way out the back gate and to your car. Your salvation. You picked up the pace, unlocking your car and falling into the seat with a swiftness that shocked even you. You let out a sigh of relief as your car door closed behind you. Finally, safe. You took out your phone to let your friend know you were leaving.

“Y/n!” Suguru called out as he plopped down in your passenger seat, scaring a squeal out of you. What the fuck?!  

“Get out you bastard!” You yelled at him.

“I just want to talk!” He said back, not yelling, but definitely talking louder than he normally did.

“You’ve fucking lost it Geto!” You matched his tone, “This is breaking and entering!”

“I’m pretty sure that only applies to buildings, Gorgeous.” He grinned, and it was so charming you almost forgot you hated him. 

“Don’t call me gorgeous!” You hissed, “I have nothing to say to you!”

“I have so much to say to you though!”

“Too bad, get out of my car!”

“Give me five minutes!”

“No! I’m going home!”

“You can’t drive like this Y/n! You’re drunk.” You started to yell a comeback, but realized you didn’t have one. He was right. You were starting to feel the drinks of the nights, and we're definitely not good to drive. 

“Then I’ll walk home!” You scoffed. And he laughed. He actually had the audacity to laugh. 

“No you won’t.” He chuckled, “You live too far away. Plus, you would never leave your car unattended at a frat party.” He was right again. You hated how well he knew you. “Let me drive you.” He offered.

“No. you’re drunk too.” you scoffed.

“Am not,” He informed you, “I just got here.”

“Then what the fuck compelled you to just…get into my fucking car?” You asked, still flabbergasted by the audacity. The Suguru you knew would never have done that. He fumbled, looking for an answer. Truth was, he didn’t know why he did it either. 

“I miss you Y/n.” was the best he could offer. You sighed, a deep sigh that felt like it was pulled straight out of your sorrow and you threw your head back onto your headrest. You stared at the roof of your car. This was a bad idea. Suguru came with far too many emotions. Wounds that had barely had time to scab over were ripping open in real time, bigger than they ever were before. 

If you were smart, you would have gotten out of the car. You would have found Gojo to have him collect Suguru, and found your friend to have them drive you home. Or at least have them call you a cab. If you were smart, you would have told him to leave you the fuck alone. You would have saved your heart the extra heart break. You would have forced yourself to remember all the fighting that led you to where you were now, the pain, the heartbreak, the neglect. 

But, you weren’t feeling particularly bright that night. And all you could remember was the soft Suguru. The one that held you close at night, and asked before he kissed you. The one that took you out on late night dates in famous cemeteries cause he read it in a romance novel and thought it was just oh so romantic. You sighed and handed him your keys.

He gave a far too enthusiastic Yes! As the two of you changed seats. You settled into the passenger seat, already regretting your decision. You buckled up as he started the car.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, looking at you. You returned the look, though yours was laced with far more annoyance. 

“I’m annoyed.” you respond. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying, food would be nice. Would probably help you avoid a hangover too.” A hangover sounded like a nightmare. Once again, you relented. 

“Fine, but you’re paying.” he grinned.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He said, pulling out to the street. He turned up the radio, a smile spreading across his face as he heard the song. Everlong, by the Foo Fighters. It made you smile too. Suddenly, you weren’t in your car anymore. You were sitting on Toji Zenins couch, nervously fiddling with your hands as he weighed out an ounce of weed. He’d been your plug for a few weeks at that point, but you still hadn’t grown used to his aura. 

You jumped when there was a knock at his door, and he looked just as confused before a realization dawned on him. “Oh, shit. I think I okay-ed two people to come over on accident.” he laughed to himself. “Hope that's okay Y/n.” he said, going to get the door. It wasn’t, you wanted to leave. But, you didn’t say that. Sometimes you wished you did. 

“Heyy! Weedman!” You heard a now familiar, but then utterly unrecognizable voice. “Thanks for covering me on such short no- Oh, hello!” Gojo said as he walked into the living room, seeing you sitting awkwardly on the couch. Suguru was behind him, quietly observing you. He smiled softly, raising his hand in a wave. His long black hair perfectly framed his sculpted face. His kind eyes seemed mismatched with his almost mischievous smile. You couldn't help but be sucked into his orbit. You smiled gently and waved back. 

“Hi.” before you knew it, Suguru was sitting next to you while Gojo rambled about..something. Honestly, he was always rambling about something. You don’t know why you didn’t leave after you got your weed. Maybe it was because Toji offered to smoke with the three of you to apologize for double booking, maybe it was because Geto kept managing to catch your eye. Either way, the two of you hadn’t really spoken, Toji and Satoru speaking enough for both of you. 

Suguru passed a joint to you as Everlong came on the radio. Toji grimace. “Man, this song is shit.” He said, going to turn it off.

“Watch yourself Zenin,” Suguru said, pointing at Toji and stopping him in his tracks. “This songs hot as fuck, disrespect it again and we’re gonna have a problem.” You really liked Sugurus' voice. 

“Chillax man, this songs not worth trippin’ over.” Toji scoffed, “Especially considering it’s not good.”

“I like it.” You said, the weed making you feel bolder than usual. “I really like the Foo Fighters.”

“Not you too Y/n.” Toji groaned, finally stepping away from the stereo. Suguru looked at you and grinned. It made butterflies explode in your stomach.

“I knew you had taste.” He praised. It was the first thing he had ever said to you. 

“Here.” Suguru said, handing you your drink and jerking you off of memory lane. You grabbed the drink and thanked him. You realized the two of you were parked now. You looked at the burger he handed you and smiled. 

“You remember my order.” You commented. He scoffed as if that was almost insulting.

“Of course I do. I remember everything about you.” He muttered. The two of you started to eat, a pregnant silence filling the car. That pregnant silence, then gave birth to many other smaller but just as intense silences. Blink 182 played softly in the background, but no matter how many times Mark Hoppus asked what his age was, it didn’t cut through the awkwardness in that car. 

“Look, Y/n, I know I-” Suguru started. Rage and despair welled up inside of you.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Geto.” You said very bluntly, finishing your fries. 

“But I-” he started, but cut himself off. He didn’t want to push his already unbelievable luck. But someone had to say something. He smiled softly to himself. “Hey, do you remember when the Red Hot Chili Peppers dropped By The Way-”

“Album or song?” You cut him off to ask.

“Album,” He clarified, “And we raided 7/11 and drove around all night, listening to it on repeat.” You laughed because you did remember that. You remembered it like it was yesterday. You could still taste the blue slushy on your tongue as you tried desperately to analyze lyrics while Suguru insisted The Red Hot Chili Peppers were not the kinda band you analyze the lyrics too, they’re the band you get high to. 

Still, you remembered getting goosebumps the first time you heard Midnights, the opening verse of “Things will never be the same/Still I'm awfully glad I came/Resonating in the shape of things to come/Never waiting when I know there's only one” Speaking to your soul in ways you didn’t quite understand then, but felt like you did now. 

“Yea, I remember,” You giggled, “I think there's still a stain on my seat from you getting mustard on it.” You said, searching for said blemish, “Yea! There it is, right there!” The permanent mark he left in your car. 

“Hey, it is not my fault that you can't eat 7/11 hot dogs without mustard.” He laughed.

“No, but it is your fault you couldn't keep it on your dog, you dog!” You teased.

“I blame Anthony Kiedis.” He grinned with a shrug. This was nice. This felt like old times. This felt like the moments where he was actually him. 

“I think that album’s still in my car.” you muttered. 

One whirlwind later and you were getting slurpees at 7/11, the cashier looking at the two of you with disdain as you laughed and made a mess of the machine he just cleaned. Blue for you, red for him, just like it had always been. Suguru had to grab sour gummy worms and twizzlers. He still couldn’t leave a convenience store without them. He didn’t even like twizzlers, not really. It just ‘felt right’ to grab them. Whatever that means.

You were looking through your CD case when suddenly, he stopped you.

“We got to listen to a different album.” He said out of nowhere.

“What?” You scoffed.

“We can’t try to recreate the magic of the By The Way album release. It would be disingenuous.” He insisted.

“I thought that was the whole point!” You argued, before groaning. “Ugh, Fine! Umm…” You shuffled through CDs. “Fall Out Boy just released an album.”

“Who?” He asked, squinting his eyes in confusion. 

“They’re a new band out of Chicago. This is their debut studio album, it’s called Take This To Your Grave.” you said, holding up the blue jeweled case. Suguru looked…hurt. Like the cavalry had come and made it their personal mission to trample him into the dust.

“You’ve been listening to new bands without me?” He asked, starting the car. That bitter taste of resentment filled your mouth again.

“Well, yea. Life didn’t end because we did.” Besides, this album had been helping you more than you were willing to admit. He nodded in defeat, biting his lip as the two of you pulled onto the road.

“Play it.” he muttered. You didn’t know if you were thrilled with or deeply regretted your decision to play this album, but the opening verse was cutting. Light that smoke, Yeah, one for giving up on me/ And one just 'cause they'll kill you sooner than my expectations/ To my favorite liar, to my favorite scar (to my favorite scar)/ I could have died with you.

“Well fuck Y/n, Is there something you’d like to say to me?” He tried to laugh, but the humor didn’t make it to his voice. “Feels a little targeted.” you shrugged.

“We all cope in different ways.” you muttered. You thought back on your relationship. A backseat romance that belonged to parking lots and famous cemeteries. A relationship that existed on highways and at dingy basement shows, and always on his terms. It was fun at first, even you had to admit. And, maybe it could have stayed as just fun, if he wasn’t so fucking…sweet! He was always so tender with you in the afterglow of your nights together, even if that just met cleaning you up with fast food napkins in his back seat. He was a cuddler too, insisting on you staying the night with him after your nights together under the guise of it being late, when you both knew it was so the two of you could hold each other.

It wasn’t just the after care though, or the sex for that matter. It was him bringing you candy and setting up a movie marathon when he knew you were struggling with your classes. It was him giving you a copy of Rebecca that he annotated because he wanted to share his thoughts with you about it. It was him giving you a copy of The Color and the Shape album because it had Everlong on it, and that was “Our Song” according to him. How could you not have fallen in love?

It started to hurt. That he was so willing to be so sweet and tender with you behind closed doors, but the moment you wanted to be something more, he froze. Suddenly, he didn't know why you guys needed to put a label on things! You guys were having fun, why did you want to mess up ‘the dynamic’ whatever the fuck that ment. Yea, he was fun. But you were tired of being just another hook up in a dingy venue bathroom. Absolutely sick of having to sneak out of his bedroom window, because his roommates would start asking questions if they saw you there for the fourth time that week. He constantly promised he was going to make things official, he just needed time. But, it wasn’t like you were asking him to fucking marry you, just to change your fucking title and maybe take you out on a real date every once in awhile.

Doubts started to fill your head. There had to be a reason he wouldn’t commit to you, right? Was it another girl? Was something wrong with you? It all came to a head six months ago. The two of you were laying in his bed, Crestfallen by The Smashing Pumpkins softly playing in the background as the two of you shared a cigarette, pleasure still throbbing between your legs as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He purred, gently petting your head. You hummed in response, not really believing it at this point. He picked up on your doubt, “I’m serious.” he doubled down. “You’re probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever been with.” He chuckled.

“That so?” You asked, taking the cigarette from him, “Then why aren’t I your girlfriend?” you asked, blowing smoke in his face. He grimaced as he waved it away.

“We’re doing this again? Seriously?” he seemed so…annoyed. Like this whole conversation equated to a nat he couldn’t quite seem to swat. 

“No.” you shut down, “We’re not.”

