#this is for the one in brooklyn (yes this is for the same tour. what can i say) which is wild i havent been to brooklyn in years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darklydeliciousdesires · 8 months ago

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Nobody's Girl - A Luca Changretta/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I got the message quite clearly that just a few of you are more than a wee bit excited for this, so regardless of the poll results, ya bestie over here is giving you the first chapter. Everybody gather round and meet Emily Jane. She shyly says hi.

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,224

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Brooklyn, 1923. It was a dangerous place to be in certain areas of the New York borough, where bullets fell like rain and crimson bled plentifully into the gutters. Its misdeeds were becoming famous, the mob swelling like a well-fed beast, prowling the streets unleashed, snarling and hungry. In Brooklyn, the mafia were the kings, whether you, your mother, your cousin or the cops liked it or not.

It was generally advised that you did not protest.

Wiseguy compliance was safer than the alternative, and everybody knew it. When they came knocking, offering fistfuls of dollars to store barrels mostly containing contraband beer, gin and whiskey within the warehouses of legitimate businesses, the proprietors knew that you either said yes or you died. That money you were so generously handed would be earned back, though.

“So look, uh, you gonna be lookin’ after this cargo for us, right? That means there are gonna be certain guys on the street who ain’t gonna be too pleased about you working with us. So, what I’m gonna do is have a few of my guys lookin’ out for ya. Fifty bucks a week and nothin’ happens to your business, or your family.”

The story was the same for any other business within the radius of their turf, racketeering forced upon you whether you guarded contraband alcohol for them or not.

It was generally advised that you paid them the fifty bucks.

Of course, when it came to the families going to war with one another, there was nobody there to protect you, whether you paid into a protection racket or didn't. If the police were called, they generally – and purposefully - arrived too late, the large wedges of cash stuffed into their back pockets by whichever mob crew were buying their compliance ensuring that.

No, when the gunfire erupted and turned the silent streets into a bloodied cacophony, you knew there was only one thing to do.

It was generally advised that you duck.

On that particular chilly November night, though, with the threat of snow hanging heavy in the air from the thickened clouds above, one young woman opted not to duck. Instead, she chose to walk right out into the carnage, for it was perhaps the only avenue she could tentatively tread upon in order to save herself from hell.

The Changretta’s and the Calabrese's had been at war with one another over turf for months, disputes rife over what mob presided over which area, promises of blood come good after negotiations had failed, leading to the shootout between both crews in the dead of night.

Bullets peppered the air, tattooing the buildings and cars along the street, screams and shouts only just about audible over the thrum of heavy machine gun fire, men diving and dying left and right. The sins they fought and died for knew no difference, but somewhere in the madness, these men of bloodthirsty savagery had a line they would not ever cross.

The Changretta mob scanned the desolate street, high alert agitating their blood, neurons firing rapidly as they watched the area, looking, waiting for movement. The enemy had been thinned to what appeared to be nothing, their bodies littering the ground, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more lying in wait.

Luca’s unblinking eyes toured the darkness, daring to slowly rise from his concealed place behind the front wing of a shot-out Ford, each step crunching the shattered glass beneath his feet. Nothing. They’d accomplished the extermination mission sufficiently, not a single Calabrese goon left breathing.

“Boss! On your left!”

At his right hand’s call, Luca spun, directing his gun at what his eyes picked out through the inky night, a glowing light splitting the dark, his men beginning to fire.

“Stop, fuckin’ guns down, now!” he bellowed, his cadence rising sharply, way above his usual silky, rumbling drawl. “It’s a girl, you dumb fucks.”

She seemed to glide over the ground, her feet bare, platinum hair matted and tangled, the white lace of her dress torn and bloodied.

“What the fuck? Is it a trap, or what?”

Luca turned to view Enzo with a slight shrug, his hand reaching out to grasp his arm when he raised his gun. “Ah, aspetta, aspetta.” At being told to wait, his right hand once again lowered the machine gun, both Italians watching as the girl continued her walk, her eyes wide and dazed, her face bloody, purple welts marking her features. The closer she got, the more of them Luca noticed, angry and swollen upon her pale skin, the infliction of brutality tarnishing much of her body, a body that buckled as she suddenly fell, collapsing in the middle of the street.

“Ain’t no trap.” Moving out fully, Luca strode through rivers of blood and bullets, removing his long, wool coat, wrapping it over the barely dressed blonde as he crouched at her side. “Hey, what the fuck happened to you, huh?” He gave her cheek a few gentle slaps, trying to rouse her. “You with me? C’mon, wake up.” This truly wasn’t the time or place for damsels in distress. He had himself and his guys to think of before all else.

Her eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly a few times as she came to, curling herself smaller. Her mouth opened, and Luca was sure she said something, but her voice was ghostly, so quiet he was scarcely sure she’d spoken at all.

“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned closer, craning his ear, just about able this time to hear her words.

“There’s a bomb under your car. Twenty seconds.”

