#spiral joy band

[dustedmagazine]

Spiral Joy Band — Waves of Higher Bodies (Bud Tapes)

Wisconsin based drone collective Spiral Joy Band grew from the ashes of legendary Virginia avant-folk band Pelt, like a heat-activated seed breaking through its shell after a forest fire. The line-up tends to shift, including mostly Pelt alumni and associates, and since their formation in 2004, Spiral Joy Band has released a steady stream of mind altering long-form folk inflected improvisations. Their newest album, Waves of Higher Bodies, is out December 6th on Portland, Oregon label Bud Tapes in cassette and digital formats. This new zone finds the group distilled down to its most basic components, core member Mikel Dimmick acting as the gravitational center of a slow, swirling orbit of vibrations with help from longtime fellow traveler and freak-folk scene audio guru Rob Vaughn. It’s as close to a solo effort as a record from a band could be, there are no strings or reeds present, but the sounds are no less elemental, and no less cleansing. It’s music that can reaffirm your place as an essential part of the universe and knock the scales from your third eye — if you let it.

“Shadows on the Deck,” the first of the two long tracks comprising Waves of Spiral Bodies, opens with the sound of birdsong, which is subsumed at a leisurely pace by the titular waves, emanating from layers of patiently played gongs. The undulations in the sound feel like changes in weight or mass, instead of like changes in sonic volume. This is physical music, listening to it closely has an effect of bypassing the usual intellectual signifiers and phenomenological road signs that we use to interpret music; as the stacked gongs begin to howl, it hits in the base of the brain, just like the cold sun out on the deck when the shadows start to lengthen and the session – be it meditation or a joint – has gone too far, into unexpected, unknown, but not entirely unpleasant territory. All explorations, inward and outward, have their moments of dread, activating our ancient impulses. The heaviness of the piece relents about two-thirds of the way through, and the birds reappear, as if the sun has burst through clouds, but the reprieve is brief, and the waves return with greater insistence and more profound psychedelic treatment, to fully scour the moss from the folds of your brain.

The second half of Waves of Higher Bodies, “Shimmering Alloys,” introduces singing bowls and bells, chiming and ringing in a vague gesture towards rhythm. Like the inexorable gong-waves of the opening track invoking the album title, there is some onomatopoeia in effect here with all these metallic objects brought together in reverb-drenched harmony – these literal alloys being manipulated give this music a direct tie to the earth itself. When so much time and space is given to such a minimal selection of tones, it allows the listener to focus on and appreciate that tie, and that awareness can spread, like fingers of rime creeping across a leaf, and become a deepened sensation of the interconnection between all things and phenomena – it’s no wonder the instruments used here are also traditional to Zen Buddhism.

Waves of Higher Bodies is hardcore abstract drone music – it requires patience and openness on the part of the listener, but it promises a real reward. It’s minimalist in a very deep sense, an elemental sense, as every sound present here not made by an animal is made by pure metal, the base material of our firmament. There are times when music that reminds us in such a direct way of what we spend our lives standing and laying on, being an inseparable part of, and eventually returning to, is a true balm.

Joshua Moss

[moonysbookshelves]

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets by @motswolo

Have been working on this 10 volume set for the past few months now, and they are finally complete. My Magnum Opus. I have peaked and probably depleted all of my brain power.

Thank you to @motswolo for writing such a beautiful story. My brain chemistry has been favourably altered. Will forever flinch when I hear Queen, The Beatles or Bob Dylan. Love to you from western Canada (west coast best coast lets gooooo).

I also posted a TikTok of these since posts here are limited and I love the insides as much as the covers, so if you wanna see between the pages, here’s that.

Also thank you @avisbindery for letting me scream and cry in your DMs while I read the fic. May you get some uninterrupted sleep now LOLLL.

Going to write a whole essay below about the ideas and details because uhhh I wanna yap bit!

So for starters, I wanted to make these binds look like magazines because of the epilogue where (spoiler) Tonya sees Remus in a copy of New Musical Express. But of course this fic is long, so I was like, what if I do multiple volumes? This very quickly spiralled into me painstakingly (finding publication-accurate fonts almost sent me to an early grave) recreating 10 different music-focused magazines from the 70s and 80s from scratch (thank you to Photoshop, Affinity, Procreate and Canva). Each volume features a unique cover, along with stylized typesets to match that display the songs for each chapter but in different designs. And then I went a little crazy and made a 45 sleeve and a cassette too, to really set the scene when I took the photos lol

While the covers display the dates pertaining to the contents of that particular volume (Sept 1975 for volume one, for example) I was thinking about what the magazines would say if they were really published when Marauders are traipsing about being spectacular and famous in the future. I sprinkled in details from the fic itself and fanon-ed it a bit, but that was the general inspiration :-) Tried to keep the photos used either faceless/obscured, or to use the fancasts on Mots’ Cadence master post. I also tried to use period-accurate photos but didn’t always succeed, so settled for photos of 4 member bands where I had to :”) But the general intent with the facelessness was that they could be implied to be Marauders. If you squint? lol. Just pretend. Pls.

Volume One: Based upon The Record Song Book. This magazine went on to inspire the typesets, since it publishes lyrics and such. The cover images are of Spacey Jane and David Thewlis.

Volume Two: Based on ZigZag, specifically the issue from July 1978 featuring Siouxie and the Banshees just because I thought it looked sick as fuck. I re-drew the abstract shapes and such in procreate. The cover images are The Clash and a young Gary Oldman. Lord he was foiiine.

Volume Three: Based on Trouser Press, November 1980. The cover images are a young Metallica, and my personal fav fan cast for James, Reiky De Valk. The film negatives are from a Bruce Springsteen tour, 1976.

Volume Four: Based on Gay Times (November 1984), a queer magazine from the UK because this volume contains Wolfstars first kiss hehe. Also hence Somebody To Love plastered all over the covers. The Front cover is Inhaler. The “4A” on this one is of course the boys’ dorm number, but I made the A the lambda symbol as this was a pride symbol in the 70s after Stonewall.

Volume Five: Based on Melody Maker. Front image is Alex Turner. All of the text on this one is pulled directly from the fic. The scene where they all drop acid and James jumps off the roof Almost Famous style had me hootin’ and hollerin’… until Tomny showed up hahaha :”)

Volume Six: Based on IT (International Times, Aug 1971). Front image for this one is Joy Division, and the back features Jane Asher for Lily

Volume Seven: Based on Record Mirror, June 1976. Front image is John Taylor of Duran Duran. Yum.

Volume Eight: Based on Rolling Stone. More vibes than anything for this one, but the quote still makes me laugh.  Front image is of Matt Hitt. Can you tell I photoshopped a cell phone out of this one? IDK. This photo just screamed ‘Remus’ to me so I had to use it. The back image is an old cigarette ad, but the photo is taken in Shepherd’s Bush.

Volume Nine: Based on Fusion magazine. Front image for this one is once again Inhaler. Oops. Back cover is our gals. Images are Jodie Foster as Cherry, Brenda Sykes as Mary, and Goldie Hawn as Lottie.

Volume Ten: Based on New Musical Express. You know why :”) These are all victims of fanon, but this one especially. I wanted it to be NME instead of the re-invented logos I’d been doing for all the rest, as I wanted it to look like the magazine the Sister gives to Tonya. I referred to an issue of NME from October 1979 for this and layered in fic references where it made sense to. The cover image for this one is (I think) Cigarettes After Sex. This issue also contains all of the B-Side chapters, and the Marauders song lyrics too just for fun :)

Slasher Chick: This is just my take on what Sybill’s zine could’ve looked like. Prob way off but I just wanted to have fun with this one since I had no cover to reference lol. The zine contains her little write-up and the interview, lifted straight from the fic :")

ok yap sesh over byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmfaooooo

[purplephloxpress]

Another year, another Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day!!!! If you are a writer of fanfic, please know just how appreciated you are!! Fandom would be such a different space without your creativity and labors of love. 💜

Holidays are all about making traditions, and the bookbinding friends with @renegadeguild once again came together to bind copies of fics for their authors as a show of our appreciation. This year I had the absolute joy of binding Emergency Help Wanted by the wonderful @piyo-13 and even got to collaborate with her on some of the design elements! It's a Modern AU Jiang Cheng/Lan Xichen fic that starts with a "help wanted" ad.

EMERGENCY HELP WANTED

I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.

Ok. So. I may have gone a little feral with this one. Online "help wanted" ad spiraled into loading wheel scene dividers, spiraled into fake Google search result headers, spiraled into FULLY committing to those authentic looking text messages. In full color. (There are so many. I typeset in MS Word. It was SO worth it, but god what a struggle at some points.) And don't forget the "recent searches" title page! Or the computer cutout on the cover! (It's bluescreening, just like Lan Xichen through this entire fic!) Also that cover/title page image that I just kept adding details to. (It's supposed to be Lan Xichen's desk, so it simply didn't feel right until it had sticky notes on the computer, #1 dad on the mug, scissors and measuring tape, scribbles on the sticky notes) Did I have a ton of fun designing this one? Perhaps. Couldn't say. Maybe just a tad. (This is a lie I had an ABSOLUTE BLAST!)

Historically, I've waited until I finish at least the typeset before reaching out to the author, but not so with this one! I got the idea for the fake google search results from Piyo's authors notes, teasing the contents of the next chapter. But! Those didn't start until about chapter 4! So I reached out and asked if we could collaborate and I'm forever glad I did! Not only does this have teasers for each chapter, I also got to bounce design ideas off of her, including what shade of blue and purple for the text messages. Because my friends, that is a serious matter and changed SEVERAL times throughout the process.

Also shoutout to all my Renegade friends who gave input and encouragement over the past year while I worked on this (what endpages to use? how to make this shade of green perfectly Nie Huaisang? how do we feel about this text message design? or how about this one?) - I love you all dearly and appreciate you so much for putting up with my nonsense at all times.

Binding details below the cut!

Fandom: The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi

Pairing: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin / Lan Huan | Lan Xichen

Bookcloth: Aqua/Purple Dubletta from Colophon Book Arts

Endpapers: Craft Consortium Ink Drops - Ocean pack

Textblock paper: short grain cream from Church Paper

Titling: We R Memory Keepers foil quill

Endbands: leather cording core, DMC embroidery floss for the bands

Body Font: EB Garamond

Title Font: Berlin Sans FB

Text Messages: Roboto

Additional fonts: Times New Roman, Kunstler Script, Magis Authentic

Title page image from Rawpixel and designed in Canva

Various computer graphics from The Noun Project

Tumblr insists on eating and doubling text in this section at its own whim, so if there's something missing that you're curious about, feel free to DM me an ask!

[g3tj1nx3d14]

jayvik headcanons !!

feeding you guys since i’ve been a neglectful poster 😭

SFW and NSFW, NSFW under the warning, spoilers up to act three season two !!! most definitely OOC at some points

SFW

• Jayce and Viktor have developed a secret language of sorts. Random phrases, hand movements, looks, and sounds replace actual sentences when they’re in the lab and super into their work. It’s not intentional, and they can’t even translate what most of it means besides it just… making sense in the moment.

• (I saw this before, I believe on Tik Tok or here but I’m not sure?)Jayce was a chubby ass baby. Actually, a fat ass baby. Ximena takes great joy in showing Viktor baby photos where he just looks squishy. If they argue over text, Jayce thinks he’s hilarious if he texts a baby photos with the caption “this is who you’re arguing with”.

• Jayce is the type to seem like he’s only into mainstream music, but he’s also really the type of guy to A, listen to the songs his mom likes whenever he feels slightly upset, and B, have a random niche band with four hundred followers on Sound Cloud that he’s been obsessed with for years and is convinced will go big. Viktor tends to listen to music without lyrics, typically video game sound tracks or calm beats while he works. I could also, alternatively, see him being very into insanely heavy metal while he carefully works. You could scream bloody murder and you’re not louder than his headphones.

• Viktor tends to be much more socially aware to undertones in conversations than Jayce. While the latter is good at smooth talking politicians due to Mel’s training, he tends to forget that everything they say tends to have a double meaning. Viktor enjoys telling him exactly who was clearly hating him or hitting on him.

• Viktor is a clothing thief. Genuinely so bad. Jayce entered the relationship with fifteen hoodies in his closet and after seven years, he has one on a good day. They’ve become pajamas and Viktor will be genuinely offended if he takes them back.

• Do not watch a movie with these motherfuckers. They’re talkers— at least when they’re at home, Jayce would be mortified to talk in a public movie theatre. But every single time they’re watching a movie in their apartment, they’re pausing it every three minutes to have a ten minute discussion about a random topic, usually vaguely related to the movie.

• Viktor smokes weed. Sure, maybe some would argue that it’s not good for his health, but he’s a Zaunite living amongst the Piltover elite. He needs a joint once in a while (nightly). Jayce enjoys smoking with him sometimes, but he thinks holding it in makes him look cool and ends up coughing his lungs up.

• Trans man Viktor !!! Jayce tried to be helpful and help with his t-shots, but he tends to end up awkwardly looking at the floor while Viktor does it himself and he’s there for emotional support. He doesn’t like needles.

• Viktor can get slightly cold and Jayce immediately tries to bundle him up. He gets extremely freaked out whenever his loved ones get cold due to the lingering trauma of almost losing his mother. Viktor makes sure he turns the heat up in the colder months so Jayce doesn’t spiral, even though he insists it’s solely because of his pain.

•Jayce learned how to massage people properly (read a book and everything) to help with Viktor’s pain. He’s shockingly gentle for someone his size. Viktor finds a lot of comfort in knowing that someone who could easily hurt him is purposely being so, so gentle with him.

okay freaky time

NSFW

• Agreeing with the popular headcanon, Jayce is such a fucking sub. Holy shit. Sure, he does like to top, but he likes to listen, especially with Viktor. He likes getting to drop his responsibilities and working on making sure Viktor feels good and getting praised in response.

• Jayce always thought that he was a vanilla guy, but Viktor called him a good boy once and the praise kink awoke like a damn sleeper agent.

• Viktor has a bad habit of mixing up his lab voice and bedroom voice. It’s not too different, just a bit of a different vibe. It just gets awkward when Viktor means “come here” and pats his desk as in “look at something I’m working on” and not “bend over the desk”.

• Viktor also tends to treat discovering Jayce’s interests like a science experiment. They don’t have a sex tape, they have a sex voice recorder with Viktor recording their adventures in the funniest way possible.

