#riptide music festival

[whatsthenoise]

Let the waves begin! Fort Lauderdale's Riptide Fest is back!!! The complete lineup is out, so check it out and let me know what you think or who you're excited about. The fest takes place Dec. 2 and 3!

[standfucker]

"The Fall of Ideals"

Character: Maren (young adult version)

Reader: AFAB

Word Count: 11.3k

CW: recreational drug use, explicit N.SFW content, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, size difference/size kink

Summary: Going to the Riptide Rock Festival instead of studying for your exam was one bad decision. A chance encounter with a stranger leads you to making several more.

Ao3 Link

[Happy Birthday @mewiyev! I swear I'm normal about Maren (hides word count) >.> In all seriousness, I truly adore this amazing character that you've created and I hope that shines through in this gift! Thank you for sharing him with the world!]

“This next song has never been heard before!” The lead singer of Violincense announces into the mic, prompting screams of excitement from the crowd. “We’re debuting it here at Riptide, the single for our next album–we present to you, Smokescream!”

The sound drifts from afar as you hurry back toward the crowd, having left to throw away your empty cup between songs. A rookie mistake, you soon realized, as the crowd closed up behind you, and now you were having trouble penetrating the throng of bodies. Had you any experience with these things, you would have just held onto the damn cup. Now you’re going to miss getting a good view of the band for what is possibly history in the making. You know Violincense was on the cusp of making it big, and here was your chance to watch it happen, front and center.

The crowd had formed itself into groups roughly based on size, with the tallest people closer to the back and sides. Some people of average height opted to stay close to their big friends, often sitting on their shoulders. One especially big man even wore some kind of shoulder-mounted table, carrying six of his friends. You can't help but feel a little jealous as you squeeze past them. You’re here alone, after all.

“S’cuse me…” you mumble, feeling out of place. Everyone else was dressed in band shirts and worn jackets, spiked bracelets and collars and chokers. In comparison, you look plain, but even if the trip to this venue hadn’t been last minute, you would’ve had nothing to wear anyway. It wasn’t your wisest choice to abandon studying for your big upcoming exam and blow all your food money on tickets, travel, and board for a rock festival. But now that you're here, that all seems like minor worries, a drop in the bucket of life. Who knows when you would get to do something like this again?

The Riptide Rock Fest was one of the biggest rock festivals on the Grand Line. Sporting multiple stages across the grounds and a myriad of different tents, it was a three-day haven to all fans of rock music genres. Each day had one big headliner show in the evening, with lesser-known bands filling the side stages throughout the day. It was currently the second day of the festival, and Violincense was one of the small bands you had been especially excited for, so you were eager to get back to a good spot before they started.

Alas, you were still stuck behind a wall of taller folk, unable to see the stage. The sound of drumsticks striking each other sounded as the band counted off, before a heavy guitar riff started the song. You paused to take it in, then shook your head and kept anxiously making your way along the perimeter of bodies, unable to find your way in and too polite to push through.

Finally, you spot an opening: closer to the middle and slightly off to the side, there's a little bit of space. The only person there is one of the big people, some guy that has to be at least fifteen feet tall. For some reason, he's being given a wide berth by those around him, but you don’t give it any thought as you dart for that spot before it gets taken. 

As you get closer, you see the potential reason people are leaving him be: rows of large, menacing spines stick out of his back through his clothes. However, those spines are far too high up to be a danger to you, so you step into place next to him and are at last able to get a decent view of the stage. Up close, the man is even more massive–not just tall, but thick-bodied and muscular, his burly arms alone bigger than you are. You decide to just avoid eye contact and return your focus to the show.

Smokescream, like all of Violincense’s music, sucks you right in from the start. Hearing the band live is a completely different experience. Sure, a studio recording could let a band trim off the imperfections in the sound, but it isn’t the same. This was how music was meant to be heard, you think. The fast-paced, harmonic chords strike you personally, heavy drums feeling like they’re replacing your heartbeat. Swept up in the music,  you’re so invested you don’t notice that the huge man is staring at you until halfway through the song, when you glance and accidentally meet his eye.

You stare back for a moment, stunned. He’s astonishingly handsome, if not a bit intimidating; a broad jaw and strong nose that balanced his features well, long, reddish brown hair that matches the color of his spines, a simple goatee, and gauged ears. He's wearing a black leather vest covered in various patches, but no shirt, showing off his husky build, a pair of faded green cargo shorts, and platform boots adorned in belts. His light skin sports a fair share of bruises and he's a bit scuffed up, likely from a mosh pit. Unlike you, he looks entirely in his element. 

The man watched you with a sour, unimpressed look, eyes slightly narrowed. Suddenly self-conscious, you look away, distracting yourself by pulling out one of the spliffs you had rolled earlier from your pocket and lighting it. After a few hits, you’re able to relax a little more, turning your focus back to the stage. You don’t think about the man until the next song comes to a close, the crowd cheering on the tail end of the final notes, when he leans over slightly in your direction.

“Do you need something?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

It wasn’t just his spines that kept others away. You’re abruptly aware of the prickly energy he’s giving off, his tone as guarded as his body language. Still, you have no idea what he’s talking about, so you just give him a look of confusion in response.

“What are you doing here?” he presses.

You look over at the band, then back up at him. “...Is that a trick question?”

“I mean here, in this spot.” He points at the ground. “Do you normally make a habit of approaching strange men?”

“You talked to me first,” you point out, pulling the cig from your mouth.

“Everyone else got the damn hint,” he says gruffly.

“I’m too short to care about the spines,” you say, wondering what his problem is. “And anyway, I wasn’t aware you owned this section.”

He leans forward a bit more, towering over your space. “It ain’t the spines you gotta worry about, small fry.”

“What are you gonna do? Bite me?”

“That’s right.” He smiles, showing off pointed teeth. It's not a friendly smile, but it looks good on him anyway, though it makes you uncertain–he really is enormous, easily a threat to someone your size.

Maybe it’s because you’re in a new place, already out of your comfort zone. Maybe it’s the few beers already in you at that point. But instead of giving him space like a sane person would, you instead respond, “don’t threaten me with a good time.”

That makes him smile even wider, leaning forward just a bit more. “I’m part Fish-man, you know. My teeth are razor sharp.”

“Even better.”

He laughs, his face lighting up in his amusement. You feel your face get warm and quickly stick the cig back in your mouth before you say something else embarrassing. He has a nice laugh.

The band announces that they are playing their last song of the set. Neither you nor your neighbor speak for the entirety of it. Either he likes the music too much to bother you, or he decided you were alright after all; regardless, he leaves you alone until the song is over. After the cheering of the crowd dies down, he turns back to you.

“I gotta say, I didn’t expect that coming from you.”

You rub the back of your neck, distinctly aware how plain you look. “I know I’m not dressed for a concert. I don’t really own any band shirts.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not allowed.”

“Not allowed?” He suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Are you a teenager?”

“Nope. Just a college student with a ruthlessly strict mother.”

“She sounds like a bitch.”

“Don’t call my mom a bitch,” you snap, all playfulness gone.

He isn’t thwarted even slightly, lip curling into a sneer. Reaching out with one giant hand, he pokes you in the chest, easily making you stumble back and imposing the difference in your strength. “What are you gonna do about it, small fry?”

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you could have sworn he had gotten bigger. You falter for a second, shocked that he would get physical and a bit intimidated. Then you get mad. If he’s going to be a cunt, you would be a cunt right back.

You stub out your spliff on his finger, hearing it sizzle. The man jerks his hand back with a yelp. “Ow! Fuck!”

“I'm not gonna let you push me around,” you bluff, pretending to be braver than you are. Jerks usually prefer easy targets, but there's still a chance he might get aggressive. You bare your teeth and pray he's all talk. “We're surrounded by people. Try me.”

“Are you stupid?” he growls, cradling his burned hand. “You could get seriously hurt, messing with guys like me. Sheesh…and you still haven’t taken the hint.” He grumbles, sticking his finger into his mouth, but he does not do anything else, and you deflate a little in relief.

Violincense announces that they're playing an encore, and the crowd roars as they launch into a familiar track–one of their most popular songs, Nightingales.

Attempting to ignore your surly neighbor, you close your eyes to really take in your favorite part of the song. Then you stare at the stage intensely, trying to burn the image of the band playing it into your memory. As it comes to a close, you glance at the huge man again. He’s closed his eyes, too, a serene look on his face as he listens. Right then, you feel bad for him–he just wants to enjoy the music in peace, like you. Maybe you overreacted.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him once the music stops.

“Whatever,” he spits, then mumbles, “you must be lonely, talking to me.”

“Yeah, I am,” you shrug. “But I’d bet you are, too. I mean, have you heard these lyrics?”

He looks surprised that you’d admit it so casually. Then he huffs, looking away. “I know em’ by heart.”

The crowd starts to move around you as the band packs up their things. You stick your hands in your pockets, feeling awkward. “Hey, uh, look… I’m sorry I did that. Really. I’ll make it up to you,” you said. “Want a pretzel or something? I’ll buy.”

The man visibly perks up, giving you another look of surprise. He’s kind of cute like this…

“They’re stale and oversalted,” you say enticingly, offering a hesitant smile. “But the cheese dip is…well, it also sucks, but at least it’s hot.”

“Fuck yeah,” the man grins from ear to ear. “I won’t say no to free food.”

You both head to the food tents, introducing yourselves on the way. You learned his name was Maren–“just Maren,” as he said after you gave him your last name. A lot of the patches on his vest were of bands you liked, so you were able to find some common ground despite the rough start.

You ended up buying Maren three soft pretzel sticks, just because he was so much larger–it only seemed fair. His attitude did a complete 360 at that, thrilled at the gesture.

“Thanks,” he says, and you nod, pulling out a program flier to see where the next band you wanted to watch would play. Maren peers over your shoulder as he shoves a cheese-slathered pretzel stick into his mouth. “Where ya headed next?”

“South stage,” you replied. “Shitty Kitties is playing soon.”

“Hm,” his voice is slightly garbled by his full mouth, which he does not hesitate to speak through, “Shitty Kitties? Kinda gimmicky, don’t ya think?”

“They're cool! The lead singer is a puma zoan. He transforms his vocal chords to do these crazy growls.”

“Exactly. A gimmick, not real skill.”

“Who cares how he does it, so long as it sounds good?”

“He leans on it too much. He can’t sing for shit, small fry.”

“Small fry,” you echoe, “is that a Fish-man thing?”

“Because of your shirt,” Maren points. You’re wearing a graphic tee that has cartoon french fries and tater tots, engaged in a shootout and bleeding ketchup.

“This my favorite shirt,” you say defensively.

“You have dorky taste.”

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?”

Maren grins. “Watch yourself, sweetheart. I haven’t decided if I’m going to eat you yet.” Despite his words, he’s less intimidating with a bit of cheese sauce smeared on his mouth.

“There you go again, threatening me with a good time,” you joke.

He smiles back, and your stomach does a weird little flip. For being kind of a jerk, he really is good-looking. Still, it’s probably in your best interests to wish him well and part ways here.

“Wanna go to the south stage together?” Maren asks.

“Yes,” you immediately reply.

You only made it to the Riptide Rock Fest by doing what you weren’t supposed to–what was one more bad decision?

Maren stuffs the rest of the food into his face, finishing it in two huge bites, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. You stare as he licks the sauce off his hand, following the trailing of his tongue. He meets your eyes as he does, grinning to himself when you break eye contact to look away and clear your throat.

“What is it, sweetheart? See something you like?” he teases.

“No–I wasn’t–you’re just messy,” you stammer, failing to save face. Trying to distract him, you point up at his vest. “Hey, isn’t that a Shitty Kitties patch? What gives?”

Maren looks a bit embarrassed. “That was from years ago. I’ve had this jacket for a long time–hey, don’t change the subject, now.”

Caught red-handed and losing your buzz, you start to walk away, feeling your usual shyness resurfacing now that the intoxication is wearing off. Maren follows you, hooking his thumbs into his pockets and chatting as you walk. He has no trouble making conversation, and picks up the slack where you falter. You find it easy to talk to him, and the more you talk, the more you want to know more about him. However, he dodges questions relating to himself, either outright ignoring them or just deflecting with more questions. By the time you make it to the south stage, you feel like you're talking about yourself too much, but he seems to prefer it that way.

