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sophaeros · 10 months ago

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interviews #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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gtgbabie0 · 6 months ago

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-Cowboy!Remus Lupin x Reader

{You’re the preachers daughter but God be damned he just can’t keep away even if it’s to see you for just a small moment.}

Cowboy Remus, you have saved lives. Enjoy lovelies 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

The sunset casts over the horizon, painting the clouds in the prettiest colours, a pinky-orangey mixture swirling throughout the sky. It makes for a beautiful sight as Remus makes his way through the plains on his brown Spanish Mustang, a loyal horse that’s been with him through thick and thin.

He knows where he’ll end up, back at your father’s small ranch house despite the tiny part of his mind that screams at him to turn around. Your father would shoot him, he reckons, he might be a man of faith but you’re his little girl.

With a soft groan, he runs his hand through his horse's mane as he trots across the trodden grass. He continues on the path to your ranch, excitement bubbling up inside him as your house comes into his line of sight.

Remus knows that you’ll be alone, this isn’t the first time he’s been here, sneaking around like some damn outlaw. He knows your father is off in town doing his daily sermons that last for hours. He can’t help but smirk at the idea of getting a moment alone with you… his sweetheart. Even if it’s fleeting.

He’s tying his horse to the hitching post just by the white fencing of your house when you come rushing over to him with a joyous expression. That sweet smile of yours is enough to make anyone fall to their knees. Remus nods to you, taking off his hat as he holds it to his chest.

“Thought you’d forgotten about me.” You say, giggling softly. You lean over the fencing as he walks over to you, hooking his hat on the white wood.

He shakes his head, and his calloused palm grazes your cheek as he brushes your hair behind your ear. “How could I forget ‘bout you?” He asks with a grin, admiring the soft cotton dress you’re wearing and the way the fabric ripples through the wind.

It was true, there wasn’t a world where Remus could ever forget about you, your soft skin and pretty eyes are practically engraved into his mind and heart. That’s why he’s here, standing in front of you despite his better judgment and the fact he knows that your father, deep down, would never approve of him dating you.

The smell of the outdoors and firewood lingers on his sun-kissed skin. You’re hit with it as he leans down slightly to press a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Have you eaten yet?… and I mean a good meal.” Your question makes his heart swell with love and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, I’ve eaten sweetheart.” He promises, pressing his thumb against your chin, he tilts your head upwards to look at him as he steps closer to you with his other hand resting against your hip.

You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist before slipping your hands into his back pockets. A habit you’ve picked up on from him. He smirks down at you.

“Are you coming in?” God, the way his mind spins with that question and how badly he wants to say ‘yes’ and stay with you.

“Can’t stay for long, baby. James and Sirius are expecting me down at the Saloon.” He tells you, soothing his thumb along your jaw as you pout up at him with a look of disappointment in your eyes.

“Oh, come on now.” He chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to your pouty lips. “Don’t give me that face, pretty thing. you know why I can’t stay.”

Remus presses another kiss to your lips as your expression softens. “He’s gonna find out one day.” You’ve got a point, one day Remus will have to bite the bullet and fish out a neat suit to meet your strict father.

“Hmm… not if I steal ya away first.” He teases, enjoying the way you roll your eyes slightly with a huff. He tugs you closer to him by your hips. “Promise, one day I’ll let ya introduce me to him.” He says, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as he takes in the scent of your flowery perfume.

You decide to trust him, after all, he’s never once lied to you before. Remus just isn’t the type, he’s a man that values trust and he’d never take yours for granted.

“Why’d you come all the way out here then?” Your question makes him lift his head up from your shoulder, his eyebrow-raising with a playful look.

“Just wanted to see your pretty face.” He states simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. “I don’t need an excuse to come and see ya do I?”

You shake your head, looking up at him. “No… I’m glad you came, I’ve missed you.” There it goes again, your words make his chest bloom with a warmth that leaves a sickly sweet taste in his mouth.

“Missed you too baby.” He whispers, his fingers fiddling with the dainty golden cross that sits against your collarbones. He knows your father will be back soon, he should get going but at the same time, he can’t seem to pull himself away.

Remus takes your hands in his own, glancing over to his horse before looking back down to you. “You wanna go riding with me tomorrow?” He asks, hope gleaming in his honeyed eyes.

The excitement in your expression is truly a sight he’ll never get bored of. “Of course, I’ll wait for you after breakfast.” You tell him and he hums in agreement, picking his hat up and fixing it on his head.