With widened eyes, his head spun round to where his assembled crew waited. “Move! The fuckin’ car is live, move!” Pulling her up off the street and into his arms, he and his men began to run, covering the ground rapidly. They’d gotten a good hundred feet away, yet their eardrums still all but ruptured when the TNT blew, reducing the Buick to an inferno.

They took cover behind another car, a car Enzo rapidly broke open the door of, cranking the engine into life. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, eh?”

So, it looked to Emily like she was leaving one set of wiseguys and going with another as the tall, slender man who held her jumped into the back of the car, three other guys piling in, the car shuddering out from its spot and being directed in the opposite direction to the blast.

“Hey boss,” Dante piped up from the passenger seat, nodding at the blonde. “Who’s the dame?”

“You know as much as I do.” He was just about to ask her that very question, looking down to see her head lolled over his arm, out cold once more. Whatever the fuck she’d been through, he could gauge it was a lot. Giving him the kind of information she had, though, information that had saved him and his crew from being blasted to smithereens, he wasn’t just about to let he be on her way.

If she knew about the bomb, then what other information might she have? The firefight had not exterminated all of the Calabrese mob, just a mere handful of foot soldiers.

Exiting the car on the corner of Third Avenue, Luca strode towards the doors of Bella Vita, the bar turned speakeasy he owned, the doormen nodding to him and swinging the doors open. He took an immediate right, the thumping blare of jazz music and patrons having a fabulous time hurting his still fragile, bomb-blasted ears, another large man employed for security purposes opening the next door he came to.

It closed with a heavy thud behind him, the wall of noise muted, Luca beginning to climb the stairs that led to his spacious apartment. It had only been home for seven months, since he had the former three dwellings gutted out and fashioned into something more resembling the comfort he was accustomed to. High standing members of the mafia did not reside in shabbiness.

His former abode, a sprawling townhouse upon the Upper West Side of Manhattan, was now solely home to his ex-wife and three children. For a quicker divorce from the wretched, screaming harpy whom he had once loved very dearly, he considered it a cheap price to part with for the sake of his sanity. Her alimony was also eye watering, but it wasn’t like Luca didn’t rake in serious bank.

He’d also never deprive Milania, Guiseppe and Alessio of anything. His sons were the apple of his eye, and his daughter, well, she was quintessentially daddy’s little girl. He just wished she had a smidgen less of her mother’s hot-headed temper. Then again, he supposed he deserved every ounce of it, not being a particularly good husband to Filomena.

Well, it was subjective, really. He provided for her, took her out regularly, bought her an abundance of luxuries from expensive jewellery to beautiful furs, but he did have somewhat of a predisposition for sticking his cock where he most certainly should not have stuck it. Filomena had all but turned a blind eye to his philandering ways, and Luca knew that was why he’d continued to do it, because she'd let him. She didn’t care, it seemed, so why should he?

Maybe if she’d have been the kind of woman to crack his jaw and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was hers and hers alone, he might have fixed up and adhered to the fidelity he’d promised her, but she never had. It went right over his head that this is what he should have pledged without the threat of violence in the first place.

The final straw finally drove her into action, though, arriving home earlier than he’d expected one day to find him in bed with two whores, one astride his face and the other riding his cock. There weren’t many women out there who could witness the man they loved in that kind of scenario and still continue to love him. She’d given him nothing but pure, unfiltered hell in the time between, Luca agreeing to all of her demands, just as long as she didn’t touch either his car collection, his speakeasy, or his home in the Catskills.

Carrying the mystery blonde over to the lounge area of the open plan apartment, he placed her down on the dark, oxblood leather chesterfield, noticing that she’d come round again. “You wanna drink, sweetheart?”

She nodded, beginning to tremble a little. “Hey, you’re alright. I ain’t gonna do nuthin’ bad to ya.” Emily doubted his sincerity, knowing wiseguys as well as she did. His voice was half salty rumble, half viper’s hiss, but each word was delivered with the kind of hush that made her feel soothed, she had to admit. The quietness of his tone made a nice change from being yelled at. “Whaddya drinkin'?”

“A water, p-please,” she stuttered, Luca nodding. He’d been offering liquor, but water he could do, too.

He paused before going to fetch it, crouching before her, studying her wounds a little more closely now she was under the brighter lights within his home. “Those cuts are nasty, doll. Who fuckin’ did this, eh?” He reached for her face, regretting it instantly when she shot across the couch, curling into a ball at the opposite end. “Woah, hey. Like I said, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanna help you, and for you to tell me what you know about the Calabrese guys. I’m guessin’ you know a whole lot, to know one of ‘em stuck a bomb beneath my car.”

She trembled, her eyes wide, her silence profound. “I’m gonna get you that water.” He rose to his feet slowly, knowing he had to treat her as if she were an injured fawn, everything slow and steady, save her from becoming furtherly spooked.

Caring for another, though, was somewhat beyond his usual skill set. Luckily from his own scrapes, he both knew how – and possessed the necessities - to clean up wounds before they became an infected mess, going to the bathroom and pulling out gauze and a bottle of iodine, returning to the kitchen to fetch her requested glass of water.