• I genuinely can’t imagine them taking it too seriously. Sure, there’s serious and tense moments, but there’s a lot of silly, soft, intimate moments of them laughing and joking with each other as they make each other feel good.

• In edition to trans guy Viktor, Jayce is an eater. Whenever he tops, he tends to be a service top, and he genuinely enjoys pleasuring Viktor with his mouth. Whenever Viktor’s pain is acting up, Jayce tends to volunteer to “get his mind off of it” by spending literal hours on his knees, lab— many times while Viktor works on lab reports— or bedroom. He gets his head scratched in return.

• The lab is bedroom #2. Tell me these two freaks were alone with each other constantly for seven years in that lab and nothing ever happened in there? Absolutely not.

• Jayce tends to leave a few marks because he likes to bite a bit, but Viktor thinks it’s hilarious to leave obvious ones. Bright hickies, bite marks, stereotypical back scratches, the works. Before their relationship was public, everyone in Piltover was convinced that Jayce was sleeping around, and Viktor found it really, really funny. Seeing Jayce be slut shamed was the highlight of his day.

• Sure, we can all agree that Jayce is a freak, but Viktor is matching, if not surpassing that freak. They’ve tried everything for the sake of science.

• Viktor really enjoys seeing Jayce beg. It’s almost endearing to see a man of such high status on his knees whining.

• Jayce is loud. Like, really loud. Hearing him through the walls is a genuine concern loud. He is physically incapable of shutting up when he feels good.

[tikosblogg]

Can I put in a request where you and Noah are at the same party/club and somebody puts something your drink, and he just so he opens to be near you when you’re getting dizzy, and you ask him for help? I totally see Noah doing everything in his power to help a girl who has been roofied. Also I love your writing!❤️

ABSOLUTELY! This is definitely Noah coded. Noah would totally help any woman he saw this happening to. Thank you🥰

Summary: your best friend is dating Matt the tour manager for bad omens, and she brings you along to one of there parties where you’re roofied, and have to ask Noah for help.

Warning/TW: alcohol consumption, being drugged(plz don’t read if that triggers you), protective Noah, TINY bit of violence?? Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I feel like Noah would definitely do this for a woman, whether he knows her or not.

The air was thick and the sound of laughter and music bled into the night from the small, dimly-lit bar. Droplets of condensation rolled down the cool glass of your half-empty drink as you leaned against the polished wood of the bar.

Tara, your best friend, her cheeks rosy from a cocktail she was drinking, was perched on a stool next to you. She had dragged you along to this party thrown by none other than Bad Omens—a band you had been obsessed with since high school.

You had waited patiently, hoping for the moment when Tara would introduce you to the band, but they were constantly wrapped up in conversations with other friends and associates. “I’m sorry, y/n I didn’t know they’d be so busy.” She slurred, her eyebrows furrowing in pity.

You shook your head with a small laugh at her intoxicated state. “It’s fine Tara, I promise. I can meet them another time.” You did your best to suppress the feeling of disappointment. There would be other opportunities, and tonight, you promised yourself, you would have fun regardless.

As the night unfolded, you nursed your second drink while Tara giggled and stumbled about, her laughter infectious, pulling you into the joy of the evening. You met some interesting people and shared stories that made the night feel surreal.

Suddenly, Matt, the band’s charming tour and production manager, and also Tara’s boyfriend broke through the crowded space, a warm smile gracing his face. He wrapped an arm around Tara, steadying her on her feet.

"I see you two had fun," he chuckled, looking down at her. “C’mon I’ll get you two home.” The affectionate way he regarded Tara made your heart swell for her. He threw her over his shoulder, leaving a playful smack to her ass, as she giggled.

You waved your hand at them, giggling at the sight in front of you. “I’ll meet you outside, I just need to use the bathroom!” Matt nodded, and they began to weave through the colorful crowd.

You turned back toward the bar, finishing off your drink and scrunching your nose at the unexpected bitterness that lingered at the back of your throat. It was strange, but you shook it off as you made your way to the restroom.

Once inside, you handled business quickly before approaching the sink to wash your hands. However, as you turned the tap, a wave of dizziness crashed over you like a sudden tide, knocking you off balance. Panic shot through your chest. Something doesn’t feel right. You only had two drinks. You stared at yourself in the mirror, and started to piece together that strange taste in your drink; someone must have slipped something in it when you were turned away.

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you grabbed your phone, desperate to contact Tara or Matt. Stumbling out of the bathroom, the corridor stretched out in front of you like a maze, and you desperately leaned against the wall for support. You were spiraling now, your surroundings a blur.

Suddenly, the sound of the men’s room door creaked open. A tall figure emerged, and you squinted through your haze to see Noah Sebastian, looking at you with a playful smile. “Somebody had too much to drink.” You shook your head, reaching your hand out towards him. If you couldn’t get to Matt or Tara, you knew you’d be safe with Noah.

His laughter died instantly as he noticed your panicked expression. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked reaching for you, and stepping closer, a frown taking over his features. He noticed the tears forming in your eyes, and running down your cheek. “Hey it’s okay.”

You shook your head weakly, trying to speak but the words fell out in a slur. “Someone… put something in my drink,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His demeanor shifted in an instant, anger etching deep in his eyes. “What the fuck? Okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m right here,” he assured you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist as you wavered.

“Who’d you come with?” he cupped your cheek, bringing your blurry eyes up to his, his voice steady amidst your rising panic.

“Matt… and Tara,” you mumbled, desperation creeping into your voice. Your hands gripped his shirt tight, terrified of being taken away.

He paused briefly, recognition flickering across his face. “Y/n?” A faint light of realization sparked in his eyes. Matt had told him, that Tara was bringing you with her tonight. You nodded, your head feeling 1000 pounds. You leaned forward pressing your forehead against his chest as you felt your knees begin to buckle beneath you.

“Shit” he grunted, holding you tighter. Before you realized what he was doing, he hoisted you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You brought your heavy arms up and around his neck, holding on tightly. You felt dizzy, your world slowly dimming as the edges of your vision faded into darkness.

Just then, a rough-sounding guy approached, his eyes dead set on your shaking body, as you heard his deep voice from behind you. “Hey man thanks for finding her she’s with me.” he smiled at Noah, reaching out to pull you from his arms. Your body trembled in horror, as you shook your head weakly sobbing into Noah’s neck, your hands fisting his shirt against his back.

You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry, and completely numb. Noah knows nothing about you. He could hand you off to this creep, thinking he’s saving you, when really he would be unknowingly confirming your possible death.

Noah’s eyes turned icy, his grip tightening protectively around you. “Get the fuck out of my way. You’re the piece of shit that did this to her aren’t you?” he growled, anger radiating off him. Noah body went tense against you.

If he wasn’t holding you in his arms right now, he would beat the fuck out of this creep. He took a deep breath, remembering that you and getting you out of here, was what was important right now.

The stranger’s bravado crumbled in the face of Noah’s fury, panic flickering across his features “I’m her friend dude, she came here with me!” He defended, crossing his arms. Noah knew who you came with, and even you confirmed it.

He decided to test him anyways. “Oh yeah? What’s her name?” The guy became flustered, before shaking his head. “I don’t have to tell you shit man, just give her to me.” He huffed, and went to step towards Noah.

Noah instantly kicked up his right leg, kicking the dude right in his dick. Usually Noah would think that’s a low blow, but his hands were kind of occupied at the moment, and he needed to get the dude on the ground. Noah went to walk away with you until he turned around, landing another kick right in the dudes ribs for good measure.

You felt weak, your eyelids growing heavy, and just as the world began to dim in earnest, Noah’s voice broke through the haze. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, hold on.”

In your daze, you felt him stride confidently through the crowd, shielding you from curious eyes, his strong arms cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing. He suddenly stopped, as you barely heard his voice.

Noah stopped, talking to Jolly and Nicholas. “There is a guy on the ground in the hallway. Go stay with him and do not let him leave! I’ll explain later.!” The two men instantly nodded, and headed towards the hallway.

That was the last thing you heard, before finally succumbing to the sleepiness you tried so hard to fight.

Outside, noah spotted Matt, beelining straight for him. Matt’s worried voice, filled the air, as Noah approached. “Woah what happened??” He opened the back door, letting Noah gently place you on the seats.

A sudden rush of relief filled his body, as he closed the car door, knowing you were safe. He turned towards Matt, running a hand through his hair. “Some ass hole slipped something in her drink. I just so happened to walk out of the bathroom, while she was stumbling down the hall.”

Matt’s eyes widened, as he looked towards your limp body in the backseat of his car, and back to Noah’s seething frame. “Holy shit dude, I shouldn’t have left her. I should have waited on her.” Matt covered his face with his hands, as the guilt ate at him.

Noah shook his head, ready to go back into the party, to beat the fuck out of that creep before he called the cops. “No, it shouldn’t have fucking happened here. Somebody fucking brought him here, and I wanna know who, I’m gonna take care of him, you get her to the hospital.”

Matt nodded his head without another word before, jumping in the car, and speeding out of the parking lot, while Noah made his way back into the building making damn sure this guy pays for what he did to you.

[bakerstreethound]

What if Mornings Were Good?

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x gender neutral reader

Warnings: melancholy, brain fog, themes of anxiety & depression, yes the car has a CD player, sherlock is soft, and cuddles and kisses

Summary: Days pass in a blur, and they've been hard to find joy in, each one passing slowly, yet quickly simultaneously and you want it to slow down. Luckily, Sherlock is there to comfort and support you along the way, though your mind is intent on bullying you and causing you anxiety for the future and everything in between.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 1.1k+

A/N: Hello lovelies. Was this fic perhaps a projection about how I have been feeling the past few weeks? Perhaps. Alas, it is better to get it out and create from the doubt and worry. This is only a brief example of my own experience and everyone processes differently. Your experiences are valid. Please enjoy! Graphic by @firefly-graphics Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Mornings were a struggle. Getting out of bed, battling your mind for the things you should do then not doing them. It was annoying so much that you’d rather sleep the day away the anxious ball of depression pressing down on you not wanting you to breathe, not wanting to let you go.

It was hard to eat too, forcing something down and swallowing while trying to enjoy it never helped either, but it was the best you could do. 

Such a morning as now where you got yourself out of bed at noon, feeling less than groggy, yet your heart ached less. As you went through your morning routine or half a semblance of it, making your bed, changing into shorts and a comfortable graphic tea, you looked at the list you conjured on your phone the late hours of the night prior. 

Gas, coffee, flowers, craft (maybe watercolors)

It was a doable list and you gather your things, your large satchel filled with your notebook and a paperback, before going to check your mail. 

Your mail made you cringe at the tax return, making you worried if it was fraudulent. You would worry about it later. You had to. You did not want to cause any more trouble for yourself than you had the past few weeks with the University starting up for the last time. The last time, was your last semester in academia. How terrifying. 

You shove these thoughts away, adamant not to dwell on them, for your mind would spiral and spin. That was not a good outcome, either, to worry about that which might not come to pass. 

So you do what you do best and breathe, pushing the intrusive thoughts aside, and let yourself wander up and down the aisles of the grocery store, smelling the flowers, and picking a selection of purple and white. You smile to yourself, wondering at the quiet joy, and add a frozen pizza to your basket and checkout, looking forward to the rest of your adventure. 

A trip out of the apartment is what you usually need to curb the fog and storms that hover in the furthest reaches of your mind. It can be cruel there to you, endless worry. Someway you will feel better.

You repeat this mantra as you find yourself stuck in traffic on the short drive home, slightly cursing at your beat down car that hobbled along for seven years, on the verge of breaking down with an engine struggling to keep up, another expense after the other.

Your check engine light going off the other day didn’t help matters, either but your mechanic assured you he would get a better look that weekend, especially since it is an exhaust leak. 

You breathe tuning in to the CD player thrumming with the rotation of your favorite band’s music, a soothing balm to your soul. Then you are singing alone and then, you’re back safe at home. The craft store was closed so you couldn’t fetch your watercolors, but it doesn’t matter now. 

The door of your apartment opens and Sherlock is there greeting you with a soft smile, gentle and warm. He is not supposed to be back until later in the day, but you aren’t complaining, especially when his eyes lock onto yours in question, his lips twitching in eagerness. 

“Welcome home!” 

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Find anything interesting?” He takes your bag from your shoulder, a welcome relief before pulling you into a gentle hug, his scent a comfort, stirring a warmth within you. You can stay like this for hours and he knows it. 

You murmur against his neck, pressing a kiss there and nuzzling further. Your mind is exhausted for no reason, well besides the panic and worry over an uncertain future, but you have five more months to figure it out, apply for jobs, and trudge on. It is all you can do. That and prayer. 

He brings your bags to the kitchen, putting your purchases that need to be refrigerated away. He stops when he sees the flowers and holds them out to you. 

“Where would you like these?” he asks almost sheepishly, mentally kicking himself that he didn’t get you any, let alone stop to think about it. John would give him an earful about it, later. 

“In this vase,” you say, pulling it from the sink from where you had left it to dry the previous night. You find a pair of scissors and set those on the cluttered table as well, watching Sherlock carefully unwrap the flowers, trimming their stems like so, while you gently arrange them to your heart's content. 

You can’t think of a more perfect time than this - a moment of peace, though your stomach involuntarily coils in knots, overthinking the rest of your week, wondering how the hell you are going to make it and do your school work and tasks. The thought makes you ill as you think back to your topic assignment, the reminders of revisions going through your mind.

You have sent the email to change the topic and you are hopeful that the change will be allowed. You wish your mind isn’t so insistent on choosing one thing then letting yourself fall, then wanting to pick another topic better suited for your interests.

You don’t know why it insists on throwing you into a box for no reason, and consequently making your mind and body become at war again.

A ping goes off from your phone email. The knots in your stomach clench and unclench as you read the new response from your professor. All will be okay, the request for topic change is approved along with an extension for the literature review preview. You almost cry in relief, your shoulders sagging, tension bleeding from you when Sherlock locks eyes with you. 

“I knew you’d be okay, my dear,” he rumbles. 

You hiccup, “I never feel like I will be. Brain is insistent and rude yet here we are. Everything has turned out okay.” Perhaps some mornings can be splendid, after all. 

You fall into Sherlock’s waiting embrace, clinging to him as you wrap around him while he stumbles to the living room, depositing you on the sofa before turning on the telly and fetching an assortment of DVDs. These are the DVDs you recognize from your childhood, along with an assortment of your favorite spooky season picks. You pick up The Corpse Bride, watching Sherlock’s lips twitch in amusement. 