“Better get some sleep then, I’ll be here early.” He smiles, caressing your warm cheek with his thumb. He tilts his hat up slightly so he can lean down and press a loving kiss to your lips that tapers off into small pecks.

“I will love you, cowpoke.” You whisper against his lips, shying away from him ever so slightly as he trails his lips along your jaw to your cheek, he grins against your soft skin.

“Love you too.” He whispers, fixing his hat once more.

He kisses your forehead before walking over to his horse, unhitching him from the post before saddling up. With a wave he clicks his tongue and his horse is off, carrying him away from the ranch, leaving only a promise of returning tomorrow.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

-Art by @/sophithil on twt

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koiiiji · 7 months ago

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listening to ‘00 spanish songs with Hyuk and Wooin in his car>>>

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

as the warmth of spring enveloped Seoul on this vibrant evening, the city thrummed with the energy of youth and possibility. everywhere you looked, people hurried home or dashed off on romantic escapades, while others embarked on business ventures or grappled with personal dilemmas. yet amidst the hustle and bustle, Seoul's streets remained alive with the promise of endless opportunities, illuminated by the neon glow of billboards and signs that seemed to dance in the twilight.

as dusk descended, casting a cloak of mystery over the city, a sleek black Ford Mustang sliced through the air, its sleek frame cutting through the night with the grace of creature that makes it way through the thicket of the stone jungle of the city. the scent of blooming cherry blossoms mingled with the faint aroma of street food, carried on a gentle breeze that whispered of new period in life, fresh spring, beginning of something new. inside the car, the exhilarating rush of speed was matched only by the pulse-pounding beats of music, echoing through the night with a fervor that stirred the soul.

in the back seats, you and Hyuk reveled in the euphoria of the moment, your voices rising in joyful abandon as you sang along to old Spanish tracks. the cool embrace of the air conditioner and the thrill of the open road washed over you, filling you with a sense of invincibility and youth. meanwhile, Wooin expertly piloted the car, a smile playing at his lips as he watched the spectacle unfolding behind him. “damn, this two weirdos.. can’t understand a word” he chuckled he turned his gaze to Joker who fall asleep in passenger seat despite loud bass playing.

in this moment, surrounded by friends and intoxicated by the heady cocktail of spring air, freedom, and adrenaline, you felt alive in a way that only youth can understand. and as the night stretched out before you, filled with endless possibilities, you couldn't help but feel that anything was possible.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

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zepskies · 11 months ago

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DEAN WINCHESTER SERIES

(**Notes 18+ only and/or smut)

Never Say Goodbye** - (Dean W. x Soulmate!Reader) The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU]

Series Complete

Midnight Espresso-Verse** - (Dean W. x Plus-Sized!Reader) A Masterlist of stories in which Dean dates a curvy Latina.

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

If You Want It To Be** - (Dean W. x Reader) When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you.

Series Complete

Smoke Eater** - (Firefighter!Dean W. x Reader) Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

Series Complete

The Honorable Choice** - (Dean W. x OFC) June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

Series Complete

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

✍️ Writer Support:

Have you enjoyed my Dean stories?

If you'd like to keep supporting me as I continue writing, you can:

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Become a Patreon Member 🌟

💌 Get Notified:

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story.

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apples-stables · 1 year ago

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FUN RANDOM HORSE BREED TIME

Super small lil horse breed known as the Banker Horse is a semi-feral/feral horse breed that lives on the barrier islands off the coast of North Carolina!

They're not considered to be indigenous but are protected and managed by the National Park Service and currently the estimated population of these horses is 400.

They share ancestry with other Colonial Spanish horse breeds, and genetic markers indicate the share a common ancestory with both the Paso Fino and the Pryor Mountain Mustang.

While there isn't a specific source of these horses, the biggest theories is that they swam to shore when ships wrecked in the nearby shoals, in a region known as the "Graveyard of the Atlantic" due to how many ships its claimed.

The Foundation for Shackleford Horses has set up a studbook for establishing the Banker horse as its own horse breed. It is registered as a critically endangered breed with the American Livestock Breeds Conversancy.

If you wanna help with the conservation of these cool guys, feel free to check out the link below!

#im making this because of that fake sea turtle post #horses #wild horses #conservation #horse breeds #banker horses #north carolina #animal conservation #endangered breeds #real horses

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guardkeywolf · 2 years ago

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I needs some Russian male reader that owns a ranch and da cod boys (and konig and that Spanish dude forgot his name because of how long his name is 👁👄👁) that came to visit since soap praticly begged male reader to visit his ranch along with the boys and male reader agrees and just fanning over the fact of how big and the ranch is and how many animals he has and that fact he makes Russian food and have allot of dogs, cats, snakes, and other pets that you can think of and is able to ride a horse and has a Buffalo

Like I can't find any Russian male reader on any platform i have 💀💀🥲🥲

Russian Male Reader X 141! Boys + Alejandro and König

Stella (Ball Python)

Vera (Stallion)

Alek (Mustang)

Hello @gamersansblog !!!