“So where are your friends at?” Maren asks, as if it would be unthinkable for you to have come by yourself.

“Where are yours?” you try.

“Came alone.” It was the only direct answer from him in the last twenty minutes.

“Me too.”

“What, your friends don’t like rock?”

You shift from foot to foot, unsure how to respond in a way that doesn’t make you sound like a complete loser. “I don’t, uh… I don’t have any friends,” you admit. “Not where I live, anyway. After I graduated high school, mom moved us halfway around the world. Relocated to the best college she could find. I haven’t made any new friends since. Most students at that university are the entitled, wealthy type.”

“And you’re not?” Maren teases lightly.

You wrinkle your nose. “I got a full ride through scholarships.”

“Sure, sure,” he grins when you make a face at him, enjoying riling you up, “so you’re the nerdy type of smart! I knew it.” 

You doubt he really knew it, and are starting to wonder if he’s flirting with you. He seems to like your company, anyway. Oh, shit, is he flirting with you? 

Suddenly uncertain, you went for the only distraction you could think of, digging into your pocket for another pre-rolled spliff. “If I was actually smart,” you say, “I wouldn’t be here. I should be studying for this huge exam, but…” you trail off.

“But…?” Maren prompts.

“I felt like if I looked at one more book, I’d completely lose it.” You pat your pocket to search for your lighter. “All I ever do is study. I’m sick of it! I had to do something else or I’d snap. And I’ve always wanted to go to a concert–ugh, where the fuck is my lighter?”

Maren pulls a lighter from one of the many pockets on his shorts. “Here,” he says, crouching down low in front of you. You reach to accept the lighter from him, but he gently bats your hand away and instead holds the lighter up to your mouth. His hands are so large compared to the tiny spliff that he has to lean in close and focus, his tongue sticking out slightly. Carefully, he lights the spliff, his face filling your vision, and you find yourself staring again. The warmth from the lighter’s flame almost doesn’t register over your own heated cheeks.

“There we go,” he says, eyes darting up from the lighter to meet your own gaze. You glance away, the eye contact a bit much for you sober, and when you look back, he’s still leaning close, now smiling big. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you reply quickly. “You, uh, want a drag?”

“Depends. What’s in it?”

“Just weed and tobacco.”

“Hell yeah, hand it over.” 

You hand him the spliff, and he takes a deep drag, nodding to himself in approval. “This is good shit. You’re not as straight-laced as you seem, huh? Guess momma doesn’t know about this.”

“I have special hiding places for it,” you say. “No matter how much she digs through my shit, she won’t find it.”

“Sounds like you need to live on campus.” Maren passes the spliff back.

“I do,” you say bluntly, taking a drag and exhaling in a sigh. “She searches my things when she visits.”

“Yeesh. Why do you defend her?”

It’s not as simple as Maren makes it sound, and you aren’t sure how to put that into words. Luckily, before you can think of an answer, a familiar, high-pitched snarl echoes over the speakers. You look to the stage as the crowd cheers, but the view is completely obscured by other concert goers closer to Maren’s size. If you want to actually see Shitty Kitties, you’ll have to part ways and head up further to the “smalls” section of the crowd.

“Aw, hell. I guess I gotta go,” you say reluctantly.

“Wait!” Maren shouts to be heard over the lead singer’s introduction. “You can sit on my shoulder!”

“You’re full of spikes!” you shout back.

Maren pauses, thinking for a second. “No big deal! Here, sit on my arm!” He flexes one burly arm, patting it. “No spines and a perfect view of the stage! Deluxe seating, compliments of Maren. Whaddaya say?”

You blink, flattered at the offer but not wanting to impose. “But…won’t you get tired?”

“Nope!” Maren flexes his arm further, showing off his impressive muscles and grinning proudly.

He doesn't want you to leave, you realize. The thought gives you butterflies in your stomach that the spliff doesn't help to calm. Maren is roguishly attractive and good company, and he wants you around–why not accept?

“Alright,” you nod. “How do I get up theRE–!”

The moment you consent, Maren picks you up, wrapping his hands around your hips and hoisting you onto his upper arm as your words turn into a cry of surprise. Suddenly fourteen feet off the ground, you grip the fabric of his vest tightly, tucking your legs under his arm to hold on.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” Maren says cheerfully, patting your shoulder with his upheld hand.

You giggle nervously. From up here, you can see above the heads of the taller people and have an excellent view of the stage. Just in time, too, as the lead singer of Shitty Kitties finishes hyping up the crowd and begins counting down to their first song of the set.

“One, two, three!” The lead singer yells, then snarls into the mic.

“Oh! Oh!!” you exclaim. “This is Blightmare!”

Maren grins at your excitement. He nods along to the music, careful not to move you too much, and you pass the spliff back and forth as you enjoy the song. Blightmare was an old cult classic, one of your favorites. Once it hits the main verse, you're far too enthralled to not scream out the lyrics–hell, everyone else is.

“ROWR! I’m the wrong kinda crowd / I’m the devil in the day / and I’m no good for you / but you like it that way!”

You glance at Maren to see that he’s singing along, too. You can’t hear him, much less yourself, but you both grin at each other as you sing. The high of the spliff compounds the intoxicating feeling of the music, until you wrap one arm around Maren’s upheld one so you can steady yourself while headbanging.

“Fuck yeah!” Maren shouts, throwing devil horns up with his free hand. The both of you get swallowed up by the energy of your surroundings, screaming along song lyrics and pumping your fists for every song that plays. The set concludes what feels like far too early, and people begin to move around the two of you as they make their way to other stages.

“That was amazing!” you laugh, exhilarated. 

“It was pretty cute, hearing you try to growl like the lead singer,” Maren says.

Your chest tightens in a good way, and you giggle nervously, shaking your head. “My vocal chords will regret that tomorrow. But fuck it, right?”

“That’s right!”

“I didn’t know this would be so much fun! I’m so glad I came!”

“Is this your first time?” Maren asks, crouching down so he can let you off him.

“Yep. First concert ever.” You land and get your bearings, patting down your jeans. “There are lots of things I’ve missed out on because all my time was spent studying. Morning drills before class, prep school after, then homework in the evening.”

“Why don’t you just quit?” Maren asks like it’s obvious, and you balk at him.

“What? I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It sucks, you clearly don’t like it. So quit.”

“You don’t understand,” you explain. “Mom gave up everything to get me here. We were dirt poor. She would even skip meals to make sure I was fed. She worked hard to give me this opportunity! I can’t just throw that away.”

Maren doesn't look convinced, but he doesn’t argue, either, merely shrugging. “Well, alright. Where ya wanna go next?”

You look down to hide your smile, thrilled that he wants to keep hanging out with you. Pulling out the flier, you squint at it. “A band called ‘M-K’ is going to play on this stage. What’s ‘M-K?’”

“Monochrome Kaleidoscope.”

“Oh. Well, they’re up next. And on the east stage, there’s Taka Tora Batta… and BB Thunder on the north. They should all finish around the same time, right before the headliner plays on the center stage.”

The headliner for the second day was Preyer, a band with a self-described “carnivore gothic” theme that was rapidly growing in popularity. Maren hadn’t brought them up at all yet, which was surprising–they seemed to be right up his alley, considering his taste in other bands.

“I don’t have a preference either way–I’m good with whatever,” he says.

“Me too. Why don’t we stay here, then?” you suggest. “We can move up closer and get a better spot in the crowd. If we go stand right at the border between the large and small section, you won’t have to hold me up the whole time.”

“I don’t mind,” Maren winks, making you flush warm, “but alright. Sounds like a plan.”

You feel far more at ease walking through the crowds with Maren at your side. Concerts are supposed to be a group event in the first place, and with such an open venue, you had some concerns about being by yourself. But even other big people would think twice before starting a fight with Maren, which was all the more reason you should have never gambled on ticking him off earlier. A stupid risk, but in a weird way, the action seemed to gain his respect–and now that you had each other to hang out with, you’d never been happier in making such a string of poor decisions.

You and Maren find the good spot you had mentioned earlier, the people behind you all larger like him, and the people in front of you average-sized. Maren opts to sit down, as he’s still tall enough from there to see over the “shorties,” as he calls them. You, on the other hand, can't sit without losing sight of the stage, so you lean against him instead, mindful of the spikes.

Monochrome Kaleidoscope was a band that seems to be a mix of electronic and jam rock subgenres. They switch off between playing songs from their newest album, Shatterstatic, and having jam sessions right there on stage, improvising for five minute segments. The drums and synth players decide on a beat and background, and the rest of the musicians jump in with their instruments one at a time. You've never seen anything like it before, and let Maren know as much in between songs.

“Oh, yeah, M-K’s great.” He gives you a lazy grin. “I need to see if their merch table is selling patches later. Don’t have theirs yet.”

“If you hold our spot, I’ll go look for you,” you offer.

“Alright! Thanks, sweetheart.”

You flush warm and quickly excuse yourself before your flustering becomes obvious. As you weave through the “smalls” section, you couldn’t stop smiling to yourself. Maren is the last person you’d ever expect yourself to crush on. A small voice in the back of your mind tells you not to get too smitten, to keep your wits about you. You have only known Maren for a few hours, and he didn’t want to talk about himself. Maybe there was a reason for that, and that reason could have been a dangerous one. But he liked your company. And you craved the attention, truth be told. You never realized how starved you’d been for it.

The merch table was an assortment of stickers, buttons, patches, guitar picks, vinyls, and even some pricey tone dials. All of them had black-and-white designs around the band’s logo. Your hand hovered above the patches. For a moment, you considered getting two. But you didn’t have anything to put it on, and if your mother found it, she would likely throw a fit. The thought brought you out of your high somewhat  After tomorrow, you’d go back to your regular life. Back to the mundane rigors of academia and arithmetic.

There was no doubt this was the only time you’d get to hang with Maren. He’d eventually go back to whatever island he was from–hell, he might have even been a pirate (a scary thought,) in which case there was a slim chance you would ever see him again. You clenched your fists as you decided, right then and there: this weekend was your only chance to try something new. So what if he was literally rough around the edges? So what if you’d regret it later? You were far more afraid of the regret you’d feel if you didn’t take advantage of this opportunity.

Maren might only be your friend for a day, but that was one day more than you had in years. With that in mind, you went ahead and purchased a patch for him, and a guitar pick for yourself. You didn’t know how to play guitar, but the pick would be an easy-to-hide memento. 

When you returned, two songs had passed, and Maren was standing, looking far more scuffed up than when you’d left him, his hair all messy and a new rip in his pants.

“Woah, are you okay?” you ask, reaching up to touch his forearm, where a fresh bruise is forming.

“Yep. A mosh pit formed behind me, so I joined in,” he replies, letting you examine his arm. “So did they sell patches over there?”

“Yeah! Here,” you take the patch out of your bag and hold it out to him.

Maren’s eyes go wide. “You–you didn’t have to buy me one.”

You shrug. “I, uh…I wanted to. No big deal.”

He looks genuinely taken aback, a faint dusting of pink contrasting with his freckles. Then he smiles big. “Aw, thanks, babe. That’s real sweet of you.”

You’re already flustered from the pet name, so when he reaches up to brush your cheek affectionately, your brain nearly short-circuits. Face burning, you deftly avoid his gaze, staring at his arm and changing the subject.

“That looks painful,” you say, tracing the edge of the bruise.

“Nah, it’s nothing. It was fun. You should try it!”

“Moshing?” you blink at him, incredulous. “No way. I mean, me?”

“Why not? You can start one up in the ‘smalls’ section. I know you shrimps need to get out your terrier energy.”

“Wha–hey!” you laugh, making Maren grin.

“I’m serious. You said this is your first concert, right? Trying new things is good for you.”

You’re not sure what part of knocking into other people is good for you, but for some reason, you feel yourself drawn to the idea. You shouldn’t be, but what if this was the only concert you’d ever get to attend? And what is it about Maren that makes him so convincing? He’s not even pressuring you, not really. You just want to look cool in front of him, despite the fact he probably thinks you're a total dork. You want him to like you so bad, but clearly he already does, so why are you considering this?