He handed it to her, moving to his drinks cabinet then and pouring himself a large measure of whiskey, returning to sit in front of her on the coffee table. “You gonna let me clean you up?”

She shook her head, spilling several drops of water as she lifted the glass to her lips, downing it in its entirety.

He nodded, sucking the matchstick he was chewing before removing it. “Alright. You gonna tell me what you know?”

Again, she shook her head.

He shrugged, a little agitated, but knowing he had to play his cards carefully. “I got all night, doll. Could start with your name, though, if the rest is too much to ask.”

She wanted to trust him. Hell, he could have simply dropped her from his grasp and left her there on the street, but he’d taken her with him, back to the safety of his apartment, no less. Of course, though, it was to gain information. Then again, if it was solely that, why was he trying to help her? Men who sought only answers to their questions seldom had the interest to clean wounds. Hell, they usually jammed a gun to your tonsils and told you to spill all as soon as they removed it.

Who was she to him that he’d care whether her cuts were bathed? Still, it took him a patient wait of just over a half hour until she finally spoke.

“Emily Jane,” she finally replied, swallowing hard. “Emily Jane Mortensen. Most people just call me Emily, though.”

He lifted his chin, pointing to her water glass. “You want another in there, Emily?”

“Please.”

Well, she had a name, at least. It was as good a start as any. “You know,” he began, long legs extending as he rose to his feet, walking back over to the kitchen area, “the Calabrese’s won’t do shit to you with me around. If that’s why you’re scared to talk, ain’t no mind, doll.” Returning to her, he resumed his seat upon the coffee table, handing over the glass. “Like I said, though. I got all night.”

Protection. Something she’d longed for, but could she truly trust it? She knew exactly who he was; Luca Changretta, the big boss, the number one apex predator at the top of the mafia hierarchy. It was either the very best, or the absolute worst place that she could have ended up. “Gino Calabrese ordered Joey, his youngest son to have the bomb planted, so that if the firefight didn’t kill you, the blast definitely would.”

His eyebrows rose a little, chewing the matchstick slowly. “And you know this how? Who are ya, to Gino?”

Finishing her water, she reached to place it upon the coffee table, Luca taking it from her, resting his forearms back to his thighs as he leaned forward, looking expectant. “Um, nothing to him, but to his son, I – well, I was his card counter. That’s kinda moot now, though, since you and your guys put about sixteen bullets in his chest.”

His lip curled slightly. “Card counter?”

“Yeah. I have a real fast brain for math, so technically I can’t ever be beaten in a game of blackjack. I won Joey thousands upon thousands at games all over, from Vegas to Reno. Illegal games, too. Women don’t usually get a seat at the table, but I got to, because...”

“Cuz’ Joey boy was partially sighted, I’m guessin’, right? You were his alleged eyes, but truly, you were there to tell him when to make his moves, amirite?”

God, he was very sharp. “Correct,” she confirmed, although Luca still looked slightly dubious, reaching behind him and grabbing something. He turned back to reveal a deck of cards, sliding them from the box and giving them a rapid shuffle.

“Show me.” Standing, he moved to sit beside her on the couch, dragging the table nearer and dealing out as he were the house, Emily moving a little nearer.

“Alright, so I mostly use the Hi-Lo strategy. It means if the ratio of high to low cards is higher than normal, the player can make bets that are larger when the deck is favourable.”

He noticed it instantly, how when presented with the opportunity to show off her skill, she unwound from the nervous, tense little waif he’d carried into his home just over an hour before. “How’d you know if the deck is favourable?” he asked, a frown knitting between his dark brows as he pointed at them on the table.

“You have to track the ratio of high to low cards by assigning them with a value. You begin at zero, then as each card comes up, you add it to your tally. Cards two to six have a value of plus one, cards seven to nine have no value, and cards worth ten and also aces have a value of minus one, so you keep adding and subtracting, betting accordingly. Watch. Hit me.”

He dealt her another card, Emily tapping it. Another was placed. “I’m holding.” Turning the other cards, he saw she would have won her hand had they been playing for cash. He made her do it another five times before he truly believed what she could do, sitting there with slightly widened eyes.

“Look at that, huh?” he spoke, gathering the cards from the table and returning them to the pile. “No wonder he kept you around.”

She shrugged. “Shame it wasn’t of my own free will. All of this mess I’m in, it was because I tried to get away from him earlier, so he took a set of brass knuckles to me. Wasn’t the first time either.”

He studied her face, his jaw tightening. Luca had few codes of honour, and not taking his fists to a woman was high upon that list. He hissed a breath, his eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ asshole. I’m extra glad I shot the living fuck outta him now.”

Dropping her gaze, she folded her arms, looking at her bare feet. “So am I.”

Reaching for his drink, he knocked it back, truly feeling glad that Joey no longer breathed. If there was one thing he truly detested, it was a woman beater. He didn’t have much to be proud of in his life, morally speaking, but he had never and would never raise a hand to a woman. Ever. “Fuckin’ brass knuckles, Jesus above. I know how much those fuckin’ things hurt only too well.”