“Knew you’d choose it.” 

“Who said I wouldn’t?” 

“John,” he says matter-of-factly, sliding the movie into the console. 

You chuckle. Of course, they bet on your movie selections. It’s what they do when Sherlock is bored, or John can’t get Sherlock motivated to work on what he considers a “boring, good for nothing case.

Regardless, you open your arms to him, smiling as he sets a favorite book of yours on the coffee table, before settling in your embrace as you wrap the two of you in a well-loved blanket. 

Yes, perhaps an entire day can be splendid indeed. 

******

[menlove]

[image id: an ask from @harbingerofskulls that reads: "im gonna b real i only knew the jerking off i would love to hear you elaborate more if you want to go on the whole situation" /end id]

answering here so i can save as a draft without risking the ask disappearing bc tumblr's been doing that lately but

oh god </3 for everyone else- it's talking about this post. sooo i'm gonna go through each one bc i've been feeling insane for several weeks. i'll do my best to cite my sources lmao

i don't know (johnny johnny)

this is referring to this unreleased VERY early beatles track from 1960. the audio quality is absolute shit & as such unfortunately people love to put words to it that don't make much sense in either direction (i.e a lot of mclennon fans want to hear "you're in love with me" and a lot of people that hate mclennon will just make up the weirdest lyrics that make 0 sense so it's Not Gay). some of the lyrics that ARE clear make it obvious this song is about the two of them running away together- at one point i'm fairly certain paul says "how am i gonna tell my father that we're leaving town?" probably referring to them leaving to hamburg. which would be fine but some of the other lyrics areeeee..... very..... Hm. like multiple times paul refers to john as "my boy" and there's bits of them talking about not knowing what to tell their friends & wanting to just run off together alone. if i were the other members of the band having to record this i would have killed them with hammers <3 also the entire end is just paul going "oh johnny" like 1 million times. okay. sure. also since the lyrics ARE so garbled i mean i guess people could be right about it saying "how am i gonna tell my father you're in love with me" but i just don't hear it. still, a very gay song about running off together and getting away from everything and everyone, complete with moaning the other's name </3

2. paris

this one is a huge part of McLennon Fandom Lore lmao but for good reason. not citing sources on all this bc it's one of those that's just Fact & can be found in like any beatles biography or thebeatlesbible.com (my savior) but. for john's 21st birthday, he got 100 pounds from a rich relative. instead of taking his girlfriend or any of his other friends, he decided to use the money to take paul to spain. but they stopped in paris on the way and just decided to stay there. which i mean like. taking your best friend over your girlfriend to the city of love is a little weird but it's not THAT weird. it's everything else that makes people want to chew glass about it. including some of the other things on this list. like this audio of john just goofing around singing about paris and paul, with such hits as "my cheri, my pau pau my pau paul." which is :| okay best friend. and paul has this picture hung up in his house that he took of john sleeping in paris. okay. sure. why not. (although ig there's some doubt about if the photo is from paris? either way it's a picture paul took and has framed in his house which is incriminating enough my man). also NOT in the original post but may pang, a woman john had a brief affair with in the 70s, wrote a book called loving john. in it, there's this quote:

After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.”

okay! also in an interview once he said:

The thing was all the kissing and the holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic, just to be there and see them, even though I was twenty-one and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing; and they weren’t mauling at each other, they were just kissing.

(interview with david scheff for playboy in september 1980)

3. if i fell

this one i already made an insane post on that started my spiral into posting about the beatles publicly </3 but, essentially, the song "if i fell" by john is..... well it's most likely about paul. he said it wasn't about his wife but that it was auto-biographical and he never really had any public affairs that weren't flings, certainly not a lover. but most damning is he wrote the complete lyrics for the first time on a valentine's day card addressed "to paul with love" with some hearts and arrows pointing to where the lyrics were written. absolutely insane. made me insane.

4. oh! darling

rawest paul song of all time if i do say so myself lmao. but it's just.... Highly Suspicious, that's what it is. a Lot of beatles fans/historians will admit this song is most likely about john but they won't admit that it's fucking romantic if it is. like.

like that is so blatantly romantic idk what to say other than that. also, in the official recording on abbey road, there's Several points where paul says "darling" that sound more like he's saying "johnny" which is what he called him. people brush it off by saying it's his accent, but there's a very clear difference between when he's saying "darling" and when he's saying "johnny". i mean the Lore behind this is that it was written right when things were splitting up between them (& the rest of the band) so it makes sense and it's why most people are willing to accept it's about john. it's just insane to me that they'll accept it's about john without considering the implications of that.

5. the real life demo

this one made me want to light myself on fire i won't lie to you. but here it is! john had a song called "real love" and this is a very early demo of it. but instead of the lyrics that came to actually be in the song (which are thought to be about yoko but let's not get into the fact that it was on a tape labeled "for paul" but whatever), it includes john fucking crying as he sings saying:

"was i just dreaming or was it only yesterday? i used to hold you in my arms. and now a baby and another on the way... la la la la farm..."

which can quite literally be about no one else but paul, as this demo was recorded when he'd just had two children with his wife linda and linda was pregnant with their third child. they'd moved to a farm in scotland. hearing this audio clip did genuinely make me want to lie down in the dirt for a week. also "i used to hold you in my arms" just... yeah. god. when people think it was unrequited idk what to say, really.

6. If Paul Were A Woman-

shoving these two together but. in april of 85, paul said in an interview about john and yoko's relationship:

"I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, 'Who’s this?' You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and…"

okay bestie <3 and what would make your relationship different if you were a woman? interesting! and yoko had something similar to say. in this audio, she says:

"I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat – because there’s something definitely very strong between John and Paul."

just reminds me of being a kid and telling my best friends "if i were a boy i'd date you" lol. incredible. does anyone here know about bisexuality.

7. stuart!

not much to say here except that john had a best friend, stu sutcliffe, who died young & before that had been the bassist in the band. paul fucking hated him sooo much oh he SEETHED. a lot has been written on that relationship but it was.... very interesting to say the least. it could have just been about the band, or just jealousy over john's friendship, but take that with a lot of john biographers suspecting john had feelings/even a sexual relationship with stuart and it paints a very Interesting picture to say the least

8. john's bisexuality

here's a compilation of quotes about it, but john was more than likely bisexual. which has nothing to do w paul, really, but more to do against people that like to claim they were both Heterosexual Men. although an interesting quote in this compilation is him saying he's "had paul" lmfao

9. paul's post-beatles work

there's just.... there is so so so much here i don't even know where to begin. @ringompreg has a good compilation of paul songs here. a lot of them do take a bit of Lore but like..... it comes down to the fact that both him and john have/had admitted many times to using their lyrics during The Breakup Years to talk to/reference each other and sooooo many of these lyrics are insanely blatant. the two i mentioned were tug of war and let me roll it, both of which are acknowledged to be about john by most people WITH NO ONE BOTHERING TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE IMPLICATIONS OF THAT which..... tug of war has this:

we could stand on top of the mountain with our flag unfurled? dancing to a beat played on a different drum? this is what gaylors think gaylor conspiracy is but paul mccartney is really out here saying this shit.

and let me roll it is so fucking blatantly romantic but every reviewer is like haha! what a cool song that's "making fun" of john and clearly in his style! like are straight people stupid genuinely. anyway:

bonus to that but about JOHN'S solo work :)))))) he wrote a song called "watching the wheels" and when you consider he very much responded to MANY of paul's solo stuff it's :)

which as a response to let me roll it would just be... so devestating but it may be a stretch idk if i'm onto anything there it's just worth Mentioning

and there's a lot of others, a lot of them in that post up there. like far too many where paul mentions falling in love with a friend like Alright.

10. paul's first lsd trip with john/"i know" "i know"

this one is less blatantly romantic but it is just insane. here's an article. and a quote from george martin about it. the first time paul tripped on acid w john was bc john accidentally took some and he took him home & then took acid w him bc he didn't want john to be alone on the trip :( but, notably:

"And we looked into each other’s eyes, the eye contact thing we used to do, which is fairly mind-boggling. You dissolve into each other. But that’s what we did, round about that time, that’s what we did a lot," the singer recalled, "And it was amazing. You’re looking into each other’s eyes and you would want to look away, but you wouldn’t, and you could see yourself in the other person. It was a very freaky experience and I was totally blown away."

he also apparently saw john as the, and i quote, "emperor of eternity" during this trip??????? okay

SOMEWHERE i can't find it rn and i'm getting lazy but somewhere they (i think paul?) talk about the fact that they used to just stare into each other's eyes and then say "i know" "i know" which. considering john's song "i know (i know)" makes me crazy

11. in my life/i will

these are really just some devastating songs with lyrics that make you really raise your eyebrows. for in my life, written by john, it's just an incredibly romantic & sweet song that is again, not about his wife. given that the lennon estate is still out here posting pictures of paul to those lyrics i have to say it's a liiiiittle suspicious. and i will is...... it's one that paul insists is not about his girlfriend at the time, jane asher. and when you look at the lyrics vs how him and john met.... like. the song goes:

and the story of how they met was that paul saw john repeatedly before they ever met, when he didn't know who john was other than that he thought he looked cool & admired his sideburns (lmfao). and when they did finally meet, it was when john was singing at a garden fete (party) and paul was in the crowd just Mesmerized. so. well. you can see.... you can see how fitting that is. makes me crazy makes me want to chew glass actually

12. "we were each other's intimates" and other insane quotes

"we were each other's intimates" is a paul quote about john which is just insane but that's not even the tip of the iceberg. here's a ton of quote compilations.

13. "literally everything else"/honorable mentions

some honorable mentions go out to: john going on stage w elton john & playing i saw her standing there and introducing it as "a song by an estranged fiance of mine" okay! the "just like starting over" demos. okay! which isn't even to MENTION the fact that paul locked himself away in the studio listening to "just like starting over" on repeat for DAYS after john died like???? john saying repeatedly that he considered paul & yoko to be his two major partners in life including in an interview the literal day he died. a whole ass rpf movie where they kiss & talk like they're ex-lovers and dance in central park (two of us) made by the same dude that made the let it be movie like. he knew them personally? he worked with them closely? and the only thing paul had to say about it was just essentially that it was what he wished would've happened like???????? i can't find a super reliable source for this so take it w a grain of salt, but apparently paul referred to mclennon fanfiction as "beautiful stories" and doesn't mind them being written. paul also had a cat that had kittens & he named two of the kittens pyramus and thisbe after fictional lovers he and john played and he gave pyramus (the character paul played) to john :|

and literally so much else like all of this and it's not even all of it. it's not even close to all of it. i didn't even get to talk about the way in "get back" the documentary, paul started talking about john leaving the band for yoko and how john would choose her over them and then he got teary eyed, started choke laughing, and then started singing "build me up buttercup" before looking at the cameras and stopping. what the FUCK was that about! IT'S NOT EVEN GETTING INTO THE SONG "TWO OF US" THAT'S SO OBVIOUSLY ABOUT JOHN THAT IT HURTS. it's. it's not even scratching the surface. they were just genuinely insane about each other.

[bullet-prooflove]

Joy: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @rita-lean @yousigned-upforthis @factualfic @ayeeeee-ayeeeeeeeeeeee

Companion piece to:

One Night Stand (NSFW)

Gift (NSFW)

Safe With You

All The Good Ones Are (NSFW)

Richie knows you’re The One when you patch up the stab wound he has in his ass in the your bathroom. He’s standing with both palms pressed to the vanity, watching you in the mirror as you take an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit you keep under the sink and use it to clean the wound. He hisses through his teeth at the sting of it and the edges of your lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re a sadist.” He accuses you, his jaw clenching and you raise your eyes to meet his in the reflection.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have pissed off Sydney.” You remind him as you toss the wipe into the trash and remove another.

“She comes in with all these big ideas, as if she knows better.” He says, his voice raising as he grips the counter because that second round of wound cleaning it somehow it seems to hurt more than the first.

“Richie baby, you’re shouting…” You say as you pick up a band aid and compare it to the wound.

“That’s because I got stabbed in the ass and I’m a little frustrated.” He retorts, his voice hitching in agitation.

“No.” You say quietly, slapping the band aid onto his ass. “It's because you’re sad.”

He looks at you then in the reflection of the mirror and he wants to laugh, to bite back with something cutting but he doesn’t because you’re right he is sad. Every little change that Sydney implements is just another way that Mikey is being erased and it hurts, it hurts more than being stabbed in the ass ever could.

“It feels like he’s disappearing.” Richie says as he tugs up his tracksuit bottoms. “Like I’m losing him all over again.”

“I know baby.” You say, you palm rubbing a soothing circle over his back as your cheek comes to rest on his shoulder. “But it’s not Sydney’s fault, she’s just trying to make some order out of the chaos.”

The chaos that she created with the pre-order fuckup, the thing that send everybody’s day into a fucking spiral. It’s not even that that’s bothering him. Objectively he knows she’s right, they need to step up, to move forward if they want to stay afloat. It’s the other shit that’s weighing on him, the things she said as she waved that knife around by her cutting station.

“She called me a loser.” He says finally as he tilts his face towards you. “And I kinda think maybe she was right. I don’t fucking contribute anything, not at work, not with Eva, not here…”

Your fingertips ghost along the stubble of his grizzled cheek as he looks down at you. There’s such pain in those vibrant blue eyes of his, such grief and devastation. Any other day those words they would have washed right off his back but not today, not on the anniversary of Michael’s death. Instead they sink into his skin like barbs, embedding themselves deep, scarring his psyche.

You’re biggest fear, the one that keeps you awake at night is that he’ll follow Mikey into the grave. That all the shit the world has to offer will eat him up inside, that somehow you won’t see it and you’ll come home to the same thing that he did, a locked door and a sensation of dread that you just can’t shake.

“You are not a loser.” You say fiercely. “You are everything to me and you are everything to Eva. You are a wonderful father and the best partner a woman could ask for…”

“You’re just saying that…”

“Yes I am because I love you, and you love me.” You tell him, your thumb tracing over the his cheekbone. “Do you know how much of a mess I was before you, how worthless I felt? You saved me from that, you helped me see there was good in the world. You are my sunshine Richie, the light that breaks through the clouds on a really shitty day and you will never stop being that to me, you will never stop bringing me joy.”