“Good.” he said, taking the smoke back, “I’ve told you before, we’re perfect as we are.”

“Perfect for you maybe.”

“Y/n.”

“What? You can’t seriously be shocked I don’t agree with you.” you scoffed, rage starting to bubble in your stomach.

“I’m not shocked. I just don’t get it. What could you possibly get out of a title that’s worth all of the fighting you’re doing for it?” you could feel yourself seething, your blood boiling over. Did he ever listen to you?

“Well, for starters I’d get the safety of knowing that you probably weren't out sleeping around with anyone willing to open their legs for you.” It was Getos turn to seethe. You could tell by the way his jaw clenched that you had struck a nerve deep inside him.

“Oh, is that what you think I’m doing in my free time? Just fucking anyone and everyone? That I’m so pussy motivated I just can’t keep it in my pants? Well if that's the case, Babe,” The word ‘Babe” had never sounded so dirty. You would have rather he called you slut, bitch, dumbass, anything. “What makes you think that having a “GiRlFrIeNd is going to magically make me loyal? Huh? What then, Gorgeous? And, not to be that guy, but you’ve let me fuck you in just about every venue, parking lot, and random bedroom this town has to offer, and I’m not even your boyfriend. So who’s to say you’re going to keep your legs shut just because we’re official, huh Sweetheart?” 

Suguru could make you feel on top of the world, or cheaper than dirt depending on his mood. That was the problem with English majors. They had a way with words and more often than not they used them for evil. Any heat you had left drained from your body, replaced only with an inescapable emptiness as you realized the Suguru you convinced yourself was next to you may not have even existed. 

And Geto knew he fucked up. He regretted the words as they were spilling out of his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself and he couldn’t put them back now. The silence was heavy with all the words the two of you wanted to say to each other but couldn’t.

“Y/n-” Geto started, hand reaching for your shoulder, but all it did was break you out of your daze. You snapped, slapping his hand away as you got up and dressed.

“Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”

“Y/n, wait, please, I didn’t mean that-” He struggled to defend himself, hurriedly putting on his pants. 

“You fucking said it Suguru! Lose my goddamn number, I am so fucking done here. It’s so good to know i’m just a fucking fleshlight to you.” you hissed, rushing out of his room.

“I never said that Y/n! You mean so much more to me than that, don’t go!-” he said, following you out.

“Clearly I fucking don’t!” You snapped. Oh good. His roommates, Satoru and Sukuna, were both sitting in the living room. 

“Yes you do Y/n, I love you!” He pleaded. He had never said that before. Satoru audibly gasped. Your entire body seized and seethed. You turned around and smacked him across the face without thinking, making Sukuna laugh,

“Don’t you ever fucking lie to me again Suguru Geto.”

“I’m not lying Y/n-”

“Shut up.” You cut him off. “I don’t fucking care anymore. You are the worst mistake I have ever fucking made.” You wanted to sound intimidating, but the tears in your voice gave you away. You rushed out of the door before he could see you cry, almost laughing at the “Have a good night!” Sukuna threw your way as you did. 

The sound of a car door closing snapped you out of your day dream. You were at another convenience store. When did you get here? Suguru had just plopped in the seat next to you, handing you a bag. 

“Hold these for me, will you, beautiful?” He asked. You did as he asked, looking into the bag.

“Suguru, these are four lokos.” You pointed out. 

“Yep. best flavors too.” While you may agree with the green apple, he also had a gold flavored one, which was just objectively wrong. Not the point.

“Dude, these will fuck you up, what do you think you’re doing?” You asked as he pulled into a park less than a block away from your apartment. The two of you had spent many a night here on the swings.

“Trying to get fucked up, duh.” He laughed as he took the bag. He handed you the green apple flavored can of death. You sighed as you took it, getting out of the car and moving to sit on the hood with him. You noticed he had turned off the CD, Like a Stone now drifting softly from your car speakers. You wondered when he finally gave up on it. You finally opened the green camo can, and winced as the drink electrocuted your now sober nervous system. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as the alcohol saturated your systems. You wondered why you were here with him. What kept you coming back to Suguru Geto. Why couldn’t you just move on? Suddenly, you felt it in your bones when Chris Cornell groaned out “In your house, I long to be/ Room by Room, patiently/ I’ll wait for you there/ Like a stone” 

“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the silence. Your head whipped over to him. He was staring up at the stars. He looked so delicate in that moment. Like a gust of wind would shatter him into stardust. 

“What for?” You thought you knew, but you had to hear him say it.

“Everything.” Oh god, there were tears in his voice. It made you put down your four loko. “I’m sorry about all the shit I said to you the last time I saw you. I’m sorry I just tried to call instead of coming to face you, like a coward. And I’m sorry I couldn’t just man the fuck up and make you my girlfriend.” The words were tumbling out of him faster than he could process them, leaving him more vulnerable and honest than he would have liked.

It shook you. You weren't prepared for him to be so vulnerable with you that night. “It’s fine Suguru.” You muttered. He laughed and shook his head, finally looking at you.

“No it’s not. I hurt you.” He said matter of factly. “And then, I doubled down on it to make it all worse.” you were silent for a moment, staring at your dirty converse.

“W…why were you so against being with me officially?” You finally asked the question that had been weighing heavy on you for so long now. 

“I was scared.” He finally admitted. “I was so scared that if we put a label on it, things would change. That suddenly we wouldn’t be hanging out because we liked to be with each other anymore, that we’d just be doing it out of obligation.”

“Suguru, that's dumb.” You sighed, the booze making you a little more blunt that you otherwise would have been.

“I know that.” He laughed, bringing his knees to his chest. “I just…I don’t know. I thought if I kept you at an arm's length, I wouldn’t have to worry about it. There would be that space. But, I don’t know how to keep you at an arm's length. You’re like my favorite song, you get stuck in my head and I don’t even want to get you out. I just want you closer. So, I thought I’d maintain that space by just…not labeling us. And that clearly did more harm than good. When you left, I tried to just…let you go” he sighed, leaning back against the windshield of your car. He looked at you with love and adoration glimmering in his eyes. 

“I figured it was better that way, I tried to forget you. Yea, turns out that's a lot easier said than done. God, I can’t even think about listening to the Foo Fighters anymore. Which, Fucking Sucks because Everywhere But Here just dropped and I can’t bring myself to listen to it because you’re not there.” he laughed at his own stupidity, his palm meeting his forehead. He still couldn’t believe it took him losing you to realize how much you met. How cliche. 

You felt a lump in your throat. You had been wanting to listen to that album too, but couldn’t without him. It didn’t feel right. It felt like cheating. It was why you had picked up the fall out boy album instead. “You know,” You started, “You really hurt me. Like, you really fucking hurt me Suguru.”

“I know-” He sighed.

“But.” You cut him off, “I’ve also been a mess without you. It’s weird. You don’t really know how much you care about something until you’re missing it. And I thought I really cared about you even before the breakup.” You half chuckled to yourself. “And I mean, I want to still be mad about the fight. I want to hold it over your head. I wish I could hate you even half as much as I hate myself. But, I just can’t. I miss you.” you sighed, feeling foolish.

Suguru suddenly placed his hand on top of yours, pulling you out of your spiral. “I miss you too.” He confessed. Followed by a pause. “It’s not too late for us, ya know.” He finally said. “I’d really love to make you my girlfriend Y/n.”

🎵🎵🎵

Laughter filled the air as the two of you walked to your apartment building, deciding it was best to leave the car after the two of you had downed the alcoholic energy drinks. Buzzing with booze and caffeine was a different type of feeling. “Well, this is mine.” You smiled as the two of you walked up to your door.

“Sure is” Geto nodded, “Mind if I come in?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden gentlemanly persona. 

“Was this your plan the whole time?”

“Not the whole time but it was definitely the end goal.” He admitted, and you couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from embarrassment or alcohol. 

“And what was your plan if I said no?” You teased.

“Well, plan B was to see if you’d at least let me come in while I waited for Satoru to come pick me up.” He admitted. He really was one step ahead. 

“And if I said no to that?”

“Then I’d have one hell of a walk on my hands.” He laughed. You couldn’t help but giggle along with him. His laugh had always been infections. 

“Well, I’d hate to make you walk.” You chuckled as you unlocked your door, the two of you tumbling inside. In true Suguru fashion, he went straight to the stereo system in your room, looking to see what album you had been listening to. About a Girl filled the air of your small apartment. You chuckled softly as you joined him in your room. Of course he would play a CD he burned for you. 

You took a moment to actually take him in. mesh top clinging to his arms, an Alice in Chains shirt covering up the real action. His hair was messy from the walk, half up half down, and he now sported a slight stubble he hadn’t during your relationship. He looked good. He turned to look at you, dark eyes softening as he smiled softly.

“What?” He asked. You shook your head.

“Nothing.” you shrugged.

“Oh, so you wanna just keep eye fucking me? Ok, cool just making sure.” He laughed.

“And what's wrong with wanting to do that?” you laughed. He turned and smirked at you, moving to close the space.

“Why fuck me with your eyes when you could just fuck me?” He asked, a line you 're sure sounded way smoother in his head. You rolled your eyes as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Yea, real smooth there Cruzan Cassanova, you-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Sugurus mouth had connected with you, the taste of pineapple alcohol and cigarettes mixing on your tongue. You melted into him, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair. You felt your pulse quicken as the kiss heated up, the drinks of the night combining with his presence to make your head spin. He bit your lip, using the small gasp you let out as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. 

God, you missed him. Your body cleared up any doubt, if there was any, in that fact with the way it immediately reacted to him. You felt his hands start to wander, moving down your spine to grab your ass. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer. Your body tensed as you felt his hand slip under the waistband of your jeans and the elastic of your panties.

“Look at you princess,” He pulled back to smirk, lust filling his eyes, “Already soaking wet. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you missed me.” He never missed an opportunity to be condescending in bed, did he?

“Get fucked Suguru.” You groaned, your hips involuntary bucking into his hand as he pressed too fingers into your folds. You needed more.

“I assure you, I’m trying.” He grinned, removing his hand and making you almost scream in frustration. He kissed you before you could get a word in about how insufferable he could be. “I’m gonna take care of you Princess, don’t worry.” He assured you as he took your top off, “But it’s been awhile since I’ve been with my favorite girl. And I want to enjoy it.” he purred.

You weren’t sure how, but at some point he had gotten you on your bed and was taking off your pants. “Hey, no fair!” you panted as you realize. He paused what he was doing to look at you quizzically, trying to figure out when he had been anything other than fair. 

“You’re completely dressed and I’m basically naked.” You clarified sheepishly. Suguru held back a laugh at how cute you were. He finished his task, then took off his ratty band shirt.

“Better?” He asked. You felt like you were going to burn from the inside out as you looked at him. The mesh perfectly outlining every bump and crevice of his perfect body. Greek gods wished they looked like him. You nodded.

“Much.” you said as Suguru dragged you to the edge of the bed. You felt needy and helpless under him. He dropped to his knees in between your legs, kissing your inner thighs with intent to bruise. More than once he ghosted himself right where you needed him the most, filling you with frustration. “Suguru please..” You moaned out.

“Please what Princess?” He asked, smirking up at you.

“Please Sug, I need you to touch me.” You begged.

“But I am touching you Darling.” You almost kicked him.

“Suguru Please!” You begged.

“Princess, you can’t already be fucked stupid. I’ve barely touched you, Pretty-”

“Yea, that’s the problem!” you whined. He chuckled darkly at your pain, but relented.

“Where do you want me Princess? Right here?” he asked, fingers ghosting over your clothes core. Your breath hitched and you nodded frantically.