She snorted softly, her eyes finding his again, her heart doing a little somersault as she watched the peridot shards glint at her through the low light. Hoo boy, he was a handsome one. Deadly, but handsome nonetheless. “Who on earth is brave enough to take a set of brass knuckles to the famous Luca Changretta, and live to tell the tale?”

He smirked, rising to his feet. “Nobody these days, but when I was still comin’ up, plenty of guys.” Moving back to the drinks cabinet, he took the bottle of whiskey, turning to her. “You want another water in there, or somethin’ else? I got just about everythin'.”

Peering at him over the back of the couch, he felt his inside pinch a little. She was so tiny and cute. “Could I have a vodka rocks, please?”

“You can, but ice I don’t have. Gimme a sec.” He strode across the space again, heading back down the stairs, the sounds of music growing louder and then returning to the dull rumble, Emily moving to pull on the long coat around her, feeling chilly. It smelled of him. The woody, musky, yet slightly spicy notes of whatever cologne he wore filled her nose as she held the soft lapels to her face.

The sudden blare of music signalled his imminent return, the tall Italian appearing from the stairwell once more, carrying with him an ice bucket he placed upon the table, going back to the cabinet and collecting the whiskey and vodka bottles, pouring a large measure into her glass, dropping the ice in and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she spoke, Luca noticing her manners were impeccable, also watching her face as it twisted into a grimace, Emily hissing before straightening her leg, examining her grazed knee.

He gestured to her injuries with a sweeping hand. “Gonna let me help you with that yet? You’re kinda bleeding all over my couch.”

In an instant, she looked horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, and probably your coat, too. I’m an idiot, I'll sit on the floor.”

He moved swiftly, shaking his head. “It’s fine, ain’t no bother, doll.” In truth, it was, but he kept that to himself. Blood cleaned off, he had to concede. This girl, he needed to keep her sweet in order to keep on feeding him further information that he sensed she possessed. Joey Calebrese might not have been high up within his criminal family, a street guy who was not yet elevated at the time of his death (and which was why, Luca guessed, he’d used Emily for her card counting skills to make the kind of bank his lower standing didn’t allow for) but being around them, she was bound to know more.

She was a valuable asset, and he’d treat her as such.

He picked up the handful of gauze and iodine, moving back to the coffee table. “It’s gonna sting like fuck, but you likely know that.”

She did. Bracing herself, she clenched her teeth as one by one, Luca dabbed each cut and graze with the iodine-soaked gauze, wincing, hissing at the burning, sharp sting. “Gonna be a little black n’ blue for a while, honey,” he drawled, his mouth tilting into a smile. “Still pretty, though.”

He winked, and it sent a spark through her, although the rational side of her brain told her that allowing herself to be charmed by a dangerous mobster was the last thing she truly needed right then. He didn’t make it easy, though, being attentive to her, looking as good as he did. She’d always had a thing for older men, and she could guess he likely had at least a decade and a half on her twenty-three years.

“So, you gotta home I can take you to, people wonderin’ where the fuck you vanished to?”

Home. It was a word she didn’t really have any true comprehension over, the place that to everyone else acted as a sanctuary, a safe haven, had truly been anything but to her. “No, I don’t.”

“No port in a storm, huh?” he asked, gently lifting her leg to rest upon his slender thigh, smoothing her dress up a little to reach a cut beneath. His hands were so hot. Yet another spark flared within her belly.

“No, no port.” She paused, meeting his eyes, knowing he was expecting more. “I’ve no idea who my father was, and my mother was a drunk, still is for all I know. I don’t have any siblings either so when I was eighteen, I left California and made my way across the country to New York. Wanted a better life for myself. It didn’t exactly go to plan. I have a habit of trusting the wrong people.”

He looked away from her then, eyes flitting to her knee, pressing the gauze onto an open cut. He was definitely a man she shouldn’t have trusted, and he wasn’t entirely sure why that suddenly prickled quite sharply at his conscience, but it did.

“You probably don’t trust me, but if you wanna crash here until you find your feet, you’re welcome to.”

She looked at him with big, grey eyes full of hope. “Really, you don’t mind?”

He sniffed. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Placing the cork back into the iodine bottle, he moved to take a seat beside her again, picking up his drink. “Might be better if you do, actually. The Calabrese’s are likely lookin’ for ya. If you vanished and didn’t wind up as a dead body, and I didn’t get blown up, then it don’t take no genius to work out that you ratted on ‘em.”

Shit. She hadn’t even considered that. It was a fear Luca was banking on playing upon, and it had worked flawlessly. “S’okay, though, sweetheart. As long as you’re with me, they ain’t gonna touch ya. You’re fine.”

