#so i bet there were so many killer songs and ideas that were thrown out there that just never came to be because it wouldnt be commercially | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quickspinner · 4 years

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Killer Combo - Ch 8 Epilogue

Luka sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, as he played the song again, listening hard for that wrong note, that chord that was just a little bit off, or whatever it was that he needed to fix. He shook his head slightly as he finished it, pressing his lips together. All the songs he’d written in the months since he’d gotten Claire back, some that he’d even been able to record in the studio thanks to his tournament winnings, and this had to be the one that didn’t want to come together. He’d been working on it the longest and it still wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“I like this lovesick tune so much better than the last one,” Juleka sighed from where she was fussing with her hair in her mirror.

“Color me shocked,” Luka chuckled, slipping Claire off and setting her carefully in her stand. “You and Casey never did get along.”

“Yeah, well,” Juleka muttered, not looking at him. “This is why.”

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly. “I don’t follow.”

Juleka sighed and fidgeted, nervously rearranging the things on her table. “Because I know you didn’t feel like this with her. And this is what you deserve to feel. I felt like you were settling for less than you deserved and I didn’t want that for you.”

Luka paused, considering that. She was right, he knew. He’d been happy enough with Casey, but even the best parts of his relationship with Casey paled in comparison with the things he felt for Marinette.

He wasn’t going to admit it to Juleka’s face though. “Since when did you become the love expert?” Luka asked instead, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

Juleka tossed her hair over her shoulder and put her nose in the air. “We all have our talents.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just lying and I thought from the beginning that she was a high-maintenance, over-dramatic bitch who thought having a hot potential rock star boyfriend doting on her made her look good to her friends.”

Luka barked a laugh and turned away to cover the sting he still felt at her words, pulling off his shirt and dropping it on his bed as he dug through his drawers for a clean one. The one he wasn’t wearing wasn’t bad, but he’d been working on deck in the sun. If he hurried, he still had enough time to shower before he went to see Marinette. He grinned stupidly at the thought.

“Are you going to play it for her?” Juleka asked, leaning her chin on one hand and giving him a knowing look.

“I will,” he said, still smiling. “When it’s right. It’s just...not there yet. I don’t know, something’s just not quite right, it just...needs something. I’ll figure it out though.”

“You’re going to see her now, aren’t you?” Juleka snickered, and Luka rolled his eyes.

“She asked me to come by,” he shrugged, hoping he wasn’t blushing too much.

“I’ll bet she did,” Juleka leered. “I bet she loves it when you come.”

Luka rolled his eyes, snatching up the shirt he’d just changed out of and throwing it at her. “What are you, twelve?”

“Ew,” she complained, pulling off his shirt with two fingers and dropping it on the floor with an expression of disgust.

“I’m going to shower,” he huffed on his way out the door, and shut the door quickly before Juleka could make any comment on his shower temperature or activities. He was starting to think the benefits of his own place would start to outweigh the money he was saving living at home.

Half an hour later Luka stepped off the boat and headed toward the bakery with a grin on his face that he couldn’t have suppressed if he tried.

Luka Couffaine had never been a big believer in fate. He didn’t believe in predetermined destinies or that he was bound to adhere to some kind of cosmic will.

He did believe he was one damn lucky bastard.

Even in the depths of frustration and betrayal and heartbreak, he’d known that. Maybe things weren’t going his way, but he was lucky in so many ways. Luka was lucky to have a family that loved and supported him. He was lucky to have grown out of his lanky teenage ugly duckling stage into a young man that many people found attractive. He was lucky to have a talent and the means and passion to pursue it. He was lucky to have connections and friends all over the local music scene who helped him out when he needed it.

He was lucky to have met Marinette.

Luka had spent a long time wondering after his plans to tour with the band went to hell in a handbasket. About whether his friends had ever really been friends. About how much of his relationship with Casey had been a lie. Had they all been users from the start, and he just hadn’t seen it? Or had their friendship been sincere, had they been content with the plan, until Xavier had come in and dazzled them with promises of something greater? Had Casey been satisfied in their relationship until Xavier was whispering in her ear about what she deserved, how she ought to be treated, and who knew what else Luka hadn’t been around to hear?

It took a lot of thinking, a lot of sad and angry songs played on borrowed guitars that never sounded quite right, a lot of long talks with his mother, and even a few with his sister, to get him out of the spiral of self-recrimination and get his focus back on the future, on what he had to do next.

Luka hadn’t been thinking about fate or destiny or karma or even luck when he looked into Ladybug’s stunning blue eyes for the first time and shook her small hand. Oh, he’d been impressed with her from the beginning. Her entire vibe was intense and alive and she was sassy and competitive without being cruel, and she was really, really cute. But romance couldn’t have been farther from his mind at that moment.

Then she kept being thrown in his way, spirited and determined and clearly attracted to him. Marinette had a terrible poker face, and some part of him was delighted by her blushes and glances, but he squashed down the remnant of that ugly duckling teenage boy and kept his cool. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, he wasn’t interested in a fling, and he wasn’t about to lead her on just to flatter his vanity. She dealt with enough bullshit already, so he tried to show her he liked and respected her without letting it go any further.

Luka kept his cool right up until she was standing there, tough as nails, cute as a button, trying and utterly failing to cover up what a blow it was to have to forfeit an entire event’s worth of matches, knowing it would more than likely knock them out of the running for the finals. Marinette’s frustration was obvious, as was her care for her friend and her determination not to blame him.

In hindsight Luka wasn’t sure if Marinette was lucky, or he was, that he was there in that moment, ready to swoop in and save the day with his impulsive decision to stand in for Max. He’d had no idea what he was getting into. Playing with her was a blast, but he already knew she was smart and capable and powerful. He could handle Ladybug.

He was completely unprepared for Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the beating heart and passionate spirit behind that tough gamer girl front she put on.

Luka knew he was in trouble when he left the bakery with weak knees and a frantically beating heart.

He knew he was in deep trouble when she was sewing his hoodie on the Liberty and he began thoughtlessly composing a song to fit her.

He knew he was doomed when she stood on the gangplank practically glowing with the sun behind her, looking at him with those big gorgeous eyes, her perfect lips curved into a sweet smile, and all the warmth of their easy companionship still fresh in his heart.

Still, Luka had hesitated, willing to explore a tentative friendship with her but telling himself he wasn’t ready for anything more. He didn’t trust the attraction he felt towards her. Her crush on him might not even be that serious. He shouldn’t read too much into it. He would just go and compete and they would go back to being casual acquaintances and…

And then she’d taken that first step after him, reached out to him despite her obvious fear, almost expectation that he would reject her, and opened the door to so much more.

And now he had a beautiful, impossibly sweet, deliciously passionate, insanely brilliant girlfriend with a creative mind like nothing he’d ever seen, and he was the most lovestruck, useless sap on the planet. Marinette was as dramatic as Casey had ever been, but even her drama was comfortable, accommodating, nothing she ever expected him to solve or eliminate. He just stood back and sympathized as she ranted and fumed and had her dramatic movement and then she moved on to actually solving the problem. She was incredibly driven, incredibly kind, and no matter how much time they spent together, he never wished it was less. Maybe Marinette wasn’t a musician but she was an artist, and she always seemed to know how to give him the space to pursue his own passions without ever being out of reach and every time he was with her he felt like the luckiest dumbass on the planet, whether they were doing something together or just existing near each other as they did their own thing.

Or making out. Oh Marinette was a fantastic kisser, sweet and attentive and exciting, tuned in to his every reaction. The height difference took some getting used to, but before long he found that he loved the way she fitted against him, the way he could curl around her, how small her hands were in his, how big his own looked on her hips or her back. She had learned impressively quickly how to tempt him into taking charge or reduce him to a pile of goo. And she made the best sounds when he returned the favor.

Focus, Luka , he told himself as he opened the door to the bakery. He’d already been on the receiving end of one gentle, if mildly embarrassing, reminder from her mother that Marinette was eighteen and could make her own choices, but that she was still younger than him and he should be cautious about pushing her into things she might not be ready for. Sabine had been so mild about it that Luka couldn’t really feel insulted, though Marinette would probably be mortified if she knew her mother had said any such thing to him.

Still. Better not to have those kinds of thoughts in his mind just now. Luka always came into the house through the bakery so that they knew he was there, mostly as a courtesy (and partly so they would know to knock before barging into Marinette’s room). He greeted Sabine and waved at Tom in the back, then went on up the stairs.

Luka knocked on the apartment door but went ahead and let himself in, not expecting her to hear him if she was up in her room.

Marinette wasn’t in her room, as it turned out, but in the kitchen, singing to herself as she flitted back and forth in the small space. She waved at him and he grinned, setting his bag down on the couch and coming over to her. “You came,” she smiled, stretching up on her toes as he leaned down to meet her for a quick kiss.

“You asked me to,” he pointed out, choking back a laugh at the memory of Juleka’s teasing.

Marinette ignored him, and Luka waited until she had set down whatever mysterious baking implements she was holding before catching her wrist and pulling her close. Marinette hummed happily as he leaned down to kiss her more fully, resting her forearms on his shoulders but keeping her flour-covered hands away from him.

Not that he would have cared. He was more than happy to let her cover him in flour paste if it meant she was holding him. This was good enough for now, though, as long as her plush lips were under his. She’d clearly been nibbling on whatever she was making and she tasted amazing.

Marinette pulled back a little when he tried to press close to her. “Don’t, I’m dirty,” she whispered, and Luka couldn’t help laughing even as a twinge of heat shot through him. Marinette backed away from him and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he grinned at her. “Juleka was picking on me before I left and it’s got my mind in the gutter.”

Marinette’s eyes widened slightly and then she blushed and pouted as she thought back to what she’d said. “Juleka should keep her mouth shut,” she grumbled, turning away from him to wash her hands.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Luka chuckled, putting his hands on her hips and stepping up so her back, which was mostly clean, was against his chest. “Why are you stress baking?” he asked, and leaned down to trail kisses along the side of her neck.

“What makes you think I’m stress b-baking?” she asked, tilting her head, breath hitching slightly as she reached blindly for a towel that was well out of her reach.

“Mmm.” Luka reached out and snagged the towel off of the oven handle easily, putting it in her hand. Then he lifted his face and looked pointedly at the mess around them, and then back down at her. “When you’re baking from a project, you’re super organized and everything is set out carefully. You only make this kind of a mess—” He gestured down at the pile of baking dishes in the sink and then at the haphazard collection of ingredients crowded on the small counter. “—when you’re stress baking.” He returned to her neck, pressing a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. “So tell me why you’re stressed, and how I can help make it better.”

Marinette huffed and shoved an elbow back into him. “It’s your fault to begin with,” she muttered, and Luka straightened immediately, frowning.

“Me?”

Marinette sighed. “Yeah, I—” She blew out a sigh and pulled away from him, turning around to face him. “I just, I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“That sounds ominous,” Luka said slowly, shifting back a little.

Marinette put her hands over her face and made a frustrated noise. “No, it’s not that bad, I’m—I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

Luka coughed to cover the laugh that he couldn’t quite keep in, and it was a supreme act of will to say nothing.

Marinette dropped her hands and glared at him, clearly knowing what he was thinking, and reached back to untie her apron with quick, decisive movements (which shouldn’t have affected him the way it did, damnit Juleka). Once it was off, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen behind her. “Shouldn’t we clean up?” he asked, glancing back with concern.

“We’ll do it later,” Marinette said.

“But your baking—”

“I just put the dough in the fridge to chill, it’s fine,” she said, pulling him up the stairs to her room.