“I bring you joy?” He says, his voice breaking just a little as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “That’s funny because your name is Joy, and you bring me all the fucking joy, like truckloads of it, mountains of it.”

You smile then and fuck if it doesn’t feel like he’s seeing the sunrise for the very first time.

“So now that we’ve established that we bring each other joy can we go the fuck to bed?” You ask him, your palms smoothing over the front of his t-shirt.

“You just want to get me undressed again.” He murmurs, a little bit of that brightness back in his gaze.

That weight he’s been carrying, it’s starting to feel a little lighter now. There’s not so much pressure in his chest, he can breath a little easier.

“Maybe.” You whisper, your thumb trailing over the line of his jaw. “Maybe I just want to remind you of all the good things you deserve.”

“Oh sweetheart, I know I don’t deserve you.” He tells you as he looks into your eyes. “But I’m going to work on that, I’m going to do everything I can to become the man you think I am.”

“Richie…” You begin but his mouth covers yours drowning out your words, his hands rake through your hair and you arch against him because this man, he knows exactly how to get you going.

“Baby.” He whispers, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. “I need you to shut up and let me give you a little joy.”

Love Richie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 39

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Born Of Fire

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  39/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The journey to this cursed castle continued. Merlin and Lancelot rode together and you couldn’t help but keep an eye on them. Lancelot said few words to him, but Merlin carried the conversation between them without a problem. Of course you were curious to know what was being said, but surely he would tell you if it was something important.

Percival was clothed well against the colder weather, he had wrapped the scarf around his neck and it covered half his face, the cloak kept him perfectly warm. Some of the crew were singing a sea shanty a little to your right and you grew to like it, while Pym was encouraged by them to learn the lyrics too and join in.

Gawain came to ride beside you, something had caught his curiosity. “I have not seen you wear a ring before.”

It was so obvious that he was fishing for information, the statement was just to breach the subject.

“It was a gift.” you bit back a smirk.

“Oh?” He acted like he wasn’t eager to be nosy. “From Lancelot?”

You learned that the Green Knight was terrible at pretending. “Yes.”

“Any special reason?” He was still acting like he did not know exactly what it was.

“Gawain.” You looked at him. “Yes. It is a wedding band.”

The knight was happy to hear it. “He has spoken of his regrets on how it began between you. No vows taken, no ceremony. It has left a scar within him.”

You had no idea Lancelot had spoken of it to Gawain. “The past doesn’t matter now-”

He interrupted. “It matters to him, y/n. He was raised by the scriptures, he may no longer be a monk but the spirit of a marriage holds a great value to him. And he feels guilty for how the choice was taken from you.”

It left you half shocked. “I carry no resentment anymore for how this marriage came to be. Marrying me off to him was probably the only good thing Father Carden ever did.”

Gawain knew it to be true. “But he knows that the joy of experiencing a wedding, or joining, was stolen away. It bothers him, I know it does. I could hear it in his voice when he spoke of it.”

“It was not his fault…” you sighed quietly. “He has to know that.”

He got quieter. “Part of him knows, but the guilt he feels is making it difficult to see where his faults and those of another are. He is making amends, righting every wrong he sees, and that ring is part of it.”

You looked down at the ring. “Do you think he might ever be free of the guilt he feels?”

He thought on it for a moment. “Only if he lets himself be in time.”

In time… and until that time the guilt would continue to scratch at his soul. “The world’s burdens is not his to carry alone.”

The knight nodded in agreement. “Be not concerned, y/n. He is not alone in this, we are here to help.”

It was a comfort to know. Lancelot was beginning to find his place among the group, and after years of having to hide his heritage in solitude he could now be himself.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Merlin had announced not so long ago that the cursed castle was near. And indeed the group came to a halt in front of a large and high rock formation that stole the sunlight from the forest beneath it. The castle was ingrained within the rock formation, as if it was a part of it. The entire place was overgrown by vines that held it in an unbreakable hold. Arthur and Red Spear, along with some of the crew, tried to cut through them but as Merlin had told the vines did not yield.

“How do we get inside?” Lancelot asked Merlin.

Merlin pointed to a spot nearby that was covered in bushes. “There should still be an entrance there.”

Upon closer inspection, the magician was right. There were stone steps that leaded down to a heavy wooden door covered in the strange vines.

Merlin spoke his plan out loud, “We must proceed on foot from here, and enter through the dungeons to find our way to the ground floor. If the curse can be broken, we will return for the horses and bring them to the front of the fort.”

“Why not ride to the front entrance now?” Red Spear was impatient.

Merlin dampened that impatience. “The front entrance of the castle is completely overgrown by the vines. We cannot cut through them, their destruction must come from within.”

“Then how do we even get in?” Pym chimed in.

Merlin looked towards Lancelot and stepped aside to make room to let him pass. “We follow him.”

Lancelot felt all the eyes on him, swallowed thickly, and went to to the door. You could see how nervous he was when he reached for the door. But the vines retracted from his touch, letting him proceed. He got the door open, although the rusted hinges made it difficult and some rubble was at the foot of the door. He held it open, letting the rest of the group in first. Percival, you and Pym were the last to enter. Percival easily slithered inside. Pym looked at the rubble with distrust, which Lancelot noticed. He held out his hand for her to take, intending to help her step over the rubble.

Her mouth fell open, eyes went wide, it lasted only two seconds before she said, “I’m not clumsy.”

It made him chuckle, still he did not revoke the offer of helping her and after some hesitation she took hold of his hand to help her safely over the rubble that indeed decided to move under her feet. None of the others had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, but he proved himself perceptive again. She uttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ and hurried inside after the others. He held out his hand again, for you this time, tilting his head down a little in respect. You took his hand to step over the rubble in case it would move under your feet too. Such a chivalrous and considerate gesture of him. And then you felt the unnecessary hand on your rear, as if it would help in case you fell. He made it look so casual, so normal, while you snapped your eyes to his face with burning cheeks. Not a speck of regret for his actions, not one, there was only confidence to be found in his eyes.

You confronted him, “I didn’t see you do that with Pym.”

He looked so smug. “Should I correct that?”

A warning look was send his way. “She looks like the sort of person who would make you regret trying, and I wouldn’t stop her.”

He moved around your back, briefly leaning in to whisper, “I recall you telling me that I am permitted to appreciate your behind.”

You squinted your eyes at him, vaguely remembering telling him so back at the inn. It felt impossible to scold him for it when he had such a smoldering look in his eyes just for you.

Gawain spoke for all to hear. “Let’s form pairs and search these grounds. See if it is safe.”

“No.” Lancelot interjected. “There is strength in numbers and we do not know what we are facing in this cursed place. We remain together until we know it is safe.”

“I agree with Lancelot.” Arthur said.

“I did not ask.” Gawain told Arthur.

Even Lancelot winced at how icy the knight could be towards the Manblood. There was a certain competitiveness between Arthur and Gawain, two different characters that could work together and clash just as easily.

Pym scrunched her nose. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? The place is covered in vines that won’t let anyone in.”

Lancelot took no offense to her question. “If this curse can keep this whole fort from the world outside, who says it is all it can do?”

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be certain.” Merlin said to all. “Let us find the forge we seek here first. If we end this curse we will have time to explore.”

They all looked at each other, Red Spear was the first to agree to the plan and the rest followed.

        The exploration of the castle began. Vines covered every wall, every door, everything. You could feel the presence of the Hidden, but there was something else, something that surpassed them. Torches had been taking off from the walls and lighted to see in the dark halls. The windows let in no sunlight, inside it was as if everything was frozen in the past. You avoided touching the vines, worrying that they formed a threat. The whole thing made you feel on edge and you stayed in the light of the torches as much as possible.

“Do not be afraid.” Merlin noticed your growing anxiousness.

You spoke quickly, “I feel strange.”

He hoped to calm you. “The Hidden were not the first gods, Festa and Moreii worshiped those before them. You may feel their presence here.”

“Are they dangerous?” you asked.

“Dangerous? No.” he said. “But they will let themselves be known if they see it necessary.”

“Let’s hope they don’t find it necessary then…” you mumbled.

He found it almost amusing to see you uneasy towards something he had decades of knowledge and experience with. “Your clan began here. These walls have heard the first cries of babes for many years. Have faith that the spirits residing here welcome the Ash Folk.”

You took it to heart. “I hope so.”

As the walk through the castle continued, you often felt like you had seen the vines moves in the corner of your eyes, only to find them completely still when looking their way. Something older than the Hidden lingered in these halls, it did not feel threatening only very odd and unfamiliar.

You heard your name be called, a whisper that somehow sounded loud. Lancelot spun around, drawing his sword, having heard it too, he first looked to where you were and then his eyes scanned his surroundings.

“What are you doing?” Percival looked up at him as if he were a madman.

He did not understand why the boy was not alarmed. “Did you not hear it?”

“Hear what?” Gawain was close to drawing his sword too.

“That whisper.” Lancelot realized no one else but the two of you had heard. He took hold of Percival’s jacket and brought the boy closer. “Y/n, walk beside me.”

By the tone that he had used, it was not up for discussion. And you had no argument to put forth against it, hearing your name be called by something that didn’t sound like the Hidden was frightening. You approached him, stopping a few steps away and he took hold of your jacket too to get you closer.

His eyes betrayed worry, his voice a command, “Stay close. Tell me if you hear anything out of the ordinary again.”

You nodded.

He turned to Merlin. “Have you been here before?”

Merlin had a mysterious smile on his face. “Just once. Years ago.”

Lancelot must have suspected that that was the case. “Then you know where to find this forge?”

“I do.” Merlin confirmed.

“Lead the way.” he told him.

Merlin walked passed him, taking the lead of the group, guiding them from hallway to hallway. Large steps leaded to a higher floor, into a wide hall. Two large doors reached the ceiling of the place. It took two people at each door to get them to open, their rusted hinges croaked under the weight of the wood. A large fire pit stood in the midst of the room and was at least seventeen foot across.

Merlin approached it, the height of the fire pit reached his middle. “Here is where they forged the Sword of Power. Fey Fire once burned within this very circle.” He reminisced on that knowledge and reached into the empty fire pit. “If we bring the Fey Fire back to this castle, it might shed it’s vines.”

Then all eyes were on Lancelot, while his went to yours. It didn’t need to be said that he did not want to do this alone.

Merlin turned to him, sensing the nervousness within Lancelot. “Creating the fire is one thing, making it last is another.”

You remembered how when you and Lancelot had touched that the flames were stronger. This fire needed to burn and keep on burning, to live as the Ash Folk lived. The rest of the group moved aside to let the two of you get near the fire pit.

“Such magic is awakened by strong emotions and can also be controlled by it.” Merlin said. “Return the fire to the Fey.”

Lancelot took over the torch that Gawain was carrying and put it down into the fire pit. That one torch inside such a large fire pit seemed far too little to be helpful, but it offered something for him to focus on. He had never practiced evoking the green fire.

Percival watched with great curiosity, standing a little on his toes to see it all better. Pym kept a few steps behind Gawain. Arthur and Red Spear tried not to show how much anticipation they harboured.

You saw Lancelot stand motionless, eyes set on the flame of the torch. All eyes were on him and he must have feared failing this task. One time he had awaken the fire, just once, and it had happened beyond his control after having seen Aldith strike you down. This moment held his future and he knew it. You went to stand beside him, watching as he reached for the flames and you almost pulled him back before remembering it could not burn him. His hand was unsteady, the flames licked his fingers. The others gawked at the sight of him touching the flames without a sign of discomfort. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on completing the task, trying to find the feeling inside of him that had caused it the last time. Seconds passed, the whole room had become so silent. His features had tensed, a look of frustration growing on his face. And then the fire grew a green hue, slowly but surely.

“It’s working!” you beamed with pride, your voice reached a higher pitch from joy. “You are doing so well!”

When you placed your hand onto his lower arm, the fire erupted with force. Bright green flames filled the fire pit, sending the group a couple of steps back in awe of the light it emitted. An unseen force was unleashed from the pit, an invisible magic explosion that went into all directions. It blasted the vines to ashes, and as the force traveled through the castle at high velocity the torches on the walls all lit aflame. It was life itself that surged into the castle again, tearing down the curse that held it in it’s power.

A pattern of leaves spread throughout the skin of Lancelot’s hand rapidly and traveled up to his neck, the veins of the leaves glowed like the fire that had awakened them. In the marks beneath his eyes a fiery glow ignited, mere seconds later you felt your own marks rise to the surface of your cheeks. From the stares, you knew your own marks were glowing too and never before had so many people seen your marks. Slowly you slid your hand along his arm, joining his own in the Fey Fire.

“You could have done this too.” he whispered, eyes glued to the flames

Your hands were intertwined. “This was yours to create. The Hidden were waiting for their kin to return, and here you are.”

The sunlight fell back in through the windows that were freed from the overgrowth of vines outside of it.

Merlin was content, his eyes were filled with wonder for the flames. “The castle returns to the eyes of the world, much like the Ash Folk. Once the Fey learn of this, it will give them renewed hope. What was lost is now found.”

Lancelot moved his hand out of the fire with your own, the glow on his skin was slowly dimming. “Did you feel that as well? When you touched me…”

“I felt it too.” It had been the spark that ignited the flame inside, for him and for you.

“You’re green.” Arthur bluntly pointed out, earning half a glare from Lancelot when he saw the Manblood’s shit-eating grin.

Percival hadn’t noticed that yet, he was too busy looking at the flames and trying to get closer but Gawain held him in place by the back of his jacket.

“It looks like leaves are in your skin.” Percival said upon noticing it.

Lancelot looked at his hand, seeing the pattern start to disappear. “It are just Fey markings.”

Pym tried to look at your hands. “Do you have those too?”

“Not right now.” You had went to stand a little behind Lancelot when you could feel that the marks beneath your eyes stayed visible. It had to be the presence of such strong Fey Fire causing this. You felt the others stare at them and discreetly put the hood of your cloak over your head in the hope that it would let a shadow fall upon your face. Lancelot had noticed how you went to stand a little more behind him with your head tilted down, self-conscious about your markings being seen by everyone, but he did not comment on it.

“Shame.” Pym blurted out. “Sorry…”

“The vines are gone. Does that mean the curse is broken?” Red Spear asked Merlin.

Merlin walked around the fire pit to admire the flames. “The curse was no match for the magic of the Ash Folk. The home of the Hidden is now in the hands of their heir.”