“Use your words Babygirl, you know the rules.” You took a deep breath.

“Yes, please Sir, I want you to play with my pussy.” You felt red hot saying all of those things out loud, but god the look in his eyes was fucking worth it. He was taking off your panties in an instant, marveling at the sting of slick that connected you to them until it snapped. 

“Fucking Christ.” He moaned to himself, one of his hands going to grind on his hard cock. “I’ve barely fucking touched you and you’re fucking gushing.” He chuckled, his hands finally moving to where you needed him to be. The moan you let out as his fingers finally found your clit was embarrassing. “Can anyone else do this to you Doll?” you shook your head almost violently.

“No, no sir. No one but you.” You panted softly, getting lost in the bliss currently filling your bloodstream. Shit, you 're not going to last long. 

“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled darkly, two fingers abruptly darting into your cunt and making your entire body tense. “My slutty girl only puts out like this for me, isn’t that right?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” he said, rewarding you with a third finger. You gasped at the feeling, your soaking pussy taking anything it could get and more. He curled his fingers, sending a rush of electric endorphins through your body as he graced your g-spot. You moaned out his name, your hands curling into your sheets. 

“Just out of curiosity, what have you been doing for six months without me?” His eyes were dark, letting you know he wasn’t just asking what new books you’d read.

“Thought of you.” You moaned, a tight knot forming in your stomach. 

“Oh?” He asked, pausing his actions. He wanted details.

“I thought about you fucking me.” Right answer, he started moving again, “I thought about how good your cock stretched me out, and how good it felt inside me. I pretended it was you fucking me whenever I used my toys, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing feels like you do Sug,” You moaned out your sloppy confessional. His thumb had found your clit and was massaging it in time with his relentless fingers. His free hand groping himself through his jeans, needed even an ounce of friction. “I’m so fucking close..”

“You’re goddamn right nothing feels like Me princess.” he groaned to distract himself, least he cum in his jeans like a fucking teenager. You felt yourself speeding off a cliff, his words only aiding in pressing the accelerator. “You think a fucking toy could make you feel even an ounce of what I make you feel? That's naive at best Darling. You’re fucking mine nothing and no one is ever going to make you feel the way that I do. Cum for me Princess.”

A few strokes later and you came hard on his fingers, pussy clenching around him in beautiful ways. Suguru didn’t know if he wanted to watch your cunt or your face, but it didn't matter really. He didn’t plan on letting up anytime soon. He finger fucked you through your high, removing his fingers only after you had semi-calmed down. 

He moved over you, slipping his fingers into your mouth which you gladly cleaned off for him, always eager to show him how good you were. You pulled off with a loud pop, looking at him with doe eyes for approval. You assumed he approved, because he was very quickly freeing himself of his tripp pants and boxers with the efficiency only a mall goth could ever possess. He was in between your legs before you had even fully processed what was going on.

He leaned down to leave rough kisses on your neck, the blissful pain of the bruises forming almost distracted you from the feeling of his cock pushing into your soaking wet cum. Almost. Nothing could ever fully distract you from the euphoria of Suguru Getos cock stretching you out in ways only he could. You moaned out his name, hands flying to claw at his back through the mesh shirt. 

He faltered, letting out a shaking breath as he felt your warmth for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. “Fuck Y/n. I swear to whatever god there is this pussy was fucking made for me.” He said through a breathy laugh, pulling back just to push back in, stroking your g-spot beautifully and earning himself an embarrassing moan from you.

“So fucking good for me.” he groaned. Every stroke of his hips sent a new wave of electricity through your core, your body reacting to his every move and begging him for more. If Suguru Geto was a drug you were an addict. The pleasure sent your head swirling and your nerves on fire. 

“God you feel so fucking good,” he groaned as he rolled his hips into yours, “I can’t fucking believe you forgot you we’re mine.” He said, his movements suddenly becoming rougher, forcing you to yelp out his name. “You tried to leave me and then couldn’t even get yourself off Doll, it’s almost cute.” He mocked. “You’re mine do you understand? This cunt belongs to me, Do you get that?” you nodded, trying desperately to take in all his words while the coil in your stomach began to tighten again. He had never been so possessive before. 

“Answer me Slut.” He demanded with a rough buck of his hips. You nodded violently.

“Yes! Yes Sir.” You groaned. You wouldn't argue even if you could have. 

“Say it.” He demanded, “Say my name, say you belong to me.”

“I’m all yours Suguru, You’re and only yours. I’ll never leave again.” You said, your second climax coming on faster than you would have liked. Every stroke of his hips hit your g-spot dead on. He really did know your body better than anyone else.

“Damn right you won’t.” He groaned, his hind falling between your bodies to massage circles into your clit. Your entire body tensed with pleasure as you started to come undone again.

“Sug-”

“I know.” There was no mistaking the way your pussy fluttered around him. He knew you were close. “Cum on me, cum on cock.” You didn’t need to be asked twice. A few more strokes of his dick and you were coming undone all over it.

“You’re so pretty when you cum Princess.” He said darkly, somehow picking up his pace. He wasn;t worried about your pleasure anymore, you got yours. He wanted his. And you felt so good around him, warm and velvety. He could stay in between your legs forever and be happy. He moved your legs over his shoulders, managing to fuck you even deeper than he was before. Your overstimulated moans only adding fuel to his fire. 

“You’re so pretty whenyou’re fucked out, you know that?” He said, condescension dripping from his voice. “So fucking pretty, You’re gonna look even better with my cum dripping out of your pussy, you know that?” The way you moaned and the way you clenched around him was enough to send him over the edge, filling you to the brim and somehow still finding the energy to fuck some of it back into you before collasping onto you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, him inside of you and holding you close to him. You felt more thankful than ever to be on the pill as you played with his soft hair.

“I…is fucking Closer playing? Nine Inch Nails?” You asked, suppressing a laugh as you tuned into the song. Suguru lifted up his head to listen, laughing as he registered Trent Reznors distorted growl. 

“Oh my god, I think it is.” He laughed, “I forgot this was on here.”

“Helluva song to hook up to.” You laughed. He nodded in agreement. 

“Yea, definitely not the best for a hookup. But maybe not bad for a round two?”

[zombieheroine]

Initial D character headcanons (1/?)

Screw canon, I'll add my own. Here are some headcanons I came up with, take it, leave it, add your own, whatever we keep drifting.

Fujiwara Takumi

Music of choice: Eurodance, to stay awake. Works better than any caffeinated drink ever could. In his glove compartment: Take-out fliers, loose coins to spend on vending machines. Parallel parking skill: Has never parallel parked, but would succeed on first try. Could drift into the spot but doesn't want to look like a show-off. Driving pet peeve: Slow drivers who don't give way. Ticket score: Zero. He doesn't want to find out what Bunta would say.

Itsuki Takeuchi

Music of choice: Whatever is on the radio In his glove compartment: His driving license and the manual of the car, list of his work shifts, a car magazine, a pair of fluffy dice he hasn't dared to hang yet. Parallel parking skill: He's super nervous and sweats it every time, but does okay, even though he needs multiple tries. Driving pet peeve: Tailgaters. Ticket score: Since the first accident, he's a very responsible driver and doesn't have any additional tickets, but the points on his license remain.

Iketani Koichiro

Music of choice: Classic Japanese rock/pop ballads for strong independent manly men who need no woman In his glove compartment: A water bottle, a spare bowtie for work, forgotten old tests from high school, personal hygiene kit with mouthwash and a disposable razor, but he's forgotten to buy shaving cream. Parallel parking skill: He's proficient, but if someone's watching he gets too self-concious to even try. Driving pet peeve: Ending up on the slow lane and watching cars pass him on his left. Ticket score: He caught a few speeding tickets in his first year with a license due to being over eager and careless in urban areas, but wisened up before maxing out the points.

Kenji

Dayjob: A baker, which leaves him with lots of free time to bother his friends at their work place. Music of choice: Rock'n'roll from all over the world, to both knead bread dough and drive fast to. He burns his own mix CDs. In his glove compartment: CDs, several tubes of prescription hand cream, manga magazines, marker pens, post-it-notes and old shopping lists, crumbled up receipts. Parallel parking skill: None. This man has so far never been forced to even try, and so he won't learn. There's always a free spot somewhere in a small town, especially very late and very early. He would never want to drive in a metropolitan area. Driving pet peeve: Drivers who rev their engines and screech their tires to show off. Ticket score: A few parking tickets because he tends to forget himself in chatting with friends.

Takahashi Keisuke:

Dayjob: This rich problem youth has not worked a day in his life. His parents may have given up on him, but his allowance was never wholly cut to keep him from getting into even more serious trouble. Music of choice: Synth pop, like all the cool scene kids in the 90s. In his glove compartment: Snack bar wrappers, a cell phone charger, cigaretters and several half empty lighters, emergency condoms and a totally unrelated tube of body lotion (water-based). Parallel parking skill: He could, but would never expose his precious car to the other parked cars and their drivers like that. If there's no spacious parking spot, he won't leave his car for anything or anyone. Driving pet peeve: Prone to road rage just in general. Ticket score: Zero, but the local police knows him by name.

Takahashi Ryosuke

Day job: Full-time med student, favorite child. Music of choice: Heavy metal, it's excellent stress relief In this glove compartment: Vehicle license, the manual of his car, a logbook, maps, first aid kit. Parallel parking skill: Perfect, what did you expect? Driving pet peeve: People who get road rage. Ticket score: Surprisingly high. He's been caught speeding multiple times when looking for his brother during his gang days, and caught the occasional parking ticket due to forgetfullness.

Nakamura Kenta

Dayjob: An employee at a 7/11 Music of choice: Same as Keisuke's In his glove compartment: Wrappers from various snacks, empty noodle cups and an uneven number of disposable chopsticks, crumbled up energy drink cans. Parallel parking skill: Could do it, as long as he concentrates instead of trying to act too cool Driving pet peeve: Drivers who hit puddles on purpose, either spraying the pedestrians or risking hydroplaning needlessly Ticket score: He's got his license suspended once for three months. Since joining the RedSuns he's cleaned up his act in general.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

It's a Marshmallow World - Harrison Knott x Reader

A/N: My entry for @lewmagoo's Christmas Celebration, I wanted to keep it cute and fluffy and I figured since the movie is filmed in Hawaii, I'm making it that Harrison is from there too.

pairing: Harrison Knott x gn!reader

warnings/content: none, winter/Christmas-themed fluff, probably inaccuracies about Hawaii and snow (I'm Canadian but I tried researching???)

word count: 1.5k

“Ugh, I hate this song.”

You rolled your eyes as you heard the opening bars of John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War is Over)” playing from the wireless speaker sitting on the kitchen island. You pressed skip on your phone, shaking your head at each song after’s opening notes before finally settling on one. Harrison leaned forward on the island’s countertop and raised an eyebrow at you as he spoke.

“You’re not serious, are you? This is a classic one. Next you’re gonna tell me you hate It’s A Wonderful Life too, aren’t you?” He said teasingly, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a questioning stare, eyebrows cocked slightly in mock disbelief.

“Of course you like It’s A Wonderful Life.” You retorted, rolling your eyes once again at your boyfriend’s taste in all things…well, old.