Luka couldn’t say he hated where this was going but he was pretty confused. He followed Marinette up into her room, where she let go of his hand and kept walking. Taking that as his cue to stay put, Luka shut the trapdoor gently behind them and nudged the lock into place with his foot. Just in case.

“Well. I, um...I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this,” Marinette was saying, bending over a large chest in the corner of her room to get at something behind it, and Luka had to look at the floor. “And I want you to know I had nothing to do with it—well, I mean not nothing, because I did tell Jagged something about what happened with, you know, before, with XY and how he stole your music, but I didn’t use any names and I kept everything really general, it’s just I was thinking about it while I was working on his fitting and I guess I was making a mad face and he wanted to know what I was thinking about and, well I know it’s not my story to tell so I—but Jagged is so—so—” she paused, making a grunt of effort as she hauled something up and over the chest.

“Okay, I only followed about half of that,” Luka said as evenly as he could, glancing up from his determined study of the toes of his boots just as Marinette turned to him, both hands wrapped around the handle of a heavy black case that was...very familiar in shape.

Luka looked from the guitar case in her hands to her face, uncomprehending. Marinette shrugged, and bit her lip, shuffling across the floor towards him. “It’s for you. From Jagged. Take it,” she muttered, blushing.

That stunned him speechless. Luka took the case from her on autopilot, crossing the room to lay it on the chaise and flip up the latches as Marinette began babbling again, insisting that she didn’t deserve the credit (or the blame) for this, and then he opened the case lid and felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Marinette shoved a chair under him just in time as his knees went weak and he sat down, bringing one hand to cover his mouth as he stared down at the sleek professional quality acoustic guitar in front of him. It was black, with Jagged Stone’s logo emblazoned off-center on the lower half in purple.

“It’s from the new line he’s sponsoring,” Marinette said uncomfortably, shifting her feet. “Not released yet,” she added quickly, before he could gather his wits enough to question her. “They sent it to him to demo and approve, and well...once he played it and decided it was good enough he gave it to me, to give to you. He said a pro should have both kinds. Which is weird, really, because I’ve never seen him play anything but an electric, but...” She cringed as Luka’s fingers hovered over the unmistakable signature scrawled up one side in some kind of glitter ink. “He insisted on signing it. I hope that’s okay.” She reached forward and plucked a note tucked into a pocket of the case and handed it to him.

Luka took it absently, still staring. He touched the guitar lightly, taking in the silky texture of the finish and the quality of the wood, the elegant shape, the gleaming hardware. It was beautiful. He loved Claire, he really did, but sometimes you needed a different sound for different songs—

His brain screeched to a halt. A different sound. A different sound.

Marinette nudged him, startling him out of his thoughts. He unfolded the note.

Hey kid, he read, I heard your story. Wanna be’s always hate the real deal, and you’re it. I wouldn’t blame you if you want to keep things to yourself for a while, but I’d love to hear what those songs were meant to sound like before that baby-faced nobody murdered them. If you’ve got more to share, Marinette’s got my number.

Rock ‘n roll!

Jagged Stone

P.S. Fuck with my girl and I’ll stick this guitar where the sun don’t shine, and that’s just for starters.

He looked up at Marinette, and she fidgeted. “You don’t have to take it,” she said weakly.

There were about a thousand things he could have said at that moment, but what came out was, “Is this why you asked me not to bring Claire?”

Marinette shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t know if she was the jealous type.”

Luka chuckled. Marinette always seemed fondly exasperated with his tendency to anthropomorphize his instruments, skeptical but indulgent, willing to play along without actually trying to compete with an inanimate object (one of Casey’s more annoying habits).

“So...is it okay? You’re not...mad?” she asked, and Luka laughed weakly.

“I’m not mad,” he said, leaning back and reaching for her. She let him pull her over and sit her on his knee. “It’s amazing, Marinette, really.” He squeezed her, and trying hard not to sound like a total fanboy, asked, “Jagged really played it himself?”

“He did,” Marinette confirmed. “For over an hour. First time I’ve ever heard him play an acoustic, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda sorry I missed that,” he said, leaning into her as she put her arms around him. “Jagged Stone.” He looked at the paper in his hand and shook his head slightly. “He wants to hear my music? Wow, Marinette, this is just...I’m speechless.”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything,” she mumbled, pressing her face into his neck. “I shouldn’t even have said anything to him without your permission, I just...I was distracted fitting the jacket, and I didn’t even realize I’d said it until he screamed ‘I knew that little shit didn’t have that kind of talent!’ and I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

Luka laughed and kissed her hair, and he felt her lips curve against his skin. “Did he really say that?”

“Mmhm,” she said, responding to his nudges against her temple by lifting her face so he could kiss her. He took his time about it, savoring her soft lips and the smooth, soft skin under his thumb as he stroked her cheek. Marinette’s hands slipped under his hoodie and he gladly shifted so she could push it down his arms and off, feeling more than a little warm as it was. His hand went to her waist instead of her face, slipping under her shirt to settle against her abs where he could feel the rippling muscle beneath the slight softness as she moved. He didn’t even know that was a thing for him until he met Marinette and now he couldn’t get enough of it. It was just more luck for him that she liked his rough hands against her skin. Her hands slid up and down his chest and over his shoulders and arms and he pressed into her touch with a little moan.

Luka loved that she understood that about him, how much he craved the connection of touch. Even before they were together, it had been a struggle to keep his hands to himself as they grew closer. The night of the party, up on the roof, he’d been so lost in a confusing whirl of emotion that he nearly felt sick, and her small, strong arms around him had grounded him, soothed him, without him even having to ask. She’d been amazing that night, beautiful and fun and temptation itself as they danced, and fire and fury as she defended him and Juleka both, and gentle and comforting when he needed her.

Somewhere in that confusing ball of emotion it had suddenly dawned on him, with the clarity and sharpness of cut glass, that he would be an idiot to let her go, if she still wanted him. He was so lucky that she’d waited for him, that she’d had the patience to let him go and settle things with Casey, that she’d decided he was worth steeling her courage and facing up to the memory of whatever idiot had hurt her in the past. It was hard, waiting that last week, unsure and nervous but choosing to trust her, and choosing to trust his own instincts again—instincts that were telling him whatever you do, don’t let this one go. But she’d waited on him for far longer, so he could hardly refuse to wait for her. And it was...so worth it.

He was so, so lucky.

“So, are you going to try it out?” Marinette asked, bringing him back to the moment. Her hands were still flexing against him and she was kiss-bruised and ruffled and breathless and God he had never been less interested in a new guitar, he was so stupid for her, he half-expected violins and rose petals and fucking rainbows and unicorns every time they were together. She blinked slowly, smile shifting into a smirk, and Luka swallowed hard.

Focus.

“Only if you get off my lap,” he told her, voice a little rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat as Marinette giggled and slid off his knee.

“What are you going to call this one?” Marinette asked, amusement plain in her face.

“I don’t know,” Luka said, lifting the guitar out of the case. He noticed with amusement the strap, and glanced knowingly up at Marinette. She blushed and shrugged, looking away.

“It had that skinny kind you don’t like,” she mumbled, “So I made a new one.”

“I love it,” Luka grinned, unreasonably pleased by her fancy signature in gold embroidery on the inside of the strap. It took him a moment to get his stupid grin under control and slip the strap over his shoulder.

He ran long fingers over the neck and body lightly. “I have to get to know them before I can name them,” he continued. Luka set his fingers and then strummed slowly down the strings, but he winced at the sound. He worked on the tuning, noting the silky feel of the wood under his hands, the way he hardly had to adjust his hands at all, like the guitar had been made for him. When the strings were in tune he strummed slowly down them again, and this time the sound was…

His pulse increased, and he glanced up at Marinette. “I’ve been working on something,” he said. “I wanted you to hear it, but it wasn’t quite right. I think I’d like to try it now, if that’s okay.”

“Oh,” Marinette blinked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Of course.”

Luka moved the guitar case and slid onto the chaise, patting the spot next to him. Marinette sat down, fidgeting with her fingers and watching him with gratifying anticipation. It always gave him a thrill, to see how eager she was to hear him play.

Luka set his fingers on the fretboard again, took a settling breath, and played the song he’d been crafting and refining in his mind since the day she came to practice at the boat.

Marinette gasped quietly, and laid her hand over her heart, closing her eyes. Luka let his own lids fall as he played, though the instrument wasn’t quite familiar enough yet for him to close them all the way.

He knew as soon as he began that he wasn’t wrong, that this was what he’d been missing and trying to find all this time. The melody was just right, but the sound had been off. Ladybug might be the jangling twang and sassy attitude of the electric, flashy and exciting, but Marinette...Marinette was the mellow, sweet sound of the acoustic, authentic and sincere. Simple, but quality, resonating with craftsmanship and passion and warmth. He took a shaky breath as he listened to the last chord resonate and fade away, and then lifted his eyes to hers.

She swallowed at the look he was giving her, and then whispered, “How was it?”

“Perfect,” he breathed, gazing at her with all the wonder and love she inspired in him. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Great,” she said breathlessly. “Now put it down.”

Luka did, setting it carefully in its case, and before he’d even straightened up all the way Marinette was crawling onto him. She straddled his lap and took his face in her hands, as she kissed him hard, drawing an answering passion from him. Luka wrapped his arms around her, drawing her as close as he could get her, overwhelmed and overflowing with feelings he couldn’t contain or ignore.

He wanted to be sure she understood, though. He’d been told before that some things had to be said out loud, and Luka didn’t want to mess this up.

“Hey,” he mumbled, as soon as he had space to, but Marinette was kissing him again before he could get any more out. She made an inquisitive noise, moving her kisses to his jaw so he could speak, but Luka pulled back gently, just enough to be able to look her in the eye—in those beautiful, breathtaking eyes, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. “I love you,” he breathed, and Marinette’s smile shone like the sun.

“I know, silly,” she said, rubbing her nose along his, and then she nodded at the guitar. “I heard you the first time.”

He felt the slow, stupid grin spreading across his face.

It made Marinette blush from her collar to her hairline, and she kissed him again fiercely. “I can’t say it as beautifully as you did,” she whispered against his lips, “But I love you too.” Then she yelped as Luka moved suddenly, dumping her off his lap back onto the chaise. Marinette moved back against the arm, shifting to accommodate him automatically as he crawled over her; by now they had plenty of practice arranging themselves in the small space.

“Is this all right?” Luka asked, even as she was running her hands appreciatively over his arms braced on either side of her.

“It’s perfect,” she sighed, leaning up to meet him as he kissed her, intent on showing her just how lucky he felt to know her, to hold her, to love her.

It was totally worth the lecture they got from Tom for leaving a mess in the kitchen.

#quickspins #killer combo #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #reverse crush #gamer au #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug

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sierraraeck · 4 years

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Dancing, Drugs, and Lies (Pt.3)

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(This is my gif so please give credit if used)

Summary: Morgan’s cousin is in danger. Aundreya decides to use some of her ‘special talents’ to help the team find her. Story seven.

Category: Working a case with the team. A bit angsty, I guess.

Warnings: Cussing. Drugs. Implied drug abuse. Normal CM gore and situations.

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: Just a reminder that this is all fiction and I don’t actually know about drugs or exotic dancers.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The team split up and went to look for Dom at all three locations. Typically, they found him at the Camelot, which was good and bad for me. Good that I would know people there and could get them to cooperate with me easier and I already had some of my outfits there. Bad because I knew people there and had outfits there and the team could pick up on the fact that I’d been there many times recently as a dancer.

I showed up to the Camelot and went through the back door.

“Alionth! Hey, what’re you doing here? I thought you were off for a while?” JoJo said. She and I had worked together for many years and were the ultimate veterans of the group. Her long, fiery red hair and gorgeous long legs made her quite the attraction and I’d told her that. She always complained and said she wished she had more toned, muscular legs like mine. I guess the grass is always greener, right?