Lancelot frowned. “What?”

Merlin explained the situation, “This castle is yours, Lancelot. It thrives only under the possession of those who keep the flames alive.”

Lancelot shook his head. “The Fey will never accept that I am warden of this castle. This is to be a sanctuary for them- "

Merlin interrupted him, “Regardless of your past, the Fey need the magic of the Ash Folk if they wish to survive or even win this war. And the Hidden will not be kind to those who harm the last of their lineage.”

Gawain wasted no time moving the plan along. “We need to send news to Gramaire that the castle is under our command now.”

“I can call upon one of my messengers.” Merlin offered.

“Messengers?” Gawain asked.

To the magician it was a completely normal thing. “An owl, a dove, whichever one of them chooses to come when I call upon them.”

Gawain needed a second to process that. “Well… that would be helpful.”

“There is one more matter that we need to attend to.” Merlin gestured to Lancelot. “The sword. Before Nimue’s death I had wished to return it to the fire and destroy it, but now doubt has grown in me. The sword has chosen you, and you must choose what you do with it. I can no longer touch it, as you have seen. The choice now falls to you.”

Arthur sighed. “We need the sword.”

“The sword will not be what wins this war, it will be our choices that do.” Lancelot told him.

“But the sword will help.” Gawain was against burning the sword, that much was clear. “Destroying the sword is a mistake.”

“It was changing Nimue.” Pym chimed in. “It’s dangerous!”

The different opinions on the fate of the sword filled the room, making it impossible to make a well-thought through decision.

Lancelot drew the sword out from the sheath, the mystical tinkling sound filled the room. “If we cannot decide, then let the sword choose it’s fate.”

Gawain was wary. “What do you mean?”

He approached the fire with the sword, holding it near the flames. “If the Hidden gave us the power to create this fire, and by this fire the sword, then the fate of the sword is now in their hands.”

Gawain took a step closer. “What does-”

Lancelot let the sword fall into the flames, the voices of the Hidden let themselves be heard. Burning ashes rose above the flames and danced around the room. More and more burning ashes filled the room, causing alarm in those who witnessed it. The Hidden did not appreciate that their kin had thrown the sword into the flames, yet their kin was not intimidated by it in the slightest. Lancelot did not falter, not even when the ashes circled around him, he watched the flames lick the sword.

“Decide.” he demanded of them, an arrogance that none other would dare to have towards the old gods. “Or I will let it burn.”

Their whispers grew louder, frightening some of Red Spear’s crew and even herself even though she would never admit to it. Gawain and Arthur were seconds away from drawing their sword in defense of a power no one present could match. Percival ran up to you, grabbing hold on your lower arm. And then the Hidden whispered something that was not incoherent.

    ~“Dark angel…”~

    Everyone, even the Manbloods, had heard it be spoken. Most took a step back when the sword rose out of the flames on it’s own, levitating above them. The sword suddenly flew through the air and landed back at Lancelot’s feet, clattering loud against the tiles. Still, Lancelot did not pick the sword up, he just looked down at the responsibility thrown at his feet once more. The symbols engraved into the sword that translated to ‘Take me up’ still glowed that bright green glow of the flames. The Hidden had decided, their opinion on the existence of the sword was made clear.

Merlin stepped closer to Lancelot, seeing the doubt in the Ash Man. “The gods have spoken.”

His eyes did not lift from where the sword laid at his feet. “Why me? After all I have done…”

“Because they know what is yet to come, what you will still do.” Merlin said. “Their faith lies in you.”

Lancelot knelt down, the sword quietly tinkled in anticipation. “Gawain?”

Gawain was almost amused by it. “The gods themselves have made their decision known. Why still seek my approval?”

He looked at you, he looked at Percival, seeking the confirmation he needed that finally made him pick up the sword. He rose to his feet, the sword glowed brighter for a moment then slowly dimmed. Arthur approached him, nodding to himself, accepting that the sword was in the hands of the former Weeping Monk.

“Do good by the Fey, by us all.” Arthur told him with sincerity, then held his hand out.

It took Lancelot a few seconds to realize that Arthur was not silently asking him to hand over to sword, but to actually shake hands. It was not something you expected to see, them shaking hands, and yet that was exactly what happened.

Then Arthur turned to Merlin. “Can this fire be used to forge weapons for the Fey?”

“None as strong as the Sword of Power.” Merlin informed. “But yes, with Fey Fire weapons can be made of excellent strength.”

Gawain was quick to action again. “We need to ready this fort. Ensure it’s structure is intact and safe, explore the grounds and area, prepare it for when the Fey from Gramaire arrive.”

“Agreed.” Lancelot said.

They discussed the tasks and who would do what. Red Spear and her crew were send to scout the area surrounding the castle to see if it was safe and if there were useful matters to be found. Arthur and Pym paired up to walk around the castle to see if it was safe to inhabit, and to make sure it was not on the verge of crumbling apart. Merlin, Percival and Gawain were to search for anything useful or of interest in the castle, so were you and Lancelot. Finding weapons would be of great help and that was the main objective. Maps of the area were wanted, just anything that offered some aid. When they all went out of the large room to attend to their task, you and Lancelot stayed behind a moment longer. He reached for the hood of your cloak, but you caught his hand.

“My marks won’t go away.” you told him.

“It must be the fire.” He was concerned to see how you shied away because of it. “There is no reason to hide them, we are among our people.”

Years. Years you were forced to hide them from the world, from your own father and brother, and now they were on display for all to see. “How do I make them stop showing again?”

A frown set on his forehead. “Why would you want that?”

You shook your head, gaze falling to the floor. For so long they had been a threat to your existence, had Aldith or Cassian ever seen them whilst you were still living with them… you wouldn’t have survived long.

He stepped closer, leaning in to whisper with as much charm as he could manage. “They suit you so well.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face, a smirk curved his lips. “It’s just strange to not have to fear anymore that they will show.”

He could see that the compliment had a positive effect. “I enjoy seeing them out of hiding.”

It was blatant flirtation now and you shook your head a little, chuckling quietly. His confidence was growing daily.

“Come on, we should be exploring this place.” You moved past him.

He was quick to pull the hood of your cloak down again, you turned on your heels to glare at him for it.

“Don’t you dare hide from me.” he chided. “Nor from the world’s light. I will not allow it. You do not return to the shadows they caged you in.”

Out of pure spite you put the hood back on again. “I am not hiding.”

By the time you had turned, he was behind you, arms wrapped around your form to keep you in place.

“You cannot claim to be cold near such a fire.” He tugged the hood down again, slowly this time. “This castle is where our clan began, if there is anywhere in this world where we can be our truest selves, it is here.”

You let him free you from the coverage of the hood, his fingers curled around your throat softly.

His voice was breathy and warmer. “There you are.”

You tilted your head, feeling him brush his nose just below your jaw. He was intoxicating, as if the magic still ran through him and heightened every feeling that he stirred in you.

He released you from his hold, touching your lower back. “Come. Let us not give the Green Knight a reason to reprimand us.”

And just like that, he started walking, as if he had not just caused your legs to tremble.

Now that all the torches were aflame, and with the sun coming in through the windows, it wasn’t needed to carry a torch to light the way. Together you explored the place, marveling at it’s appearance. The sun bathed the halls in it’s light, enhancing the beauty that had been hidden by vines. Every room was inspected and there were many.

“Do you think this place has a cellar?” you wondered out loud.

He clicked his tongue. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Like two children excited to explore a new place, you wandered through the halls. He opened the door of a room that was filled with old furniture, while on the other side you opened a door to a large room with all sorts of weapons hanging on hooks on the walls.

“Uh… Lancelot?”

He peeked into the room, flashing a smile. “Good find.”

Another door not much further seemed to be blocked and you put your shoulder against it, trying to push it open. Lancelot watched you try for a bit.

The staring got on your nerves. “Aren’t you going to help?”

He had been waiting for a reaction from your side. “Not if you cannot ask politely.”

You saw the grin on his face and proceeded to fully ignore him while trying to get that door open. He was stepping closer, you could hear it and you heard that click of his tongue.

“You stubborn woman…” He put his shoulder against the door too.

Still, the door budged very little even if you pushed together. It got quite comical after a while.

A whine slipped out of you, “Gods! Why won’t it open?!”

“It will open.” He kept trying. “Push harder.”

“I’m pushing as hard as I can!”

“Are you?”

He got a playful smack to his shoulder for that jest. What you didn’t expect was the tap he gave to your rear in return.

He answered that surprised look he was given. “Consider it motivation.”

You turned to him a little more, hands still pushing the door. “You-”

All of a sudden the door went open, the hinges did not make a single sound to warn you of it. Neither you or Lancelot had expected it to be a door that opened to a descending staircase of stone steps. You only realized that when you were too late to stop pushing and the door opened inward, sending you to fall down into the dark staircase.

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[lavender-vixen]

What kind of things does Patrick Hockstetter have in his room? Like random details?

1989, right?

an old boombox with cassettes scattered nearby, bands like joy division, nine inch nails, some darkwave staples.

it smells faintly of cigarette smoke, motor oil, something metallic, and his aftershave. his room is a mix of clean, minimalist order and chaotic, unsettling touches, like an organized desk but posters with disturbing imagery on the walls (which his religious mother does not approve of).

the walls have dark, dramatic posters. bands like the cure, depeche mode, and bauhaus. maybe a disturbing hieronymus bosch or francis bacon print. a few torn-out magazine pages of supercars or motorcycles taped haphazardly to the wall. a small corkboard with pinned polaroid photos, some of people or places that seem innocuous at first glance, others with cryptic, creepy vibes.

a sleek black desk with a couple of knives and lighters resting casually on the surface.

a well-worn black desk chair, slightly faded.

an unmade bed with dark gray sheets, maybe a faded quilt his mom made that looks out of place.

a few random cigarette packs and lighters scattered on his dresser (this pyromaniac collects lighters).

a collection of odd trinkets: bottle caps, animal skulls, pocket knives, and random screws and bolts from dismantled machines.

a baseball bat leaning against the wall, with the handle taped for grip.

a box of matches from a dinner or dive bar in a small fish bowl.

a beat-up sketchpad tucked into a drawer, filled with disturbing but skillfully drawn images, surreal monsters and dark abstracts.

a few dark flannels and distressed denim pieces hanging nearby, and beat-up sneakers just outside of the closet.

a pair of dark aviators hanging off a hook near the door.

a ripped pair of jeans stuffed into the bottom of the closet with the faint smell of gasoline.

a half-burned candle, wax dripped over an old photograph.

a hidden drawer or box under his bed containing polaroids and playboy magazine tear-outs of salacious images.

a half-empty bottle of something, maybe alcohol or an odd chemical, that he needs to get rid of before his parents find it

a mess of receipts from fast food restaurants, tower records, and derry bowling alley

his combat boots, forgotten by the doorway for him to accidentally trip over later

his landline with the extra long cord to reach his bed for late night calls with the gang or girls

a clock radio he took apart and put back together

a small, random stuffed animal his grandma gave him at birth barely visible under a pillow

crumpled concert tickets on his nightstand, which has random doodles sketched on it in sharpie

re-worn laundry strewn across the floor

a few hemp necklaces and rings spilling out on a bookshelf between spiral notebooks

[anemoiashifts]

a collective shifting reading.

hi guys :) if you’re seeing this on tumblr that means you’re getting this three hours early but 7.10 is the anemoiashifts tiktok accounts first birthday 🎂🤍 !

i wanted to do something special & originally i wanted to talk about the first time — and only time — that i have shifted but i don’t think im ready to share something that personal to hundreds of strangers on the internet. then, i was going to do a q&a but i thought that would be a little lazy, then i thought about going live & doing live shifting readings on tiktok but im a pretty shy person so that idea went out the window as quickly as it came. so i hope this video will do :) !

this is a collective shifting reading for all of my followers or anyone who comes across this. this reading is going to be a little longer then my previous ones because i want to provide as much clarity as i can to try & help you guys ⊹ ₊ ⟡ ⋆

who this is for ₊˚ෆ

this reading is for everyone who has shown me support within the past year or decided to stick around for whatever reason; even if this video magically stumbles upon your path. but here are some specifics that ive picked up on:

star or heart shaped jewelry (rings, bracelets, necklaces, etc.) specially, silver jewelry or silver in general. maybe you’re someone who doesn’t take well to criticism. if you have a connection to foxes, mice / rats or house cats. shiny & holographic clothing. soft makeup shades (baby pink, nudes, baby blue).

reading ₊˚ෆ

your biggest “blockade” is your over commitment to your desired reality & shifting as a whole. there needs to be balance or you are pouting yourself at risk for losing your sense of self & going into a downwards spiral. your relationship with shifting is filled with limerence instead of taking control of your life & looking at your life (here or in your dr) long term. you may have multiple dr’s which only fuel that fascination with shifting as a concept. you want to experience so many different things, but you can’t do everything all at once. you have made too many commitments at once. to provide that clarity to yourself, focus on one place at a time. the reason you are so disconnected to your dr is because you’re trying to simultaneously connect with the ten others that you have in that works.

you already understand what doesn’t serve you, doesn’t serve you. weather that be patterns or methods or mindset. you have already let go of them. you don’t need to rehash what you already know. while nostalgic, the era of 2020 / 2021 shiftok has ended & looking back on the past is pointless. because of this looking back to this era with such a yearning to re-spark that initial excitement that you had when the idea of shifting was shown to you, it can quickly become a distraction; reminiscing instead of reigniting.

if you feel stuck, it’s because you feel directionless in your shifting journey. you have so many ideas & so much you want to do but feel lost at sea. you are struggling yo see progress or success. without looking back on what no longer serves you, go back to what you want to get out of shifting. to get out of this never ending cycle, you need to take responsibility for yourself & journey. you also need to recognize the power you already hold. nothing separates a “successful” shifter from a non successful shifter other then how you personally choose to define it. this could be a reflection of your lack of self confidence & be a sign to honoring yourself. how your view yourself, dictates your relationships with other people & how you show up in the world. you could be repressing traumas & emotions & trying to put a band aid over them though shifting. if you feel shame or stupid for putting in energy to reality shift, don't. if it brings you joy then know anything that brings you happiness is worth it & never a waste.

thank you for reading & i hope this resonated with you & you were able to maybe see your journey in a new light or get some clarity. i love you so very much !! ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀ !!