I was pretty shocked when I got this request to write a Russian Male Reader (considering I'm American lol) and especially about a ranch!

But I really did enjoy this one a lot so I hope you enjoy it as well!

And some slight Soap X Male Reader at the end too...

When Soap, had asked Y/n to come down to the base for the tenth time, the man couldn't help but sigh and smile as he made his way down to the base.

As a retired soldier, the 141 didn't mind letting the Russian come down and enter their base, seeing him as another friend.

During the 141's lunch break, they were all making small talk with each other about some random topics Y/n didn't particularly pick up on and instead scrolled through his phone. While conversating, Y/n could help but perk up at the word "ranch" leaving someone's lips before responding himself.

"What about a ranch?" He asked looking up from his phone with a curious look in his eye.

Soap looked up towards him with soft eyes.

"Oh nothing in particular, just saw some horses recently on my way here. Couldn't help but wonder what it be like to ride them," his eyes glowing at the thought as he smiled.

"We bet it 'ould buck him off in 3 seconds," Ghost said from behind him, others chuckling as well.

"Oh 'ush! I bet cha' 'ouldn't last any longer than me!" Soap cried making the other laugh more.

"I don't know, Soap, I think Ghost would at least manage to hang on longer. You'd get throw off instantly," Gaz spoke from the other side of the table while sitting next to Price.

"I don't know Hermano... You just might get bucked off," the Colonel voiced while trying to hold in a laugh that he failed at immensely.

"Come on...don't you believe in me König?" The Scottish man turned to the Austrian with glossy eyes nearly shedding a tear.

"I'm sure you zan do zit," König responded softly.

"See! König thinks I can do it!" The Scottish man cheered as smirked at the others.

"Alright then... if you can do it, where are to gonna test it, Sergeant?" Price spoke.

"Ah...well..." he scratched the back of his head.

"I have a ranch... and last time I checked, you've been begging me to go there," Y/n said.

They all turned to him instantly, eyes wide as if he grew a second head. Soap jumped on him immediately with a small grin painting his lips.

"You own a ranch?!" Gaz yelled in surprise.

"Da, I got cow, dog, cat, and horse too Soap," Y/n reassured him as he watched the grown man bounce in his toes in excitement.

"Y/N YOU GOTTA TAKE ME PLEASE!" The Scottish man said, back to being giddy. The man was on his knees as begged the Russian.

"Now hold on, Y/n just said he owned a ranch, Soap, didn't say you could use it," Price intervened.

"It fine, Kapitan, plus it not too far from base. If you'd like to come, feel free," Y/n said, shrugging in the process.

"REALLY?!" Soap squealed.

"да!" ("Yes!") Y/n replied. "Are you all free tomorrow?"

"Last time I check, ye'" Price responded.

"Good, I will meet with you tomorrow, then we can go to ranch," Y/n grinned.

The next day, the 141 waited at the front of their base for Y/n to arrive. When they caught sight of the Russian's truck, Y/n drove over near them and rolled down his window.

"Follow me, comrades," he replied as he watched the others nod and walk to their cars. Meanwhile, Soap and Ghost rode with him. Gaz and König with Price and Alejandro.

They followed him outside the town, a vast array of green plains taking over the landscape. As if time passed instantly, Y/n would end up turning into his ranch.

It was beautiful honest. They were met with the sight of horses, cows, chickens, sheep, some lambs, and even some dogs and cats wandering around. Hell, even a Buffalo too.

The men stared in awe at the mere beauty of the scene. As Y/n turned to park he got out with Soap and Ghost following in tow before waiting for the others to park. When they got out, they couldn't help but stare.

"Ahem," Y/n coughed, "You like, yes?"

Soap was the first to respond.

"Are ya kidding?! It's amazing here, Y/n," the man exclaimed as his eyes sparkled at the sight.

Y/n let a laugh escape him as he motioned for the others to follow him inside to his home.

There, they saw the kitchen but also other foods stored around the house, each labeled for each product with specific animal feed.

Y/n walked them over to his exhibit that house a very, very, long white snake.

"Comrades, met Stella," he waved a hand to the female ball python before opening the top of the enclosure.

Price and Alejandro stepped back instantly as Y/n took out the 10 foot ball python.