Was she, though? Emily truly had to wonder. She pondered over it for the rest of the night, Luca telling her she could go take a bath and clean up, loaning her one of his shirts to wear that absolutely buried her, telling her he’d take the couch while she slept in his bed. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I ain’t exactly a gentleman in a lot of respects, but you ain’t gonna sleep on the couch. Nah. It’s fine.”

Was it, though? As her tired eyes fluttered, lying in the comfort of a big bed that smelled like her host, she truly did have to wonder.

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wolfsrainrules · 8 months ago

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Me, Staring into the Night: Oh No

Discussed with @deepwithintheabyss on discord, and as a result:

I'm just Saying. I have been contemplating a Jurassic World in DC verse (with the understanding that I have not actually READ nor SEEN much DC content and am working off fandom.)

Jurassic World, as in, a JW that has done the work to hide and defend their island from super villains and various heroes poking their heads in. The full nine yards, everything they could possibly stop- and all that focus on "outside" threats? It's what allows the internal issues that result in the mess that is JW.

The thing though? Jurassic World still needs sponsors and Batfam has still been trying to get a look into that- because it should not be left unchecked. Legally they can't send a hero in. But Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of WE and potential sponsor and good word on JW? That they would allow. So if he gets a VIP access tour to 'tempt him into sponsoring Jurassic World" that's supposed to last a week or two...

They've already got the park operating on front of house, and they have a camp with six kids who got sent in. What's one more VIP who could get them a ton of money, and may sponsor their work and expand what they're doing? Thing is- VIP access means that technically, Tim isn't supposed to have any tech that operates inside without proper access. He knows it CAN be gotten, because there's a kid here- Brooklyn?- that is a very popular vlogger who is allowed to record and post things. He's also not here as a Bat, but as Timothy Drake-Wayne and that comes with some handicaps to what he's able to do int he open.

So he has to look like he doesn't have access to anything, can't be caught snooping around, and also is instinctively keeping an eye on the kids when he's in the same areas they are.

And then. And then the park goes down. Assets are out of containment. And we have this really shitty time, where Tim has to figure out how the hell to get them all off, when the protections from outside 'interference' mean that the heroes cannot set foot on Jurassic World, Jurassic Park, or anything within without causing a hell of an issue. Interference also means Tim can't get the emergency signal out. The only thing allowed out of JW is what's done on it's own network. He needs to find a way to hook into it, when the power is shot. Would it stop them? No. Especially not when people are dying, and definitely not the BatFam when Tim is on the island.

Problem? By all rights, the island was evacuated of all survivors. So far as anyone can determine, the others are dead, and the island is overrun with assets that got loose.

Tim didn't make it off.

And Tim doesn't have a functioning access to internet OR signal to get a call out, the white noise machines and everything else are blocking him from just yelling for evac. He technically doesn't have any BAT- grade tech or supplies for himself- this was Timothy Drake-Wayne that went in after all. He didn't bring anything big while he snooped. He had some things, yes, but not for this level of FUBAR.

The BatFam are losing their minds. The world is saying Tim died on the island, since he didn't get off. Tim is struggling to find a way to get a message out. BatFam refuses to accept that Tim is dead until it can be confirmed.

And then.

And then the kids and Tim get the generators back on. And everything has gone to hell, but the power means Tim has a way to get something out. A way to hook into the network finally

It's not perfect. It involves him making trips to the faculty, and a LOT of tech-work so he can get these things routed properly, that he's not even sure are WORKING. And he can't leave the kids either- this island has tried to kill them all over and over again, he's not willing to let them wander around alone.

So he sends something like video diaries out, careful to maintain that he is a civilian trying to reach his dad, with six other kids surviving with him.

Bruce absolutely FLIPS when he gets the first video. Tim is front and center, looking like literal hell, blood smeared on his face, dirt and mud, a ruined set of dress pants, a stolen set of boots (because Timothy would have been in dress shoes for something like this, so he hadn't had his good shoes with him) an absolutely stained, ripped, and ruined dress shirt, smeared face, just- looking like he's survived dinos, and kept kids alive doing it.

Bruce cries. That's his boy. He's not dead. He's not dead. Oh God.

So Bruce gets an update, Tim talking about what happened, that he's not dead, he's surviving with six kids- who all pop into frame and frantically try to cram as much "NOT DEAD HI MOM AND DAD AND SIBLINGS" into the video while Tim is still trying to update everything.

And then the video ends with Tim's head- and six children's as well- all snapping to the side while there's a large echoing clank and the shadow of a dino. And the last image is Tim reaching forward to send the video out, hoping it gets through.

He takes a tablet hooked intot he system, and uses that to film various updates around the park while surviving. A sneaky update on what exactly the park has done, as well as continuous updates on their survival for their families. He has to trek back to the generator room to actually post these out but he's sending them.

The systems aren't great. Sometimes the videos go through a little glitchy, sometimes they get sent out of order. The uploading speed is shit, and occasionally corrupted videos go out due to a sudden need to stop or a flicker in power or any other number of factors.

But Bruce recognizing the chance to use the videos as proof that his kid is still alive- as are six other family's children, and he can bring this forward to get to the island quicker and by leagal means.