[wolfish-trickster]

Old friend's hat

Cowboy!Geto x female!reader

Word count: 3.7K

Summary: your friends abandon you in a bar to go dance with some hot cowboys. While you drink your loneliness away your very own cowboy joins you.

Warnings: typos, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption, slight suggestive smut at the end

"Oh my god I love this one!" Your friend exclaimed for at least a hundreth time that night. You could swear she was saying that to every other song the band played in this relatively big bar. The closer it got to midnigh the more crowded it was making it feel small and claustrophobic. Glancing at your friend cuddling up to a guy she just met you smirked. Didn't look like she minded the crowd as much as you did.

"Then what are we waiting for miss?" The cowboy held out his hand for your friend to take it and lead her back to the dance floor. "What about your friend though?" He nodded at you, his wide hat making for a pretty good pointer.

"Oh no, i'm good," you held out a glass of some alcohol you long forgotten, "have fun."

The guy nodded and turned his back to you as he lead your friend away. All she did was mouth you a 'thank you' and disappeared among all other ladies with their dance partners. You smiled to yourself and turned fully towards the bar. It's not like you craved a dance partner for yourself. The dancefloor was so cluttered people there grinded on eachother in an obscene way rather than properly danced. The only guy you would want to do that with, the only one you would theoretically trust enough to do that with, wasn't here. Hasn't been in couple of years.

You sighed reminiscing about your old friend. How he's been, whether he found what he was looking for. Why he left your small town all those years ago. You shook him from your head. Today is about having fun, not letting yourself be swallowed by depression over your lost friend. Dance-grinding with strangers was out of the question. The alcohol though.

You downed your unknown liquor, shivered as its bitterness hit the back of your throat and asked the barteneder for something sweet.

"Careful miss," he told you as he was mixing up your drink."

"Don't worry," you smiled and took the glass he gave you. It was nice, someone being concerned about you. Even though it was his job.

As you took your first sip the front door to your right swung open making you choke on the sweet liquid. It's been a while since anyone has arrived, the sudden movement startling you. You just shrugged and took a big gulp of the cocktail. Everyone you knew was on the dancefloor anyways, no need to check on the newcomers.

You midlessly sipped on your drink till your head finally started to spin. That was good. That's what you wanted. Drunk enough to feel better but not too much to not know what you were doing. You layed your head down onto the bar and breathed in the rich smell of the wood. Reminding you of your childhood. With him.

You finished your glass and asked for another one.

"Are you okay miss?" The kind bartnder asked as he was taking your empty glass back.

"Yeah, m'okay, just," you glanced up at the busy crowd of people, the difference between their joy and your loneliness squeezing at your heart, "just tired."

The bartender nodded and mixed you the same drink but with less alcohol this time, putting it infront of you while muttering a 'take it easy' before walking away to tend to the newcomers.

"Take it easy," you mocked him even though you knew he meant well. The drink was now more sugar than alcohol but you didn't mind. It felt good anyways.

"Excuss me," someone interrupted you before you could spiral into depression, "are you okay?"

You hummed. "Yeah, just depressed. Don't worry about it," you answered the kind stranger and took your glass to take another sip but the stranger's big hand grabbed yours.

"There are better ways to deal with your feelings than drowning them in alcohol."

Okay worrying about you even though he doesn't know you is fine, at least you didn't lose faith in humanity, but not allowing you to drink to feel better is a red fucking line.

You straightened yourself up from half laying on the bar and glared at him. "And why do you care anyways?" It came out a bit more aggressive than you intended to, you should really stop drinking before lose even more control. But then yoh got a closer look at the rather handsome cowboy standing before you. Black hat with bright blue bandana wrapped around the middle column, clean shaved face, broad shoulders hidden beneath a black shirt with couple undone buttons. But his eyes. You only ever knew one guy with eyes as purple as his. "Suguru?"

"Y/N?" He asked in as much disbelief as you. Then he smiled and scratched the top of you head ruffling your hair, just like when the two of you were younger. "My my, look at you! You've grown so much. Where's that little girl that played with me on the farm, eh?" He took a seat next to you.

"Look who's talking. Where did all this come from?" You poked his abnormally big pectorals. Might as well be bigger than yours.

"Years of mounting wild horses," he flexed infront of you a bit, making the poor shirt hold onto its dear life.

He chuckled at your amazed expression and relaxed. "What are you doing here? Don't tell me the qjiet shy girl found the beauty of a town bar. And what's with this?" He tapped your half empty glass.

"Oh, uhm," you shoved it aside, "nothing. Just felt like getting a little dizzy."

"Dizzy huh," he commented and ordered himself something stronger. While he waited he took off his hat and put it on a bar between you two.

"Wow," you mumbled when you saw how long his hair has gotten. Granted, his entire childhood until he left he sported a long mane, but it was usually tied up in a bun. Now it was completely lose, falling down his back like a black waterfall.

He noticed you oggling his hair and smirked. "Don't worry, you can braid it later."

"How do you-? You still remember?"

"Of course I do. You asking to braid my hair was highlight of my day." His drink finally arrived and he took a sip.

"Even when you turned me down every time?" You poked his side teasingly like you always did. With the difference that before you could feel his ribs. Now all you could feel was hard muscle. Lots of it.

"I only did so because my hair felt like dry hay. Not even close to soft like yours," he moved to scratch the top of your head again, feeling your hair. "I didn't want you to suffer through styling it."

"Oh come on! I wouldn't have mind! Besides I could've given you some oils and shampoos to make it softer."

"Aaand that's exactly what would damage it even more."

You looked up at him puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean look at my hair. Ever since i left I only wash it in water and look how shiny it is."

"Eeew, you mean how greasy it is," you swatted his hand from the back of your head where it migrated to and picked up his surprisingly soft lock.

"Natural oils baby," he winked at you and downed the whole glass, not even making any grimace.

All the blood rushed to your face at his nickname for you. Sure back then he had all sorts of nicknames; butterfly, little one, doll, pony. But never baby. Embarassed as all hell and to hide how flustered you were becoming you took his hat, put it on and pulled his long rim deep down to cover your whole face. Reaching back fir your own unfinished drink you heard him chuckle. Did he notice?

"What?" You asked.

You felt him shake his head and ask for another whiskey. "Nothing, nothing, just," with his forefinger he tilted the long rim back up to see your face again. "Nah, you're too pure for that," he concludes and take a sip of his newly arrived drink.

"Do you mean 'you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy'?"

Without a warning he spits his drink out and starts coughing. You pat him on his back, even though with your sorry excuse of a strangth it probably didn't even help.

While you were helping Suguru, his friends were quietly observing your from afar. A white haired guy with equally white hat and a purple bandana wrapped around it eyed you the most. "She seems familiar but for the love of me I can't remember where from..."

"You must remember!" One of the girls sitting around insisted. "You said you and Geto didn't have many friends around here. There's no way you don't remember her."

"Calm down Akane," a different guy hugged her around shoulders. "Why are you always hung up on him? Am I not good enough for you?"

"Yeah Akane, let my buddy breath for a second!" The white haired chuckled and gulped down his cocktail. "Seriously take a hint. He rejected you a long time ago. Look around: plenty of new guys to pick from. Three sitting right here," he spread his arms to present himself like a peacock. "You can share right ladies?" He asked two gurls each sitting on one of his thighs leaning against his broad chest.

"Yes mister Gojo," they said in unison and batted their eyelashes.

"Don't include me into this," a brooding blonde leaned back protecring his beer and eyeing the dancefloor with envy. If only there was less people...

The girl, Akane, shook off her companion's arm from around her shoulders and glared back your way, burning holes into your hand on Geto's bicep. "He's the one I want. And he's the one I'll get."

"Where do you even know that from?" Still coughing Suguru asked as he was wiping the spilled alcohol from himself.

You shrugged and took a new napkin to scrub his shirt with. "Got new friends. A little older. Learned it from them."

"New friends," he muttered and threw all dirty napkins into the faraway bin behind the bar.

"Bullseye," you grinned, "must be from the years of catching wild horses into your lasso right?" You looked back at him expecting to see happy smiley Suguru just like before. But now his expression was...apologetic.

"I'm sorry I left all those years ago."

Your smile fell. You didn't want to open this door. What happened happened and that was it. But now that he borught it up. He was your only friend. And then one day he just up and left because life in this small town where you both grew up wasn't good enough for him and Gojo. He left you, leaving only a note.

"It's fine," you turned back towards the bar fully, not sitting with chest facing Suguru like before. "I got used to your absence pretty quickly."

Maybe you should really stop drinking. Being this letty was unlike you. But in your twisted logic he deserved it. He hurt you too long time ago. A little payback can't hurt a guy like him. He must've toughened up while he was gone.

But hurt he did get. The only reason why he even came back to the little end of the world now sat completely disinterested in him nonchalantly telling him she got used to him not being around. The only thing on his mind in long hot nights was how much you must miss him. How happy you'll be once he comes back after making a name for himself. How eagerly you'll say yes when-

Fine. He can be petty too. "Your new group can't be better than me," he pointed with his thumb behind his back at the dancefloor. "All of them left you too."

His words hurt, but the alcohol was already in your head. Before you could say the first hurtful thing you downed the rest of your drink. "I already told you I got used to being alone," and with that you jumped down from the tall barstool. Only to stumble, forgetting your knees bend quite easily once you're not focusing on keeping them straight.

Luckily Suguru got long arms. Before you could completely faceplant he cought your waist and held you close to him. Even standing up you were still a bit shorter than him. "You okay?" He asked in a tender voice, all hurtful comments forgotten.

You nodded. It's been a while since you were this close to anyone. You always loved his shoulders, even when they were narrow and scrawny. How you longed to hug him around them. To feel how big they've gotten.

From afar Akane seethed with rage. Like a vulcano before its final erruption. Which came in the form of you in Geto's embrace. Ignoring her bickering group she strided towards you.

Just as you were about to snake your arms around Suguru's neck and pull him into you a new stranger approached you. She was pretty, prettier than any girl in this town for sure. With a nicely tanned skin. Obviously from prancing around a town and carefully timing her time on the sun unlike most girls around here with uneven tan from long hours working on their families' farms.

"Sugu~" even her voice was soft and melodic, "how long are you gonna be with your little sister? Hm? When will you return back to us?" She leaned down a bit making sure her cleavage was on full display for both of you, for you to spark jealousy and for Suguru to show him what he's missing out on. Suguru however stayed unphased by her body and more confused by her words. You are faster in questioning the girl before you though.

"Little sister?" You push yourself back from Suguru's embrace and stood on your own straight legs.

The beauty nodded. "Yeah, little sister. He wouldn't shut up about her. She was the whole reason we went to this..." she looked around the bar, "dump."

Her voice was nice but the words it carried were cutting your ears. Little sister? Dump? Did Suguru really tell his newfound friends these things?

Maybe the alcohol made you oversensitive, maybe you took special offense once you realized what kinds of nasty stuff Suguru probably did with her but right now all you wanted was to be away.

"I never said this place was a dump," Suguru growled as he stood up and towered over Akane. "And I never called Y/N my little sister. Now get lost you filthy liar before I do something I should've done a long time ago."

Akane stumbled back a bit but held her ground. "I-"

"Get lost."

Suguru shoved her out of the way. At that moment he noticed something. His hat that was on your head the entire time. It fell to the ground. And you left.

*

When the after rodeo party started there was no cloud in the sky. Now there was a light drizzle. It was quite romantic. Soft waterdrops here and there. Semi clear sky. Shiny moon. Stars. If only your head was clearer. If only there wasn't a huge ball in your throat.

Did Suguru really tell everyone you were his little sister? What did that woman do with him the whole time he was gone?

All sorts of questions plagued your mind before your legs came to a stop. You arrived to a lake. It was significant for your town, the more it rained the bigger it became. It was never deep enough to swim in but never too shallow to have awesome mud wars with Suguru.

You smiled at the memory. You always sucked at throwing, your go to strategy was to tackle him to the ground. And he would always hook his legs around you and pulled you tk the ground while he sat on top of you and shoved mud into your face.

You didn't even know when your tears joined the water drops on your cheeks, but once they started flowing you couldn't stop. You wanted that simple time back. You wanted to go back and keep Suguru here with you, nail him to the bed if needed.

Suddenly something smelling like leather fell on your head. Black with a long rim.

You turned around spotting Suguru, apologetic expression on his face. "You left this behind."

You kept staring at him. Your head still spinned and you were wondering if Suguru was really here or if you drank too much again. But the hat felt real, the faint leathery smell mixing with gunpowder felt real too. So you said the first sensible thing coming to your mind. "It's your hat though."

He chuckled. "It looked good on you."

There was an awkward silence for a while. Nothing but soft raindrops hitting the nearby lake. He decided to break it first.

"I want to apologize. Akane was out of line and-"

"It's okay."

"What?" His head snapped to you.

"It's okay. I understand. If I were you I'd be ashamed too," you smiled and stared somewhere far away. Into the hills clouded by a slight fog.

"What are you-"

"I mean, I finally get it why you left. If there are girls like her everywhere else I'd-"

"CAN YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME?!"

You jerked at his loud voice.

"Sorry, sorry. But," he inhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, "you can't make assumptions like that without letting me explain first. So be a good girl and let me talk. Without you spiraling. Deal?" He asked gently.

You nodded. What else could you do?

"Thank you. She lied."

You looked up at him from beneath the wide hat rim.

"Akane lied about everything. I never called this place a dump. You were never a sister to me. And truthfully," he put his hands on your shoulders and stepped a bit closer, "I left to get money. To make a name for myself. This little town is nice and all but with my parents losing their farm I would have nothing to offer to your father and he would never agree to give you to me."

During his rant you could only stare. He wanted you?

"That's actually why I came back," he said and moved his hands from your shoulders to cup your cheeks. "I came here for you."

"For me?" You asked still not believing his words. Your longtime friend. Your forbidden crush. He left only to come back to get you?

"Yeah silly, for you," he smiled and stroked your cheeks.

"But why?" You just wanted to be sure. You only needed to know you didn't misunderstand.

"Because~" he leaned in, his fohead lightly touched the rim of his hat, giving you time to pull back. Instead you tipped your head up. The hat's rim was no longer separating your heads from moving closer to eachother.

Your lips touched. And your knees almost gave up again. Suguru's arms wrapped around your waist and fully pulled you into him. His open mouthed kisses were making your head spin more than the alcohol, making you even more drunk.

And more bold too.