“Yeah well, I decided to pop in,” I replied. I was trying to keep the real motives of my visit under wraps. I walked over to the mini cabinet that I kept my clothes in. I slipped on the tight, black, leather outfit that provided the least coverage. I always caught a lot of attention wearing it. I quickly pulled my hair back and hid it under my signature wig. It was long, straight hair, nearing my waist, and was a bright orange on the right half, and bright yellow on the left half. I threw in my green contacts as well, completely transforming myself into the persona I let take the stage. Not to be confused with the other half of the Alionth persona, who was the badass criminal ringleader.

I poked my head around the side of the stage so that I could find the man in the trench coat. He wasn’t hard to spot, standing behind the third row of tables, directly in the center.

Time to turn on the charm.

They announced me as ‘Alionth: special guest star’, followed by a bunch of hoots and hollers.

Great. The team will definitely ask what that’s about.

I walked out on stage, slowly, seductively, and made eye contact with Dom the whole time. I winked at him right before my music started.

I’d done this plenty of times, but it felt surreal knowing that the two worlds I tried so hard to keep separate were colliding. I fought the urge to look for my teammates, just having to trust the knowledge that they were there, and they were watching. I both wanted to, and didn’t want to see their reactions. Instead, I put forth all of my efforts into long-distance wooing Dom Forester.

The song ended and the lights went dark. I gasped for air, just then realizing that I’d probably been holding my breath for the entirety of the dance. I felt a little light headed, but the chorus of cat calls and claps brought me back to Earth. I quickly collected the money strewn across the stage, went back to the dressing rooms, and waited. If this guy was as impatient as we profiled, I’d be getting the notice any minute.

“Alionth,” Landice, the manager, said, “You’ve got a private.”

I took a deep breath. Now the real show begins.

I walked as confidently as I could into that room. I’d dealt with so many creeps it was unbelievable, but this was different. Different because I was actually going to have to wait for him to make a move on me and then not fight back, and different because I knew that I had a team of professionals watching my back. I did one last check of my bracelet, just to make sure the hidden button was still there and within reach.

“Hel-lo,” I said coquettishly, flashing him my best smile. He didn’t respond. I looked him up and down, and he returned the favor. “Like what you see?”

He patted the seat next to him. I went to sit down. I watched him intently as he pulled a small bag, filled with the same white powder I took earlier that day, out of his jacket pocket. He dumped a small portion on the table. He locked eyes with me and gestured toward the pile.

“Sir, are you sure you want to be high for this? I think the memories will be a lot more enjoyable if you can actually remember them,” I offered.

“I don’t want to be high for this. I want you to be high for this,” he stated simply.

I laughed. “Sir, I won’t be able to do my job as well.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. Come on, just take a little,” he tried.

“What is it?”

“Just a small mixture that I made. It’ll help you relax and feel better.” If only that were true.

“Sir, I don’t-”

“Look, I paid extra for this so I’d like you to do whatever I say. And since when did dancers turn down free drugs?” he spat. He had a point, that’s probably why he was able to lure so many girls. I took a deep breath, careful not to let him see it, and bent over to sniff some up. I tried to take as little as l could while still looking like I was taking some. The feeling of euphoria crashed into me, just like it had the first time.

“Ready to start?” I asked, fighting hard to keep my balance and stay upright. He nodded with a hint of confusion and gestured toward the mini stage and pole in the middle of the room. I walked over to dim the lights, and started the music. For a split second, focusing all of my energy on the dance, I forgot why I was actually there. I was going through the motions repeating to myself that I had to stay clear headed. When it got to the portion of the dance where I would basically be right on top of him, I hesitated. I had no idea what his plan was or how he got the girls out of the room, and by now he had definitely messed with the cameras, so my safety was left to my ability to activate my bracelet.

Here we go.

I strutted over to him, and bent over, sticking my ass high in the air. I quickly went to sit on his lap, slowly swishing my hips from side to side. The moment I actually made contact with his legs, he pulled a knife out and held it to my throat. His other hand quickly clasped over my mouth.

“Would you be a doll and come with me for a second?” he asked, sounding smug. I moved my wrist slightly to let the extra chain with the button fall into my palm. I squeezed as hard as I could. Hopefully the message got sent. I nodded, trying to avoid getting the blade pushed into my neck any farther. He slowly stood up, careful not to actually hurt me, and started backing up toward the exit that only staff here was supposed to know about. I was surprised that he completely abandoned the drugs like last time. That wasn’t typically part of his MO until he got thrown off by Amanda.

Finally, they burst into the room, all aiming their guns right at me. Well, right at the guy behind me, who was currently using me as a human shield.

“Drop the knife,” Morgan said. My heart was pounding and my eyes were watering, both of which I attributed to the drugs.

“I will kill this whore right now if you don’t back up!” he yelled. Emily was standing the furthest away by the door. I tried to make eye contact with her, attempting to burn holes into her face. She looked at me, and I slightly tilted my head toward the back door Dom was headed for. She looked at me bewildered. I directed my eyes in the same direction, willing her to get the message. Realization struck her face, and she slinked out of the room.

“You don’t want to do this, Dom,” Rossi said.

“Why would that be?” he hissed.

“If you kill her, we will kill you in an instant. You will never get to fully develop your drug or sell it, which will earn you a lot of attention in prison,” Rossi said.

“And on the streets if you get out,” Morgan pointed out.

“You won’t ever let me out. And they will think I’m a weak whore-killer in there, even if I do have new drugs,” Dom said, his voice defeated.

Shit. That is not good. He’s about to give up and I’m willing to bet he’s gonna take me with him.

“Dom, just set the knife down. We can work this out, get you a deal. We can tell them you cooperated,” Rossi tried. It was a hollow effort. I felt Dom’s arm tense up and his grip tighten around the knife. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw, preparing myself for the blow that was bound to come. I emptied my mind, praying to the god I never believed in that I wouldn’t go to hell, ready to give into the drugs and whatever darkness was sure to follow.

But it never came.

My ears rang and a sudden stinging sensation was coming from my left collar bone. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and Dom was quick to follow. That’s when I remembered that Prentiss had snuck out to come through the back entrance. I lifted my hand to my collar bone, the warm wet blood that I already knew was there coating it. I turned to face Emily who was holstering her gun, my body finally succumbing to the stress from the entire day. I let myself fall into her arms, and be dragged under by the drugs coursing through my veins at a rapid pace. She held me tight and helped me out to the ambulance that was somehow already there, whispering in my ear that I was going to be okay the whole way. Spencer was pacing out front and the moment he saw me, tears sprang into his eyes. He was next to me impossibly fast and I allowed myself to be swallowed up by his embrace, taking in his scent and basking in the safety of his arms.

“Let’s get you over to a medic,” he said, steadying me with his grasp, ushering me toward one of the ambulances. I nodded and sat down on the edge as a man in a white uniform reached for a stack of gauze. He started working on my cut while the other paramedics wheeled out an injured Dom Forester, chained to his gurney.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The paramedics insisted that they take me to the hospital because of the sheer amount of drugs in my system and my ‘irregular heartbeat’. I tried to convince them I was fine but to no avail.

When I woke up, Spencer and Emily were sitting in chairs near my bed, looking like they had decided to hibernate. I scanned myself, realizing that I was in a hospital gown. Someone must have reverted me back to Aundreya, taking my wig, contacts, and outfit off. Next, I scanned the room. There were three trays full of untouched food on the table next to me. I started to reach over to the table on my left when Spencer, panic in his voice, said, “Stop! Don’t do that!”

I paused, my arm hanging in mid air over the bed. “What?” My voice sounded fogged.

“You will damage your stitches,” he explained. All of his sudden movements and talking woke Emily up.

“Oh, good. You're up,” she said, casually.

“Yeah, about that. Why was I asleep to begin with? And what am I doing in a hospital?” I asked. It was weird, but over the 24 years of my life, with all that has happened, I’d never once been to a hospital, let alone be the reason for my visit. I mean, I’d been to the gang’s ‘ER’ but I didn’t really count that.

“I came behind you and shot Dom in the leg. It forced him to buckle under his own weight, but he made a last-ditch effort to slice your throat. He must’ve caught your collar bone on his way down,” Emily explained.

“And once we got you to the paramedics, you insisted you were fine, but they took you here in an ambulance anyway. Good thing they did because two minutes into the drive, you passed out,” Spencer told me.

“Passed out? From what?” I was confused. Nothing I could think of was ‘pass out’ worthy.

“Probably just the combination of stress, blood loss, and the drugs. Because you’d had two doses of a highly toxic drug mixture within one day, your blood was pumping through your body very quickly, causing you to lose more blood than usual. It’s honestly a miracle you didn’t just have a heart attack,” Reid informed me. I nodded, slowly able to wrap my head around that.

I wonder how many times I’ve almost had a heart attack and died due to drugs but didn’t.

I’d really never thought about it before.

“That was actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you about,” Prentiss led in.

“What?”

“I mean, skipping over the fact that you were able to take a mixture of drugs and tell us each drug that was in it, which is crazy, but how were you able to take the first dose, and then be completely fine within a few hours? Most people would be hopped up for like the next couple of days. Not to mention, you took a second dose within the same eight hour window, and not only survived, but could stay clear headed long enough for us to take down an unsub. Then you wake up just two hours later? Come on. What is your secret?” She sounded concerned, but actually kind of in awe, almost eager to hear my answer.

“Like I said, I just have a super high tolerance to drugs,” I stated.

“Come on, there’s gotta be more than that.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t know what to tell ya.” She looked incredulous and I don’t blame her. We all knew I was hiding something but she let it go. “Hey, what happened to Morgan’s cousin?”

“Oh yeah! We got Dom to tell us where he was keeping her, and she’s here in the hospital and is okay!” Reid cheered.

“Wait, what? I thought for sure that-”

“She’d be dead? That’s what we all thought. Turns out, the incident with Amanda threw him off so much that he needed a successful abduction before he could rebuild his confidence enough to kill her,” Reid said.

“Wow. That’s great news. I’m glad she’s okay. And Morgan?” I questioned.

“Ecstatic,” Penelope said, entering my room.

“Penelope!” I said, with a smile. There was just something about her entire being that could just light up a room. She came to give me a hug.

“How are you feeling? Good enough to stand?” she pushed.

“Garcia! Give the girl a minute,” Emily said.

I laughed, “It’s okay. I’m good and definitely need to get out of this bed.”

She pranced out of the room, me in tow, down the hall to where Derek and Thia were standing. Derek beamed at me, and embraced me in those giant teddy-bear arms. “You do not know how much this means to me,” he said, looking over at Thia. “Honestly, I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done. Risking your life to help someone that I care about … I just really appreciate it,” he said. He seemed speechless, which left a smile on my face. I enjoyed seeing him this happy and relieved after a rough couple of days. “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Cindi. Cindi, this is our new teammate, Aundreya, that did most of the work to help us find you.”

I laughed and extended my hand. “That’s completely inaccurate, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she said slowly, obviously confused. I flashed her a smile but quickly slipped in a warning look, expressing that I’d explain everything when we were alone. She smiled back, picking up what I was putting down.

That’ll be a fun conversation.

“You know, if I can’t convince you to let me help you, and you are going to continue dancing, I’m sure this one could teach you a thing or two,” Morgan said jokingly, tossing his head in my direction.

“What makes you say that?” Thia asked. I looked at him expectantly.

“Well, she told me she had experience with dancing but damn. That was not what I was expecting,” he said.

I looked at him, mouth slightly agape, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They literally announced you as ‘Alionth: special guest star,’” he said, with his eyebrows up.