It's a huge thing in Gotham, Bruce Wayne's kid on this island surviving, These six kids he's helping. Their families all coming to Gotham to back Bruce on their crusade to get their kids out. Public pressure building as more and more videos go out, more and more people watch what they're going through.

They don't have to get themselves off the island. Bruce Wayne, their families, and public pressure all combine to get a rescue sent out to them. And sure it takes a little bit to get put together, but Bruce Wayne is funding it, and he will not rest until his son is home, until all of these kids are home.

The families all bond over the trauma of their children being on a death trap of an island. And the work to get them off of it. The relief they're ALIVE. The horror of what they'd gone through. The terror of not knowing if they're STILL alive. The fear-terror-hope of waiting for the next video update, hoping it's one that actually WORKS, that isn't corrupted or cut off cause of some disaster. The trauma of seeing their children on these videos, seeing the changes, and the rough surviving, of thinking your kids were dead only to find out NOPE they're in a historical horror of predator species that would eat them instead.

And Bruce knows Tim is capable. He knows he is. He also knows Tim would do whatever was necessary to get the kids home alive and whole.

And that? That's terrifying for Bruce. Because he knows Tim would jump in front of those kids to save them. His mind is running every worse case scenario through. He knows the (official) list of dinos that are in the park. He can imagine exactly how wrong an encounter could go. And then he gets the video updates of Tim and the kids explaining hybrids and the horror of THAT. So he's not even sure what the hell the kids are running into, and THEY don't even know, because they're could absolutely be more, so many more and-

And then you have Tim's brothers. His brothers who get the news he's presumed dead after the park goes wild and there's late videos and all kinds of things going live as survivors get off the island and into range of posting again, without access to JW's network. His brothers who all wait, all scared, all worried, for him to step off a ferry. Only he doesnt. Only he's one of many names presumed dead. And oh they aren't willing to leave it at that. The hero community is pushing for their ability to look into the park and what went wrong, but by all accounts- Tim is supposed to be dead.

And while they keep hoping, thinking, not without a body, and even still- there's every chance there ISNT one on an island full of dinosaurs. There's plenty of videos from those who escaped of paradactyls flying off with people, of various dinosaurs outside containment and the chaos and panic of it. Of deaths caught on camera and everything else. They're trying. But they're not even sure if-

And then Bruce gets the video. And they are right there with him in using the proof to get to the island faster, to save him, and the kids he's with, and just-

And there's HOPE and horror. Because he's alive! He is. But he's lost weight, and he's so obviously working to keep these six other children alive, and surviving and all the horror of that, and just-

It's such a mess.

But they are all there, every family, when they go and get the survivors.

There's tears and fierce hugs. And every kid has to introduce themselves to everyone's families. And every parent has to thank Tim for being there for their kids, for saving them, for not abandoning them for FIGHTING for them- because they all have stories.

And Tim did his level best to be there for these kids, to lead, to save, to keep safe. His very, very best. And the parents are so so thankful for it.

And if Tim meets each of his kids parents from the arms of a different family member (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Damian, Jason, Cass, Duke, Steph, Babs...) the kids are happy to see Tim getting the support they couldn't give him, no matter how much they tried.

#crossover fun #Jurassic World #Batman #DC #camp cretaceous #Tim Drake #Jurassic Park #fic idea #wolf talks #wolfsrainrules #Batfam #long post #kind of rambling

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 months ago

Text

I'm From Brooklyn, Too ~ 161

OUT OF TIME MASTERLIST

I'M FROM BROOKLYN, TOO MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,186ish

Summary: Y/N lashes out.

Notes: THERE’S A FEW! First, sorry if there were any mistakes I didn’t catch! My puppy, Milo, gets jealous when I’m on the computer. He likes to slam his paws on the keyboard, try to close my laptop, and try to eat my hand. Second, I’m actually really excited for RDJ to play Doom! I know there are various opinions about the casting, but I’m excited. I’d love to hear your views, but please be respectful.

Y/N tried to put her focus on Morgan as Natasha was trying to figure out this new Captain America situation. Both Morgan and Natasha noticed that Y/N’s powers were acting up despite Y/N trying to push away the Captain America problem. Random portals would appear throughout the house, or whatever Y/N was holding would turn to dust. There was also the time when Y/N froze time for a few hours. Natasha had to answer Morgan’s questions about what was happening, since Morgan seemed too scared to go to to her own mother about it.

One week since the new Captain America announcement, Morgan was put to bed so Y/N and Natasha found themselves in the living room with the tv on. They had been up for hours, trying to figure out what to do about the new Captain America.

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do about this new Captain America,” Natasha said.

“There has to be something,” Y/N retorted. “They can’t do this.”

“They believe they can. It definitely doesn’t help that Sam gave away the shield.”

“The shield wasn’t his to give away. Howard made the shield—or Tony, or whoever made it! It’s not theirs!”