Without thinking your tongue bolted out from your mouth and licked his bottom lip. With a deep moan he opened his mouth and stroked your tongue with his. In your tipsy clumsiness your teeth slightly touched his and you cringed. But he apparently didn't care. He only wanted to taste you more.

But you needed to breath.

With all your might you pushed on his shoulders and gasped for air, hating the fact you needed it more than his lips.

He chuckled at your expression and adjust the cowboy hat on your head to not make it fall to the muddy ground. Before you could pull yourself up back to him a bright lightning crossed the sky startling both of you. The rain thickened too.

"Listen," he said inbetween gasps, "me and my companions rented couple of rooms in that old hotel down the main street," he picked you up bridal style not trusting your knees at the moment (just like you). "And I have a separate one. We can spend the night there."

"And follow the rule?" You asked and pointed at his hat on your head.

He chuckled and began walking back to the town. "When you sober up."

"But I am sober!" You pouted and hugged him around his neck.

"You almost fell from your own feet. I'm pretty difficult to mount," he smirked, "you wouldn't last very long in my rodeo."

You whined but kept quiet. Your eyes were heavy anyways. It won't hurt to close them for a bit. The hotel isn't that far away. It'll be just for a bit.

*

The next time you opened your eyes was in a vertical position. You were only in your undergarments, your dress hung on a chair to dry. There was something warm next to you. Something solid.

You turned your head to see a smirking Suguru, long hair spread out on his pillow. "Well well, falling asleep after being denied a ride."

Suddenly all your memories from yesterday hit you. In a futile attempt to hide your embarrassment you pulled up the blanket over your face. "Sorry," you mumbled.

"Lucky for you," he pulled down the blanket and hovered above you, "I know how to fix it."

You gulped. The last time you were beneath him like this was during one of your famous mud wars. But this, this time it was different.

Instead of painting your face with mud he leaned to the side to retrieve his hat, put it on your head and leaned down to whisper in your ear. "So, who's gonna ride first?"

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #345 - Buzzcocks, Spiral Scratch, 1977

L'Extended Play ha avuto un momento di grande successo durante la stagione del punk. Nell'era d'oro del movimento (1976-1980) la facilità e i minori costi di produzione resero il formato piuttosto amato dalle giovani band punk, che così, in pieno stilema del movimento, potevamo mettere sul banco quel poco che erano capaci di suonare all'inizio: lo spirito ultimo del punk era, soprattutto all'inizio, la ribellione (fittizia a volte, ma è un altro discorso) ai canoni del musicista preparato, per virare in una sorta di spontanea espressione personale, a volte al limite del dilettantismo (principio che se allora poteva apparire rivoluzionario, ai giorni nostri ha tutt'altro significato). La storia musicale di oggi riguarda una band che non solo esordì con un Ep, ma, cosa davvero storica, fu la prima ad autoprodurselo, dando il via alla strada delle etichette indipendenti in Gran Bretagna.

Tutto nasce nel 1975 quando due ragazzi di Bolton, vicino Manchester, Peter McNeish e Howard Trafford, appassionati di musica, decidono che vogliono fondare una band. Si cambiano il nome in Pete Shelley e Howard Devoto, Shelley suona la chitarra e canta, Devoto canta soltanto, e chiedono in giro chi vorrebbe unirsi a loro. Hanno un accordo con un batterista, e leggendo sul New Musical Express che i Sex Pistols stanno iniziando un Tour in Inghilterra vanno a Londra per incontrare la band. Prendono accordi con il manager Malcom McLaren per aprire la data di Manchester, ma malauguratamente tutti i batteristi che contattano sono indisponibili. Ci riescono alla seconda data, nel luglio del 1976, quando vennero reclutati il bassista Steve Diggle e il batterista John Maher, e la loro esibizione d'apertura è possibile rivederla in un documentario su quel primo tour dei Sex Pistols, nel documentario Punk: Attitude diretto da Don Letts.

Quella sera si presentarono al pubblico con un nome decisamente punk: Buzzcocks, che è un misto tra il nome dialettale di quelle zone per chiamare i ragazzi (cocks) e una battuta di un celebre telefilm molto famoso in quei tempi, Rock Follies, che aveva una sorta di battuta tormentone in "that's the buzz, cocks" che vale più o meno "è la voce che gira, ragazzi". Tra l'altro Pete Shelley come lavoretto era commesso in un sexy shop a Bolton, particolare che dava una vena ironica alla scelta.

Decidono, con una mossa che farà scuola, di autoprodursi il primo lavoro, che è l'Ep di oggi. Fondano una propria casa discografica, la New Hormones, che è stata la prima etichetta indipendente di punk in Gran Bretagna. Producono, insieme al mitico produttore Martin Hannet (il capo produttore della Factory di Manchester, fido collaboratore dei Joy Division e di altre storiche band del periodo) questo Ep, che sin dal titolo, Spiral Scratch (a ricordo del suono della puntina sul vinile quando non funziona bene) è un inno al loro punk che sin da subito prende una strada diversa: abbandona i toni "politici" che in parte avevano i Sex Pistols e in seguito i Clash, per scegliere una vena ironica ma non meno devastante, parlando, per primi, dei problemi di droga dei giovani del tempo, della loro solitudine, del sesso. Chiesti 500 sterline a parenti ed amici, affittano con Hannett il 28 Dicembre del 1976 gli Indigo Sound Studios di Manchester, e in tre ore registrano 4 brani, che diventeranno loro icone e piccole perle del primo punk. Breakdown apre il lavoro, con il suo ritmo sostenuto e la chiara devastazione di essere non ancora formato in nulla di una generazione per la prima volta allo sbando (Whatever makes me tick it takes away my concentration\sets my hands a-trembling, gives me frustration\I'm gonna breakdown, I'm gonna breakdown yes). La nervosa Time's Up ha un piccolo refrain che è una dichiarazione d'intenti (Your time's up and me too\I'm out on account of you) prima che si apra la prima canzone icona del gruppo: Boredom prende alla lettera il titolo sviluppandosi in una canzone che in pratica utilizza solo due note, ed è il manifesto di una generazione apatica che ripete come un mantra "noia, noia noia" e, per la prima volta nella musica, ha paura nel futuro. Devoto, che lascerà la band dopo questo Ep dicendosi stanco del già sentirsi "definito e stereotipato" cambierà idea poco dopo fondando una nuova band, i Magazine. Friends Of Mine, con la voce diabolica di Devoto, è molto più estrema del resto, e rimarrà una sorta di unicum del gruppo, he nei lavori successivi amplierà il lato pop-punk, molto ironico, diventando la risposta europea ai Ramones.

Il disco, che fu stampato in sole 1000 copie, divenne una sorta di piccolo culto, e con il passaparola e con l'aiuto decisivo del manager del Virgin Records Store di Manchester, che lo consigliò ad altri negozi del gruppo, fu ristampato tantissime volte, fino a vendere nelle edizioni New Hormones oltre 16 mila copie. La casa discografica, che ebbe tra le mani i primi lavori di band poi eccezionali come The Fall, Cabaret Voltaire, Gang Of Four, in un primo momento non poté produrre nulla per mancanza di soldi. Solo dopo che la band, nel 1980, ebbe dissidi e non produsse niente l'etichetta iniziò a realizzare lavori, in tutto 21 dischi, ma a Manchester lo scettro era arrivato nelle mani della Factory, che produsse i dischi più innovativi e belli del periodo. Devoto una volta uscito, verrà sostituito spostando Steve Diggle alla chitarra, al basso Garth Smith, che venne ben presto rimpiazzato da Steve Garvey. Pur essendo stati i fondatori della prima piccola etichetta DIY (Do It by Yourself, termine coniato dal critico Simon Reynolds in un capitale saggio sul punk) la band siglerà un accordo con la United Artist per distribuire gli ultimi dischi della band. Con una formazione a 4 pubblicheranno nel 1978 Another Music In A Different Kitchen, uno dei migliori lavori del biennio punk '77-'78, decidendo di curare molto di più la produzione e a brani come Fast Cars, You Tear Me Up e I Don't Mind. Nello stesso anno pubblicano Love Bites, che doveva essere il nome del loro secondo Ep, che contiene la loro canzone più famosa, Ever Fallen In Love?, 2 minuti e 39 di chitarre e cori che sono un'apice del pop-punk, e vi consiglio di ascoltare anche la cover che anni dopo fanno del pezzo i Five Young Cannibals. Poi si sciolgono, e si riuniscono nel 1993, senza lasciare granchè. Una band punk ma non troppo questi Buzzcocks.

[dustedmagazine]

An overwhelming year: Joshua Moss on 2024

2024 was an overwhelming year in almost every sense, but the subject here at Dusted is music, and music was a phenomenon that was overwhelming in a good way. I fell in love with brand new albums I will listen to for the rest of my life, discovered decades old albums that were like missing pieces of myself, and I didn’t get to albums I might fall in love with ten years from now. My band released eight of our own albums to varying degrees of notice. I did a brief tour, something I had not done for over a decade, and we played more shows than we ever have in a year.

I mention my own musical activities because when you are engaged in DIY music, it's all about connecting with people, and most of them are other musicians with beautiful music to share. Every time we play a show, we are treated to performances by two or three other bands, who almost never disappoint. I had sublime nights around Portland this year. I swooned to jangly pop downers Rosy Boa. I zoned out to mesmerizing finger picking and jazz improvisation from guitar magicians like Will DeLee and Mike Gamble. I lost my mind to the free explorations of the Joel Nelson Group and Water Shrews. We played with French artists Tamagawa and Oldine and connected across the Atlantic with their atmospheric sounds. When I was on tour, I got to meet an online friend and collaborator, John Swanke, and watch him weave his tapestries of New Age guitar. I met drone-folk revivalists Friends of the Road, who put out one of my favorite albums of the year, and I got my face melted by the thrash-metal Grouper vibes of Power Strip. All of this was life affirming - in times that feel haunted by deadly forces that are bereft of creativity or joy, all of this felt like, aside from my family, my main reason for being alive. 

There is an additional vitality that can be added to this practice, because music can be used to materially address the complex issues we face. Many artists, including myself, leverage their fanbase to raise money for good causes, but in the wake of Hurricane Helene, a massive, heavy hitter filled benefit compilation called Cardinals at the Window raised over $300,000 to support those impacted. more recently, the Gold Bolus Recordings label has put out an excellent compilation to benefit Palestinians, called Mandatory Liberation Volume One, featuring artists such as Powers/Rolin Duo and Ashcan Orchestra.

2024 was a great year to be a fan of music too—as fragmented as the digital universe, is, has the effect of multiplying the amount and variety of music released, permutations of genres spiraling like fractals of style. I think every deep music head's dilemma is knowing that we'll miss more records than we ever catch, but it's a wonderful problem to have. Below I have included a list of my 30 favorite albums of the year —  I tried to go under-the-radar as much as was honest — but this is stuff I listened to a lot.

Spiral Pier — Cash Payment (EP)

JPW/Dadweed — Two Against Nurture (EP)

Future — WE DON’T TRUST YOU

Rosali — Bite Down

Daniel Wyche and Patrick Shiroishi — Hopeful Intervals

Jeremy Kizina — Remnants In Repose

Seawind of Battery — East Coast Cosmic Dreamscaper

Cindy Lee — Diamond Jubilee

Penn Bryce — Feel Free

Taylor K Conrad — Mountain Stars

Cassini — The Cassini Project

Friends of the Road — Sunseekin’ Blues

Water Shrews — Red Eared Slider

Myriam Gendron — Mayday

Shane Parish — Repertoire

Rob Dobson — Be Easy

Beth Gibbons — Lives Outgrown

Bill MacKay — Locust Land

Blue Angels — s/t

Quintelium — Dream and Reality

Will DeLee — Improvisations for Guitar and Charango

Niklas Sørensen — Akustisk

Hearts of Oak — Valley of Dark Hills

JM Hart — As We Know It

Kim Deal — Nobody Loves You More

Power Strip — Nothing Yet

Spiral Joy Band — Waves of Higher Bodies

Old Crow Medicine Show — O.C.M.S. (re-issue)

Souled American — Notes Campfire (re-issue)

Grateful Dead — Duke '78 (archival)

[eeriefinn]

mac knowing that somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, thats he’s utterly in love with jack.

mac not fully realizing those feelings until jack is declared dead. all he has left are the memories he carries, the dog tags and what remains of jacks possesions.

mac keeping those dog tags close to his heart at all times, constantly looking at all the photos of him and the others with jack, sleeping in jack’s favorite band tees and clothes, listening to his favorite music and getting caught off guard when hearing those songs in public.

bozer, riley, and matty watching him decend deeper into his depression, but not able to do much of anything to pull him out of it. even with bozer having known mac the longest, jack was always the only person with the power to pull mac out of a spiral.

mac eventually realizing that jack wouldn’t want him to rot in bed all day and make himself suffer. mac working on himself and healing, and eventually going back on missions with his team, now including desi, and moving forward with his life. even though the jack shaped hole in his chest can never be closed, he lives on, forms new friendships and bonds, and refuses to give in and give up.

matty revealing that jack has been found alive, and is in a hospital halfway across the world. and suddenly his world is crumbling down around him all over again. he has done all this moving forward and healing for what, just to leave jack behind? he shouldn’t have given up on him, he should have second guessed everything and searched harder. but now isn’t the time for regrets or sorrow, he has to go to jack.

mac walking into jacks hospital room just to break down in tears of pure joy and relief. to be able to see the face and smile of the man he’s loved so deeply all these years. finally getting to hug and feel that jack is truly here, truly alive.

jack slowly recovering and finally getting the okay to return home. mac offering to let jack stay with him for as long as he’d like, all his stuff is there anyways, mac couldn’t being himself to throw any of it away. mac worrying about not being able to hide his feelings while living with jack, but not being able to refuse the comfort of having jack nearby at all times.

mac never returning jacks dog tags, still keeping them close to his heart. theyve become too dear to him to let go of.

mac and jack having movie nights with take out and beers on the deck by the firepit, just like old times. talking about what they had gone through in the past few years. the grief, the pain, the trauma, everything but ache in his chest that mac so dearly wishes he could ignore.

mac and jack stargazing one summer night, leaning into each other and telling stories of growing up and lighter things. accidentally locking eyes during a lull of silence. mac breaking and deciding to let jack finally see the love and affection in his eyes that he’s always tried so hard to hide. jack knowing exactly what mac is trying to say with just his gaze; they’ve always been able to communicate with just a glance.

jack caressing macs face with a gun calloused hand and leaning in for a tender kiss. the kiss is salty from their mixed tears, but they’re too happy to truly care. jack pulling away first and wiping away macs tears. putting out the firepit and huddling into macs bed. being able to finally hold each other, and talk about the feelings they’ve both held onto for so long. a tender night of confessions and cuddling, one they’ll cherish forever.

mac waking up by the sunrise and turning in the arms holding him, and finally getting to see the man he loves so closely and intimately. seeing jacks sleeping face lit up by the gentle sunbeams of the early morning, and realizing that the night before wasn’t merely a dream.

mac finally feeling whole once again, the jack shaped hole in his heart finally filled.