Maren sees you looking out over the crowd hesitantly, and raises a thick finger to point. “See those people down by the southwest row? The ones jumping up and down? They look primed for it. All you have to do is scurry over there and give them a little push.”

You bite your lip. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he nods. “Don’t shove people who look like they don’t want to be involved, and don’t use brute force on anyone smaller than you. Help up anyone you see on the ground. Other than that, go nuts.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay…”

Maren salutes you as you head forth. You walk a little quicker, gradually picking up your pace. When you reach the aforementioned group, you're at a brisk jog, and, feeling a bit nuts, you shove into the most energetic looking guy there. 

He stumbles slightly, looking surprised. You freeze.

Suddenly you're shoved from the side by a random girl. She shouts something at the group as you recover, and then the man you shoved comes back and pushes into her. There's more yelling from the group, and then four of them start throwing themselves into the crowd around them. Pulse racing, you collect yourself and join in, running at the nearest person.

The lead singer shouts and points at your section of the crowd. The guitarist jumps in, shredding an improvised solo like a crazy man. Suddenly the area around you seems to erupt, your small group becoming a massive, frenzied pit of at least 30 people. You get jabbed with elbows and shoved into bodies, never knowing where the next impact is going to come from, but your adrenaline is pumping like crazy and you don't want to stop. 

A particularly hard shove sends you off your feet. You hit the ground and tense, expecting to get trampled, but multiple hands come out of nowhere, lifting you back onto your feet. You pause, get bumped into, and resume throwing yourself into the swarm. 

You get knocked down several more times, but every time, hands reach out from the crowd like magic and pull you back up. It's only after you're out of breath and hurting that you decide to call it quits, making your way to the edge of the mosh pit, through the crowd, and back to Maren.

“Ahh!” you inform him, overcome with adrenaline. It feels like you just got off a roller coaster. “I–I did it!”

“You were like a little tornado,” Maren chuckles. “How was it?”

“Fun!” you shout. Your body hurts in various places, and you're banged up and bruised, but grinning like a maniac.

“Attagirl!” He holds out his fist to you, and you punch it.

It takes you a bit to catch your breath. You lean against Maren in the meantime, trying not to smile when he loops his arm around your hips.

“It looks like they have so much fun playing,” you say after MK finishes their last song. “I’ve always wanted to learn to play the guitar.”

“Why don’t you–wait, let me guess: you’re not allowed?” Maren raises both brows pityingly, and you lightly punch his arm.

“I just haven’t had the free time.”

“I could teach you, if I had a guitar,” he says, then pretends like he’s thinking hard, rubbing his goatee. “Tell you what. You sneak backstage and steal a guitar, and I’ll teach you to play a song.”

For a moment, you find yourself seriously considering it. Then you laugh at yourself. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A straight-laced person like me, committing theft.”

Maren laughs too. “I think breaking the rules would do you some good.”

“That’s not the kind of person I am.”

“It could be.”

“It’s not, and I’m okay with that.”

“Boooring.” Maren sticks out his tongue.

“That’s okay, too.”

He regards you for a moment. “You seem to have it all figured out.”

“I have to,” you say simply. “I mean, my own mother doesn’t know me. If I don’t know who I am, then no one does.”

“…”

“Anyway, if I get caught and jailed. I’d be kicked out of college, and then I’d lose everything. So no theft for me.”

“Would that really be so bad?” Maren says suddenly.

“Wha–of course. Everything my mom did…”

“Okay, but it doesn’t make sense to me.” Maren looks at you seriously. “What’s the point of all that sacrifice if you aren’t happy?”

You open your mouth, but can’t find a response. The words sink in slowly, slowly, and you try and wrap your mind around them. He…He's right. This punk you've known all of several hours is completely and totally right, and you have no idea what to say.

“Uh,” you say. “Um. Wow. Okay. I mean, yeah. Yeah, you have a point there.”

“Don’t sweat it too much, sweetheart.”

Easier said than done–you’re mulling over what he said for the rest of the set, only breaking out of the trance when it finishes and the crowd starts to move. You and Maren get up and follow the flow of the crowd. Everyone’s headed in the same direction–the side shows are all done, and it’s time for the headliner at the center stage.

The excitement at seeing Preyer live cheers you up a bit. You like several of their songs, and you’ve heard they have a great stage presence. Some of the people around you even have signs, though they don’t look nearly as happy to be there as you would think someone who went to the trouble of making signs would be.

Come to think of it, Maren doesn’t seem all that enthusiastic, either. His grin is entirely absent, like it was when you first met him earlier in the day. After you both find a good spot to stand at the center stage, you decide to bring it up.

“I guess you don’t like Preyer?” you ask.

“They sound alright, but the bandmates themselves are douchebags,” is his reply. “I’m not about to hold up a sign over it, but I’m not going to cheer them on, either.”

The comment strikes you as weird, and you follow Maren’s gaze to get a proper look at one of the signs someone’s holding. Rather than a message of endearment, like you expected, there is bold, bright red letters reading out:

‘PREYER OF CHILDREN!!!’

The other signs read similarly, and you frown. “What's with those signs?”

“You haven't heard?” Maren says.

“No… Did something happen?”

“You could say that.” He narrows his eyes. “The lead singer of Preyer likes to hook up with underage fans.”

“What?!”

“Yep. Several teenagers have come forward about it. Apparently drugs were involved. But there wasn't any hard evidence, so nothing’s been done.” 

“Oh! That’s awful!”

“Sorry you had to find out like this.” He pats your shoulder, resting his giant hand there. “I know it kinda ruins the vibes of the festival.”

“It's not ruined,” you say quickly. “I mean, maybe this particular concert is, but I'd rather have known.”

Maren nods. “That bastard let down every single person who came out here. Everyone who looked up to him.” His grip on your shoulder tightens, his smile tense. “He doesn't deserve to be the headlining show. He doesn't deserve to play at all.”

You shake your head in agreement. When you next glance up at Maren, he has a sly gleam in his eye, his grin stretching like he just thought of something funny. 

“Maren?”

“I'm gonna head to the restroom. Wait for me, sweetheart.”

You both already made pit stops before coming to the center stage. He might just need to go again, but even having only known him a few hours, you get the distinct feeling that he's up to something. Before you can say anything, though, he pushes through the crowd behind you and disappears.

You wait for him. The time passes, and several minutes turn to half an hour with no sign of Maren. Just as you really start to get concerned, you realize that the crowd has grown unusually tense. It's not the excited kind of tension, either, not an eagerness for the show to start. Rather, every few minutes you look around for Maren and see more and more people looking restless, even angry. People are starting to turn to their neighbors and talk. 

Something is definitely going on. You focus, trying to pick out individual conversations.

“... serious! He slept with a minor, and…”

“...gave alcohol to a kid…”

“... can't be true! He's a good guy...”

“...she was my daughter's age…”

The rumors of what the lead singer did are spreading like wildfire, it seems. You've never seen anything like it. You're not sure how it's happening–there are some protesters, but not enough to cause this–until you see a shock of familiar, burnt-orange hair a ways down the crowd.

But, wait. That can't be Maren. He’s 15 feet tall, and those guys over there are only about 7. You squint, confused to see that yes, it's definitely Maren, albeit shorter somehow. He's got his hand cupped to someone's ear, their face changing from neutral to shocked to angry in quick succession. Maren pulls away and works his way to another section of the crowd, and you suddenly know exactly what's going on.

Maren’s making sure not a single concert-goer hasn't heard about what's happened! You're in shock. He didn’t strike you as the type to care that much. That, or he just wants to start trouble. You're reminded again that you really don't know him that well, but you can't bring yourself to look down on what he's doing, either. 

You lose sight of him as he disappears into the crowd again, and don't see him until the band has finished setting up, when he seemingly materializes next to you.

“Those pretzel sticks didn't agree with you, huh?” you joke. “Looks like the crowd does, though.”

“Imagine that,” he grins. 

The lead singer starts speaking into the mic, only for the crowd to erupt into a cacophony of boos. You glance at Maren, who’s joined them in full force, then at the crowd. You can't help it– you join in too.

The lead singer tries to pacify the crowd to no avail. He can't get a single word in. He grows more frustrated with each attempt, until he finally screams, “Fuck you! We are Preyer, and we're going to rock your world! Five, six, seven, eight!”

The band launches into their first song. It's a shame–the music itself is good, but you can't enjoy it the same, especially not with the undercurrent of jeering. You figure the best option at this point would be to just leave, but Maren has other ideas.

“Charge! The! Stage!” he starts chanting, and your eyes get huge. Before you know it, the people around you pick up the chant. It's barely audible over the music, but steadily, more and more people start joining in, and it grows louder, and louder.

Maren notices your alarm and crouches down next to you, shouting so you can hear him over all the noise. “All good, babe?”

“All good? You're starting a riot!”

“Fuck yeah, I am!” He holds his hand out to you. “Are you with me?”

You stare at his hand for a moment, wondering how you got to this point. You knew, you just knew hanging out with him was a bad idea. He was everything you weren't! Everything you were taught not to be, brash and opportunistic and self-concerned. He would only make you worse, you were sure. But…god help you, you wanted to be like him. You wanted just a piece of that energetic confidence, to feel the warmth of the fire that burned within him. 

Even if you would get burned.

You swing your arm and clasp Maren's hand tightly. “Yeah!”

The crowd festers, the chant spreading like a plague, madder and louder until even avid fans are screaming it. The dissent is close to bursting, but it isn't quite enough. It needs something to push it over that edge. You look around. The larger fans toward the back seem eager to go, but people your size at the front, while angered, are still in place. Those at the back can't move forward until the ones up front do, not without trampling the smaller concert-goers.

You suddenly have a really, really bad idea. It's so, so unlike you, but, hell. If you want to be different… Maybe not at home, but here, maybe you can be…

What's the point of all that sacrifice if you aren't happy?

Fine, then. You'll make the change for yourself, if you have to.

Without warning, you start pushing through the crowd. Maren shouts after you, but you don't stop, and his voice is swallowed up by the chorus of rage. Heart pounding, you elbow and shoulder your way past the throng of people, row after screaming row, the stage getting closer and closer, the music so loud it's deafening. You can't hear the crowd anymore, nor your own crazed, panicky breathing. Only adrenaline keeps you going. Up at the front now, you can see a line of several security guards dotting the space before the stage. You break through the last line of people, charge forward, vault over the divider, and leap for the stage. 

Somehow you make it. You scrabble up and on. A security guard grabs you by the foot, but you yank your leg, your shoe coming off in his hand. The band keeps playing, but the lead singer stops. You charge him, and he scrambles back. But you're not going for him, much as he deserves it.

You grab the mic and scream one word with all your lungs:

“RIOT!”

All hell breaks loose.

The crowd roars, surging forward like a busted dam. The band stops playing. The security guards who followed you onstage are swiftly overwhelmed. One grabs you, but is pulled off you by three other people. The stage is quickly overrun, shouting and chaos all around. You get pushed and jostled by the rush of bodies. Equipment is being thrown, instruments trashed, wires torn. You can't see anything past the bodies and can't gain enough footing to move in any direction of your own choosing. When the larger people from the back reach the stage, you start to worry about getting trampled. Your fear is quickly realized as you're knocked hard onto the ground.

Out of nowhere, a large hand grabs you and pulls you high up–Maren, lifting you into one burly arm.

“You alright?” he shouts.

“Yes!” you half shout, half laugh. 

He grins wide. “Cops are coming. Hold on!”

Maren runs away from the stage. You cling to his vest, but his hold on you is secure. The people around you are going every which direction, some still charging for the stage, some making a break for it like you are. Policemen start cutting into the crowd, rushing to protect the band.

“Where are you going?” you ask him once you've gained some distance from the crowd.

“No clue,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.

“Let’s go to the Saltwater Inn! I have a room there.”

“Where's that?”

“Head south.”

After you're a safe distance from the chaos, Maren slows to a stop and sets you down, catching his breath. You're panting, too, mostly from adrenaline.