“Y/N, there’s portals behind you.” Y/N took a deep breath and the portals closed. “Your emotions are controlling your powers. I thought you had more of a handle on this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nat. I’m sorry that in the last six months I’ve watched my husband die, saved the world, and was trapped in Wanda’s fake reality. And let’s not forget that my brother left me and died and his—my—our best friend is moving on.” Y/N shook her head angrily. “There’s also the fact that I’m failing as a mother to my child and the two that I adopted because Tony loved them so much!”

“Y/N. Your fists.” Y/N looked to see that her fists were glowing purple. “You need to see a therapist.”

Y/N scoffed. “Why? So that I can be judged for my actions by some unknown stranger?”

“That’s not what a therapist does and you know it. I’ve begun seeing someone and I know that Bucky has.”

“I’m sure Bucky’s is court mandated.”

“And I’m sure, with Rhodey’s help, we can do the same thing to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a help. You are not in a good mental place, which is understandable. But you cannot be of help to anyone—including Morgan, Peter, and Harley, without getting some help.”

Before Y/N could answer, their attentions turned to the tv, where a high school marching band was playing ‘Star Spangled Man With A Plan’ and the new Captain America was coming out on stage to where a news anchor was waiting. The crowd in the stands of the high school football stadium cheered as an announcer welcomed the new Captain.

“Good morning, America!” The man greeted. The crowd cheered and Y/N felt like she was going to puke.

“Thank you so much for coming,” the anchor said as the man sat down. “This has gotta be fun, though, coming back to your high school after so much as changed?”

“John Walker!” A man shouted from the stands.

John chuckled. “Oh, it’s great.” The crowd cheered again, cutting John off from saying more.

“John, I think the first thing everyone wants to know is what is it like being Captain America?” The anchor asked. “Do eagles fly overhead wherever you go?”

John laughed. “Uh, yes. Yeah, that and flags tend to start majestically waving in the wind.”

“And how’s the tour been? I know they did a big rollout for you, right?”

“It’s the greatest honor of my life. Um, but I’m just a little shocked, I think. How did a guy like me end up here?”

“Oh, wait, wait, wait. ‘A guy like me’? Somebody’s being a bit too humble. For those of you who aren’t familiar with his resume, John Walker, first person in American history to receive three Medals of Honor, ran RS-One missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue.”

Pictures and video clips were shown on the tv of what the anchor was talking about. Including a video of him practicing with the shield. Y/N’s hands began to glow purple.

“The government did a study of your body at MIT, and you tested off the charts in every measurable category,” the anchor continued.“Speed, endurance, intelligence—“

“Look, here’s the thing, uh, I’m not Tony Stark, I’m not Dr. Banner, okay?” John interrupted. “I don’t have the flashiest gadgets, I don’t have super strength. But what I do have is guts. Something Captain America always had, always needs to have, and I’m gonna need every ounce of it. Because I got big shoes to fill.”

“Did you know Steve Rogers?”

“I was two years out of West Point when Steve came back on the scene. I followed his career very closely as an Avenger. I like to think that I modeled my work after his.”

“So, you’ve always wanted to be a hero?”

“I liked that what I was doing would make people feel safe. Steve Rogers was the kind of guy who could do that, he gave me hope. Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.”

Before Y/N could even think, she was rushing through a portal to where John was answering questions. Natasha called out for her but the portal shut between them.

“A brother?” Y/N’s voice wickedly echoed through the stadium as she climbed up the steps of the stage. The crowd grew eerily quiet as wisps of her power floated around Y/N. “He feels like a brother to you?”

John was quick to stand up. “Y/N. It’s an honor—“

“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You are a false Captain America. You will never be what Steve was.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere private and talk—“

“Maybe you should have thought about this before you pranced around the country. Maybe even before you said yes to this position. A position that wasn’t even yours to take.” Y/N’s hands grew brighter with her anger. “That shield is not yours. You do not deserve the history or the weight behind it. You’re done here.”

With a snap of her fingers, Y/N set the camera’s on fire. The crowd began screaming and rushing out of the stadium. John held his ground, though Y/N could sense that he was growing more terrified by the second. In a flash, Y/N was standing centimeters away from John.

“The shield is property of my family,” Y/N’s whisper was terrifying. “I will get it back unless you want to do the right thing.”

“I am Captain America.”