Harrison was an old soul when it came to just about anything relating to pop culture. He was the only person you knew who actually preferred cassette tapes and vinyl records, even CDs to streaming his music. He was one of the only people you knew who still had access to a VCR and a tape deck. He still created mixtapes over playlists and you’d almost always find him sitting on the couch watching some old movie you, and everyone else in your age group, had probably never heard of. It was part of his charm and allure for you - you loved that he was into the most niche interests, that he was always introducing you to new things, giving you a newfound appreciation for media you’d otherwise never truly encounter on your own. Before Harrison, you didn’t even know there were several channels on television dedicated to just playing classic films on a 24/7 basis, or that recording a song to a cassette tape from CD was a whole process, crafting the perfect mix was either a carefully throughout event, or a completely spontaneous act, recording whatever felt right. It was never anything inbetween - curating a collection of songs that worked together to tell a story was a work of art in itself, one that Harrison had mastered somehow. 

“Please, everyone likes It’s A Wonderful Life.” He scoffed.

“Not everyone, Harrison. Pretty sure you’re the only person under 50 who loves it.”

“Listen, it’s a great movie. We could sit and argue all day long about it, but it’s a classic for a reason, baby. Jimmy Stewart is unmatched. Meet Me in St. Louis is another great one, my mom always loves that one.” 

“I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned White Christmas yet.” 

“About that. I like it, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve never actually experienced a white Christmas, so the movie’s magic is sort of…lost on me,” Harrison frowned, shrugging his shoulders.

This was his first Christmas since moving across the US from his hometown in Hawaii to Washington, D.C. for medical school, and you knew better than anyone else that he was dying to see snow for Christmas. In fact, he was about the only person in the city who was sad when the weather forecast had predicted that Christmas morning would be uncharacteristically mild and sunny. Normally, he wouldn’t care what the weather was, but this time, being so far from home and not being able to get back for the holidays this year, he longed for the snow and winter sports he’d been promised when he had looked into the weather in D.C. before moving there. He sighed as he looked out the window each day as Christmas drew closer, with not a snowflake in sight. 

Harrison turned his attention back to washing up the dishes from tonight’s dinner. You padded along the hardwood flooring to the living room, looking out the window as you bit your lip absentmindedly, watching the sky for any sign of snowfall to appear. You furrowed your brow at the clear night sky, stars twinkling brightly as they dotted the darkness outside. You closed the curtain, smiling softly to yourself as you nodded your head once. You had an idea - a pretty farfetched one, but, one that would surely make Harrison feel a little less disappointed about not seeing his first white Christmas this year. 

You disappeared upstairs, searching the house for the tote of spare holiday decorations you had stashed away, unsure of where to place its contents earlier when you were in your decorating frenzy a few weeks ago. Rummaging through the plastic storage bin, you pulled out a large piece of white felt, intended as a base for your mom’s handmedown Christmas village that you’d set out every year as a child. She’d gifted it to you, and although you loved it, your small apartment didn’t have the space to display it. However, the extra fabric and faux snow and ice that came with it, you now knew exactly what to do with. 

Taking a pair of scissors, you began crafting and cutting the felt into snowflakes, thanking your lucky stars for your education degree and chosen career path of becoming a kindergarten teacher, allowing you to get creative at lightning speeds when required. Each piece of felt that hit the floor beneath your feet would come in handy, adding to your false winter wonderland that you were creating. After a few minutes, you’d created a few large snowflakes and a decently sized pile of scrap pieces small enough to sprinkle along the floor to mimic freshly fallen snowflakes in your living room. 

As Harrison was distracted with dishes and tidying the kitchen up, you got to work, hanging your felt snowflakes from some ribbon you’d found, leftover from Christmas wrapping, the strings dangling from the door frame, hanging down to look like falling snow. You sprinkled your pieces of felt along the floor, creating what would appear to anyone else, as a complete mess, but to you? To you, it was the white Christmas that Harrison had always hoped for, or at least, the best alternative you could create for it. 

Once satisfied with your makeshift snowfall, you set your speaker up in the living room, setting up a winter-themed playlist on your phone. You practically skipped your way out to the living room, calling Harrison’s name in a cheerful, sing-song lilt as he finished cleaning the kitchen counter.

“Harrison! Come with me for a sec, ok?”

Harrison raised an eyebrow at you, his toned biceps flexing as he folded his arms across his chest, his caramel brown sweater tightening on the curve of his muscles as he did so. Harrison reluctantly closed his eyes and took your hand, following you into the living room. As he opened his eyes, he went silent for a moment, before bursting into a laugh, shaking his head as he smiled and looked around.

“What is this?” 

“Your white Christmas that you wanted. I can’t make it snow, but I can pretend to at least, I figured it’s something better than green, muddy, mild weather outside.”

Harrison remained speechless for a minute before laughing again in disbelief.

“You’re something else, babe, but I appreciate it.”

As Harrison wrapped his arms around you tightly, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin gently as he hummed softly.

“I love it, thank you.”

“I know it’s not much, but, I know how badly you wanted to have snow for Christmas too.”

Harrison continued to press his lips against your neck, leaving feather-soft,  gentle kisses to you, showering you with affection in thanks for your consideration towards his feelings. You knew a makeshift mess of felt and some kindergarten-level snowflakes weren’t going to make everything better, but, you made him smile, and that was all that mattered to you. 

As Dean Martin’s voice crooned out the beginning of It’s a Marshmallow World on your playlist, your eyes darted to the window once again. You couldn’t help but laugh half-heartedly as you shook your head, giving Harrison a playful swat on the arm to get his attention. His lips peeled away from your neck just long enough for him to gaze out the window, his eyes widening as he made his way closer to the glass to get a better view on what was happening outside. Large, white, fluffy specks were falling from the sky, beginning to coat the ground below in patches of white. 

“It’s actually snowing!” Harrison said with a childlike excitement to his voice, shaking his head as his sapphire blue eyes remained wide and full of wonder as he watched the snow falling, essentially, for the first snowfall he’d ever witnessed. 

You joined Harrison’s side at the window, unable to do anything but smile at his sheer excitement at the weather finally granting his wish two days before Christmas morning. You knew there was always the chance it could be gone and melted by tomorrow, but you didn’t want to burst Harrison’s bubble. Not tonight.

Tonight, you couldn’t help but fall in love with him even more as he watched the snow land on the ground, covering everything in a blanket of white as Dean Martin continued to sing in the background.

“In winter it’s a marshmallow world…”

[undead-merman]

Sirris and Kylar you’re in their haunted house with GN-Reader

Sirris 

You had just bought this small house. It was a step up from your old moldy and grimy apartment that's for sure. The place was quite nice despite the history behind it, and sadly that you were able to afford it. House fire killed the father but the son lived. You wanted to do more digging but found it to be in poor taste so you held off. 

The place felt homely despite it all. It was well kept before you moved it and felt nearly brand new. Even the scent of ash you had somewhat expected was gone and replaced with a fall candle your realtor left for you. 

You decide to start now and begin unpacking. It was an exciting process though somewhat hassling with the bigger and heavier boxes, as well as your lock of foresight to organize the boxes better in your attempt to get out as fast as possible. You put away books that were mixed with old CD’s and video game cartridges. Some you mixed mugs with décor. All of them were a surprise because you didn’t label a thing. 

But as the sun set and you were finishing your last box you pulled out your old Ouija board, you had played with it a little too much at your old apartment. Convinced that several people died in the dark hole of a place, the mold grew too quickly and it was far too depressing compared to your older neighbor who had a delightful little apartment. But now you came face to face with the board in a house you knew for sure someone died in. A devilish idea popped up in your head. 

So you pulled it out of the box and set it down on your coffee table and set it up, even pulling over the candle left for you to add to the scary atmosphere despite the apple scent. You took a deep breath and cleared your mind.

“Is anyone here?” you call out to the empty and dark room. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears with how silent it was. Dead silence hung in the air, but as you opened your mouth to ask again the planchette started drifting, pulling over to ‘yes’. Your heart leapt into your throat. You're sure it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks on you, it moved, it was pulled. Nerves fluttered around, you cleared your throat and asked another question.

“What is your name?” your heart beat louder and you could feel goosebumps on your skin. The wait seemed longer this time, but your hands moved, S-I-R-R-I-S. “Sirris? That’s your name?” and it moved over to the yes. 

“Were you the man who died in the fire?” your hand was softly dragged over to yes again. Your head buzzed about. The situation was electrifying, your nerves alight with fear but your curiosity pushed you forward with leaps and bounds. 

You asked tons and tons of questions, even questions you had thought of back in middle school came rushing back. You learned Sirris was once a man, single father with a kid named Sydney, who would now be older than you, he was once a teacher, he loved his job, and sadly the fire started due to faulty wiring and started in his room, died before he was even aware there was one. 

You didn't even realize how much time had passed, looking at the clock as your eyes began to droop you saw five hours had passed. Your excitement made you forget about the passage of time. You yawned, saying goodbye and blowing out the candle and putting the board away. Your bed was calling you, and with how much you communicated with Sirris you didn’t feel scared by his presence. It felt reassuring, like a father figure watching over you. 

Every night you spoke with him, and every night you were more and more delighted by the responses, even showing it to a few friends who begged you to record it after seeing the proof, they had ran out of the house some of them nearly pissing themselves when you lifted you hand and the planchette continued to move. The idea mulled in your head for a bit and you decided that it might be important, you know people look for this kind of evidence all the time. So you resolved yourself one night to borrow your friend's camera, which was a million times better than your phone’s camera.

You set the camera down and took awhile to angle it just right, and make sure there was enough lighting as well as figuring out how night vision worked on this thing. You settled yourself down and began, a bit on edge with the camera rolling. 

“Is anyone here?” your fingers drifted along the board and you gently took your fingers off, watching the piece drift without you touching. It’s thrilling as you look over to make sure the camera is picking it up. “Sirris is that you?” and it circled back to yes. You could feel giddy and the smile was impossible to wipe off. 

Something was grazing your thigh but you couldn't see it. Even when trying to brush it away there wasn't anything. It switched to the other thigh. You stood up but nothing happened, nothing. "Sirris? Is that you?" There wasn't an answer, just something fiddling with your shirt. It moved like it was being pulled but there wasn't a thing there. An invisible force turned you to the camera as your shirt was pulled up but when you tried to cover up something blocked you again. Was something showing you off to the camera? The realization made all the blood rush to your face. 

"Sirris! Please, is that you?" You yelled out, and it scrolled back over to yes once more. 

For some reason that made you calm down. There were ministrations over your nipples. Gentle rubbing, circling and pinching in a way that felt incredibly good. Then that trailing in-between your thighs came again. But something inside you wanted more. You shuffled your pants down and felt that force start masturbating you, even making you lean back so your body was on full display for the camera. 

What you could only explain as Sirris was holding you up as your sex was played with nipples sucked. It's been a while since you’ve touched yourself, things have been so busy, and now this? Maybe you're losing your mind but this teasing feels way too real and way too nice. Your eyes were rolling into the back of your head. 

This? This wasn’t bad, not bad at all. You ground your hips back into the force and your moans were spilling out uncontrollably. It felt like you were fucking against cold air that somehow had the power to rub you. You moved and moved until the tension of orgasm finally snapped and you came. The dark ceiling felt like it was spinning and the cold air around you felt so nice. 

Your eyes fluttered open and you didn’t even realize you passed out as your eyes squinted against the rays of sunshine going through your blinds. Looking around you found yourself on the couch next to the camera that was still rolling. You rolled over and stopped the feed. Rolling back your face felt real hit when you could see you sex being moved and tugged by an invisible figure. You shit the thing off as quickly as you could. 

No way you could show this clip off.          

Kylar 

The manor had been abandoned since you were a child, you always heard the stories people whispered at tea time, or chanted by campfires. The story of a child, abandoned by their parents and left to rot in the old mansion. How his cries could be heard at night, his grumbling stomach shook the walls if you ever dared to step foot inside, and how he might end up stealing your soul if you angered him. 