“He has a point. Why did they do that?” Spencer asked me. He’d already been on my ass earlier about it, the last thing I wanted was for him to pick up on everything and start asking me 21 questions.

“I told them to. It’d help sell it to Dom,” I stated simply. In order to change the subject I added, “You never answered my question, though. What were you expecting?”

“Look, I didn’t mean any disrespect, and if it wasn’t weird because we’re friends, I would’ve totally been tossing bills at you. All I’m saying is that you’re good,” he put his hands up in defense.

“Bullshit,” I said with a wink, “I’m great.”

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winchesterwords · 4 years

Text

“Black Magic Winchester” Part I - Hunting Fic

Summary: Set during Season Two, after "Folsom Prison Blues", the boys get a call from Bobby asking for help on a missing persons case. What they think to be a simple monster hunt turns out to be much darker than the hunters anticipated. With Sam still reeling from his visions and Dean having no idea how to help his little brother, how will they handle tracking down the darkness that has appeared in Sioux Falls?

Word Count: 5250

Warning: Typical SPN Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Human” by Rag ‘N” Bone Man

Note: We love a good story about Bobby and his boys

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The shrill ringing of Sam’s phone woke the Winchesters from their very much needed sleep.

Dean woke up first, startled, his hand instantly going for the gun he kept under his pillow. After a moment, his senses came back to him. Groaning, he grabbed a pillow and threw it at his groggy brother. “Sammy,” he whined, “phone.”

Sam rolled over, blindly reaching for his cellphone on the bedside table. Ignoring his grumbling brother, Sam peered at the small screen. “It’s Bobby,” Sam yawned as he accepted the call. “Hey, Bobby, what’s up?”

“Are you with your brother?” Bobby Singer asked. Sam frowned at the question.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“Just making sure,” Bobby said. “Can you two meet me at mine? Need your help on somethin��.”

“Is everything okay?” Sam asked, suddenly concerned. Dean, noting the tone in his brother’s voice, rolled over, his brows pulled together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Sam who held up his hand, telling Dean to wait.

“Bobby?” Sam asked.

“Everything is fine, just get your asses over here,” Bobby told him. The call ended and Sam looked at the phone in confusion. Dean raised his brows, waiting. Sam shrugged.

“Said he needs us on something,” Sam explained.

“Did he sound hurt? Or worried?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” Sam told him, “he sounded a bit...mad?” Dean sighed, sitting up in his bed.

“So, he sounded like Bobby?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, come on, let’s see what the grumpy old man wants.”

When the Impala rolled into the salvage yard, Sam and Dean kept their eyes open, looking for any signs of distress, but Bobby’s place looked exactly how they left it the last time they visited.

“Do you think this has to do with The Demon?” Sam asked as he climbed out of the car.

“If it was, he would have told you on the phone,” Dean pointed out.

“Maybe he didn’t want to. You know, in case the demon was listening,” Sam offered. Dean rolled his eyes at his brother.

“So, demons are wire-tapping now? Sometimes I wonder about you, Sam,” Dean said as he jogged up the steps to the main house. Dean knocked on the door, “Bobby?” There was no answer. Dean glanced at Sam who shrugged and together they pushed into the house. The disheveled Singer house was covered in books, scrolls, weapons, and anything else a wayward hunter would need. The boys loved it, both for different reasons, but still, it was the only home they had at the moment.

“Bobby!” Sam called as they passed by the main room and into the kitchen, but there was still no sign of Singer.

“What? Did he decide to take a vacation last minute?” Dean asked, staring at the empty room.

“How am I supposed to take a vacation when I constantly have to look after you two?” Sam and Dean turned at the sound of Bobby’s voice. The older man stood in the doorway behind them, holding a journal in his hands, a scowl on his face.

“Oh, hey Bobby,” Dean greeted with a smile. “You good?” Bobby narrowed his eyes at the older Winchester and that had Dean dropping his smile instantly and glancing at his brother who lightly shrugged.

“Am I good?” Bobby asked slowly. Then, he took a few steps forward, raised the journal, and smacked Dean in the back of the head with it.

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed as Bobby turned to Sam and did the same thing.

“Prison!” Bobby yelled. “You decided to get yourselves incarcerated? I swear the two of you are going to send me to an early grave!” Rubbing the back of his head, Sam went to explain when Bobby raised his finger to him. “No, you’re going to listen for a minute. What the hell were you two thinking? You are the most wanted men in the country right now. Not to mention the fact that the feds still think Dean is some kind of psycho killer and as for Sam, well they just think Sam is straight-up crazy.”

“What?” Sam asked and Bobby glared at him. Sam shut up again.

“We take precautions, boys, so that this doesn’t happen, and then you two just willingly get yourselves thrown in jail? Are you stupid?” Sam and Dean were silent, glancing at each other. “You can speak now.” Sam nudged Dean.

“It was a job, Bobby. We owed Deacon and he needed help. Crazy ghost nurse, dead inmates, and the chance to screw with the system? I liked our odds,” Dean explained.

“I hated our odds,” Sam grumbled.

“Prison life didn’t agree with Sammy,” said Dean. “I, however, didn’t do so bad.”

“That isn’t something to be proud of,” Bobby said, throwing down the journal on the counter.

“Come on, Bobby,” Dean continued, “there was a job and people were being killed. What were we supposed to do?”

“You pass it along to someone else! You two, the most wanted hunters in the country, don’t go into a maximum-security prison just to take out one spirit!”

“Why are you jumping down our throats about this?” Dean asked. “This is the job!”

“Because you were reckless! So many things could have gone wrong, Dean! What if the escape plan didn’t work? What if Henriksen had figured a way out to transfer you sooner? This was your dumbest plan yet!”

“That’s what I said,” Sam put in.

“Shut it,” Bobby shot back, “I’m angry with you too.”

“Bobby,” Dean said a bit softer, “everything worked out the way it was supposed to. We got the spook, saved some lives, and got the FBI off our tail for now. I would say that while it was risky, the risk was worth it.”

“It was still moronic and reckless,” Bobby lectured, “Your daddy raised you and taught you not to be stupid and I know that I taught you better too.” Realization lit up in Dean’s eyes.

“You’re not mad,” Dean said, “you were worried.”

“Of course I was worried,” Bobby said, “I’m a good hunter, boys, but if they took you away to some offshore black site… How was I supposed to be able to find you? You’re my responsibility now and your recklessness ain’t making it easy on my ticker.”

“Bobby,” Sam began, “you don’t need to look after us, we’re not kids anymore.”

“Like hell, I don’t, boy,” Bobby said. “You’re stuck with me, you and your dumbass brother.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Dean.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Bobby, “I know this was your plan.” Dean shrugged in defeat. “Just, promise me that if you’re going to do something utterly ridiculous and idiotic, you’ll call me first.” There was a beat of silence before Sam nodded.

“We promise,” Sam said.

“Yeah, promise,” Dean agreed. Bobby let out a breath, nodding.

“Okay, good. I’m going to hold that promise to you boys.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sam said with a smile.

“So, is that why you called us?” Dean asked, “To give us a lecture?”

“Partly,” Bobby said, “but I was serious when I said I needed your help on somethin’.” Bobby led them into the main room. Going over to the desk, he picked up a folder and handed it to Sam. It was a Sioux Falls police file.

“Where did you get this?” Sam asked, opening it.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to pick a lock, Sam,” Bobby deadpanned.

“Fair enough.”

“What is it?” Dean asked as Sam angled the file for Dean to read.

“We’ve had hikers gone missing in the past couple of weeks. Hikers disappearing isn’t exactly odd around these parts except for the fact that all these people are seasoned. They know what paths to take in which season, where the rangers stations are, everything. They wouldn’t just get lost and not show up again,” Bobby explained.

“When did the last one go missing?” Sam asked.

“He was reported missing by his daughter yesterday morning. Cops have nothing as usual, but they don’t know what we know,” said Bobby.

“Theories?” Dean asked.

“A few, but they haven’t found any bodies yet so I can’t be sure of anything, but I would rule out demons,” Bobby said.

“No omens then?” asked Sam.

“None, just four hikers gone and a whole lot of confused cops.”

“Have they organized searches for the hikers?” Dean asked, looking over one of the missing person reports.

“They had one for the first and planned for the second, but once the fourth one went missing, cops are keeping the trails clear of civilians,” Bobby explained. “Probably think it’s some rabid animal or a maniac taking people.”

“What’s the moon cycle like?” asked Sam.

“Not wolves, already checked,” said Bobby. “Besides, when wolves eat, they just take the heart and leave the rest. If this were werewolves, we would have found the bodies by now.”

“Yay for leftovers,” Dean muttered. “Okay, so not wolves, not demons, what else are you thinking?”

“Well,” began Bobby as he leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Another reason I called the two of you. You’ve taken on vamps before, right? Your daddy taught you how to kill them?”

“Yeah, we helped take out a nest with him when we went to find the colt the first time,” Sam said.

“You think a vampire is doing this?” Dean asked.

“No bodies, no blood,” Bobby recounted, “either it’s taking them to eat later or it’s building a nest.”

“And if it’s not vampires?” Sam asked.

“Then my other bet is witches or vengeful spirit,” Bobby finished.

“Could this also just be a maniac?” Dean offered.

“Humans are sloppy as you should know,” Bobby said with a pointed look at Dean who frowned. “So, no, I do not think this is some serial killer trying to rid Sioux Falls from their regular rock climbers.” Dean and Bobby stared at each other, gauging the other’s expression. Sam looked between the two before clearing his throat.

“Well, I say that we hit the research and see if anyone has died mysteriously on the trails in recent history,” Sam said, “That way we can rule out a spirit. If nothing comes of it, we will head out to the forest tomorrow and look for signs of vamps or witchcraft. Fair?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dean said, picking up a random book and slouching into the couch across the room. Sam hiked his laptop bag higher on his shoulder.

“He does realize that a book on the history of fertility sigils won’t help him with this, right?” Bobby whispered to Sam.

“I’m just glad he picked up a book for once.” finished Sam.

The three hunters combed through the town’s archives all night.

Bobby had acquired many articles and files since living in Sioux Falls and Sam was using every source he could find on his laptop, looking for any suspicious deaths in the area involving hikers. Dean was sipping coffee as he read through newspaper articles, marking the deaths he deemed important.

Halfway through the night, Sam had drifted off, his laptop forgotten next to him on the floor. Dean got up and slung a blanket over his little brother’s snoozing form before going back to his work next to Bobby.

Any chance Dean caught Sam sleeping, he relished in it. The kid barely slept anymore. He was always worried about seeing a vision and stressing over it. The Demon had said he had plans for Sam and others like him and Dean had become so accustomed to protecting Sam from anything life had thrown at them, he hated seeing his brother in so much pain.

While he had been angry when Sam left him and their dad, he knew Sam was safer at school. However, even that proved to not be worth anything. Jess was gone and Sam was faced with evil every day. John’s words ran through Dean’s head all the time. How was he supposed to fight the evil that lived in his little brother? He wasn’t even sure if what dwelled inside Sam was as powerful as they originally thought. They fought darkness all the time and this was no different. They would fight this and Dean was determined to keep his brother safe.

“If you keep staring at him, you’re never going to get any work done,” Bobby said next to Dean.

“Right,” replied Dean, slowly refocusing back on the task at hand.

“You are allowed to be worried for him, you know?”

“I know, I just wish I didn’t have to worry about this,” Dean admitted. “Of all the things, Bobby… How am I supposed to protect him from this?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby sighed. “Sam is strong, he’s resilient. The two of you have been through a lot in your lives. You will get through this. Besides, I’m right here with you.” Dean ran a hand over his face and turned to look at the man who was like family to him.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said. “I don’t know what I would do if…” he trailed off, trying to find his words. “After my dad, it’s been hard to imagine having anyone else but Sam, but now I know I can still count you in to help clean up our messes.” Bobby smiled, grabbing Dean’s shoulder.