“That…that was…” you pant.

“That was insane! You're amazing!” Maren yells.

“I don't know why I did that!” you yell back. “I–I hope no one saw my face! Oh my god…”

He laughs, one hand on his hip. “I was wrong about you, sweetheart. That was pretty ballsy.”

Right then, you notice that Maren has a guitar in his other hand. “Where did you get that?”

“I stole it from backstage while everyone was distracted.”

“Maren!”

“What? You did far crazier back there.”

You should feel guilty, and normally you would, but his toothy grin just makes you break out into a matching smile.

“Okay, good point. But let's not stick around.” You tug on his free hand, and Maren lets you lead him toward the inn.“I saw something weird while you were in the ‘bathroom’,” you say while you walk. “I could have sworn I saw another, smaller you in the crowd.” You give him an accusatory look.

“Heh. Yeah, that was me. I can change my size, cuz I'm a porcupinefish type Fish-man.”

“This isn't your normal size?”

“Nah, but I prefer it.”

The two of you chat as you make it back to the nearby Saltwater Inn. You were lucky enough to reserve one of the last rooms available back when you impulsively decided to attend the festival. The bed was made for someone Maren's size, so you overpaid, but it was worth it to be within walking distance from the festival. You ask Maren where he was sleeping that night while you both remove your shoes, only for him to reply that he had been camping out. At that point you weren't surprised by his answer.

“Wellll…” you flopped back onto the oversized bed. “If you wanted to…you could, you know…stay here? With me?”

Maren flops back next to you, making you bounce and giggle.

“Wellll…” he mimics your tone. “If you're gonna twist my arm about it….” He flashes you his signature grin.

Faces inches from each other, looking into his sparkling eyes, you're suddenly and totally overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him. But you haven't kissed anyone in years, and he's so attractive, you don't even know how to begin to process that urge. Cheeks warming, you sit up abruptly and clear your throat.

“You said you could teach me to play if you had a guitar,” you say.

“That I did.” Maren sits up and picks the guitar up off the floor. It's huge, jet black and crimson and covered in stickers. He gently sets it in your arms. “It's a bit big for you, but you should still manage.”

Maren goes over the basics, then spends a few minutes trying to position your fingers. When you still struggle to mimic him, he changes strategies.

“Here,” he says, and picks you up by the hips, making you yelp in surprise. His large arms coming to rest over yours. Like this, it's easier for him to reposition your fingers on the frets. Your face quickly gets hot, but Maren is entirely focused on teaching, his grin more relaxed than it has been all day.

Despite everything you've gone through since meeting him, you don't think he's ever been as attractive as he is when he's guiding you through a song. The intent focus on his face, the warmth of his skin against yours, his low voice praising you as you do well–it all makes your head spin. He goes at a slow, steady pace, teaching you one section at a time, until it’s an hour later and you’re playing your very first song.

You’re brimming with excitement as you finish. It’s your first time playing music, and you think you’re in love. You look up at Maren with a sense of awe and wonder. You created music, almost by yourself. He seems genuinely thrilled to have shown you, too.

“Well done, sweetheart,” he says. “Did you like it?”

“Maren, I loved it! Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“It’s the least I could do,” he says.

You set the guitar aside and lean back against him, and he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you.

“I’m glad I met you, Maren,” you say.

“Me too.”

You crane your neck back to look up at him. He grins, but it’s not as intense as usual. It’s soft, in a weird way. That feeling of wanting to kiss him washes over you, and Maren acts like he can sense it, because he cups your cheek.

“Whatcha thinking about, sweetheart?” he almost whispers.

“I–I. Um, I.” You giggle nervously. “I think you’re really hot, and I want to kiss you.”

“Yeah?” He leans closer. “What’s stopping you?”

“Nerves, mostly.”

He chuckles. “Alright, then. How ‘bout I kiss you first?”

You nod, heart racing so fast you think it’ll bruise your sternum. Maren’s thumb strokes your cheek as he takes in your flustered expression. Then he leans in. You shut your eyes, and a moment later, feel the smoothness of his lips pressing to yours.

Tingling, burning warmth courses through your veins at the contact, a taste of his fire. You open your eyes just as he pulls away, his face flushed like yours.

“Fuck,” you say, surprising him into laughter.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

“Again?”

“Please, yes–”

He leans in again, and you shift in his lap to straddle one of his giant thighs, lips slightly parted as he kisses you a second time. He guides your arms to wrap around his neck, and you stretch up to meet him so he doesn’t have to bend so much. The second kiss is longer, lighting up your entire body with its passion. He’s not as intense as you expected, almost hesitant in his kissing. You’re not sure you’re doing well, either, but he stays put, so you gain confidence, parting your lips slightly and humming in approval. His tongue probes out to trace your lips, and you gasp before sliding out your own to meet his.

At the touch, you feel the blood rush between your legs. It’s a bit ticklish and wet and so warm, and as Maren closes his mouth to suck on your lower lip, a soft moan trickles out of you before you can help it.

You want him badly, you want all of him. You can feel the desire pouring out of him, too, that inner flame blazing bright and consuming you. He seemed confident throughout the day, but you can’t help but sense that you’re both seeking a kind of solace in the other. It’s been so long since you’ve been close to someone, especially like this, and he’s working up a need in you that’s impossible to ignore.

Maren moves his hands down your back and to your ass, squeezing before tilting you back slightly so he can deepen the kiss, tongue filling your mouth. His kisses turn messy and you do your best to keep up with his heated, dizzying pace, a second moan breaking free when he moves to kiss your neck. You tilt your head to give him easier access, his head filling the space between as he starts to suck on the skin, making a jolt rush straight to your center. You can barely feel the scrape of his sharp teeth, but he doesn’t bite. Maybe it would be dangerous, but you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

“Ah…Maren,” you breathe, “Bite me, I–I want you to bite me.”

“Huh? Wait,” he pulls away, giving you both a chance to get your bearings. “I wasn’t kidding when I said my teeth are sharp.”

“Just a nibble?” you plead. “Small and shallow?”

“What are you, a masochist?” Your face burns, but he’s grinning. “Hah! Alright, but hold still, sweetheart. I’ll try not to make you bleed.”

“What are you, afraid of a little blood?” you challenge.

Instantly one of his hands is in your hair, gripping tight by the roots to keep your head still. You moan at the roughness, feeling his grin against the base of your neck before the razor points of his teeth rake your skin. You squirm, and his other hand comes up to grab your shoulder to keep you from moving. The anticipation rockets your arousal from a spark to a burning need, but thankfully he doesn’t make you wait.

There’s a slight, sweet blossoming of pain as his teeth barely sink in. You gasp, legs squeezing his thigh, your breath hitching again when his tongue follows, soothing the sting. He licks back and forth along the spot before slicking his way back to your neck to suck another bruise there, and you can’t help it, you start grinding on his thigh to grant yourself some much-needed relief.

“Fuck,” Maren curses in surprise, pulling back to watch you. The sight must make him impatient, though, because a moment later he grabs your wrist and puts your hand on his crotch. There’s a very large, very hard bulge there, far bigger than your hand. You don’t hesitate to stroke him–you have to work your whole arm to do so–and are rewarded with the beautiful sound of his first moan. His hips cant forward, pushing into your hand, and he’s panting slightly.

“Lie back,” you instruct, and Maren complies, lying back onto the bed. You reposition yourself between his legs so you can grind your crotch directly onto his bulge. He throws his head back and gasps at the same time as you do, his hands coming to grab your hips and pull you onto him harder.

Before you risked buying a small, discreet vibrator, you used to get off by grinding on stacked pillows. The sensation of grinding on Maren, however, was so much better that you found yourself whimpering. His bulge was large enough to provide a firm pressure against your entire vulva, and his breathy, restrained moans only fueled your need. After all the teasing of his kisses, you were already worked up, and it didn’t take you much longer before you were rapidly climbing up and over the peak, a soft cry as you cum.

The orgasm wracks your body, and you hump him desperately throughout it until it finally subsides. You go still, leaning against his belly and catching your breath.

“Why’d you stop?” Maren raises his head to look at you. His brows rise in realization. “Did you cum?”

“Y-Yeah,” you pant. His toothy smirk makes you feel tingly all over again, and you crawl up his body to kiss him some more.

You make out feverishly, all earlier hesitation gone, replaced by hot, needy kisses and nibbles. You pull away just long enough to take off your shirt, throwing it to the side before your bra follows. Maren’s hands are on your breasts in an instant, kneading the soft flesh and making you moan into his mouth. It turns to a sharp cry as his thumbs find your nipples.

“Ya like that?” he husks, and you nod quickly, going to kiss him again and whimpering against his lips when he continues to rub the sensitive nubs. He grants you a brief reprieve as his hands slide down your sides and hips, fingers hooking under the band of your pants, and you break away to remove them and your underwear.

Maren slides a finger between your lower lips, eyes widening at the amount of slick he feels. “Shit, you are so wet.”

“Maren, please–”

You don’t need to say anything more. He slides his middle finger through your folds, up and down, up and down, building up an anticipation that shatters as his finger sinks inside you.

“Ahh!” you cry out as he pushes it deeper, grabbing his forearm to stabilize yourself. His hands are so large, fingers so thick that he can reach all the way to your cervix without stretching. You clench down on the thick digit, dizzy at how easily just one fills you up.

Maren starts to pump his finger slowly, and pleasure shoots through you. The muscles of his forearm flex beneath your hand as he soon fingers you into a mess, your legs shaking as you grind into his palm. He’s biting his lip at the sight of you coming undone on just his hand.

“Kuh, keep going!” you pant desperately. “More, more!”

“More?” he pushes his ring finger at your entrance. “Like this?”

“Yes! Nnnh–!” Your back arches as he pushes the second finger inside you along with the first, the stretch persistent and pleasant and filling. The slick, wet squelch rings in your ears. You rub your clit desperately with one finger, eyes rolling back.

“Shit,” he curses. “Look at you, so needy. Who woulda thought under all that, you’re just a needy little slut?”

Maren slides his other hand up your side to flick at your nipple with his thumb, and his fingers curl abruptly inside you, making you cry out in surprise and delight, the mounting pleasure spiking in intensity. He rubs insistently at your g-spot, and this time, when your orgasm slams into you, he can feel it fluttering around his fingers.

“Ah, ahh–!” You curl forward, almost weak from the intensity, shivers going through you along with the throbbing of your clit. “Coming!”

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel you,” he says, kissing your forehead. “It’s cute how easily you cum.”

“I want my third one to be from you fucking me,” you state intently. His eyes go wide a moment before he laughs.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

“That’s right. I want you to make me regret ever having run into you. I want to think about tonight for the rest of my life.”

Maren’s blush deepens, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he grins. “You keep catching me off guard, you know that? Alright, then. You think you can take it, then I’ll give it to you.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and uses the slicked digits to tease your nipples. The stimulation is different with the new lubrication, but in a good way, a sigh falling from your lips as he works heat into your body anew. You take his hand, pulling it up to your mouth, and lick the sticky fluid from his fingers. His breath hitches as you surprise him once more, a tender moan coming out when you start to suck on his fingers, one at a time.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Maren groans, his other hand reaching down to undo his zipper. He hastily shoves his boxers down to pull out his cock, jerking himself to the sight and sensation of your little mouth on his fingers. “How–how do you want to do this? I don’t have a condom.”

You take his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. “I have the implant.” You glance over your shoulder and flush hot all over at the sight of his massive cock in his hand. Naturally he’s proportional, and there’s no way it’s going to fit as he is. “Um…you’re huge, Maren. I don’t think it’s gonna–wait, you can make yourself smaller, right?”

He looks conflicted at the idea. “How small are we talking?”

You weren’t sure what his aversion to being smaller was, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Thinking for a moment, you offer, “what if I mount you, and you just shrink until it goes in? If you get to a point where you don’t want to keep going, you can stop and we’ll do something else.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Maren nods, seemingly put at ease.

You tug at his vest. He chuckles and removes it, then his pants and boxers. As soon as he’s naked, you throw your arms around his neck and start making out with him again.

“You know,” you say between kisses, “perk of you–being smaller–can kiss and fuck me–at the same time.”