The stories while they scared most children fascinated you. The macabre was always so fascinating to you and the stores only fueled your curiosity for life after death with the manor being the heart of it all. Throughout your life you had always saved up your money from holidays and birthdays to save up for ghost hunting equipment. Your closet was stuffed with tons of different devices and you told yourself after buying this last piece of hunting equipment you’d finally go into that strange manor.

The day it came in you nearly danced in excitement, hugging the box to your chest as you spun around and looked out your window to the house that everyone in town feared. Tonight you would be the first to break in, in over ten years and explore the place. You excitedly packed up everything, making sure it would be rattled too much, and paced around until it was time to leave. 

The moon was high in the sky, shining its full glory over the town and casting tall shadows. It felt like the perfect Halloween night, everything was perfect. Your heart was pounding as you hiked yourself over the massive spiked fence, watching the spikes. The yard was a wild mess, overgrown bushes, vines, and even grass. It was hard to even get through as the wildlife itself seemed to cling and pull you, preventing you from going inside. Enough tugging and pulling got you to the side window that had been busted open by a stray ball and using a stick you pushed out the rest of the brittle and grimy glass. 

The inside was musty, filled with dust and mold, the floorboards squealed as you climbed inside and looked around. Odd, quiet, and rotted but it also had a strange elegance to it. Old wood pillars, a winding staircase and tons of old décor. It was as if it was frozen in time with a layer of dust. You scrambled your way deeper taking a bit to look around the place. Room after room felt like a treasure trove, undiscovered, untainted by the world outside.

It was strange, you felt almost drawn to somewhere, and you followed that feeling. Up the staircase, down the hall, and the fifth door on the right. There was a bedroom with you that was stained on the bed deep and vile, as well as… human shaped. This was the room. 

You took a breath to calm your head, and sat your bag down and took out all your equipment. Within what seemed like moments you had everything set up. It felt like too little time, but still you continued on. You flipped on your recorder and made sure everything was running. 

"Is anyone here tonight? Is the boy who died here?" You kept as quiet as you could while leaving pauses for the voice recorder and you asked a variety of questions. When you were done you flipped off the recorder and stuck your earbuds into your laptop as you uploaded the data and played it back. 

Your voice spoke out clear as day on the replay, a voice followed. "I am here." Soft, yet not childlike like you were expecting. It sounded like a man. 

You asked for his name and the voice came up again. "Kylar…" how old he was? "20." How did he die? "My parents left me here." 

You paused the tape. A tad bit older then a child for sure. You were always told this child couldn't be more than 8. You resumed. 

Why was he still here? "Lonely." The quality started dropping, turning to static as the voice of Kylar still spoke. "So…" crackle- "very-" sizzle- "lo-" 

And the rest was static despite having a few more minutes of questioning. You took it back out again to continue playing with it, but it still let out terrible audio. Broken on the first night out. Everyone said this was the best one on the market. You tossed it, what a waste. 

Then a motion detector went off, flashing its bright colors right at the edge of the bed. You stood up and walked over, taking hesitant yet excited steps and as soon as you touched it you felt your body surge as if pushed and fell into the bed. You tried scrambling up but it felt as if the bed was eating you, pulling you in deeper to the stained sheets and mattress. 

Your pants were ripped right off your body as something parted your cheeks. Yelling and screaming did nothing as something cold and wet pressed against your sensitive hole. It felt too much like a tongue. Squirming and trying to kick whatever it was you had to bite your lip when a certain lick drove an electrifying spike of arousal up your body. Holy shit, why was that so good? More and more lick made moans spill out despite this fucked up situation, you on a bed this spirit died on! But those horrifically pleasant sensations were drowning out the rational thoughts of your brain. 

So much, so wet. Whatever it was, was lapping fluid against your hole and even pushing it inside. Panting your hips instinctively moved back trying to get more of this feeling but as soon as you found a rhythm it pulled away and a mix of desperation for more and a touch or reason flooded your brain. 

More, but good God was this really happening? Were you being touched by a ghost? How? How was this happening? And how could you get more? 

Your thought process was halted when what felt like lips kissed the back of your neck. That slimy feeling licking up and around your jawline and something poking against your rim. Slowly pushing in you swear you could hear panting and grunting as it feels like a cock was pushed into you. 

Pumping in an out before you had time to even take a breath in, it hurt, but in a good filling way. Groaning as it pushes deep inside you it just pulls out to do it again but somehow deeper. 

It hurts. It hurts so good. Shoved into the grimy disgusting bed you take more and more as you stare into space moaning now as the spirit dives its cock inside you. You don't even care about the context anymore. You just want to feel good, you want to cum. 

Faster and faster it goes and you push back until you cum finally. And as you're riding on the high of it all you can feel something cold shoot inside and it shocks you right out of it. You shoot back up, standing and brushing yourself off in a panic when you remember where you were and you can feel something drip out of you. 

Get out. You need to get out. You can grab your stuff in the morning. You yank your pants up as you dash for the door but as you yank you hear some sounds on the outside. Wildly shaking the handing again and again until you hear that it's chains. 

… How? You came in here just fine? There's no way it was chained now! Turning to your electronics you could see it all sparking and smoking as if fried. Phone, laptop, camera. Every single bit is broken. Years of money down the drain. And more importantly no way to contact the outside world. No windows, no way out. 

Please… someone… Help.

[graffitiplanet]

When I first listened to Vice Grip, I was shell-shocked. Jaw to the floor in complete awe. Not because it was good. It was the worst music I had ever heard in my life, and I listen to 100 gecs. "Surely this can't be the precursor to the hit indie/alternative rock band Joywave?" I thought to myself. This godawful collection of "music" sounded like it came straight from a GarageBand mixtape on a burned CD, played through your family PC's shitty built-in speakers. Which was probably how it was meant to be played anyway.

Once I got over the initial knee-jerk reaction to catapult my headphones straight through the nearest window, I found myself listening to the small handful of tracks for a second time. Why would I subject myself to such cruel punishment? There must have been something in the water that fateful day, because each time I re-listened, it sounded better and better…

Something about it… captivated me. Was it the screeching, autotuned vocals that caught my attention? The vapid and childishly crude lyrics? Or the over-mixed drums and mp3 fuzz that proved its authenticity (and lack thereof)? Izzy Sparks was speaking to me from the faraway, ancient year of 2007. He had taken my heart from the lockbox, so to say. I began to understand.

Taken at face value, Vice Grip's discography contains objectively, the worst songs ever written (save for one*). But we need to go deeper. To truly comprehend the beauty of Vice Grip, one must understand the concept of:

Somewhere in 21-year-old Daniel Michael Armbruster's mind, there was a great plan stewing. If his eccentric mannerisms, cynical lyricism, and off-putting tweets of today suggest anything, it is that Daniel is no stranger to satire. His devilish plan to create the perfect caricature of 00s synthpop was never meant to be anything more than a one-time joke. How (un)fortunate that Vice Grip was conceived at the height of the second boyband craze, leading to international success and an active fanbase. Their faces were on TV around the world, and even in magazines. Vice Grip even eclipsed the popularity of the Hoodies, their completely 100% sincere pop-punk effort.

Perhaps this non-band came too early. Were they ahead of their time? It seemed Vice Grip had become the very thing it swore to destroy. Fittingly, the band self-destructed after releasing their final album: The Vice Grip Anthology (2320 H.D. - 2009 A.D.). Causes for the breakup include drug addiction, sex addiction, pornography (both producing and consuming), cannibalism, food addiction, feudalism, and college classes.

Eventually fading into obscurity and surpassed by newer satirical bands like Joywave and KOPPS, Vice Grip's genius went unappreciated for the next 15 years. The full Vice Grip Anthology was lost to link rot and Web 1.0's decay. The search for this holy grail was further crushed when former band members revealed that not even they possessed a copy. I mean, can you blame them? It seemed that Vice Grip was nothing more than an unpleasant memory, preserved only in the minds of the ex-emo millennials who had nothing better to do at Warped Tour 2008.

Until one fateful day in the year 2023. The Anthology had at last been uncovered, dug up and dusted off by one of the few fans who had the indecency to pay $9.99 on iTunes for it, all those years ago. It was subsequently transmitted all the way from Pluto to every deviant computer in the world, and is now freely available to all mortals that can withstand the sonic assault on their eardrums.

Everything on the internet does indeed last forever, much to the chagrin of Armbruster FKA Sparks. In his own words, "[The Anthology] is 31 tracks of complete and utter bullshit, presented in chronological order." But for the five or so Vice Grip fans that still exist on this planet, it was worth its weight in gold and then some (so I'm told). It truly is the most amazing album we will ever hear.

I am now at the point in my Vice Grip journey where Holly & Emily is a welcome guest on my shuffle play, rather than a dastardly scourge to make me cringe into the 4th dimension. This presents some difficulties when playing my music in a car filled with more sensible people than I. But they simply have not yet been mind-blown by the frequencies that Vice Grip has to offer.

The true artistry of Vice Grip hides behind the superficial. These are not songs meant to be loathed and detested by their audience. These are songs crafted with love. These are love songs. Because we love it.

Vice Grip truly is the greatest band the world has ever freaking seen.

*Thriller 2 is the best song Daniel has ever made.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 783: Neutral Milk Hotel In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

I'm not sure when In the Aeroplane Over the Sea became so divisive. It's a love it or hate it record. Even its early advocates have taken to a certain reevaluation of Neutral Milk Hotel, with the asinine "they're not even the best Elephant 6 band" hot take becoming fairly standard music snob commentary. If Olivia Tremor Control or Apples in Stereo had blown up instead, I'm sure they'd face the same criticism. Honestly, I'm not even sure when this album became popular enough for it to have an intense cult following and adamant detractors, but for me, this album was a complete game-changer when it came out in 1998.

I had a college radio show when the station manager added Aeroplane to the "indie" rotation. DJs were required to play a certain number of songs from the three-dozen-or-so albums in the rotation of their assigned genre, and being that I was officially an "indie" DJ, I had to break up my playlists of hardcore records with the occasional "college rock" tune from the station manager's weekly picks.

I abhorred the majority of stuff in the indie rotation, but I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. I remember begrudgingly picking out the Neutral Milk Hotel CD simply because it was on Merge Records, which meant it might at least sound like Superchunk, and playing it on air without previously hearing a note of their music. I don't even remember which song I played, but I was so blown away that I smuggled the CD out of the DJ booth and took it home.

Stealing from the radio station was bad business, though I knew more than a few fellow DJs who supplemented their personal music libraries with stolen promo albums. I mean, who was going to miss a Big Boys LP from the station's neglected vinyl closet? But to steal a CD that was currently in rotation? That was risky.

I couldn't help it. I was so fascinated by what I'd heard that I was willing to risk getting busted. I took the CD home and immediately put it on the stereo, sat on the couch, and listened to the whole album with my undivided attention.

It was 1998 and I was a twenty-year-old hardcore kid. I had begun to feel a little bored and underwhelmed by the lack of sonic diversity in the punk world and had begun listening to a lot of folk and country music when I got tired of listening to music where I was getting yelled at. So when the opening chords of acoustic guitar kicked off "King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1," my ears perked up. Jeff Mangum's voice---double tracked and compressed to a rich, almost-in-the-red saturation---comes in with his cryptic lyrics describing a tumultuous childhood and adolescent sexual awakening. An accordion and bass creep into the mix as the song builds to the climax, only for the band to switch gears into "King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 2 and 3," where Mangum repeatedly professes his love for Jesus Christ against a backdrop of fuzz bass, dissonant singing saw, and tape manipulations. The song eventually explodes into a blown-out punk-tinged pop tune where everything---acoustic guitar included---is cranked to the point of distortion.