“Hell, you help me clean up mine from time to time. That’s what family does, boy,” Bobby said, dropping his hand. “Look at him,” he said, turning to the younger Winchester, “he’s okay. He’s safe right now. Nothing cataclysmic is happening. Just focus on one day at a time. Right now we have a job to do. Once we solve this mystery, we’ll work on Sam’s, okay?”

Dean took a deep breath and then let it out. He nodded to Bobby and picked up his work again as he listened to Sam’s even breaths.

The following day, Sam needed a break.

By the time he had woken up, Dean and Bobby were both in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Sam figured that the two of them maybe only had a few hours of sleep and even after the many hours he got himself, he still felt exhausted.

Sam wandered the salvage yard, kicking at stray bolts and loose rocks that littered the gravel. So far, they hadn’t got much from the articles. Also, there was no indication that a nest had been in the area before. If it was vampires, it was a very new situation. One that they would need to handle quickly before it managed to create more of its kind and endanger more of the lives of Sioux Falls.

Leaning against a gutted Mustang, Sam let the sun warm his face, listening to the morning around him, trying to organize his thoughts. He had many theories on what was taking the hikers, but they all included ghosts. Perhaps he was just wishing it was spooks because they were easy. To the Winchesters, it was always a good day when a hunt was predictable.

“Thinking about getting a tan?” Sam turned to find Dean walking towards him.

“Yeah, I was thinking I was looking a little pale,” Sam joked.

“Yeah, you should get out more,” teased Dean as he joined his brother on the hood of the Mustang. “So, is that brain working overtime or are you out here to enjoy the sunshine?”

“I was thinking spirits, but I don’t know. I could be wrong,” Sam admitted. “Did you find anything?”

“Just, that a bunch of hikers did happen to disappear in a nearby town around thirty years ago. Similar to what’s happening here,” said Dean.

“Did they ever find them?” asked Sam. Dean shook his head.

“Nope. They all just vanished. A couple of kids found one of the backpacks at the bottom of a ravine, but that’s it. No bodies, no suspects,” Dean explained.

“So, not ghosts, then,” Sam realized, “Ghosts don’t move from town to town.”

“Not unless they’re attached to something,” Dean pointed out.

“What would they be attached to in a forest?” Sam asked.

“Okay, fair point,” agreed Dean. “So then I guess we’re back to vamps. Great, just what we need. More fangs.”

“Well if it is vampires, we need to keep this quiet,” Sam warned, “The last thing we need is for Gordon to show up.” Dean made a face of disgust.

“Yeah, that would not go over well at all…” said Dean remembering the last time they encountered the hunter with an obsession with the undead. “Do you think he’s still mad at me?”

“You left him tied to a chair after letting a nest of vampires go,” Sam reminded him, “not to mention the punching and the threatening.”

“This is true,” said Dean. “Okay, you have a point. Keep it quiet, just between the three of us. Family hunt?” Sam nodded, “I like it.” They were quiet for a moment before Sam started to laugh. It wasn’t a laugh of joy but realization. One that usually happened at slightly inappropriate times. “What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, staring at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Are you having a breakdown? Is this finally your psychic breakdown? Do I need to call a doctor?” Sam pushed Dean’s shoulder as he continued to chuckle.

“No, no,” Sam assured him, “I was just thinking about yesterday when Bobby was pissed at us for going into the jail.”

“And that’s funny?” Dean asked, still confused. Sam nodded. “Dude he smacked us with a journal.”

“Okay, but imagine if Dad was here,” Sam said, “Can you imagine his reaction?”

“No, because he probably wouldn’t even be around to yell at us about it,” Dean said without a second thought.

“Exactly,” Sam said and then began laughing again, “Or our asses would be in jail and he would probably end up turning it into some life lesson. I can hear his voice in my head. He would say, ‘Boys, this was stupid and do you know what else is stupid? Getting your asses handed to you by the FBI in the first place’,” Sam said in an excellent imitation of John Winchester. Dean joined in on the laughing.

“And then he would lay out the way he would have done it. Step by step all while having that furrowed brow,” Dean said, his brows pulled together dramatically. “You know, sometimes, you remind me of him,” Dean admitted.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, his laughter dying out.

“What?” Dean asked, surprised, “ ‘I know’, that’s it? You’re not going to jump down my throat for comparing you to Dad?” Sam shook his head.

“No, I’m not. I’ve accepted that he and I...we had more in common than I used to want to admit,” Sam said, staring down at his feet.

“Well then,” Dean said, clearly surprised at this revelation, “You know what that is, Sammy?” Sam glanced at Dean. “Growth, Sammy, you’ve grown.” Dean laughed again and Sam rolled his eyes.

“And yet, you’re still a dick.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, little brother.” Dean pushed off the car. “Come on, Bobby wants to head into the woods. Maybe we can find something the cops missed.”

“Right, because the fake police always do better than the real ones?”

“When monsters are involved, they do,” Dean said, throwing Sam a smile over his shoulder.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby were crouched at the edge of the main road.

The hiking trails were only a mile or two in, but they had encountered a slight problem. It seemed that the real police were interested in the large expanse of forests much to Dean’s surprise.

“So, the fine men and women of Sioux Falls do care about missing people? That’s...comforting,” he whispered.

“The sheriff is one hell of a leader,” Bobby said and Dean swore he could hear some praise in his voice. “Though, I heard on the scanner that the presence here is more of a warning. To let people know the risks and all that,” Bobby explained. Dean frowned at the twin patrol cars that lined the entrance to the trails.

“Can’t they mark the trails off? Keep them closed until they figure out what happened to the hikers?” Sam asked.

“They haven’t found any bodies, Sam,” Bobby reminded him. “Officially, they aren’t missing, dead, or in danger. Police won’t do anything until they have something they can work off of.”

“Well,” interjected Dean, “we have gone off less and if it’s vampires,” he brandished his machete, “we got some work to do.”

Keeping out of sight, the three men crept around the officers and entered the thick forest from the Southside. They stayed in the shadows until the sounds of the main road became muffled and indiscernible. They kept their blades ready in their hands and their eyes were constantly scanning their surroundings.

Sam made notes of where they were with his compass and the map he had grabbed from Bobby’s study just in case they got turned around. Occasionally, Sam would hear Dean swear behind him as his older brother tripped of a root or got spooked by a random flying insect and every time it gave Sam just a bit of joy.

“Are you okay back there?” Sam asked after Dean nearly fell into a large fern.

“Shut up,” Dean shot back.

“Not a fan of hiking, Dean?” Bobby asked, hiding his smile.

“Last time we hiked through a forest we were with Ranger Rick and a crazed wendigo so I think I have good reasons,” Dean said, hacking at stray branches.

“Well, I would rather take another wendigo instead of mystery monsters,” Sam said. Dean grunted in response and they continued on. About twenty minutes later, Dean was leading the group while Bobby hung back to talk to Sam.

“How are you doing, kid?” Bobby asked.

“I’m fine,” Sam said, already knowing where this was going.

“Dean mentioned you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Dean should worry about his own sleep habits,” Sam grumbled.

“Is it the visions?” Bobby asked, patient as ever.

“Partly,” Sam admitted. “I just don’t understand them. Sometimes they allow me to save the people I see in them and other times I get there and find out I was too late. What is the point of seeing the future if I can’t change it?”

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to change it,” Bobby offered, “or at least not always. Perhaps these visions of yours are to help you understand the future or even prepare you for it.” Sam looked at Bobby, his brows pulled together in confusion.

“Prepare me for what? I know death, Bobby.”

“Do you ever think that the evil you and I know isn’t the greatest out there? If ghosts and demons are as bad as it gets, Sam, then we would have been able to fix this world a long time ago. Whatever or whoever has given you these abilities, maybe they’re trying to let you know that these small deaths are just the beginning.”

“If that were true, it would be a very screwed up life lesson.”

“Things don’t happen without a reason,” Bobby said.

“I’m not sure I believe that anymore…” Sam said under his breath.

They hiked for another hour, but there was no sign of monster activity. Their EMF was negative and the only thing with teeth that they encountered was a very angry long-tailed weasel that wasn’t fond of the men stomping through its habitat.

“We’ve got nothing!” Dean exclaimed after they ascended another hill. “No tracks, no bodies, nothing. Are we sure these hikers didn’t just skip town to get away from their families? Maybe the won the lottery?”

“Never figured you for a quitter, Dean,” Bobby said, taking a swig from his water bottle.

“It’s okay to quit when there is nothing here,” Dean pointed out. “Sam, anything going on in your head?”

“If you’re asking if I had a miraculous vision of what happened to the missing people, then no Dean, no I haven’t,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes. Dean mirrored his brother’s expression.

“You could answer the question without the sarcasm,” exasperated Dean.

“Boys…” Bobby warned, ready to play mediator between the Winchester siblings.

“Not my fault he treats me like monster GPS,” Sam defended.

“That’s not true!” Dean shot back, “It’s more like you’re one of those daytime fortune-tellers from the TV, but with more accuracy.” Dean smiled smugly. Sam narrowed his eyes.

“You know what your problem is, Dean?” he asked, taking a step towards his brother.

“No, but I am sure you are about to tell me,” Dean taunted. Sam took another step, opening his mouth to yell when the ground gave way beneath his feet. Dean and Bobby lunged forward as Sam grabbed for anything to hold onto, but it was too late.

Sam shut his eyes, waiting for the impact when he hit something solid only a couple of feet down. Slowly, he opened his eyes, brushing dirt from his face. “Sam!” he heard Dean yell from above. “You okay?” Sam got to his feet, having to crouch slightly under the low ceiling of what seemed to be a dug-out cave. “Sam!” Dean repeated.

“I’m fine!” he yelled back. He would have a few bruises, but nothing worse than that. He was just happy he didn’t land on his machete.

“What’s down there?” Bobby called.

“Some kind of cave!” Sam answered. He reached out to hold the wall for balance on the uneven ground and felt something wet. Sam drew his flashlight and illuminated the space around him. He jumped back from the wall as the light revealed his hand to be covered in blood. He hastily wiped his palm on his jeans, scrubbing the blood from his skin. Sam then noticed that up ahead, the cave opened up wider. He also saw a sliver of light. He drew his phone and dialed Dean’s number, placing the call on speaker.

“What do you see?” Dean asked as soon as the call connected.

“Hold on,” Sam said. “I think I see another entrance at the end of this small tunnel.” Sam paced himself as he maneuvered through the small cave. About ten feet in, the ceiling was much taller and the sun was able to shine through in areas. Sam came across another opening in the cave wall. “Okay, there’s a hole in the Eastside, covered in branches. You guys should get down here.”

“Okay, Sam, wait for us,” Bobby said.

“It’s okay, I’ll just see what I can find,” Sam said, ignoring them.

“Sam!” Dean warned, but Sam was already ending the call. Holding his machete in one hand and his light in the other, he pushed further into the cave. Blood was splashed across the floors and while some of it looked fresh, most of it seemed as if it had been there for a while. As Sam moved closer, the air became warm and he had to pull up his shirt to cover his mouth and nose against the smell.

When he finally reached the center of the cave, the air left his lungs. He was frozen as he beheld the horrific sight before him. He didn’t know how long he stood there staring and only snapped out of his trance when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Sam?” Dean called as he approached, Bobby was at his side. At some point in his shock, Sam’s blade had fallen to the cave floor and only his flashlight remained in his tight grip. “Sam?” Dean asked again as he reached out for his brother’s shoulder that was still turned away from him. However, before Dean could make contact, Sam turned to face the other two men.