He hums in response, not outright rejecting the idea. At his current height, riding him meant he couldn’t kiss you without breaking his spine. But at his current height, nothing was going to happen anyway.

Maren’s heated kisses work you back into a frenzy of need until you’re breaking away, licking the large scar on his left pectoral before kissing down his chest and belly, until your ass is pressed against his cock. It’s so big it touches your lower back, leaving a smear of precum on your skin.

“Okay,” you say, taking hold of his cock and positioning yourself over it. Maren sucks in a breath at the touch, and you follow suit as you press the blunt head against your vulva. It’s like trying to fuck an eggplant, it’s just not gonna happen, though the wet, smooth skin does feel good against you. “I’m ready.”

Maren nods and lets out a sigh. You feel a slight shift, not immediately realizing he’s changing, until a second later when you realize his head no longer reaches the pillow. He shrinks slowly, losing inch by inch, and you wiggle your hips a little to feel if he’s small enough yet.

You both gasp as he starts to penetrate you, but he can’t get further than the head.

“A-Almost,” you stammer. Another inch of height off, and you’re able to sink down onto him slowly. “There! Yes!”

Overall, Maren’s only lost about four feet of height. At 11 feet tall he’s still huge in comparison to you, and you’re a bit surprised at yourself. 

He must be, too, because he asks, “It’s not too much?” 

“I think–I can handle–nnng…” You lose focus as he bottoms out. His cock is still huge, bigger than anyone you’ve been with or any toy you’ve used, and the stretch hurts just a little bit. But he seemed so reluctant to get smaller, you don’t want to push him any more than he has. You just need some time to adjust, and you tell him as much.

“Ya sure, babe?”

“Yeah…It’s, it’s kind of good like this…” you hang your head down, looking at the point where your bodies are connected. There’s still several inches of him left out. He’s so thick that the broad head of him pushes firmly against your g-spot and doesn’t let you forget it’s there. You lift your hips experimentally, and the movement makes you both gasp again, a jolt of intertwined heat.

“Fuck, how are you taking so much? Little thing like you,” Maren’s hands rest on your hips as you start moving up and down. “You like big dick, huh, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, yes,” you pant as you start riding him in earnest. “Oh–oh, fuck, Maren…”

“You’re more wild than you let on. I think you’ve been waiting for something like this, huh? Waiting for someone like me.” His breath is heavy, his husky words encouraging. “So wound up when we first met–turns out all you needed was to let loose, hmm?”

He’s not even dirty talking, not really, but the way he speaks to you just makes you wetter. You’re able to keep going thanks to it, keeping the friction from getting uncomfortable. Panting, you roll your hips as you ride him, grinding him where you need him most.

“Tell me how it feels, tell me how that big dick feels,” Maren says.

“Good! Feels so good!”

He rewards you with a sudden, hard spank, and you gasp.

“You got tighter! You are a masochist.”

He smacks you again, making you cry out. “Maren!”

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my name!”

Smack!

“Maren-!”

Your pace slows as you tire–the festival has you drained–but Maren doesn’t hesitate to grab your hips, bracing his legs against the bed to thrust up into you. His tongue pokes out slightly as he pants, bouncing you on his cock, and you’re able to rub your clit now that he’s picked up the slack.

He moans, grip tightening on your hips as his pace picks up. Each thrust shoves you closer and closer to the edge until you crash over it with a strangled cry of his name, orgasm ripping through you.

“I got ya,” he pants, his hurried thrusts work you through your orgasm, head spinning at the feel of your walls spasming around him. “Gonna…ah, shit, I’m gonna cum…!”

He stops abruptly, pulling you down onto him so hard it hurts a little, head thrown back and moaning from deep in his gut. His cock throbs as he empties inside you, and then there’s no sound left but the both of you catching your breath.

He softens inside you, but is still so large he doesn’t fall out until you get off of him. You collapse next to his side, resting your head against him, a thick haze of relief and sated pleasure fogging up your brain.

Maren’s arm slings over your body, pulling you closer. You look up at him. He smiles when your gazes meet, that charming, devilish grin that got you here.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“Never been better.” You match his grin. “Next round, can you fuck me against the wall?”

“On the wall, on the table, on the floor…” he trails off, and you both giggle. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“One more day of the festival left.”

You cuddle into his side. “Will you spend it with me?”

Maren’s gaze softens. “Of course, sweetheart.”

It turns out that Maren has far more stamina than you do. He puts you through your paces, and you’re exhausted and sore the next day, leading him to practically carry you around. The final show is incredible, and when the day comes to a close and it’s time to part ways, you tear up a little. Maren’s as cheerful as ever, but you can see past the front he puts out just a little, now–you know he’s bummed, too.

“Keep your chin up, sweetheart. Maybe someday we’ll meet again.” He says, wiping at the corners of your eyes. “Promise me you won’t miss a guy like me too much?”

You smile and nod, even as you lie through your teeth. “I promise.”

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 09/11/2024 (The Weeknd & Anitta, Tyler the Creator)

Gracie Abrams snabs her first UK #1 this week with “That’s So True”, which just two weeks ago debuted at #19 and is now, thanks to special discounted sales, topping the chart, usurping Gigi Perez’s “Sailor Song” after just one week. As for what’s below, we have a cooler week so welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

content warning: language, references to sex, weapons, daddy issues and prostitution

Rundown

As always, we start the episode with our notable dropouts, those being songs exiting the UK Top 75, which is what I cover, after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40. This week, we bid adieu to not only all of the Halloween tracks, which aren’t really worth listing – you know them all by now and they’ll be back last week next year – but also a set of duos: Liam Payne’s solo cuts, “For You” (Fifty Shades Freed) with Rita Ora and “Strip that Down” featuring Quavo, two tracks falling victim to arbitrary UK chart rules: “Noid��� by Tyler, the Creator and “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan, more on those later, and Coldplay having both “WE PRAY” with Little Simz, Burna Boy, Elyanna and TINI and “feelslikeimfallinginlove” drop off this week. Other than that, we say our farewells to “Mantra” by JENNIE and “You & Me” by Disclosure featuring Eliza Doolittle: a lot of good songs making their exits this week, sadly.

Now, what’s making up for all that? We have a few gains and four strong new entries to pick through later in the episode. As for our returns… well, it’s a slow week in November, meaning we begin our annual thawing of Christmas music, starting with “Last Christmas” by Wham! at #61 and “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey at #58. From this point on, these episodes may be shorter and forcedly more festive. We also see a spike in older tracks returning once again, amidst some newer tracks, with the list as follows: “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac at #75, “Belong Together” by Mark Ambor at #72, “Yellow” by Coldplay at #71, “Scared to Start” by Michael Marcagi at #70, “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls at #68, “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers at #67, “NEW DROP” by Don Toliver at #64 and perhaps most notably, “labour” by indie-folk one-hit-wonder Paris Paloma at #62. It peaked at #29 in 2023 the same week Ed Sheeran’s “Eyes Closed” debuted at #1, and due in part to its feminist themes, as well as fitting a wave of more emotionally open folk-pop from women on the charts, it has had a resurgence that I can’t really complain about – I didn’t remember the song but on relisten, I still like it, perhaps more than I did back then. Turns out in my old review for it that I almost predicted a similar trend to what is actually happening on the charts right now with a larger focus on organic, 2010s-resembling indie and folk-pop having a larger moment. Maybe I don’t always bullshit my way through these episodes – and, hey, she still has the time to launch a second track on the charts, it’s an opportune time for her.

There are some noteworthy gains here too, many of which have also been here a while, such as “Riptide” by Vance Joy at #65, unfortunately, “Slow it Down” by Benson Boone at #60, “The Days” by Chrystal at #55, “The Sound of Silence” by Disturbed at #54, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction at #53, “I Only Smoke When I Drink” by nimino at #52, “TOO COOL TO BE CARELESS” by PAWSA at #51, “Burning Down” by Alex Warren at #50, “Heavy is the Crown” by Linkin Park at #49, “Don’t Dream it’s Over” by Crowded House at #48, “I Had Some Help” by Post Malone and Morgan Wallen at #46, “Austin (Boots Stop Workin’)” by Dasha at 42, “Close to You” by Gracie Abrams at #41 (she’s really having a moment right now and it’s beyond me as to why), then “Stargazing” by Myles Smith at #29, “The Emptinesss Machine” by Linkin Park at #28, “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims at #26, “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” by Shaboozey at #25 – I will say that sometimes it’s disheartening to see so many long-term hits rebound just as there should be a winter shake-up. Not that the newer tracks are any fit to replace them, with “Timeless” by The Weeknd and Playboi Carti at #21, sigh, but also “Bad Dreams” by Teddy Swims at #15 as he grabs a second top 10 with “The Door” at #8, a song that has grown on me a lot since my review, and finally, just on the cusp of that region is Billie Eilish’s fantastic “WILDFLOWER” at #11, which I think will be able to make it there in the next few weeks.

In terms of our top five, we already know about Gracie and Gigi’s folk-pop songs switching places at #1, but we also see Chappell Roan hit a new peak with “HOT TO GO!” at #5 and there’s a woman playing at least co-lead on every track here, as Abrams’ “I Love You, I’m Sorry” sticks to #4 and “APT.” by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars is down to #3. I’m not sure if that’s a significant stat considering the political climate, but it’s something. You know what’s not… women?

New Entries

#69 – “One by One” – Central Cee

Produced by Cash Cobain

Okay, let’s get the needed waffle out of the way: this was initially promoted with the live performance on A COLORS SHOW, which genuinely has so little distinctly different from the official version that it may have just assumed that role instead. This beat samples Bryson Tiller’s 2015 track “For However Long”, which itself cribs from Jodeci’s “Alone” from back in 1993. Neither were released as singles, and both in eras where that actually mattered, so they never charted. What I most want to acknowledge in this is the top one slizzer, the Slizzy God, Cash Cobain, finally making his official dent on the top 75 after having influenced Jordan Adetunji’s “KEHLANI” earlier this year. As briefly discussed in the review for that, sexy drill, slizzy drill, whatever you wish to deem it, is a niche subgenre pioneered by Cash and surrounding artists like Chow Lee, PoWR Trav, wolfacejoeyy, etc. out of New York and taking a more melodic, R&B-sampling approach to that city’s burgeoning drill music. The lyrics are sexual, the vocals are dripping wet with meek Auto-Tune, and the beats have a certain constant underlying tension to them due to the drum patterns and mostly shoddy mixing. This year has been big for the genre thanks mostly to “KEHLANI” and, ahem, “Grippy”, and I’ve become somewhat of a scholar just because it’s a fun scene with often recognisable samples and funny lines or deliveries that creep up on you on multiple listens because they’re not immediately obvious or practically mumbled. I for one have been hypnotised by Cash Cobain’s debut solo album, PLAY CASH COBAIN, practically since release.

One thing Cench definitely isn’t is subtle or saying anything you won’t notice on first listen, given his crass delivery, but that perfectly fits with the shoddy bass master and chipmunk sample, and he leaves a similar amount of empty space, given the lack of ad-libs originating from the fact it was originally published as a live performance, so it functions perfectly fine as a sexy drill song, and is actually enhanced and made unique by Cench’s presence, as his lyrics actually have genuine attempts at multisyllabic rhymes and clever wordplay, unlike most slizzy drillers who rely on comically autopilot sex raps, not that this is a bad thing, but Cench is also just really funny here! He threatens those who are tweeting at him to log out of their account whilst also saying that he bought the PS4 and scented candles to his trap to help make it “homely” which is hilarious… though I guess Cench can’t even get a PS5. He seems to be slightly disdained, but not particularly, about not being able to watch Disney Channel but SPECIFICALLY The Suite Life of Zack & Cody – I question if that’s much of a loss – and that is all in the chorus. It does help that Cench’s flow, whilst mostly the same throughout, brings a typically British mouthful to a genre that is otherwise “less is more”, whilst still shouting out New York, as well as comparing himself to Jason Derulo and… Tyga, saying he had “young money”… I’m not sure if even he is aware of the other meaning there because I’m not sure he would have kept the lyric in otherwise. My favourite part of the whole song, which feels not like a mockery of the genre but him being very ridiculous over it, is when he starts the second verse by just listing the weapons he would own not only if he didn’t live in the UK, but in different time periods, because if he lived in the Stone Age, he would have had a spear. Great. Thanks, Cench. This is the kind of humour and unique production I found appealing before he started to succumb to the pressure of trends and virality, and I’m glad to see it back even if briefly. Let’s hope he locks in on the album.