Every song seemed to offer something new: the horns and woeful singing saw of the title track, the austere performance and stream-of-consciousness lyrics on "Two Headed Boy," the mournful Eastern European-influenced instrumentation of "The Fool"... it all flowed together like some strange collage of yesteryear sounds, but pushed to the limits of a DIY recording studio's compressors. And in the center of it all was Jeff Mangum---an untrained singer with crystal-clear diction weaving Burroughs-esque vignettes that were purportedly inspired by Anne Frank. There were references to the loss of childhood innocence, war, death, sex, communism, and religion, but all described in a detached and surrealist manner. The music exuded joy, but the lyrics seemed more like excerpts from The Naked Lunch.

I can't understate how much this recalibrated my brain back in 1998. The year prior, all my friends had fallen head over heels in love with OK Computer. While I have since grown to appreciate Radiohead, I did not share my peers' initial enthusiasm. As far as I was concerned, any major label band with a big recording budget and a hot producer was capable of making a lush record with all kinds of cool sounds and wild guitar effects. But Aeroplane? This sounded like a bunch of down-and-out weirdo college kids with their grandparents' instruments making magic in some basement recording studio.

I loved the music, but I was particularly drawn to Mangum's lyrics. I gravitated towards punk as a teenager because the music actually seemed to mean something. Minor Threat sang about being an outsider. Dead Kennedys sang about the cultural climate of the late '70s / early '80s. Minutemen sang about history and how the present reflected the past. Even my love for country and folk music centered on protest songs, outlaws, and earnest heartbreak. But I was reaching the point where it felt like all the bands I loved were singing about the same thing. Rebellion felt codified. You had to sing about certain things or the zines wouldn't like you. And along came Neutral Milk Hotel where the lyrics were somehow borderline non-sensical while simultaneously seeming far more earnest and honest than anything else I was listening to at the time.

Aeroplane didn't leave my 5-CD disc player for the remainder of the '90s. And I am still upset that I was just a few months shy of turning 21 when they opened for Fuck at a bar in Seattle that summer. Within a year Botch would write and record "C. Thomas Howell as the Soul Man," a song that's essentially about feeling that the earnestness and honesty of hardcore was being replaced by lyrical formulas. In hindsight, I can't help but think that Neutral Milk Hotel had showed me that you didn't have to sing about animal rights or hating cops to be profound or passionate. And I also can't help but wonder if the fuzz bass breakdown in that song was a subconscious homage to the bass tone on Aeroplane.

Twenty-five years later, I can't say that I listen to Aeroplane all that much anymore. At some point I learned every lyric and chord progression on the album. I'd heard bands like Bright Eyes and The Decemberists borrow heavily from Neutral Milk Hotel without actually capturing any of their wonder, mystery, or charm. Long story short, I got too familiar with the record and bummed on the imitators they spawned. So maybe in some sense I do understand why people are so critical of the album. But listening to it this morning, I still think it's a fantastic record and I can't deny how it completely altered my listening habits. Aeroplane is one of those records that impacted me in a way only a handful of other albums have in my lifetime. And for that reason, I'll always be a fan.

[omegaremix]

Cath-’s Mixtape; 2007:

Spring 2007. Catherine and I met up again two months after we first met. It took me a lot of curiosity and a phone call to see why I hadn’t even seen a message from her since: she was still somewhat in isolation after she came back from upstate New York to treat her anorexia. She was surprised yet happy to hear from me and in no time we met up at a well-known ice-cream parlor.

Somehow giving each other mix CDs came into play. I had given her Nine Inch Nails’ Still (2002), Jesu’s self-titled record (2004), and Unsane’s Visqueen (2007) which just came out the same month. In return, she gives me this.

This was the stuff Rolling Stone articles and rock radio was made of. Throw in some 20 year-old teenage angst with some slick trendy fare such as Morrissey, Siouxie Sioux, and Elliott Smith and you have exactly what Catherine was feeling, thinking, and going through during that time. Granted most of this is pop fare, but I’m willing to roll the dice that if someone reading this would get a hold of everything seen here, one would really feel like Catherine right now. That is the effect of mix CDs: more often than not it’s a mirror image of someone; a listen, not a glimpse, into someone’s soul now experienced when you hear it.

If anyone is keeping score: we played with crayons and coloring mats. We had to endure an immature family and their loud unruly children all sitting next to us. And she turned me down when I asked her out, but she did gave me a hug to end the night.

Element Eighty “Killing Me”

Bright Eyes “Lover I Don’t Have To Love”

Alice In Chains “Down In A Hole”

Green Day “Walking Contradiction”

Red Hot Chili Peppers “Snow”

AFI “This Time Imperfect”

Bright Eyes “No Lies, Just Love”

Elliott Smith “Fond Farewell”

Jimmy Eat World “Sweetness”

Marilyn Manson “Coma White”

Morrissey “Irish Blood, English Heart”

Elliott Smith “Everything Means Nothing To Me”

Rancid “Ruby Soho”

Cure, The “Just Like Heaven”

Jet “Holiday”

Lost Prophets, The “Hello Again”

Smiths, The “How Soon Is Now?”

Siouxsie Sioux & The Banshees “Hong Kong Gardens”

Red Hot Chili Peppers “Dani California”

Element Eighty “Broken Promises”

Cure, The “Picture Of You”

Marilyn Manson “Coma Black”

AFI “Ever And A Day”

Clash, The “London Calling”

Nick Drake “Time Of No Reply”

Stone Sour “Come Whatever May”

Silverchair “Ana’s Song”

Alice In Chains “Nutshell”

Jimmy Eat World ”Pain”

Blindside “Pitiful”

Rancid “Time Bomb”

Red Hot Chili Peppers “Scar Tissue”

Jet “King’s Horses”

Green Day “Basket Case”

[beautifulpersonpeach]

been lurking on your blog for a while and i find your new jeans write ups interesting. it's like the cookie song doesn't bother you so you're okay with it?

***

Hi Anon,

Story Time

Some years back, I moved to the US for work. I'd learned English at a young age, lived and worked with English-speakers and thought myself to be very fluent. Anyway, one day I had a business proposal put in front of my desk. I won't explain what exactly the product was, but the long and short of it is that at some point during the brainstorming session, "two girls one xyz" became the catchiest, most fitting tagline. My team had a good mix of old and young people who came from diverse backgrounds. We could all speak English and considered ourselves well versed in slang, but nobody in the team caught the reference until 2 weeks before launch, when in one of the campaigns, it sounded like "two girls one cup".

Now, for anyone who doesn't know what that phrase is, don't bother googling it. The gist is, I quickly learned that in America, you never say "two girls one cup". At least not in public. Everywhere else, this line doesn't mean anything, but in America and certain online communities, it means everything. By the time we found out, it was too late to revamp the campaign to change it, so we instead tweaked it to become a bit quirkier so those who caught the reference won't be totally put off by it. And overall the project was a success and caught on well in Germany, Poland and the UK, but if we didn't catch that reference in time, the campaign would've been a disaster. The way we caught the reference was someone outside the team, a local American, who immediately flagged it the minute he saw it in our outlook report. All of us fluent English-speakers had some vague idea of the various ways the campaign would look and sound, but nobody attached the meaning of "two girls one cup" to it.

And so, maybe that's why I buy the explanation offered by Ador. I can very easily see how an English professor at a Korean university, a couple of Scandinavian songwriters, and one Korean DJ, wouldn't know a Eurocentric slang interpretation of an innocuous English word. Because I myself, the first time I heard Cookie, didn't get any sexual undertones or innuendos. The song honestly just seemed cute to me… the puns in Korean were cute. Also, “taste it, smell it, bake it…” for Korean sweets and desserts, all that isn't odd to say. I mean, people here plan their whole days around trying out a new café and savouring a new sweet on the menu like it's a life-changing experience. It's fun and cute to attach that level of attention and importance to your sweets. The connection with CDs was obvious at first glance too (the CDs are huge in the MV so it's hard to miss), and given what I would call the ‘café culture’ in Korea, the play on words in Cookie seemed honest to God adorable, and a lot of my Korean friends and family (the few who listen to k-pop) felt the same. It probably sounds like I'm reaching here but overall I didn't think this was a big deal anyway.

International k-pop stans felt differently, but k-pop stans in general are easy to rile up, and even if Ador indeed had some ulterior motive, either way I don't really care.

I don't care for the same reason I don't care that Beyonce used the 'spazz' slang in her song, for the same reason I don't care Chaeyoung from Twice went around the US in a Q-Anon/nazi t-shirt, for the same reason I don't care about XG saying they've got 'opps', for the same reason I don't care that Mamamoo/Shinee have done black/brownface and never apologized for it, for the same reason I don't care that Florence Welch is apparently a Satanist, for the same reason I don't care Bang PD is likely fucking someone half his age...

And so on.

It's not because I don't understand the implications of all these issues, but the standard applied in stan twt for what is considered 'problematic' and 'cancellable' doesn't impact how I feel about music and the artists. I decide all that for myself.

And I like Cookie and NewJeans.

[mywifeleftme]

292: Various Artists // Abstract Magazine Issue 5

Abstract Magazine Issue 5 Various Artists 1985, Sweatbox Just got up to flip the record after sitting cross-legged on the couch typing on my laptop for quite a bit, not realizing my leg had fallen asleep until I tried to plant on it and had to pinwheel my arms to keep from falling flat out and cracking my head into my turntable. Absolutely how the coroner will shoot my body someday too, ass-naked and alone on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by instruments I can’t play and books I haven’t gotten to, bleeding into my record collection with a scythe propped sardonically against the wall in the background.

Speaking of ignominious deaths, while doing some research on the compiler of today’s record, a post-punk compilation / fanzine combo from 1985, the first thing that came up was a 2007 post from Burl Veneer’s old Typepad blog, specifically this inimitable sentence: “Abstract was the brainchild of Rob Deacon, who died last month in a canoeing accident at age 42 (same as me).” Strange nautical coincidence that, and a neat trick for Burl to keep blogging after death too (in fact, he’s still at it here on Tumblr), but I kept link hopping, and have learned that Deacon was quite a special guy, and a pivotal figure in two or three generations of UK music.

There’s genuine fondness and grief in The Guardian obit, the kind they reserve for lesser-known people who busted their asses and made a difference behind the scenes in media, and they spell out a resume I’m a little ashamed not to have been more up on. He was in his late teens when he started Abstract magazine, profiling the cream of the post-punk crop and cajoling exclusive tracks out of a bunch of them. Abstract would eventually morph into his own label, the influential Sweatbox, but the magazine + compilation bug stuck with him, and he’d go on to start the CD-era Volume series, which moved real numbers for an indie comp and featured… Jesus, everybody, apparently. He followed that up with the groundbreaking Trance Europe Express and Trance Atlantic electronic compilations, became a dance night impresario, did music photography, started a label (Deviant)… and then he fell out of his fuckin’ boat. Damn.

Abstract #5 is a real time capsule of 1985, featuring songs and interviews with the likes of Swans, Gene Loves Jezebel, Cindytalk, Colourbox, and the Jazz Butcher, interspersed with record reviews, scene reports, comics and more. The written pieces are all over the place stylistically, some transcribed in a borderline-incoherent fashion, others fighting for their lives against the adventurous two-tone printed layouts, but it has a wonderful fanzine energy and a level of ballsy spite you don’t see much these days.