“This was not vampires,” was all that Sam said. Dean looked at Bobby who peered into the darkness, confused. Dean nudged Bobby and pointed to what looked like a small campfire near the center of the cave. Bobby drew his lighter, ignited it, and tossed into the rotting wood. As firelight filled the space, Dean and Bobby finally saw what had gotten Sam so shocked. Dean nearly gagged at the sight.

From one end of the cave to the next were human remains in different stages of decomposition. All strung up with thick bloody rope from the ceiling. Symbols were painted in blood along the walls and a devil’s trap had been inked into the floor, also in blood. It was a scene out of a horror film and one they were not prepared for.

“Dear God,” Dean said, his eyes locked on the carnage.

“God hasn’t been in this place,” Bobby said. “But I know who has.” Dean and Sam turned to see that Bobby had found multiple backpacks that had been stuffed in a crevice. Bobby removed his hat, clutching it in his fist. They would have to do a more in-depth count, but Sam figured by the number of body parts, these were, in fact, the four missing hikers that Bobby had been looking for.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Dean muttered.

“Well, do it outside,” Bobby said, rising from his crouch by a pack, “these poor souls have been through enough already.”

“What the hell did this?” Sam asked, “Demons?”

“Not with that in here,” Bobby said, pointing to the devil’s trap. “No, this dark, very dark. I’ve seen this symbol before,” he said gesturing to the bloody symbol next to Dean. “This is dark magic from before there was even light magic. I didn’t think things like this even existed anymore. Let alone witches who practiced.”

“So this was witches then? I thought they were all about animal sacrifices and funky herbs?” Dean said, trying to read more of the symbols while keeping his eyes off the severed limbs.

“There are all kinds of witchcraft in the world, Dean. Some of it is garden spells and good fortune while others are… this is the definition of evil and interrupting the balance of nature. I’m surprised another witch hasn’t stepped in yet.”

“Would that usually happen?” Sam asked, getting his bearings back. Bobby nodded.

“Most witches are about balance, this is the exact opposite of what many believe in. The witch community is very private. Hunters don’t need to get involved as much because they handle their rogues on their own. Which makes this that much more confusing.”

“So what do we do?” Dean asked. Bobby took another look at the body parts and then took off his pack and hauled out salt and lighter fluid.

“You know the drill. Let’s put these poor souls to rest and then get the hell out of here. I imagine this witch isn’t going to be too happy that we’ve interrupted their ritual. Whatever ritual that is.” Sam and Dean got to work, salting every human remain as Bobby took the initiative and cut each one down. Once they were salted, they poured the accelerant and let the fire grow throughout the entire cavern.

The three hunters stood outside the cave’s entrance in complete silence as their makeshift funeral burned behind them. It was nearly dusk by the time the flames were just smoldering embers, leaving charred ashes in place of human bone. Bobby left the boys in the open air to make sure the fire was completely out and then they left the damned place behind them, trying to get the horrific images out of their heads.

#winchesterwords #sam and dean #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #bobby singer #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn season 2 #hunting fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural

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teethcake · 6 years

Text

Ah got tagged by @wesminator , thank you!

Last:

Drink- Just some good ol’ water

Phone call- I haven't talked, on the phone for about three or so months. I’m not cool

Text- Gushing about how the Forge skin for Wes is, good looking with a buddy :0

Song- Saudade - Us The Duo

Time you cried- I think, a two weeks ago or around that time. Big boohoo feelings

Ever:

Been depressed- Hehe

Gotten drunk and thrown up- No! I don’t see myself a drinking type! Thrown up yeah but not from drinking!

In the last year have you:

Fallen outta love- Not with a person but with things, yeah

Found out someone was talking about you- I would assume, why, not sure, but who wants to talk about me. That would be boring as heck

Met someone who changed you- You know if you read this

Found out who your friends are- I would assume? This topic is a doozy with me

Kissed someone on your Facebook friends list- I,, deleted my Facebook a long time ago so no,, never kissed anyways

General:

Fave color- Yellow! Red also but mainly Yellow!

How many Facebook friends do you know IRL - Don’t have a FB :”0 my bad!

Any pets - Yep! Two lovely ladies whom I love. I post them on my Instagram sometimes!

Do you wanna change your name - Hm, kind of. My name atm is rare so i’d rather not lose it you know? That sounds selfish, my bad!

What did you do for your last birthday - Sleep in more than usual I think. Holiday b-days are always a plus

What were you doing last night at midnight - Sending someone cursed things from a fanfic in out convo, it was wild

What is something you can’t wait for - That banging new DST update!!!! TOTH also!!!!!!!!!

What are you listening to - This sadly, I enjoy his content still. My bad

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom - No but to the Tom I talk to in my life, if I ever, I bet your an epic person

Something that gets on your nerves - Lots of things but i’d rather not say! I do my best to not get things like that on my nerves, stay posi

Most visited website - Tumblr, Youtube, Instagram, Twitter, etc.

Hair color - Dark, dark brown

Hair length - Short short!

Do you have crush on someone - Real life? No but, you all know who I like in fiction

What do you like about yourself - Oh man I really like my eyebrows and hands at times.

Want any piercing - Not really!

Blood type- Not sure!

Nicknames- Teeth mostly, i’d rather not say my IRL nickname

Zodiac - Cancer!

Pronouns - He/ Him!

Fave TV show - Ah not sure! I haven't watch much TV but Gumball is always nice when it comes on!

Tattoos - If I want any? Yeah i’f get a few!

Right or left handed - Most people have it and i’m one of them

Ever had surgery - No but in the future, yeah

Sports - Spots I like? Swimming and Badminton were always nice

Vacation - Back to Thailand! I miss it so, so much!!

More general:

Eating - Noodles!

Drinking- Water or Apple juice

About to watch- This later tomorrow, love me some things like this

Waiting to- See that new DST content and TOTH livestream!!

Want - The weekend to come so I can draw

Get married - Of course! Hopefully that is, got to wait and see!

Which is better:

Hugs or kisses - Both but i havent done either of those

Lips or eyes - Eyes! Both are valid tho!

Shorter or taller - Both are great!

Nice arms or stomach - Nice,,, arms,, connected to the hands,, sorry nsfw on second main

Troublemaker or hesitant - Hesitant as heck

Have you ever:

Kissed a stranger - No never! I can’t even look at strangers at times

Drunk hard liquor - I had some killer water before

Lost glasses - .Never have! Never knew how someone could do that in the first place

Turned someone down - Maybe? Art related things yeah

Been arrested - For loving Wes too much? Daily

Cried when someone died - Rather not say

Fallen for a friend - Like, down you tripped? Maybe once

Do you believe in:

Yourself - I think so!

Love at first sight - As well I think so! I doubt I would have it myself but to others, sure!

Kiss on the first date - Never dated but I wouldn't

Angels - Hm, not really but the idea and concept, love!

Others:

Best friend’s name - Oh I don’t want to give away info bout others away like that!

Eye color - Brown!

Fave movie - Oh man. Doukyuusei, Wolf Children, Millennium Actress and The Beast and the Boy will always be my top favorites. Holes, Matilda, 9, and a bunch others will are good also!

Fave actors - Not sure!

If you want to do this, go wild! I’m not tagging but if you want to do it, go have fun!

#long/#tag meme #personal #?/#maybe not sure but! hey #the meat someone who changed your life one? mom you know who you are #text post #chitter chatter #*chants* toth. toth. toth. toth. toth. toth. toth.

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thesinglesjukebox · 7 years

Video

youtube

TAYLOR SWIFT - ...READY FOR IT? [5.79] After the last one, sure!

Katherine St Asaph: The old Taylor's not quite dead -- that pre-chorus is pure Nashville melody, from melody to bowdlerization ("you should see the things we do" is about as explicit as someone marveling over a particularly large pumpkin harvest.) Like her former/current/who knows anymore rival, "Ready For It" pumps up Swift's numbers by sounding like interstitial music for Big Sports -- premiered for the NFL, currently being stripped for instrumental parts by NBA promos -- but also like blood sports. The track's a bombed-out, post-apocalyptic version of 1989, the Yeezus to "LWYMTD"'s 808s. Or possibly approaching NIN: the pretty date machine of "Blank Space" gone rogue, locking onto someone arbitrary (the gossip algorithms still cross-referencing it against increasingly nonentity dudes) because "I see nothing better." It's romance only in the literal sense -- the jailer/thief scenario is even pulpier than "Bad Romance" managed -- and otherwise love reduced to plan and execution. The verses are alternatively tryhard, artificial and vaguely offensive, as if it isn't Taylor on the mic but Microsoft Tay. But the all-consuming, heat-seeking mania of a certain inadvisable sort of crush is palpable as adrenaline, and stokes the all-consuming, heat-seeking maximalism of Max Martin and team throwing every resource and songwriting trick into ensuring this is a hit. Petty points for Swift saying the word "island" this many times in a track with no trop-house whatsoever, and given that she's enough of an in-joker to come up with "Nils Sjoberg," I bet it's on purpose. [9]

Ramzi Awn: The most commendable thing about "...Ready For It?" is that it completely erases any memory of the single that preceded it. A confusing, feverish dash for relevance, the song makes Katy Perry's "Swish Swish" sound even more fun, an accomplishment not to be taken lightly. [3]

Alex Clifton: The rapping is an atrocity. The production is a slicker version of Sleigh Bells with half the heart. Taylor's enunciation is bizarre: "no one has to know" is such an awkward line delivery, second only to the nasally "he can be my jailor" and "let the games begin." Her vocals are a piss-poor imitation of Rihanna; at first listen, it's hard to find a shred of the Taylor I've known and loved. It's a travesty. And yet. It's 100% a Taylor production, overdramatic, narcissistic, full of easter egg references to old songs like "Haunted" and "Wildest Dreams". It's obsessive dark love writ large: "I keep him forever / like a vendetta" marries romance and vengeance perfectly. And the sheer force of that chorus makes me want to scream "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIIIIIGHT" in public. I love the idea of sexy, dirty Taylor, less concerned with perfection and more with ghosts and robbers and gritty feeling, but the haphazard execution of the verses is so frustrating. Par for the course with all Max Martin creations, though, that chorus is a melodic masterpiece. I've got this on repeat and I'm upset about it. [6]

Eleanor Graham: Who would have guessed that the legacy of Taylor Swift's fifth album "reputation" would be to have production so DIABOLICAL that it makes "Welcome To New York" sound like "Heroes"? No one on pop's A, B or C list should come within 100 feet of something that sounds like this. I've seen comparisons to Yeezus, which is fair because they are comparable in terms of sheer nerve, but on tracks like "New Slaves" or "I'm In It", Kanye's sleaze is a feasible sparring partner for electro-roar. Taylor's Pennsylvania-goth-Bratz-doll-masochism-adjacent-revenge-core is not. You'd think that would be obvious! To, you know, anyone! I don't even know what's happening anymore. The 2 points are mainly for the way she says "go", which does something to me; no, I don't want to talk about it. [2]

Stephen Eisermann: Taylor's thrown caution to the wind and no longer gives any fucks. The provocative chorus and the weird, rapid-fire, off-putting rap/sing hybrid verses are the most prominent examples of her willingness to toss out all consistencies previously found in her music. None of this feels like Taylor and that's fun, but I'm not sure everything works. The verses especially, though lyrically fun, are delivered so oddly that the parts that should be "cool," instead make me cringe - the "Burton" line, specifically. I mean, I'm not sure what I was expecting based on the first single, but it certainly wasn't this, for better or worse. [6]