#47 – “Casual” – Chappell Roan

Produced by Dan Nigro and Ryan Linvill

I’ve long been frustrated with not really connecting to Chappell Roan’s singles from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess that have charted, often for small nitpicks of reasons that have to do with the production or structure not functioning as well as they could to uphold the strong writing and a narrative connection I often resonated with or appreciated to some degree. I’m glad that this one has actually been the one to click really well. That could be found in the lighthearted conceit of it all that speaks to deeper issues: the comical framing of her hanging with a potential romantic partner in a more platonic way and asking at what point during their sexual and more wholesome intimacy is it still a casual and not long-term relationship? That all gathers, through a droopy 80s synth and gated drums, a wave of distrust and disappointment about her girlfriend’s lack of commitment, and as the descriptions of sex get more intense and vivid, as well as the mental health sacrifices Chappell’s making for her girlfriend’s family get revealed, the longing turns into a hateful frustration, a bitterness that arises in large part to the expectations Chappell has coming into a relationship that she acknowledges aren’t only unfounded but perhaps unrealistic, shaming herself for them in the second verse for giving into “dumb love”. It has a more reasonable and less unlikeable bitterness than “Good Luck, Babe!”, no production issues that deweight its impact like “Red Wine Supernova” and the writing actually progresses quite sensationally towards the outro, unlike the somewhat muddled “Pink Pony Club”, so I think aside from the dumb fun of “HOT TO GO!”, this is the first of hers to really stick with me, and definitely elevates above that song, even if the core conceit isn’t too dissimilar. If I had one issue, it’s that I get too connected with the narrative that the effective, disappointed self-blame hits too close and makes me want to hear much more about how this relationship actually ends. If that’s not effective songwriting, I don’t know what it is.

#33 – “Like Him” – Tyler, the Creator featuring Lola Young

Produced by Tyler, the Creator

Out of all songs from CHROMAKOPIA to swap out “Noid” with, I did not expect the late-album ballad, if anything I assumed we’d see one of the bangers, like “Rah Tah Tah” or especially “Sticky” with Sexyy Red, GloRilla and Lil Wayne. I’m not complaining though, because this is one of the best songs of the year, it’s heartbreaking and I cannot do it justice. It’s not all doom and gloom, of course, as Tyler inserts some comedy in it as always, whether it be the “huh?” he slides in from what sounds like a shoddily-EQ’d Baby Keem sample but I stand corrected if he actually went in the studio to record a few sounds, or the intro, wherein Tyler’s mother Bonita compares Tyler to his father, setting up the “Like Him” theme but also listing every point of comparison on his body before she gets cut off. That kind of bittersweet, slight ironic humour comes with the familial territory the song otherwise works in, with the track acting as a bit of a plea to Bonita: if he’s so like him, why doesn’t he know who he is, or where he is? Where is Tyler’s father in his life? It’s a question that T has been struggling with for much of his career with constant references and some full songs directed to his absence like “Answer”, which is particularly potent in retrospect considering this song is full of questions.

Starting with sombre pianos and a frail high-register performance from Tyler, who sings for all of the track, it eventually develops into a progressive soul track backed by harmonies from British singer Lola Young and a gorgeous soaring guitar in the back and the detailed soundscape you should expect from one of Tyler’s slow jams, that fuzzy synth coating in particular contrasting with the breathless gasps that appear all across the album. You also have the chorus accentuated with what sounds like Bonita herself chiming in with “Like what?”, acknowledging the role she played with the absence of Tyler’s father, which is expanded upon firstly in the second verse, wherein Tyler croons directly to her, with a great pause before he delves into how everything worked out and there may even be a sense of guilt there that Tyler is still on the hopeless chase for something he never had and won’t ever need – hence all the empty gaps left in the production. It resonates particularly hard for me, not that I’m in this specific situation, but as someone without a father figure in adulthood, I can relate to the idea of having something inexplicably missing there that you just kind of have to fill in for yourself. The most potent point is that incredible bridge, wherein Tyler stops the question at simply, “Do I look?”, asking his mother whether it’s worthwhile searching for either his father or that part of him that’s missing due to his absence, before a glance of piano and a vacant hole failingly filled in by Baby Keem pre-empting a wraparound of synths climaxing the song with utter defiance. In his third, improvised-sounding verse, spent mostly in the mix as backing vocals, he half-raps about his devotion to his mother but simultaneously, the insistence that he doesn’t “look like him”, because he’s everything HE wanted himself to be, and even with how abrupt Lola Young’s belting ends, you still get the time to chew on that dynamic… before that crushing outro, a home recording of his mother apologising for her involvement in keeping Tyler’s father out of his life, a plea from her for forgiveness over an off-tune bass note and cascading keys that really tugs at the heartstrings as someone who’s followed Tyler’s career and knows just how common and meaningful this topic is to him. Hell, it even wraps up the closure Tyler desperately seeks on the album, and leads into another banger in “Balloon” that, in many ways, is a middle finger to what a father figure could have brought into his life, that being restriction, tradition and hypermasculinity. Once again, it’s a brilliant song from a brilliant album, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get yet another switcheroo but I’d be delighted to have this one stick around. It is a wonder of a song.

#22 – “São Paulo” – The Weeknd and Anitta

Produced by The Weeknd, MIKE DEAN and Sean Solymar

Named after the Brazilian city that he premiered the track in, this new single with co-star Anitta, a massive singer in her own right in Latin America, is in some ways an embracing of Brazilian funk, which has been having a viral surge creeping up in the western world and having major influence on western artists now after years of it soundtracking the country’s cities. This song in particular is probably the widest western audience funk mandelão will ever get, and it’s not compromising either! It’s not as minimal as what you may hear from the genre, but it’s got the raw aggression of the rough cheap synths and the bass-heavy rumble manned by an oddly-mixed Anitta who, despite the genre being so in your face, feels about as far away from the party as possible even when you translate her stuttering, Auto-Tuned chanting to English and realise just how filthy it is. In fact, that’s my main problem with the song: as much as it embraces the genre, it seems way too distant as an overall piece from the actual fun, and sexiness, that this genre could be used for, with Abel on a murmuring autopilot once again – he sounds so sick of even opening his mouth this whole album cycle so far – and drenched in a reverb that echoes him out of the immediacy this production needs, with his sexual lyrics not prompting anything all too interesting either.

I like the chaotic sample brought in to an almost off-beat bridge but that all leads to what should be a promising second half… and ends up just trailing off. The Weeknd somehow ends up both robotic and out-of-breath – I’m not accusing it of being AI because it absolutely sounds human, but that’s also how I would describe what happens when you filter high-pitch vocals through AI and it gets all glitched out, losing breath, life and also clarity like Abel does here. I do enjoy the sly reference of the prostitute being “desensitised with money” and him needing to pay for his pleasure with work of his own, but outside of a burst into a drop that fails to really make much impact thanks to MIKE DEAN’s wankery souring the party, I’m unsure to what point any of the song’s second half serves that the first didn’t. It’s not the worst of his singles from this album so far, but it’s the one that tests your patience the most and honestly shows the most frustrating potential. Sadly, trying isn’t exactly on the agenda for the team behind this final album, and I hope the album gives me at least something to latch onto, unless, and I fear I might be correct, this is part of a narrative that involves losing interest in the “Weeknd” persona and shedding that baggage away. I suppose we’ll just have to see.

Conclusion

I suppose it has to get Worst of the Week, given that it’s the only dent on an otherwise above-average set of tracks this week, though Tyler, the Creator still blasts them all out of the water so he grabs Best of the Week easily with “Like Him” featuring Lola Young. As for the Honourable Mention, choose your gender, and as for what’s on the horizon… I don’t know, JLS? Who cares? Thank you for reading, rest in peace to Nipsey Hussle, and I’ll see you next week!

[thesinglesjukebox]

MYLES SMITH - "STARGAZING"

"I just signed with my label [RCA Records], and I was like, 'I want to write something that’s really warm, fun and happy.'"

[4.15]

Jonathan Bradley: Three makes a trend, and it turns out the '10s are back, baby! Myles Smith is riding shotgun all the way to the folk-EDM festival and he... did I just hear a millennial whoop? [3]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: "It's okay to feel x," reads Myles Smith's Spotify bio. What an exciting, original insight, reflective of the amount of utility one might glean from this generic thumper, which sounds like a Coldplay and Lewis Capaldi hybrid. [4]

Alfred Soto: I hear OneRepublic's "Apologize," hints of Chris Martin's oat-voiced yearning, and in the combination of piano + shows of vocal soul Sam Smith's creamy dance tracks from a decade ago. I'm less churlish in the face of Myles Smith's generic humility as I get older. Someone has to testify on the pop charts.  [6]

Taylor Alatorre: Wake Me Sister Up Top Counting Will Go By Gone Paradise World Let Ho House Soul the On Home Talks I of Hey Hey Gone Her Little Drive Wait Lego Riptide Stars Gone Home. (English translation: “Accept the truth of Eternal 2013 into your heart today.”) [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: I realize it's hypocritical to praise Shinedown's remarkable recreation of 2004 but criticize Myles Smith's remarkable recreation of 2014, but christ. [1]

Brad Shoup: It's fucking cryogenic, isn't it? [5]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Close enough. Welcome back, "Budapest" by George Ezra. [4]

TA Inskeep: Mewling post-Sheeran nothings -- of course it's big. [2]

Mark Sinker: Lovely voice, and the song does good work with that — but that’s all it does really; as melody and story it ends up at just one pleasantly unexciting level. [5]

Ian Mathers: It's for the best that this was a lyric video so that I could be immediately disabused of the notion that he sings of the two of them as "intertwining songs" (it's "souls" instead, much less distinct and lovely; oh well). Still, if we're going to continue to try to fill every single niche between the ballad and the dancefloor, this feels like a relatively productive mutation. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: Songwriter Peter Fenn, during a 2018 interview with Vogue LA, mentioned that he's scored commercials for "Dr. Seuss, Thumbtack, Red Cross, Baptist Health Care, and Dropbox" under the Sunny Productions banner. (The website no longer exists.) He also wrote this light, soft gem. Please take a chance on this guy -- he's very talented and capable of making soft cotton-candy guitar pop. Do not judge him by this. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Every part of this is rote; the verse melody recalls "Heart and Soul," the chorus Avicii. This is the music that remains when all creative choices have been removed from the songwriting process. I feel nostalgic for Benson Boone already. [2]

Scott Mildenhall: The song of a Southgate summer; a man who would pick this for Eurovision if he could. Once more, his pragmatism would prevail -- it would finish fifth, bewildering all who see only a barren display. All the stars have gone missing, and that in itself is remarkable. It's an achievement to write something so cosmically vapid, but this is what they train for. [4]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[abedofroses]

Barns Courtney at Audacy's Riptide Music Festival (2023)

On the status of his next album

(Source)

[kariachi]

Quick ficlet to go with yesterday's au. We're skipping the first in-game day and just cutting to that afternoon.

~~

When Kevin returned to the Pokecenter it was with a Popplio under his arm, a sparkling rock that radiated power in his pocket, and incredibly mixed emotions.

Pros of the day: He had a pokemon now, and a Junior License. He had a pokedex, one of the new ones that were supposed to interface with a Rotom- which seemed a bit of a waste when he certainly couldn’t afford to get one, but maybe you could find them in Alola. That girl, Lillie, had looked at him like a hero for trying to help her pokemon. He’d been noticed by a legendary and not only lived to tell the tale but gotten a gift out of it.

Cons of the day: Who in their right mind sent anybody to go see a shrine guarded by territorial pokemon?! Yes, Kevin would have been able to handle them himself under normal circumstances, but nobody in Alola knew, and hanging over a crevice on a half-rotten bridge was not normal circumstances! That whole situation had been awful. His life had flashed before his eyes during that fall, and it hadn’t even been a good view!