[bijouxcarys]

Make It Better (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: They say work and pleasure don't mix. But sometimes the former is made more bearable by the latter... **NSFW, minors please don't interact**

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This is filthy. Disgusting. And yes, I think I'm okay. Just... bear with me.

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @firethatgrewsolow @callmethehunter @inanebula @tangerine1969

@ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @angrychicksposts @dzdndcnfsd @friccinfricks @chromations

@m-faithfull @strsmn (let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Robert fics)

It all started with a creative disagreement.

One thing about being a part of one of the world’s most successful rock bands was the constant pressure to get things right. The back and forth, not only between band mates, but producers too. Sure, these producers knew the industry like the back of their hands, but Robert Plant wasn’t content with adhering to any status quo.

“D’ya think Hendrix put up with this crap?!” was a line heard by dozens down the street the more the weeks passed. He was coming home with battered fingernails and dishevelled hair from the time he’d spent gnawing and gripping. All because he felt he was being pushed into the same old bubble. Rock ‘n’ roll was nice, but what about da blues… where’s the soul gone? 

Nowhere, that’s where the soul is.

“There’s no bloody soul in it!”

There was a time when all three could be intricately woven together to create one enigmatic, timeless masterpiece. But now it was all disco and structured ear worms.

The only person who helped Robert feel anything else lately was his significant other. His lady-friend that started as a heated affair but quickly spiralled into a complicated web of I love yous in bed, and “I don’t know what I want” the morning after.

But as she laid on her back, the familiar feeling of Robert’s girth stretching her out as he slowly rippled in and out of her, the pleasure had vanished. Much like the music, the soul was scarce.

Not that he was lacking; Robert was the master when it came to pleasuring the opposite sex. It was the mere idea of Robert being in such a state with the creative process that the joy and light from his eyes had disappeared; a state she had never seen him in during her time of knowing him. And it hurt her, knowing his soul was void of life, of colour.

“I wish there was something I could do to make it better…”

“There isn’t, luv. It’s just the way of the game.”

Swallowing hard, she ran her fingers up his defined arms, holding his flushed cheeks between her palms, coaxing him to look up at her and halt his movements. He scrunched his eyebrows up in confusion.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” he asked, licking his lips.

“No, no,” she reassured, smiling up at him. “I just…” She looked off to the side, chewing her lip. Her lover sighed, having the decency to pull out of her and take her into his arms.

“What is it, darlin’? What’s going on up there?” he asked with such a softness that belied any of the turmoil he was facing mentally. She shivered at the tender kiss he placed on her hair, sensing his inhale as he did. He always liked how her hair smelled.

“You.” 

It was a simple, one-worded answer. But it spoke volumes in encyclopaedias.

“Yer not still worryin’ about all that shit at the studio, are ya?” Robert was almost dismissive, huffing under his breath as the subtle reminder ground on him harsher than he expected it to. And she felt guilty initiating that reminder, but not as guilty as she’d feel if she had no resolution.

The idea that sprung to mind was risky, and she was somewhat nervous to propose such an idea. But it had been circling in the recesses of her mind since the night Robert arrived back home with bags under his bloodshot eyes—the usually jovial and bubbly vocalist muttered a mere four words the entirety of that night and passed out on the sofa not even an hour after returning.

“I have an idea—don’t laugh at me, or think it’s weird. I mean, it kind of is a bit weird, but I’m just trying to figure out a way to help you, but just tell me if I’m being ridiculous and we can jus–”

“Yer rambling, luv…” he broke her stream of vocalised thinking. Not that he minded in the slightest; he could listen to her ramble on for hours.

“Sorry,” she let out a flustered laugh. “I just… want you to hear me out here, okay?” Robert only responded by shifting on his side and propping his head up on his balled up fist. “I know you said there isn’t anything I could do to help you–”

“And there isn’t.”

“Just listen to me, please,” she pleaded, peering up at him. “What if… you could relieve that stress?”

“Relieve the stress?” he echoed with a quizzitive brow.

“Yeah, relieve the stress… on me.”

She bit her lip hard, searching his eyes for any sign that she should just shut up right now and leave whilst her dignity was still partially intact. But that sign never appeared. Instead, clouds of further confusion, then concern, but mostly intrigue took over his intense gaze.

“You want me to do that with you?” His question was quiet. Small. Cautious.

Once she’d given him a nod of confirmation, he rolled back on top of her with a swiftness that contrasted everything he embodied just seconds before. It was more like the leap of a lion once faced with its desired prey. He pounced.

“Yer sure you want me to do that?” he checked, delicately running his fingertips over her cheek, lowering them down to her throat and her chest.

“Yes…” she whispered, looking up at him with parted lips. “Just wanna make you feel better, baby…”

“Hm,” he hummed, a smirk appearing on his face. “You are a good little girl, aren’t you, darlin’?” He lowered his face and nuzzled her with his nose. “Always makin’ sure I’m satisfied, eh?”

“Mhm,” she confirmed with a childlike nod. “I trust you, Robert. I want you to let go. Use me… please.”

He took a deep breath, the hesitance still somewhere floating in the back of his mind. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she reassured him with steady eyes. “I promise.”

Studying her for a moment longer, he slowly nodded, eyes darkening with desire. “Alright, luv,” he whispered. “But remember, you asked for this.”

Without further reluctance, he pressed his lips against hers with a newfound intensity, claiming her mouth in a passionate, almost feral kiss. His hands roamed her body, no longer gentle but demanding, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched.

“You really want this?” he murmured against her lips, his breath hot and ragged. “You want me to let go?”

“Yes,” she breathed, arching into his touch.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he moved his mouth to her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin. She let out a light gasp, her hands instinctively reaching up to grip at his shoulders, but he swiftly grabbed her by the wrists, pinning them beside her head.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warned in a seductive purr, “or I’ll tie them up.”

Her eyes widened, a thrill running through her at his words. “Maybe you should,” she whispered. “Maybe you should stop me from being able to do whatever I want…”

His gaze locked onto hers, absorbing her words and the weight they held beyond this moment. Appreciative, he smirked and reached over her to blindly pull his silk scarf from where he had discarded it over the headboard. “You asked for it, luv,” he said, wrapping the scarf around her wrists and securing it in a knot—tightly, but still comfortable enough.

With her wrists bound just above her head and her body completely at his mercy, Robert’s restraint snapped. He leaned down, mouth claiming hers in a possessive kiss and his hands lowered to her legs, hoisting them both up to hang around his waist.

“My beautiful girl,” he muttered, trailing more kisses down her throat and to her chest. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She watched with hooded eyes as he slithered down her body, truly taking his sweet time in his worship. The occasional nip from his teeth jolted her, reminding her of who exactly was in charge of this moment.

“Absolutely drenched for me, angel,” he patronised, cooing with his lips slightly pouted. “So desperate.” He pushed her thighs open, roughly baring his palms down on them so she was fully exposed to him. 

“Please, Robert…” she whimpered, trying her best to angle her hips upwards, utterly starving for the exquisite feeling of his silk tongue.

He gave no warning as he laid an open mouth kiss between her legs, tongue circling over any expanse of skin he could find. Groaning at the taste, he sucked her clit into his mouth, not bothering to avoid the use of his teeth. Soft ridges glided over her sensitive bud, the sensations heightening as he did. She gasped, tugging at the scarf around her wrists, fingertips aching to dig into Robert’s curly blonde roots.

Instead, she attempted to tighten her legs around him, but his vice grip only intensified. Muscles under his skin protruded as he bared more weight down onto her legs than perhaps necessary. But it made her feel so alive. So… wanted. So controlled.

Robert played with her, alternating between rapidly flicking the tip of his tongue across her clit, to sloppily dragging his entire mouth over her. One minute on the verge of making her cum, and one minute slowing the process down completely. 

Nothing happened unless he made it happen.

“Turn over.”

She shouldn’t have enjoyed the humiliation it brought her to struggle with her bound hands as she flipped herself over onto her stomach. He just sat back on his feet, watching her with his cock in his hand. Stroking himself as she fought with herself to get into the position he wanted.

A smug smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he steadily crawled over her, one knee on either side of her legs.

“You alright, luv?”

“Y-yes,” she breathed out, moving to rest her head to the side. 

“Good.” With gritted teeth, he pressed his palm down on her lower back, guiding his cock between her legs. “Don’t fucking move… I promise this is gunna feel real good, darlin’.”

Nodding, she bit down on her lip as he squeezed her legs together with his own, all whilst forcing his length into her cunt. Even with the slickness, there was a formidable resistance from the position alone. But it only served to emphasise just how fucking tight she was, and how big he was. Two traits that shouldn’t have meshed so well together, but did.

“O-oh my God…” she groaned, the pain sparking something otherworldly in her abdomen. Both of his hands grabbed at her hips as he sank all the way in, until he was snuggly resting his pelvis against her.

“Hmm… feels good, doesn’t it?” His eyes shut for a moment, twitching at the taut feeling being nestled so deeply inside. All she could do was nod at his question, hands curling into clenched fists above her head. For a moment, she attempted to wriggle away from him, but his eyes snapped open and fingers dug into her flesh. “Nuh-uh, I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

His strength, and overall larger than life presence, caused her back to arch, the tip of his cock pressing bluntly against her cervix.

One sharp thrust.

“R-Robert, I don’t th-think I can—”

“Yes you can. And you will,” he growled, withdrawing his hips, just to slam them back into her. “Bloody hell,” he let out an elongated moan. 

Tears filled her eyes, feeling the heat radiating from his body as he leaned over her. To her surprise, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, before murmuring into her ear, “If it’s too much, just say “red” and I’ll stop, ‘kay?”

“Okay…” She had to smile to herself at the care he took, but it was swiftly replaced by an open-mouth, silent scream as he propped himself up on his hands, once again slamming himself into her. The position was new, at least for them, but she already knew she’d want to try it again. His cock had never felt so big inside of her—and he was huge.

His hands were splayed on the mattress on either side of her body, his lower half got to work on pummelling into her at a terrifying pace, with a level of brutality she had never seen from him.

She was merely a plaything. Something to be used. And she loved it. It was like she could feel every ounce of his frustration being spilled into her with every vicious swing, every harsh stroke.

“Yeah… that’s a good girl,” he grumbled under his breath, losing himself in the way her cunt sucked and gripped onto him, her whimpers and high-pitched yelps and moans encouraging his unholy behaviour.

“Ah!” she gasped for air as he gripped harshly on her hair, yanking her up so only her head was lifted. Her vision was blurry, but every square inch of her being convulsed and throbbed for him.

“You like that, darlin’, huh?” he spat, not necessarily searching for an answer. “Yeah, you do… I know you do,” he continued to ramble through clenched teeth, jaw tightened and brows narrowed. “You like it when Daddy fucking tears you apart… When Daddy’s in charge… Fuck!”

She could feel her legs turning to jelly, quivering as her head became fuzzy, and her body fell entirely limp as he took her how he wanted. And whilst he’d never called himself Daddy before, and she had never thought to utter such a name to him, there was nothing else she could have seen him as in that moment.

He was her Daddy. Her master. Her universe. Everything. All. About. Him.

By now, his hand had lowered to her throat, where his grip became almost unbearable. It hurt. She coughed and sputtered through her moans and whines.

“You sound so fuckin’ pathetic right now, luv. Such a fucking mess, all because of me, eh? That it? All those noises, just for me… All for me.”

“Yes!” she choked out. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me c–”

“I know. I can feel it.”

He pulled her up as far as she could in the position they were in—so far, in fact, that it strained her spine, her neck, her shoulders. Eyes rolled to the back of her head before they were clamped shut, his lips once again ghosting beside her ear.

“Tell me I’m in charge, baby,” he pled through uneven grunts. “Tell me everything’s mine… tell me, tell me, please.”

With all the strength she could muster, she turned her head, his large hand maintaining its death grip. “You’re in charge, baby,” she whimpered up at him, droplets of sweat from both of their heads combining as they pressed together. “It’s all yours…” Her teeth clenched down painfully. “Fuck, you’re the fucking best!”

“That’s right,” he huffed, his jarring thrusts becoming unstable, hips jutting. “Gunna fill you up, make you walk ‘round with me inside you… show everyone who you belong to… Ah, I’m gonna cum, fuck, fuck—”

He couldn’t even hold it back, couldn’t even wait for her, as he bust everything he had inside of her, emptying his seed. She was sure she blacked out for a second as he grasped around her neck even harder than before. Her thighs were sticky as he continued to pump himself dry, causing it to seep out before he’d even finished.

“Fuck, sorry, darlin’,” he almost inaudibly apologised, before pulling himself out of her and swiftly replacing his cock with three of his long fingers. His arm hooked around her neck as he kept her pressed against his looming form. Now, he relentlessly fucked her with his fingers, her juices and his seed covering his hand and the sheets as she cried out, whole body flushed and shaking.

“God, yes, right there—right there, Robert–” Her release cut her off, gushing and soaking him and his bed. Never had she ever cum this hard, for this long, and this intensely.

“There you go… Fuck, darlin’, I really made you feel that good, eh?” he breathlessly talked her through it, his softening cock resting on her backside as she came down, losing all grasp of reality in the process.

Once he’d let her go, she collapsed, every limb weak and her throat hoarse from the ungodly noises.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he reassured her as she tried to reach out for his hand, forgetting momentarily that she still had her wrists bound in silk. He freed her, capturing her shaky hand and enveloping his arm around her body. He still covered her, protecting her body. Laying sweet kisses along her spine and on her shoulder. Once he got up to her neck, he mumbled very gently against her tacky skin.

“I love you. Thank you.”

No gratitude was needed, as she’d do it all again, for him, in a heartbeat.