Ryo Miyauchi: Taylor writes her tried-and-true narrative of love as tragedy into self-parody. The bare-bones beat and the anti-chorus structure of "...Ready For It?" laughs at the many hits of 1989. Her self-satisfaction is maddening, truly: the snicker to "the Burton to my Taylor" is designed to drive everyone nuts. But I should remind: the real target is not exactly you but, as always, her exes, who she destroys without lifting her voice: "every love I've known in comparison is a failure" doesn't so much rip apart the journal pages where they're enshrined than it sets her entire bookshelf into flames like some great purge. [6]

Claire Biddles: Speculating who the 'real' Taylor Swift is is reductive and boring, but my favourite Taylor Swift is the wide-eyed, extra, romantic, saying-too-much-too-soon Taylor Swift that we get a glimpse of in the bridge, swallowed up before she even gets started by that sub-Kanye womp-womp in place of a chorus. There's a mutated version of her in the verses ("We'll move to an island/and he can be my jailer" -- I'm imagining she's just met the guy for full effect) but the self-conscious, sub-Lana Del Rey delivery dampens it. Perhaps I'm just being selfish, wanting for the Taylor who most relates to (and thus excuses) my embarrassing romantic tendencies, but Cool Girl Taylor's attempts at aloofness are unconvincing. [5]

Alfred Soto: A bad single, an uninteresting bad single. Mouthing "are you ready for it?" over synth bass farts comes off like preparing listeners for the punch line: Taylor Swift rapping with as little regard for cadence as Lou Reed in 1986. At least "The Original Wrapper" had the performer's rage as its subject, affected or not; Swift is writing bad bumper music. [3]

Will Adams: It's standard practice now for Taylor Swift to drop an incendiary lead single that gets the discourse a-churnin', only to reel in the masses for the more palatable, less batshit follow-up (and she's not the only one to do this). But for "I Knew You Were Trouble" and "Blank Space," there was still a distortion of who we thought Taylor Swift was (dubstep; dissection of public image). The distortion in "...Ready For It?" is... distortion. But it's hard to care about whether Swift is stoking more controversy when the song is so bracing. There's nowhere to run as blocks of drums stack atop the opening pounds and warped roars, all culminating in, finally, an actual chorus. Where "Look What You Made Me Do" was a firebomb kindled by thinkpieces, the fire in "...Ready For It?" comes from the song itself. [8]

Iain Mew: Like "Wildest Dreams" with the wild dreams added in. [8]

Joshua Copperman: A couple of years ago, I actually co-wrote a song where we used that phantom/ransom rhyme. Until that song actually comes out, here's Taylor being the ransom phantom instead of someone else haunting her. I wish that the opening line was "Loki was a killer/first time that I saw him," because that would be hilarious for her to bypass the "tilted stage" subtweets altogether and talk about how Hiddleston's now pining over her. These lyrics are also as good as anything she's even written, so a "Loki" joke would work better than whatever she was on about last time. What bugs me, though, is the empty space in the chorus. Taylor's best melodies are stream-of-consciousness, but "in the middle of the night/in my dreams.................... you should see the things we do" feels like something got cut out last-minute. I do love the idea though, the way it flips the narrative of Wildest Dreams in a really interesting way - now, she's seeing him in her wildest dreams. That's the kind of self-referencing and subversion I'd rather see Taylor do. [6]

Edward Okulicz: So many of the ingredients of Good Taylor Pop Songs are in this one -- dreamy and melodic chorus, don't care attitude, groan-inducing but quotable lyrics -- but the production feels really dated (to around the time of Red, in fact), stalling the track when it tries to accelerate. [6]

Sonia Yang: On one hand, this is generic pop I would have brushed off had it been any other artist. On the other, it's refreshing to see Swift step out of the zone of what I've come to expect from her in particular. I love the ominous synths and how the entire track has a spy thriller vibe. The best part is that breathy prechorus, you can really feel the "island breeze" as Swift delivers that line. The chorus, unfortunately, is a wisp of a thing that doesn't have any impact. The melody neither compels nor is purposefully anticlimactic. The lyrics, while not quite Love Story levels of awkward, are not great; the Taylor-Burton reference is campy at best and cringe at worst. [5]

Jonathan Bradley: Taylor Swift has rolled out singles from Reputation like trailers for the next release from a blockbuster film franchise: not only songs, "Look What You Made Me Do" and now "...Ready For It" (next: "Gorgeous"?) have acted as teasers for a new product launch. Unveiled during a college football broadcast, "...Ready For It" sounds like sports, like a pre-game huddle, like a highlights reel from last season building excitement to see how the new line-up will perform. "Welcome to New York" did the same for 1989 and was fine, but "...Ready For It" is better because it crams more into its pop overload: a rap that traces the "Empire State of Mind" flow, K-pop synth blasts, a gleefully audacious pun on Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and a chorus about "dreams" and doing things in the night that throws it all in for the romanticism Swift has always been so resolved to earnestly commit herself. If Reputation should turn out to be her New Jersey album, and if all the stage-setting should ultimately overshadow the show itself, I hope we'll one day rediscover how good the songs themselves were. [8]

#Taylor Swift #...Ready for It?

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lady-laufey · 7 years

Text

92 Questions

Tagged by: @quickchangeartist

Answer the questions and tag 20 people.

I’m not tagging anybody. If you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged.

THE LAST: 1. Drink: a 2-liter measuring cup full of ice water 2. Phone call: talked to my aunt and uncle a few days ago. 3. Text message: “Oh shit. Yeah, lemme clear up my text inbox a bit.” 4. Song you listened to: A hard rock/metal composition I’m working on with flute and violin leads. Or, if we’re only counting finished songs, Psycho Killer by Talking Heads 5. Time you cried: I really don’t remember.

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: Haven’t dated anyone once. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: No. Haven’t kissed anyone and not regretted it, either. 8. Been cheated on: Obviously not. 9. Lost someone special: Lots of deaths in the family. 10. Been depressed: About sums up the last few years, yeah. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Never even got to step one. LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. Purple 13. Black 14. The sort of orangey color you get holding a glass of root beer up to the light. IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: I think that depends on whether you lot consider me a friend. 16. Fallen out of love: Haven’t met the prerequisites. 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Nope. 19. Met someone who changed you: That was more the year before. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Obviously not.

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them. 24. Do you want to change your name: Yeah. No idea when I’ll be able to, but eventually I would like to see Laufey printed on official documents. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Went to the lake, swam around a bit, grilled burgers and corn. Watched some birds. 26. What time did you wake up: 8 AM 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Trying to get this damn composition to make sense. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Moving to Colorado. 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Yesterday. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: How about we drop a piano on my father’s head about 23 years ago, let me not be depressed, and oh yeah, get me some fucking estradiol 31. What are you listening right now: The self-titled album from Mongolian folk metal band Nine Treasures 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Probably, but apparently they weren’t very memorable. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: This fucking flute bit. 34. Most visited Website: tungle dot hell LOST QUESTIONS 35. Mole/s: Couple on the back of my neck. 36. Mark/s: I’ve got a big scar on my big toe from when I whacked it with a machete. Small scar on my chin. Freckles everywhere. 37. Childhood dream: Definitely wanted to be a palaeontologist. 38. Haircolour: Just sorta brown. 39. Long or short hair: Short hair is required for my job. Not practically required, just part of the required aesthetic for employees viewed as men (and I know my coworkers’ opinions too well to be coming out there) 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Plenty. Doesn’t amount to anything. 41. What do you like about yourself: Tall, reasonably strong, usually clever. Not deliberately an asshole. 43. Bloodtype: Haven’t the foggiest clue. 44. Nickname: Troll 45. Relationship status: None 46. Zodiac: Cancer, but I don’t pay attention to that sort of thing 47. Pronouns: She/Her 48. Favourite TV Show: I don’t remember the last time I watched TV. Sorry. 49. Tattoos: Probably eventually. 50. Right or left hand: Left 51. Surgery: Nothing more serious than removing an extra tooth when I was a kid. 52. Hair dyed in different colour: Maybe eventually. 53. Sport: I like the idea of fencing or HEMA 55. Vacation: Wherever the birds are 56. Pair of trainers: I have my work shoes, sandals, and boots. Work shoes and sandals are falling apart, might have spare money to replace them in a few weeks. We’ll see. MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: I probably should. Maybe see what’s in the freezer. 58. Drinking: Should get some ice water here in a minute. 59. I’m about to: Hopefully figure out what to do where the violin overlaps the flute. 61. Waiting for: Lots of things. I feel trapped. 62. Want: I’d settle for a hard-boiled egg. 63. Get married: Not until I look like myself, and even then I don’t know who would. 64. Career: In this economy? WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: Only ever had one. Hugs are usually kind of awkward for me, but I can’t say they’re better than something I’ve never done. 66. Lips or eyes: I don’t feel like I know enough to answer this. 67. Shorter or taller: I really have no preference 68. Older or younger: Um... around my own age, I guess. I don’t know. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: I don’t feel like I know enough to answer this. Arms, I guess. 71. Sensitive or loud: Please not loud. 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship, please. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Depends what kind of trouble. HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a stranger: No. 75. Drank hard liquor: Had a bit of 30 year old Irish whiskey. It tasted like wood-flavored mouthwash. 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: Never lost my glasses exactly, but I’ve broken several pairs. 77. Turned someone down: Never been approached by anyone who wasn’t doing it because someone bet them $5. 78. Sex in the first date: I’ll cross that bridge if I ever get to it. 79. Broken someone’s heart: I don’t think anyone’s ever given me that kind of power, no. 80. Had your heart broken: Slowly. 81. Been arrested: No. 82. Cried when someone died: That’s not really my response. I just shut down. 83. Fallen for a friend: I haven’t had myself together enough to sort out that kind of feelings, no. DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: I am motherfucking indestructible. 85. Miracles: Not really. 86. Love at first sight: I’m hardly an expert. 87. Santa Claus: Nope. 88. Kiss on the first date: I don’t see why not. 89. Angels: I am not a part of any religion that uses that word, so no, they do not apply to me. OTHER: 90. Current best friends name: Kind of a big question. The two that come to mind are Grace and Christina. 91. Eyecolour: Sorta bluish-green. 92. Favourite movie: The Mummy. The Brendan Fraser one. Most of the rest of my favorites haven’t aged well.

#long post

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girljeeproad · 8 years

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Can you help me understand what caused the pants shortage at the Grammys?

Monday mornings in the office certainly have their moments with respect to getting the ole brain switch to ‘on’ when you get into the office after being off for a couple of days, having been spoiled over the weekend by some flat-out amazing 70-75 degree sunny weather in February, of all months. Y’all know what I’m talking about. This Monday morning was one of those mornings where – as an example – you kick it off thinking to yourself, “Self. I have got some pep in my step this fine Monday morning which is most excellent,” but then you are abruptly thrown into the “nope, this is just another case of the Mondays” as you are mid-conversation with a colleague about ‘tomorrow’ which you for sure think is Wednesday. Well tomorrow isn’t Wednesday, it’s Tuesday. Dammit. That’s a real-time example, folks. That was my Monday morning. And as my work colleague kindly said, “Sarah, tomorrow is not Wednesday” and promptly followed that up with, “off to a rough start today” I had already started to playback the last 12ish hours to find the source of my Monday morning foggy-brain syndrome. After taking a beat, I realized exactly what the issue was. I was still completely perplexed by the Beyoncé performance at the 59th annual Grammy Awards.