Kwarrel was going to have a heart attack when he found out. If he found out. Kevin was still trying to decide if he would tell him.

Starter still in his grasp, Kevin climbed up to his bunk and collapsed with a groan. With a bark the water-type slipped from his hold and climbed onto his stomach, flopping out like it too was exhausted. Then again it hadn’t had a trainer for a whole day before almost losing him, so maybe it was. Whichever way, Kevin settled a hand in its head for soothing pets.

“Ya know what, Riptide? This festival tomorrow better be awesome after everything. Talking music, food, the works.” It was the least the people of Iki Town could do after their lack of bridge maintenance almost killed him.

He chose to interpret the responding bark as an agreement.

[vanweezer]

i should be getting high at riptide music festival rn

[deepslowpanicfics]

♡ deepslowpanic Namgi Fics ♡

True North [ E | 11/11 | 117k ] long distance relationship | first meetings | road trip | solar eclipse | online relationship | falling in love | emotional hurt/comfort | anxiety and misunderstandings | communication | soft emo boys and music references

You're One in a Melon [ E | 20k ] big gay farm universe | online dating | awkward sexting and flirting | chance meetings | banter | it's nuts but so, so sweet | appreciation for namjoon's chest

All I want for Christmas is Ewe [ E | 14k ] big gay farm universe |christmas fluff | established relationship | horny gremlin yoongi | soft and sweet namjoon | fluff and love | relationship milestones

Some ASSembly Required [ E | 8k] strangers to lovers | 5+1 | ikea worker yoongi | helpless himbo namjoon | building and breaking furniture | awkward flirting | getting together | sexual tension | pining | silly situations | thighs

'Cause You Stop the Noise [ E | 7/7 | 70k] strangers to lovers | meet cute (sort of) | missed connections at an mcr concert | first dates | getting together | soft emo boys | shy namjoon and confident yoongi | music as a love language

Subliminally Yours [ E | 10k] friends to lovers | pining | music nerds | feelings realization | idiots in love | love confessions through song | music as a metaphor for love

Fine Art [ E | 6k ] friends to lovers | art gallery dates | 5+1 | pining and sexual innuendos | sexual tension | yoongi is a tease and namjoon is suffering | public sex

Helping Hand [ E | 7k ] friends to lovers | roommates | recreational drug use | watching porn together | it's not weird to jerk off with your friend | just bro things | pining | docking

You, In the Distance [ E | 3/3 | 32k ] exes to lovers | post break up | lonely namjoon | music producers | slow burn | misunderstandings | communication | sad boy hours x10 | getting back together | love confessions | yoongi is yoongi but also... there's a cat

You've Gotta Be Kitten Me [ E | 14k ] secret camboy yoongi | tattoo artist namjoon |awkward flirting | meet cute | teasing and flirting | namjoon is having a hard time | fluff and a little angst | getting together

Project Mismanagement [ E | 15k ] coworkers | one sided enemies to lovers | office pranks and shenanigans | sexual tension | yoongi is an hr nightmare | accidental nudes

Let Hyung Help [ E | 6k ] strangers to lovers | neighbors | 5+1 | hurt/comfort | yoongi is a good hyung | namjoon has a broken arm | getting to know each other | intimacy

Recipe for Disaster (or Love) [ T | 6.5k ] strangers to lovers | chef yoongi | rapper namjoon | kitchen disasters | minor injuries | soft boys falling in love | cooking lessons | food as a metaphor for love

Tangerine Hues [ E | 3k ] friends to lovers | getting together | sleepy confessions | touching and kissing | soft boys and vibes | sunsets and honey and love

Riptide [ E | 4/4 | 35k ] strangers to lovers | meet cute | aquarium | awkward flirting | confident yoongi is bad at feelings | hurt/comfort | lots of miscommunication | degradation kink and aftercare | they're both messes but they can make it work

Geometry [ E | 8.5k ] established relationship | misunderstandings | sexual experimentation | trying to spice things up | idiots in love | namgi try to 69 and it goes about how you'd expect

In the Soap [ E | 4k ] established relationship | emotional hurt/comfort | caretaking | bathtub sex | very soft and slippery

Meowments in Time [ E | 4k] established relationship | emotional hurt/comfort | thunderstorms | yoongi turns into a cat when he's scared | soft love

Greater Heights [ E | 9k ] friends to lovers | traveling together | sharing a bed | exploring a new city | accidental (?) cuddling | love confessions | getting together | idiots in love

Songs I can't believe I forgot [ E | 8.5k ] friends to lovers | roommates | music festival | soft punk boys | idiots in love | getting together | cold hands

The Feline is Meowtual [ E | 7k ] established relationship | horny monster namjoon | yoongi loses a bet | kitten play | collars and cat ears | breeding kink | rough sex

Hearts are Bound to Beat [ E | 3/3 | 35k ] soulmates | slow burn | overcoming loneliness | fluff and feelings | soft shy boys | falling in love and letting go

Louder Than An Orange Flame [ M | 15k ] hurt/comfort | convenience store | underground boxing | surreal imagery | soft and melancholy | namjoon just wants to help

[xaeyrnofnbe]

ok ok ok so basically i’ve got this jrwi riptide-inspired location right. a sort of hub for pirates to chill and party? i’ll. describe it under the cut

out in the sea, far from any other civilization or landmass, is an island. it’s not very big, like, it really is quite the underwhelming thing, with a small forest on it. but the ground on it rises quite high

it’s all sharp upward slopes for the most part, but on one side of the island is a great wide gap that lets water further inland, with rough cliffs on either side

and at the center of the island is a decently-sized cove/grotto/body of water idk. huge cliffs all around, curling over the rim on some sides, with trees hanging over the edges. it’s a very shaded, beautiful place, fantastically foreboding stone walls with vines and greenery creeping down, plenty of colorful birds, it’s a sight to behold

the thing is, though, is you can’t see much of the main body of water, because it’s all covered over by wooden docks and planks and boardwalks, all built around the biggest pirate ship you’ve ever seen, it probably hasn’t sailed in decades and certainly won’t now that it’s permanently embedded into the surrounding walkways. but the whole place is covered with banners and flags and lanterns and torches, so much color and light

the top decks of the ship are used for parties and dances and festivals, all walks of life welcome to share in the celebrations. there’s food and there’s drink and there’s rarely no music playing from somewhere. lower decks are used for rest and for training, the ship is so enormous there’s more than enough space to be used for little things, everyone who stays regularly gets their own room, or only has to share it with a few others. weaponry and training dummies are kept in larger rooms- actual fights, outside of duels, are forbidden, but training and practice are encouraged.

on the same level as the docks are plenty of cave entrances in the surrounding cliffs, with vines and cloth alike as doors. these caves are used as storage, as well as serving as more quiet spaces for those less interested in the rowdiness of the central ship.

[taylorslistofexlovers]

Any Florida moots going to riptide music festival?

[newmusicradionetwork]

Southern California’s BeachLife Festival May 5-7 Announces Lineup for 4th Annual Event with The Black Keys, Gwen Stefani, The Black Crowes

Since launching in 2019, BEACHLIFE FESTIVAL has quickly established a reputation for combining the best of Southern California’s idyllic culture into a one-of-a-kind immersive experience with something for everyone. Taking place May 5-7, 2023 on the picturesque waterfront in Redondo Beach, CA, the premier live music, art, and culinary event will feature performances from The Black Keys, Gwen Stefani, and The Black Crowes, among an eclectic group of top talent spanning rock, indie, pop, jam, reggae and more. Additionally, there will be wide-ranging food and drink offerings from acclaimed chefs and local breweries, unique on-stage dining experiences, art installations and onsite activations highlighting various philanthropic causes, eco-friendly and sustainable initiatives. The music line-up for Friday, May 5: The Black Keys, Pixies, Modest Mouse, Tegan and Sara, Kurt Vile and the Violators, LP, The Airborne Toxic Event, Travie McCoy (Gym Class Heroes), SHAED, The Beaches, Poncho Sanchez, BabyJake, XYZPDQ, Jonny Two Bags (Social Distortion), Zander Schloss (Circle Jerks) and Devon Baldwin. The music line-up for Saturday, May 6: Gwen Stefani, Sublime with Rome (special performance of 40oz. to Freedom), Band of Horses, Iration, Dispatch, Sugar Ray, Aly & AJ, Shwayze, Tomorrows Bad Seeds, Tropidelic, Eli Smart, Rainbow Girls, Special C, Kevin Sousa Band, Stacey Dee and Linda Le (Bad Cop Bad Cop) and The 415’s. The music line-up for Sunday, May 7: The Black Crowes, John Fogerty (performing the music of Creedence Clearwater Revival), CAAMP, The Head and the Heart, Noah Cyrus, Mavis Staples, Trampled by Turtles, The Wailers, Jim Lindberg (Pennywise), Donavon Frankenreiter, Winnetka Bowling League, David Ryan Harris, Hearty Har and Poppy Harlo. 3-day and single day General Admission, General Admission Plus, VIP, Captain and Admiral tickets for the BeachLife Festival are on sale now at www.BeachLifeFestival.com. GA tickets are available now starting at $159 (plus fees) for single day and $379 (plus fees) for a 3-day pass. For a little more, General Admission Plus allows for unlimited ins and outs. For a truly unique luxury experience, BeachLife offers the all-inclusive premium Captain’s Pass with privileges such as complimentary catering and beverage offerings, exclusive bungalow, elevated main stage views, parking, commemorative tote bag filled with gifts from our partners and more. Admiral Passes are limited and include 2-4 GA+, VIP or Captain tickets along with a boat mooring for three nights. For added luxury, space and privacy, BeachLife offers a limited number of private cabanas available for purchase. BeachLife also offers multiple ticket insurance options for purchase. All ages are welcome and children ages 5 and under are free with ticketed adult. For detailed descriptions of ticket options, please visit: www.beachlifefestival.com/ticket-types BeachLife was co-founded by local Allen Sanford and Rob Lissner, along with support from Partner and SpeakEasy Stage curator Jim Lindberg (Pennywise / solo artist / author) as an alternative offering to the typical festival with high level attention to food and beverage, curation, and detail. “It’s surreal to our family that BeachLife continues to grow in the music and surf community, and we are so excited to release this lineup — what we believe is a perfect curation to a weekend at the beach,” Sanford shares. “These artists, along with our beautiful Pacific Ocean as the backdrop, and the sand and salt in our face, will make for another unforgettable weekend at BeachLife. Throw your boardshorts or sundresses on and join us!” BeachLife will feature music performances on four stages: HighTide Stage, LowTide Stage, RipTide Stage and the SpeakEasy Stage. While the first three stages are standard festival-produced stages on the waterfront, the SpeakEasy Stage is curated by Pennywise frontman Jim Lindberg and provides intimate and stripped-down acoustic performances from an eclectic array of artists from the rock, singer/songwriter, surf, punk, and reggae rock genres. And while music takes center stage at BeachLife Festival, The Daou SideStage Experience provides foodies the opportunity to be seated onstage (literally) and served a four-course meal by celebrity chefs while their favorite musicians perform. Hailed as the “best restaurant in the South Bay” by the Orange County Register, The Daou SideStage Experience is the first culinary opportunity of its kind, located on the main stage and serviced by a team of award-winning chefs that curate their menus alongside the artists curating their set lists. This is truly a “one-of-a-kind” rock star dining experience. In addition to this 5-star dining experience, BeachLife will offer various food and beverage options including a massive craft beer bar with local LA breweries, and multiple bars, lounges, food vendors, and food trucks across the venue with vegan, vegetarian, and gluten-free options available, accessible to all festival goers. Philanthropy and community are ever important to BeachLife Festival. BeachLife supports many organizations in Southern California’s South Bay community and beyond, specifically as they relate to the preservation of beaches and oceans. With the help of the LA Kings Care Foundation and a number of national and local nonprofit organizations, BeachLife will host events and onsite activations to drive awareness to and help to raise much needed funding for these important causes. Philanthropic partners for 2023 include Surfrider, Heal The Bay, Wyland Foundation, Redondo Beach Education Foundation and Redondo Beach Police Foundation. BeachLife also supports The Rob Machado Foundation and its dedication to the environment through the BYOB program. Dubbed “the little festival that could” by Forbes, BeachLife expanded in September 2022 with the inaugural BeachLife Ranch, the only major Country & Americana festival on the beach in Southern California. While different than the surf and skate beach culture, the vibe and rapture are the same: love and respect for the outdoors, nature, friends and community. Here’s what’s been said about BeachLife Festival: “…BeachLife presents a great mix of current alternative and rock and unapologetic nostalgia. Additionally, you cannot beat the beach location, which is literally on the world famous Southern California beaches. And the food and drink, especially in the VIP, were excellent…” – Forbes “A comfortable boutique festival experience right on the Los Angeles beach” – Pollstar “Can’t-miss destination event” – Relix “A great weekend filled with musical light in a wide variety of sonic flavors, making BeachLife a clear hit…” – Pop Matters BeachLife Festival partners include: Subaru Pacific, Kinecta, Body Glove, DAOU Family Estates, Tito’s Handmade Vodka, Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey, Flying Embers Organic Hard Kombucha, LaLuca Prosecco and more to be announced. BeachLife Festival is located at 137 N. Harbor Drive, Redondo Beach, CA 90277. Read the full article

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Van performing @ Riptide Music Festival, Florida | 24th November 2019

Photos: ©Brittany Isaacson

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The Pounding Drums and Lightning Rain: Readable Noise reviews Riptide Music Festival Day 2

Amidst weather chaos, the Fort Lauderdale music festival creates a rumble of their own with a Glastonbury worthy closer to the year

(photo: Stephanie Vento)

Fort Lauderdale- The cold weather is peeking through the smalls of the rolling waves.