Nearly every artist has a bone to pick with their label or journalists or bands they used to like that sold out or fans who have any sort of expectations of them. (The editorial pages get into it too, describing Morrissey “prancing daffodilously” and previewing a new New Order tune called “I’ve Got a Cock Like the M1,” which would see daylight as “The Perfect Kiss.”)

It’s zany and vulnerable and, even just shy of 40 years later, totally inspiring stuff. Highlights include Swans’ Michael Gira’s typically serial killer-coded interview, in which he talks about watching TV for 14 hours a day and shares the trans body horrific lyrics to a song called “BASTARD” that would eventually come out during the band’s maniac 1986; an account from industrial music pioneers Test Dept of the ’84 miner’s strike in South Wales, with a photo of one member who appears to have two sets of upper teeth like a shark; and the 400 Blows talking about having recorded their contribution to the issue in an echoing drainage pipe in which they nearly became trapped and drowned.

Musically this is by design a mixed bag (side one is kind of the uncommercial, experimental bits; side two the peppier guitar pop stuff). None of these exclusives would make anyone’s definitive collection of any of these bands, but as a complete listening and reading experience, Abstract #5 is a beautiful celebration. Cheers to Rob.

292/365

[buzzkillzine]

The year is 2005: I was in year 9 in high school and was well into my era of loving crushingly brutal heavy metal, sludge filled grunge and my hidden way underneath a secret love of pure, dumb, bubblegum pop.

Being in a small country town, the only access we had to music was the single record store in town and the local newsagent where I would buy and read music magazines.

I would usually flick through Rolling Stone but it was too mainstream for me at the time (yes, I was obnoxious back then. I'm sorry), I would read the classic rock magazines with the opinion that 'Old Music' is better than new music (I said I'm sorry, ok! I have changed. I promise) but the main magazines I devoured were Kerrang and Metal Hammer, the later being the best value for me because it would include a free CD with each issue and occasionally, on the best days, a DVD filled with new heavy music for me to discover.

The DVD issues were always great because you could watch a huge mix of bands from different genres: Black Metal, Viking metal, Death Metal, Emo/Screamo, which I usually skipped because emo 'wasn't heavy enough' (I should've just done a blanket apology at the start for most of my highschool opinions), and would include live tracks, interviews and music videos.

I forget which specific issue it was but I was working my way through the DVD one day, skipped past a couple of emo songs and then onto the screen of my very old television came this image...

At first I thought it was going to be some black metal band, in Corpse paint, holding some satanic sermon. The song was called Burning Beard by a band called Clutch. That didn't sound heavy. I might skip it. But then, the band appeared...

Clutch? Who's that?

Who were these bunch of Dads?

Then, the there was lyrics...

Every day, I wake up we drink a lot of coffee and watch the CNN

Every day, I wake up to a bowl of clover honey and let the locusts fly in

What? And what the hell was this time signature they were playing in?

Every time I look out my window same three dogs looking back at me

Every time I open my windows cranes fly in to terrorize me

I was puzzled. This band that looked like a bunch of men who got together on the weekend to play a set of covers at the local pub were playing the most exciting thing I had heard since I started buying Metal Hammer. They didn't wear chains, didn't have long hair, weren't screaming, didn't have wild guitar solos... they just fucken rocked. Hard.

The lyrics are still some of the best bits of weird poetry with hidden layers and meanings that I've heard.

Swan diving off the tongues of crippled giants

Okkam's razor makes the cutting clean

I was hooked and had to find out more.

I bought the album Robot Hives, then went back and got Blast Tyrant. Then over the years, Clutch have become one of my favourite bands.

They pulled me out of so many shitty preconceptions I had about music, people and life in general.

Oh this burning beard I have come undone

It's just as I've feared, I have, I have come undone

A decade or so after first hearing them, while hosting my community radio show, I played a Clutch song. The text line lit up with people asking 'who is this? It's great!'. These listeners would then fall in love with the band the same way I did.

I guess the moral of this story is to not judge books by their cover. Enjoy the stuff you like, even if it's not what you have painstakingly engineered your entire personality around. Admit that it's ok to like different things and that your opinion on music is subjective and can also be flat out wrong.

Oh. And go and listen to Clutch.

[mannatea]

what were your favourite bands and singers growing up?

I didn't have any (is the short answer).

Here's the long one:

To put things into perspective I once borrowed a radio from my dad's garage that wasn't being used and turned it to the country radio station. When I was caught a day or so later I got in big trouble for listening to corrupting evil tunes. 🤣 I don't remember how old I was. Maybe 11.

For most of my childhood we did not listen to music except for the local Christian radio station, and honestly...most of their renditions of hymns were boring compared to what we sang in church.

Imagine my delight and wonder when my band instructor handed me the sheet music to Long Train Runnin'. (IMO it's a banger for a band to play.)

My siblings and I were obsessed with video game music for a long time, especially Final Fantasy VII/VIII/IX. Eyes on Me and Memories of Life sent us into orbit. We used the early Internet to try to find sheet music.

Until my late teens the only music I'd really been exposed to was some country music (on the bus radio), Ray Boltz (a Christian singer who later came out as gay and was shunned by the community—I still stan), and the Carpenters, because my mom would sometimes sing Top of the World. One time I saw a Carpenters "love songs" cassette for sale at the WalMart for a couple of dollars and by some miracle my mom bought it (we were pretty poor and I never asked for anything so this is a special memory). I eventually bought the cd version.

The theme from Road to Avonlea (The Fresh Hills of Mhic Cainte) was a big deal to me for years too.

We received a free Kurt Bestor cd (Seasons) in the mail once and I wore it out playing it. At some point I also wound up with a Christian music cd that had popular songs on it including Mercy Came Running (which I listened to relentlessly).

I borrowed the Pokemon the First Movie & Pokemon 2000 soundtracks from the library and recorded them onto cassettes; these were my workout tunes for literal years of my life. I also saw Rigoletto at some point and mostly rewatched it to listen to The Curse. Mulan and other films were rewatched a lot for the music too.

In my late teens I enjoyed Evanescence and Matchbox20 and a lot of other popular songs of the time on a radio I bought myself. In my early adulthood I discovered Josh Groban. I fell heavily into 80s pop & country music also. I stopped listening to new country music around 2012. My car's radio stations are tuned to a legacy country station and a legacy rock/pop station and I still have a lot of mixed cds I keep in the middle console. I'm very picky about music and rarely listen to new songs but I did really like Percolate (thanks YouTube recommendations).

Needless to say, I did not really "grow up with" favorites, so I had to find them much later in life. ;)

And you didn't ask this, but music more than anything has influenced me as a writer: Josh Groban, Carpenters, and specific songs like You Don't Bring Me Flowers, Piano Man, If We Hold On Together, Crane's Crying, You Move Me, You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This, and even Shut Up and Kiss Me.

Like, it's funny to me that my writing is far more influenced by the poetry in music than anything else, considering how late in life I was allowed to freely enjoy it.

[scurvgirl]

Blast from the Past Music Game

thank you @lupeloto for the tag!

Name: Scurv

Nation of Birth: USA

Teen Decade: 2008-2015 (y’all, I had to THINK about when I turned 20, jeez)

Share a song that you once would have included on every playlist/mix cd/mix tape you made, but which hasn’t travelled with you into 2023.

 The Sounds - Dance With the Devil. Also a lot of M*rilyn M*nson before his shit came out/I was aware of his shit.

Where did you first hear this song?

Pandora! Which is how I listened to most of my music. I remember fewer songs than the radios I had, which were AWOLNATION (which I still love), My Chemical Romance (still ADORE, always an MCR girlie), and Regina Spektor (again, still love when I am feeling a certain way about life). My three modes - dancin’, EMO, and “I actually feel REAL REAL sad and NEED to cry about it”. Oh and my study radio but that was spawned with Parov Stelar and Ratatat, but that doesn’t really count.

How old were you when you first heard the song?

I think 16?

Being who you are now, how do you feel about the song?

I remember feeling this went a lot harder than it actually does? I still like the beat though and I don’t have any negative feelings about it.

What is a song you love now that fills the same kind of vibe as this, but more befitting your current self?

Green Honda by BENEE Such a fucking bop. 

But also.....Babylon (Haus Labs Version) by Lady Gaga because it is just *chef’s kiss* 

This was fun! Tagging @milkmaidovich (with all your recent Pop Punk Mickey stuff, I wanna know!) @depressedstressedlemonzest  @deedala @gardenerian @jademickian and anyone else who wants to do it!

[fayewonglibrary]

FAYE fever rages on (2004)

After 15 years, this diva is still rising by Elisa Chia

When a pop star's "crossover ceremony" (jumping from one record label to another) happens aboard a luxurious ocean liner - with dramatic fireworks display as the backdrop, no less - it's a telling sign that this is not just any other music idol.

Faye Wong had just that when she inked her contract with Sony Music 16 months ago in Hong Kong. She is, for want of a better description, a super-diva.

The 34-year-old - known for her fashion eccentricities and icy cool persona - will zip into town on Sunday to promote her Chinese album, It's My Style, as well as plug her movie, Leaving Me, Loving You.

And fans are ecstatic.

"Faye is my dream goddess," a fan by the name of James gushed in his entry to Today. He hopes to be one of the five who'd be granted a personal audience with Faye. "An autograph and a picture will make my dream come true. Imagine how a mere mortal feels when he or she is allowed to stand beside a goddess."

Indeed, 15 years on in showbiz, the Faye fever still burns. But whether the Beijing-born Hong Kong-based star has reached a peak in her singing career is debatable.

"She started out with mainstream music and then went on to experiment with various alternative styles," said long-time fan Karan Seah. "In the latest album, it's just a mix of both. I don't see her surpassing that level of creativity that would wow audiences again."

But Karan added that she doesn't see Faye's popularity waning in the near future.

Tan Li Yi, a DJ at MediaCorp Radio's YES 93.3 FM, agreed.

"It's not over for Faye, as yet. Musically, she has just moved into another phase. Her songs used to cater to the masses, such as Sky and I'm Willing. But now she conveys her individualism through her songs."

The experienced DJ must be speaking the mind of the award-winning diva.

In an interview with Hong Kong's South China Morning Post, Faye, who draws influences from The Cocteau Twins, The Cranberries, Sinéad O'Connor, Bjork, and Teresa Teng, acknowledged: "My taste in music is too off-mainstream and only a few people appreciate that… I know what the masses like and I know they skip my compositions and listen to the commercial tracks.

"I have too many business partners and I must consider their interests as well. I'm more mature now and I strike a balance between my personal interests and commercial value."

Still, facts and figures say it best. As Paul Khor, a marketing director of Sony Music, pointed out: Two of her new songs, To Love and Carousel, have already hit No. 1 on the music chart of YES 93.3 FM. And the album is doing really well, all over Asia as well… Every magazine's dying to put her on their cover.

Faye also just competed eight sell-out concerts in Hong Kong, he added.

'Nuff said.

COME FACE TO FAYE

Faye Wong will be signing her CD, It's My Style, on Sunday at 5:30pm at Plaza Singapura. Fayenatic fans can catch another glimpse of her when she appears with actor Leon Lai at Bishan Junction 8 on Monday to promote their film, Leaving Me, Loving You.