Yep. My brain was still trying to process the sights and sounds of the ‘biggest night in music.’ I only have a Fire TV, I kicked cable out of my house over a year ago because I’m too cheap, so I don’t have regular network TV. Meaning that I had to go out of my way to catch the Grammys. I enjoy and listen to all kinds of music and have always been a fan of the Grammys and other similar awards shows; I like the variety of performances (although I candidly think the association has gotten a little out of hand with all of the absurd collabs) more so than the awards (which is great considering they award like 90% of the Grammys out earlier in the day at the pre-Grammy Grammy ceremony – the logic of that is absolutely baffling to me, but hey, that’s the biz for ya I guess). I just simply like to be entertained. This year’s Grammys certainly didn’t disappoint for many reasons; whether you watched it or not, it was utterly entertaining in many ways. Here’s a recap.

The Opener: Adele, Hello If you caught the Grammys last year, Adele performed a song off her 25 album (I think it was All I Ask – an Adele-style piano ballad) and had some out-of-her-control technical issues with the audio.

Quick back story – We hadn’t see or heard from her in years, but she was coming off of a major and highly anticipated album drop (25) in late 2015 (after the 2016 Grammy submission deadline) and a huge, ridiculously ridiculous, mega-hit in Hello. I’m sure you have heard it at least once – voluntarily or involuntarily. At the very least, you hopefully saw the mega-hilarious SNL Thanksgiving skit about the song. Please you tube that and watch it repeatedly – it is hysterical the first time and the 400th time.

Anyways, her performance at the 2016 Grammys was her first in several years so it was super hyped-up. And the second mic in the piano fell over, and all we heard was the sound of piano strings completely taking over her more than likely flawless performance. Props to her as she kept on singing because it was live and well, what was she going to do, grab the mic out of the piano and chuck it into the audiencein a fit of diva rage? No. She’s a professional. I felt so bad for her, as did the vast majority of humans who were watching I’m sure. Fairly certain it did not impact her sales though. Phew.

So opening the 2017 Grammys with her ridiculously ridiculous mega hit was her big chance at a little redemption (not that she really needed it in my opinion). It’s not your typical opening gig – obvi. It’s Adele. The Adele. She’s out of control talented. She’s got major pipes; the kind that gives you goosies. That song is killer. It’s outrageously excellent. And she nailed it. All she was missing was a Lady Gaga-Super Bowl-style mic drop at the end. Maybe next time.

The Weeknd feat. Daft Punk, I Feel It Coming All I have to say is what a difference a hair makes. I mean a year. What a difference a year makes. The Weeknd has been on a roll and it looks like his success finally landed him a stylist, or at a minimum a hairdresser. I don’t know if you recall last year, when he took the Grammys stage with a hairstyle like I’ve never seen before. It looked like the hand from a walker in the Walking Dead coming out of his head. It was, well it was certainly original. Thank goodness he has a phenomenal voice because that hairstyle alone could have easily landed him in a lifetime of toothpaste commercial jingles versus global vocal fame. But, the man got himself a haircut. Turns out he’s quite attractive when there isn’t a weird hand or tree thing protruding from his head. His voice is still superb. And he was joined, apparently in a come back of their own, by Daft Punk or as I like to call them, those two robot looking dudes whose skill set I’ve not quite nailed down yet but hey they look cool. Pretty solid performance I thought – ended up being one of my favorites. Daft Punk tinkering on the pink podium things…now that was some next-level action. For sure.

2016 Grammys Hair

2017 Grammys Hair

those two robot looking dudes and their pink podiums

John Travolta It seems the networks have learned their lesson on allowing John Travolta to read from the teleprompter. You know, since he has proven he is incapable of doing it successfully. And also considering he has a history of being a bit of a loose cannon when there’s a camera nearby. Google him introducing Idina Menzel (the gal who brought that catchy Frozen number Let It Go to the homes of Frozen-obsessed tiny humans) at the Oscars a few years back. Adele Dazeem, anyone? It explains A LOT. I bet those cue cards he snatched from his coat pocket make a whole lot more sense now.

Twenty One Pilots Acceptance Speech Why? Just why? Seriously, where are your pants? This is the Grammys. It’s formal wear, like black-tie formal. Not formal wear, pants optional. They just took their pants off. Poor Sturgill Simpson got a view and performance he did not plan to get while attending the Grammys. At least we were blessed with a precious story that maybe semi-justified the lack of pants. Precious and borderline unsettling – why are people just watching the Grammys in their delicates? That’s odd, right? Frankly, the dude with the yellow hair seemed very uncomfortable – like he had a “bro I was joking about the pants thing and I didn’t prep for this” look on his face the whole time. But really, put your pants back on; it’s the Grammys not the MTV awards or VMAs or whatever that nightmare of the scantily clad is called.

James Corden (The Host) Put your pants on!!! Good lord. I mean I get the need for the host/comedian to make fun of Twenty One Pilots’ pants-free acceptance speech. They were easy targets. But again, put your pants back on!

Ed Sheeran, Shape Your Body Ed Sheeran is another exceptionally talented artist. And he took the stage – with his pants on – and reminded us how utterly talented he is by playing a very stripped-down (pun intended) version of his hit tune. It was one of my favorite performances of the show. I believe he played 3 instruments all by himself. Ridiculous. What a show-off.

Kelsea Ballerini & Lukas Graham collab First, why? Second, that’s fine if you want to put together a collaboration from two seemingly random artists from very different genres, but for all of us at home – please mix a better mash-up of their songs so it at least sounds decent. Third, as a fan of all music – country music included – give those country music folks a little stage time! They work just as hard as the other genres! Yes, Carrie and Keith had a great performance earlier in the show, but at least give the country artists that are tossed in the collabs 50% of the time. Seven Years is a really great song, but poor Ballerini barely got any of her song squeezed into that mash-up. At least they both had pants on.

Beyoncé – A very very pregnant-with-twins Beyoncé Before I go on, I must say that I like Beyoncé. I think she’s very talented and her voice is ridiculously stunning. To sum up, I am a fan. And I was looking forward to the performance, just like I was looking forward to Adele (in case that wasn’t made clear earlier). That being said… What. The. Hell. Was. That? I honestly had no words. Which is fitting, since she used so few words during the 7-minute long performance. I was for the most part confused; I had no idea what I was watching. It was one of those things where I really wanted to like it but I just didn’t get it – it was a little trippy. I do get that it was directly tied to the style of the album.

It was reported after the fact as a breathtaking medley of 2 tunes from her Lemonade album (a ballsy, cutting edge album that was arguably worthy of the top award of the night), which I found utterly hilarious since I think she only sang for a total of maybe a minute, give or take (and it was fabulous when she did, especially when she went into Sand Castles). Can we really call it a medley when there is so little singing? And it is safe to say that we all have different definitions of breathtaking. Call me a traditionalist, but I want to hear people singing.

But props to Queen B for even doing a performance at all. If it were me, I’d have sat that one out, and said thanks but no thanks Grammy association, I’ve got two buns in the oven and my cankles are out of control. But B doesn’t get cankles (that lucky B). And she gave us a golden performance. Literally. I remain perplexed by the performance. It threw me off my Monday morning game today. Totes obvi. *Side note – great speech*

Bruno Mars, That’s What I Like I just need to know what material their pants were made out of. They looked like they’d be extremely hot to wear, much less dance in. I was sweating just watching that performance (which was solid). But again, at least they all had pants on. I suppose any remarks of such a trivial matter like textiles can be overshadowed by the fact they were wearing pants on a night where apparently pants were optional.

Alicia Keys & Maren Morris collab So Alicia Keys is on her kick about not wearing any make-up. Which I can respect, as one who does not wear make-up. I mean I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with it if I owned any. Anyways, she’s been going strong on this no make-up thing for quite some time (like a year or so I think – imagine the money she has saved). So in knowing that, did anyone else lay issue with the fact that while she sported a make-up free visage, she had obviously glittered up her girls for the performance. Or it was residual glitter from the glitter onesie she was rocking. Either way, isn’t that make-up? And Maren Morris. Stellar vocals. But, just when you think we had moved past Pantless Sunday at the Grammys, Maren, too, forgot her pants. Both ladies had mad pipes, but we still came up short on the pants. Pantless Sunday at the Grammys continues.

George Michael Tribute by Adele Well her first performance was basically flawless. This one was not. But rather than continue the song as she had to in 2016 when we were all serenaded by mic-ed up piano strings (not her fault), Adele said well f-it so what if it’s live TV and well, literally drops an f-bomb on live TV, apologies for missing the mark on the song, and asks for a re-do. Her re-do was essentially flawless and once again she was back to giving us all goosies.

I’m sure the network was less than pleased by the extension, but let’s be honest…they always go way over time AND they gave Beyoncé roughly 7 minutes to sing next to nothing. So it’s really a wash, right? I was not familiar with the song Fast Love, and some local critics felt it was overly somber (guys, it’s a tribute to a well-known artist who died on Christmas day, it can be somber) – I didn’t mind it at all; I just wish I knew the song. As an aside – she did give the backstory for the tribute and the song choice during a backstage interview after the show for those who want to hear it. But two thumbs up for the mulligan. If anything, it made the pants optional show a little more interesting and less about…well, less about pants.

Chance The Rapper I like his story. I did not like his baseball hat. It’s the Grammys, leave the ball caps at home. His enthusiasm, however, made up for the wardrobe gaffe. And. AND. He was wearing pants!! They were borderline clam-diggers, but dammit they were pants.

Metallica feat. Lady Gaga Super bizarre. Perhaps the success of her Super Bowl performance has gone to her head. Or perhaps the pop-rocker turned vixen extraordinaire just cashed her Super Bowl check and stopped caring for the night. Either way, pantless (yep – you heard me – she was in cut-off ‘shorts’, the term ‘shorts’ being used very loosely) crowd surfing both seemed and looked like not the best idea. And for the love of Pete, turn the mikes on. It’s Metallica. How else are we to hear the loud, raging vocals if the mic isn’t on. The Metallica frontman looked pretty pissed as he chucked his guitar off the side stage at the end of the performance. Way to be, Grammys. Way to be.

Sturgill Simpson Damn. Go buy that album folks; it is excellent. One of my favorite performances of the night by far. That being said, Dwight Yoakam came off as a little terrifying in the intro. In his defense, he did get accidentally whacked on the back of the head by the two dudes that took off their pants near the top of the show. I’m certain that wasn’t intentional.

Celine Dion Cannot express how old it made me feel when she said she won Song of the Year for My Heart Will Go On 18 years ago. Ouch.

Welp, I’m 5 pages in on this recap and I missed a couple of the late performances (I have a bedtime), so I’m going to do a quick wrap up on the 2017 Grammys:

Favorite Performances:

Adele, Hello

The Weeknd feat. Daft Punk

Ed Sheeran, Shape Your Body

Sturgill Simpson

Most Confusing Performance:

Queen B

Best Acceptance Speeches:

Adele for Album of the Year

Beyoncé

Number of Pantless Sunday Situations:

Pantless Sunday – round 1

Pantless Sunday – round 2

Pantless Sunday – round 3

Pantless Sunday + Crowd Surfing = Not the best idea ever

Suggestions for Future Grammys:

Make sure the microphones are turned on.

Give Beyoncé an Album of the Year Grammy.

Don’t forget about Country Music – they sing good too (grammar error intentional)

Bring some random awards to prime time, like Best Comedy Album or Songwriter of the Year or Best Children’s Album – mix it up and let them perform!

Trends that Need Not Continue at the 2018 Grammys:

Pantless Sunday

Can you help me understand what caused the pants shortage at the Grammys? Can you help me understand what caused the pants shortage at the Grammys? Monday mornings in the office certainly have their moments with respect to getting the ole brain switch to ‘on’ when you get into the office after being off for a couple of days, having been spoiled over the weekend by some flat-out amazing 70-75 degree sunny weather in February, of all months.

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