Y/n laughed at their reactions.

"Don't worry, she don't bite. She likes meeting people," Y/n reassured them quickly.

"If you'd like to touch her, stroke her scales slowly please," Y/n advised watching the ball python himself as well.

Soap, Ghost, König and Gaz all moved to touch the snake, running their fingers around the smooth scales softly.

"She's beautiful Y/n," Ghost commented.

"Thank you, Ghost. I take good care of her."

Y/n offered to let the Colonel and Captain touch the reptile but both men refused to leave from their spots and Y/n simply nodded before putting Stella back into her glass enclosure.

"Alright, let us go to the horse now."

Y/n led them to the horse stables outside the house.

There, the were greeted by the equines that resided within.

While Y/n introduced each horse, Soap couldn't take his eyes off one in particular.

Brown with white spots and lovely blue eyes and a beautiful mane that Soap could only imagine running his fingers through.

"Y/n...what's this one's name?" He asked.

"That is Vera, a strong stallion I found a couple week ago. Would you like to ride him?"

Soap turned back to him in awe.

"Can I?"

Y/n nodded before telling the others to wait outside by the gates so he could bring out the horse.

As he walked out Vera into the pin, the men couldn't help but enjoy the sight of Y/n and the horse, how calm they looked together.

Y/n beckoned Soap to come over once he finished putting on the saddle.

"Alright MacTavish, you ready?"

"As I'll ever be..."

Y/n first told him to get up onto the saddle first, laughing a few times as he tried to get up along with Alejandro saying something in Spanish making the others laugh, before making sure the man sat properly and the saddle was strapped to Vera correctly.

While Y/n used one hand to keep Vera in place to not move so much, he grabbed the reins and handed them to Soap.

"Be gentle with the reins, and slowly feel in tune with Vera. Animals feed off our emotions, so do not get nervous, da?"

Soap nodded slowly and looked back down at Vera.

"Go ahead and stroke his neck a little bit to get comfortable," Y/n instructed.

Soap followed and let his hand run along Vera's neck, letting soothing words fall from his lips as he greeted the horse.

Vera leaned in slightly to his touch and MacTavish beamed internally.

Y/n smiled as he noticed the action before turning back to Soap.

"Alright, we will go around the pin, ok?"

Soap nodded slowly.

He let Y/n lead him and Vera around the pin before coming back to a stop.

"Well done Zergeant," König said from the other side of the gate.

"Thanks, König."

"Alright how about this time you guide him?" Y/n suggested and the other let out sounds of approval as well.

"Yeah, MacTavish let's see if you can truly ride a horse!" Ghost said from the gate.

"I'll show ya!" Soap replied back before noticing Vera move at bit when he yelled and immediately apologizing.

"How about I ride alongside you, Soap?"

"Please..." Soap looked him dead in the eye as he pleaded for Y/n to ride with him.

Y/n let a chuckle leave and instructed Soap to get off Vera and stay with him while he went to get his own horse.

Soon enough, Y/n walked out with an all black Mustang he named Alek.

"Meet Alek, my mustang," Y/n said as he rode on top of the horse like it was nothing.

He galloped over to where Soap was before getting off and helping Soap back onto Vera, watching the man struggle a bit to get back up and laughing.

"Y/n!"

"It funny," Y/n grinned at him as he checked the straps again on Vera.

Once Soap was ready, he got onto Alek and showed Soap how to use the reins this time.

"Alright, you ready, comrade?" Yn asked.

Soap sighed and nodded.

"MAKE OR BREAK MACTAVISH!" Ghost yelled.

Soap laughed as he gripped onto Vera's reins and looking at Y/n one last time before moving the stallion around the pin slowly.

Thankfully, Vera was easy to work with as she went around slowly and came back around to Y/n and Alek before letting both join on the second loop.

Soap gleamed as he rode Vera and Y/n smiled at him.

"They look good together, eh?" Gaz whispered to the others.

"Yeah, if only MacTavish would ask him out," Ghost commented as he watched the Sergeant enjoy himself on top of the Stallion.

"Now he really looks like a Los Vaquero," Alejandro spoke from beside with a slight chuckle as well.

König smiled under his hood as he watched the pair enjoy themselves on the horses.

"I knew you zould do zit, Sergeant..." he whispered softly.

If you like this work feel free to REBLOG with TAGS !!!

Tags make it easier to to navigate tumblr pages!

Thank you for reading!

-Guards

#cod modren warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod x male reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #john price #captain price #captain john price #alejandro vargas #könig #konig #guards writes

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