THE FAYE CHART 1987: Faye and parents moved to Hong Kong from Beijing 1989: Launched her debut album, Shirley Wong, a stage name she used then. Won a female newcomer (bronze) award by Hong Kong's Commercial Radio. 1991: Took a one-year hiatus in New York to study music. 1992: Released her album, Coming Home, which became her first platinum record 1994: Used her real name Wong Fei (aka Faye Wong). Made her acting debut in Chungking Express. 1996: Married Beijing rocker Dou Wei 1997: Gave birth to daughter Dou Jing-tong 1999: Divorced Dou Wei. Lost her temper when a local journalist asked her about it. Faye snapped at him: "None of your business!" and stormed off in a huff. 2000: Walked out of a private function hand-in-hand with Cantopop bad boy Nicholas Tse, 11 years her junior 2001: Took a two-year break from the music scene. Starred in her first Japanese television serial, Love From A Lie 2002: Came back with a bang! 2004: ?

——————————————————————  

SOURCE: TODAY

[raindoecoates]

An Unsettling Occurrence

11/11/2022. Western Maryland, just after dark.

Something you need to know for this to make sense; I get words, phrases, and random lines from books or movies stuck in my head the way a person can get a song stuck in their head. Some of them are kind of always in there somewhere, and I enjoy saying them from time to time, in my head or out loud. "I'm Laxmi Singh," or "The trick, Mr. Potter, is not minding that it hurts." One of my favorites and one of the longest, "Bob Wah, your modern rock morning pal, was on the 6 o'clock and 11 o'clock news on channel 13 in Baltimore tonight uh defending the um er broadcast of uh this particular here tune. From MC 900 Foot Jesus, from the CD, 'Welcome to My Dream,' 'As the City Sleeps.' Now, I don't think anyone out there is going to go out and become an arsonist but, I don't wanna stop you! You know, it could happen. It could happen! Everybody's got to do something. Everybody needs a hobby. Anyway, the top 11 at 11, number one! 99 1 HFS!"  I do the voice and everything. I known that sound byte like I know my own name because a young woman I was in love with once (Hi, Kathy-with-a-K) caught it on a mixed tape she made for me, from captures off the radio, mostly. So, the other night, I was coming home from Oakland just after dark, taking the long way down 219 to I-68 because it's a little safer. (The shorter way, through New Germany state park, has deep woods much closer to the edge of the road and no cell service. The long way gives you a wider margin, therefore, more time to see trouble coming. ) As I'm driving through Accident (that's the town's real name) a turn of phrase pops into my head with unusual force and persistence. It's a phrase that old men in Stephen King novels sometimes use, in that Maine accent, and I find it unpleasant on a number of levels. The phrase is, "by a whore's hair," as in, "he missed it by a whore's hair." Stephen King has used it more than a couple of times and it annoys me every time I read it. Anyway, it started repeating in my head so forcefully and so persistently I started saying it out loud, trying to exorcise it, I guess. Sometimes that works the way that playing a song that's stuck in my head a few times will often get rid of it. But, in just the space of driving the last few blocks in town, I went from thinking it repetitively to being distracted by it. I started to notice the unusual forcefulness of the thought and was growing a little alarmed. A phrase has never appeared in my thoughts so suddenly and with such "volume," before. "By a whore's hair... by a whore's hair." As I drove out of town, saying the ugly phrase out loud and thinking about things like exhaustion and migraines and Tourette's syndrome, I accelerated up to the posted 40 mph and, just as I passed 40, a fucking deer jump the guard rail and hit the road at a dead run, like this was a planned suicide! I slammed on the brakes and, knowing it's better to hit one, even a big one like this buck, than to roll the car or hit a tree, steered just enough to improve both our chances. And, by god, if there were water droplets on my driver side headlight shield, the hairs on his ass brushed them off. I braced for an impact that never came. He ran off and that stupid phrase ran with him. I take the position that it was just a coincidence. I believe intellectually that psychic phenomena do not exist. But, I have to be honest, I was completely spooked for the rest of that drive home. I still am, in fact, now two weeks later. It was certainly one hell of a coincidence.

PS: Please, don't judge me by the hashtags. I picked them to direct those who may be interested in this story. Not because I believe in them.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Could I ask for some Wingfeather falls road trip headcanons in these trying times?

Oh no Wingfeather Falls, my weakness

Yes absolutely, okay so, the most important thing about this is that they definitely 100% have a VW bus that they’re taking a roadtrip in. It is an old rickety thing and nobody’s sure where it came from or if it will hold together.

The uncles are the “chaperones”. Nia and Aurendelle are having a spa day or something and it’s portrayed in stark opposition to whatever the roadtrip gang are doing (ie. the bus is careening down a mountain hill while Nia and Aurendelle are sitting in a hot spring somewhere).

No one has a valid drivers license. No, not even Stan. Somehow everyone ends up taking a turn driving the bus at some point. Confusingly, the best driver is Leeli.

Their two options for sleeping are either camping out or staying in weird little motels that keep ending up being haunted by supernatural creatures. They keep falling for the motels and while a few of them are inhabited by actual weird creatures (they meet some of the cousins of the gnomes in Gravity Falls when Janner, Kal and Dipper get captured one by one as the gnomes try and find a suitable groom for their queen. Leeli’s crutch is found to be another weakness of gnomes) most of the motels’ “supernatural” creatures are actually the managers dressed up Scooby Doo style trying to attract tourists with the weird stories surrounding their motels (Stan is both impressed and offended someone came up with this idea before him).

Kalmar eats all the snacks the first day and they’re forced to stop at a gas station to buy more and after that they hide them and ration them out- or try to, somehow Kal and Mabel keep finding them.

They Must continue the tradition of ruining every tourist trap they come across. Kalmar and Fiddleford are delighted by this. Janner is deeply confused. Artham, Sara and Leeli get weirdly into it. Ford is also confused. Ford and Janner stand off to the side watching the others destroy tourist traps holding coffee and looking confused.

(Yeah, someone makes the mistake of giving Janner coffee, he ends up kind of addicted to it, “THIS is what grandpa always drinks in the morning?! It’s amazing! I can keep up with Kalmar now!”)

Fiddleford makes the bus rocket powered, which in turn makes it able to fly. Unfortunately, the brakes only work if you’re on the ground. He does also give it wings.

Mabel and Kalmar sharing earbuds and screaming pop songs while everyone throws things at them to try and make them stop.

Oh yeah, the bus only has three CD’s and one is a pop mix from the 2010’s, one is in Spanish, and the final one is a mix of songs from the 70’s-80’s. Mabel somehow manages to get the pop cd in first thing every morning and blasts One Direction’s “That’s what makes you beautiful” to wake everyone up. Stan, Ford, Janner and Sara keep trying to dispose of the CD but it always comes back. They leave it at gas stations, throw it out the window, run it over on “accident”, and mysteriously it’s always back the next day. They think they finally succeed when they don’t hear it for three consecutive days in a row, and then, suddenly, on the final day of their trip, it’s back. (this is based on a real experience I had ajghakljgdfs)

There is a Plot amongst the kids to use this experience to get Janner and Sara to admit their love to each other, go on a date and kiss. They try and keep it a secret but Janner and Sara aren’t dumb and they catch on pretty quick and play along because they’re amused. Dipper’s sole advice to Janner is “Don’t listen to anything grunkle Stan says about dating and girls.”

They keep going through portals. Ford tells them about each world they end up in and the kids keep making friends with aliens. At one point they lose Artham and Fiddleford though a portal and when they come back they’re decked out in steampunk gadgets and refuse to talk about what happened to them (absolutely nothing happened- they found an intergalactic shop selling steampunk stuff and thought it was cool so they got some, but they’re not going to tell the others that).

Stan keeps trying to haggle with every gas station clerk and motel owner they meet. It doesn’t matter if they’re an alien with six eyes and tentacles he’s going to get a better deal than this. Ford doesn’t know how he inherently understands the currency of every world they visit.

There is this one cop that seems to find them and pull them over wherever they go and they have to keep coming up with excuses as to why they were driving too fast/ran a red light/were weaving on the road. The cop pulls Leeli over because she’s driving TOO WELL for this one specific chaos bus and therefore its suspicious. (He lets her go immediately after she says hi to him because she’s polite. Everyone else is annoyed Leeli didn’t have to make up a story.)

One of the times they do camp out they tell scary stories and Sara’s is the best (“and the room was filled with nothing but FORKS.” *shocked gasps*).

The Wingfeathers are also introduced to marshmallow roasting and smores. Dipper, Janner, Sara and Leeli have the patience to slowly toast a marshmallow. Mabel and Kalmar do not and they simply catch theirs on fire and let it burn.

Fiddleford has to teach everyone about hobo pies and how to make them.

The bus inevitably breaks down and strands them. Stan teaches the kids to hitchhike while Fiddleford, Artham and Ford actually try and fix the bus. Stan and the kids get kidnapped. They show back up two hours later with tattered clothes and smoking hair and the bus is fixed and the others are like “??? What happened to you guys?!”  “Don’t ask."

THEY END UP IN PROVIDENCE RHODE ISLAND. For REASONS. This is not where they were planning to go. This is also the only time they end up staying in a hotel. They order pizza and prank call people all night.

They return home the next day via portal.

I filled two pages with these in the doc I was typing them up in so I should probably stop. xD I hope you enjoyed and these!

[rainydawgradioblog]

tide2004 & DJ EMI’s Notes on the Show: Alkaline Trio at The Showbox (3/23)

A really shitty photo I took on my phone of Matt Skiba (pictured above) 

EMI: Finally taking advantage of the Rainy Dawg connections to the Showbox, we walked up to the box office window in SoDo, ready to see Alkaline Trio. Being able to say “we’re on the press list” did something crazy to my ego, even if it was just free admission. To preface, I only know about 7 Alkaline Trio songs, all from my dad’s cds he would play in his old blue Ford truck. Apparently when I was small he would draw the Alkaline Trio skull on my sister and I’s shoulders with a Sharpie and go over the lines when they faded. He said we kind of had permanent tattoos for a little while.

We were about an hour late, and walked into a band called Drug Church playing, with a frontman who looked like a strange medley of Ian MacKaye and Macklemore. 

Finally Alkaline Trio came out, fitted to the nines in their awesome suits and ties. Matt Skiba and Rob Doran, and a new drummer (original drummer Derek Grant retired)–Pete Parada, who has really made his way around the late 90s early 2000s pop-grunge-punk bands like the Offspring, My Chemical Romance, and Face To Face.

I never really appreciated Matt Skiba’s vocals. An eager but strict, strategically violent sound. I think it’s what makes Alkaline Trio such a good pop punk group. 

The demographic was this: everyone was 45. Band tee, snapback, dickies shorts, vans, a little something for some edge, like a lot of hair gel, gages, or an american trad tattoo. You get the vibe. I hope that's me in 30 years. The band played Radio for the encore—one of their best songs (AKA one of the few I know). Screaming “I’VE GOT A BIG FAT FUCKING BONE TO PICK / WITH YOU MY DARLING” with the crowd was glorious. 

I’ve had some time post-show to listen to more Alkaline Trio, so I made a little playlist of my favorite tracks here.

tide2004: Alkaline Trio didn’t play any of the songs I knew (I only know 2 songs). I haven’t been to a bigger “show” in a long time AND it was free so I had a great time pretty much regardless of the music. I liked Drug Church more than I liked Alkaline Trio’s set. Drug Church is always playing shows with bigger bands that I like, so I’m glad that I got to see them finally and see what they’re all about. Very interesting mix of pop and hardcore. It’s not really the soundtrack to my life, but they were good performers and musically sound. I can see the appeal. And the main guy really does look like Ian MacKaye. 

PS: Sharpies are not allowed into Showbox, in case you were wondering. They confiscated mine at the door. I always carry pens and sharpies. If I was going to graffiti something I’d just put a posca pen in my sock.