On any other given Sunday, the sleepy seaside would rouse it’s head with a small herd of tourists, local at their already warmed stools along the smattering of bar staples, and lemonade in the hands of the beachgoers.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

Today however, there’s a woman in medical garb telling incoming patrons of Riptide that they will be there later to administer intravenous fluids for those wanting to rid themselves of a hangover before going in to work tomorrow.

It’s a peek behind the metaphorical curtain of the city itself, but all taken in stride as Riptide Music Festival winds down another year, with great succession.

While the next day of any festival always brings slightly drowsy eyes and ready ears, today rivals in the previous day’s excitement, and to a deserved gesture.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

Today brings the finale in the form of idkhow, Barns Courtney, Switchfoot, Reel Big Fish and headliners Jimmy Eat World; the legendary alternative legends that have never taken their foot off the pedal in terms of their songwriting craftsmanship.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

But before we get to there, the clouds roll with the waves, flashing back and forth between expected Florida warmth, and English rain, as Alex DiLeo played an impromptu acoustic set opening the Main Stage, filling in for New Politics who were unfortunately unable to attend the fest at the last minute. And it must be said that it’s a tremendous responsibility he handled well, singing to a modest crowd with an acoustic.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

And just a little ways down the sandbar, past the tempting smells of the food alley, Meg Myers is doing the same but with a dizzying power; readying to perform in intense sparklemotion with an already growing audience swaying as a DJ plays pre-show tunes in the form of reggae remixes of classic Alternative tracks such as Red Hot Chili Peppers. Myers deserves the attention; the unique mixture of ironically Kate Bush and Alanis Morrisette angst, as well as a pinch of Fiona Apple-esque honesty, her music is hypnotic as it is raw in the most beautiful of ways.

When the pounding rain finally slowed enough for the tarps draped over the instruments to be unsheathed (though it didn’t hinder the crowd, who were swaying in the drops proudly) the excitement did not abate, opening with “Jealous Sea” before cresting into the powerful “Motel”.

And as the waves crash just beyond, it’s no stretch to say the musician rivals the power of the sea itself.  While Myers came onto the scene with her booming cover of the aforementioned Bush’s “Running Up That Hill”, a track that not only is a classic, but is a sort of unspoken rite of passage for all those who dare attempt to cover it, the discovery shouldn’t stop there. Dive into any track of her catalogue, and you’ll find sounds ranging anywhere from Pixies reminiscent rock with Placebo hues.  

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

Live, Myers is nothing short of stunning, displaying a quiet and ferocious power, with the only unfortunate portion being the in and out sound issues that would hinder some of the performances on the UndergroundLauderdale Stage this day. In this case, the bass drum being turned up to such a volume that it nearly overpowered all other elements of the otherwise tight act.Nevertheless, Myers special blend of songwriting and power makes her a definite act we not only want to see again live, but will remain on our radar; as should it yours. 

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

It’s that same vein of discovery that makes Riptide such a vital festival; not only opening ears to new sounds but even more importantly, new experiences. 

Some of the best examples being idkhow (I Don’t Know How But They Found Me), who are continuing to pave the path, taking up the torches that We Are Scientists, Hot Hot Heat and Prince lit, and making it into one of the strangest, and funkiest flames we have ever heard. Interjecting humor in between their tracks, they too, are a branch we are intrigued to see grow even further. 

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

And from here, we jump into an ambition that is scarcely seen, and even less so stateside: the international festival experience.Away from the normal musical local stylings, and bordering on the wonderfully dangerous, it’s a feeling most notably seen overseas and over the pond, where geography not only shapes but maps your musical stylings. Where the South’s southern most tips relishes in ska and punk, Riptide dared to bring this cultural experience in technicolor, perhaps one of the most incredible being Barns Courtney. 

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

The UK based singer is unlike anything we have seen outside of bootleg footage of Mick Jagger in his prime, proudly flaunting an almost primal energy that had everyone rising to their feet. The 9-song set felt easily like 2 EP’s worth, with a terrific electricity that felt worthy of an area, with tracks such as “Hands” quite literally driving the rainclouds away and bringing in a scorching sun that had long since been hiding; quite literally.

Courtney is the type of artist every person must see once; a human firecracker, lighting up the stage with not only the perfect catalogue of guitars and blues like soul to back a showmanship so large, but bearing a contagious smile that seems to arrive so easily. Proof of this being that there was not a single soul in attendance who didn’t raise off of their beach towels and just start dancing, swaying or flat out jumping to “99” or “Glitter and Gold”.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

It’s a brand of rock you cannot bottle, cannot brand and cannot beat. It’s safe to say that while Barns could make anywhere feel a venue bigger than it is, he deserved a headline set later in the day, when the heat of the day set into a cool.  

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

 And as the sun began to set, an odd situation began to occur in the midst of all the discovery: a sort of towel laying apocalypse. 

Again, with good intentions, the festival handed out free beach towels to all who entered the festival. However, with the entirety of the space being a beach, including that of the Main Stage, created a sort of miniaturized chaotic labyrinth arranged within the boundaries of where the pit might be; prompting cold looks when trying to walk inbetween the small cracks and quite literally try not to kick up sand.

It’s an idea we are by no means against, but hope to say an area strictly for towels and those who wish to lounge, to make the experience easier for those who simply want to absorb all the sounds around, including that of 90’s staples, Switchfoot.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

One of the acts whose tracks speak for themselves, in terms of their legacy. They have crafted a bridge across a generation that still remains sturdy, and quite full. with frontman Jon Foreman going straight  off the stage and into the the crowd, leaning on supported hands and all with a smile as they began “The Sound”, a track that lives up to it’s name, and perhaps even doubly live.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

Truly one of the more underrated live acts, their set was on grand on all levels. And while smooth sailers like iconic “Stars” may have you momentarily swaying, don’t hesitate as the San Diego act covered Beastie Boys legendary “Sabotage” with their own brand of power.

And with this night slowly, and steadily coming to an end on a fluorescent tempo left by all the bands before them; a sun conducting it’s usual Once Upon A Time In The West sunset, one of the best full doses of the aforementioned international festival experience occurs, perhaps most notably by Catfish & The Bottlemen.

(Photo: Stephanie Vento)

The English act are regular arena and festival darlings performing on the over the seas circuit but still have yet to fully crack the US fully. Due to not only the unfortunate decline of alternative stations to gain airplay from, but moreover the lack of aforementioned festival experiences to truly experience them in, and which the act thrive on.

Opening to a full house on the shore with “Longshot”, it is goosebump inciting. There is a type of inexplicable boom, where the pounding red lights sync in time alongside their Arctic Monkeys-esque riffs.  A quiet explosion occurring during “Conversation”, where the rain once again answers from the sky, that you are watching something you may not see again.

You can feel the Earth shake softly with this type of epic energy and leaving one happily breathless, as this happens so scarcely.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

While US arenas are plenty in number, with a regular line-up of stunners occupying them, the rounds often feel a test of business grit at times; with the question always being always the seats themselves, and not those occupying them.

Near everyelsewhere, the chance is one of mettle. To reach that mantle is a feeling that is chased but only if you have the love to deliver it. The arena gig is not so much numeral based, but a near religious experience of dancing with a thousand other people whose ears are in love with the sound just as much as your own.

(Photo: Jenelle DeGuzman)

It’s an experience, and risk, that Riptide nailed beautifully, with Catfish concluding “Cocoon” alongside the rain and the sound dutifully ringing out after they exited.

It’s acts like these that prove just how vast the power of great live performances can be, and we’re grateful that the festival included this.

And as the rain finally, seemingly subsides, Jimmy Eat World enter in, and the band are one of the few that do not need introductions.

(Photos: Stephanie Vento)

Narrating a great part of the 90’s and 00’s rock, they were able to do so in the best of fashions. Much like their compatriots in Deftones and Foo Fighters, they have remained as they took their origins and evolved to something more than one genre could pen in. So too have the Arizonian act grown into something amazing, with every track is just as big in ambition as the next, each bearing their key insignia of chiming guitar riffs and Jim Adkins’ signature vocals.

(Photo: Stephanie Vento)

Opening with a steady set of their hits, including “Bleed American”, which we can say without shame we were dancing with reckless abandon to, they demonstrate that while the climates may have changed, their power in what they do has most certainly not, weaving together a structured and incredible set in the shape of “Pain” and showing the extent of their creativity in “555”, narrated in a blue wash with relatable lyrics and a digital swirl.

They, like all the acts featured in this year’s line-up, are still alight with the passion they started with. Perhaps one of the best moments expressing this being “23”; a Cure reminiscent slow burn that while delivered with that signature Jimmy Eat World bedroom intimacy, is built-up with intensity. Like watching a skyscraper being built in fast motion before your eyes, this is the breadth of what the act can do. Still craft, write and most importantly, perform these songs with the same beautiful level of delivery; even as a curtain of rain comes falling down.

(Photos: Stephanie Vento)

It’s a set of the ages, and one that, even alongside the weather, was magical in every sense of the word.

In a world that seems keen on twisting around the wheel, set on trying just how hard gravity can work, it’s these experiences that are so important. Not in just the terms of disappearing inbetween the notes, as the act close their impressive near 20 song set with infamous “The Middle”, but the necessity to keep the sparkle in your eyes and heart alive.

Recharging in the form of these allowances to remind you: you are not alone in the sound, or your fight, but that the crowd is full of people; all dancing to the same tune, dancing through the chaos.

(Photo: Stephanie Vento)

Whether that is with music, art, or should you really prefer, the intravenous fluid providers who true to their word, were there following the festival with eerie needles in the dark, Riptide reminds you; get caught in the waves every now and again. Some of the best things are found in it’s lit depths. Or, enough to get you through the ride, anyhow.

-Jenelle DeGuzman

See our exclusive live capture of Barns Courtney here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdqR8eLp6-g

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concert: riptide music festival

Fort Lauderdale’s fourth Riptide Music Festival kicked off on November 23rd and 24th of 2019 with headliners The Killers and Jimmy Eat World. Opening with 30 different artists performing throughout the breezy weekend on the beach, the fans danced to The Band Camino, Barns Courtney, and Switchfoot as they all engaged with the crowd. There were also classics coming from The Killers such as Mr. Brightside and Somebody Told Me on Saturday night after The 1975 took the stage.

Photos & Writing by: Kat De Barros

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Instagram photo by Ellington Ratliff