“Fine. Have it your way.” A darkness found Y/N’s eyes that terrified John to his core. “I will have that shield and you will not be Captain America. I will make sure of it.”

~~~

Rhodey threw down the magazines with an anger that Y/N had never seen before. The headlines were on the same: Y/N ROGERS-STARK GONE CRAZY! The articles were all similar as well. How dangerous Y/N’s powers were. How she should be locked up.

“I thought you had it under control,” Rhodey’s tone meant that there was no room for lies.

“I do have it under control,” Y/N replied. She was looking down at her hands, unable to meet the gazes of those staring at her.

Natasha, Pepper, and Rhodey were all standing on the other side of the dining room table. Happy was outside, keeping Morgan busy. The Secret Service was stationed inside and outside the house, keeping Y/N and Rhodey in their sights.

“This doesn’t look that way!” Rhodey continued. “They want me to lock you up in Raft! Raft, Y/N! No Morgan, no Peter, no Harley.”

“I have it under control. I just— I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

Rhodey scoffed. “Too late, Y/N. The whole world saw you and your powers. They know that you have the power of the Stones and they are calling for action.”

“I can fix this.”

“How?”

“Let me talk to Sam. Sam is meant to be Captain America.”

“That’s not fixing it.”

“Y/N,” Pepper finally spoke up, “there is something you can do to help this. It’s a failsafe that Tony came up with.”

“No!” Natasha was quick to answer. “Tony only created those for life threatening situations. This is not life threatening.”

“The people don’t see it that way,”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N finally looked up at all of them.

Natasha sighed. “Back when your powers were emerging and our knowledge of the Stones began to grow, Tony noticed the toll it was taking on you,” she explained. “He created a device to control your powers.”

“What?” Y/N was devastated to think that Tony might have been scared of her and that he created something to protect everyone from her.

“Tony created it as a protection for you more than from you. The Stones were taking so much of your strength each time you used powers. He was worried that one day it would be too much and that they would fully control you.”

“He— you all knew?”

“It was a backup,” Rhodey added. “He gave us access to it before the mission to retrieve the Stones.”

A part of Y/N felt betrayed, while another understood the concern surrounding her abilities. “What are they? How do they work?”

“FRIDAY, pull up project ALWAYS.”

A hologram appeared above the table. Two bracelets spun around in it as well as a video. Y/N kept her eyes on the video, an image of Tony already showing.

“We’ll leave you to watch this alone,” Pepper said as they all left the room.

Y/N stared at the hologram. She couldn’t get herself to play the video. Tony would be so disappointed in her, and she couldn’t handle that. Not now.

“Would you like me to play the video?” FRIDAY asked.

Y/N swallowed down some of her emotion before responding quietly, “Yes.”

Tony’s image took over the hologram. His eyes bore into Y/N’s like he was actually there. Images of Tony’s last moments played through Y/N’s mind.

“Hey, honey,” Tony’s words brought her out of her thoughts. “If you’re seeing this, then something has happened where I couldn’t be there for you, and your powers overtook you… I am sorry that I couldn’t be there myself to help you go through whatever you are going through. I hate myself for it.” Y/N began to cry.

“Before I continue, I want you to know that I made these bracelets to protect you,” Tony continued. “I didn’t make them because I was scared of you or to protect others from you, but to protect you. Your powers… I have watched them take more and more from you as the years go on. I know that you don’t have them as I speak, but bringing the Stones back will do something; I know it. You will have them and have to do your best to control your power before it controls you.”

“This bracelets were made out of materials that once harnessed the Stones,” Tony explained. “I was able to get scraps here and there. There’s also an updated grade of whatever SHIELD made their detention cells out of. The bracelets were never tested, but many simulations were run. The bracelets are controlled by FRIDAY. FRIDAY has the ability to turn them on and off by command. Your voice is the only command she won’t listen to unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

“Y/N… I love you… Always.”

Tony’s image disappeared, and Y/N wiped away her tears as he tried not to break out into sobs. Natasha was the first one back in the room.

“Y/N…” a whisper fell from her lips. She came over and sat beside her friend. Natasha grabbed one of Y/N’s hands.

“How… how could he love me so much… he knew… deep down, he knew that it would always be Bucky for me,” Y/N was going to break. “Yet… yet he continues to amaze me, even after death.”

“Tony also wanted what was best for you, no matter what.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll wear the bracelets.”

~~~

The bracelets felt heavy on Y/N’s wrists, despite knowing they were lighter than most. Everyone had left after Y/N recorded an apology video. She hated that she had to do that, especially since she meant the threats she made to the false Captain America. Currently, it was dark outside. Morgan was asleep in bed, and Y/N sat on the porch, staring at the water. The peace was interrupted by her phone buzzing. She answered it before even looking at who was calling.

“Hello?” She answered.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky’s voice rang out through the phone. “How are you?”

next chapter >

#avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #the avengers x reader #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #marvel x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x sister!reader

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synthetic-sadness · 3 months ago

Text

Brooklyn Baby

photo credits to owners on pinterest (mine is green filter edition)

Pairing: Peter Steele x Lana Del Rey

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: 18+, Slight Angst, Self-Esteem issues, Slight NSFW, Slight OOC (really tried not to), Alcohol Issues, Developing Relationship, 90s setting;

I saw that well-known photoshop of them both and couldn’t help myself. I’m a creep, writing about pairings that one person like (me 👈) is my fetish 👹 English is not my native language, this is my first work so it may contain some mistakes. Enjoy ✨🧚‍♀️

NSFW under the next cut 💚

They broke her heart every time when she decided that one of these men is the only one for her, special. She was so naive, even after all of these nasty heartbreaks she somehow stayed pure.

Sad hazel eyes, but there's the light still seen in.

He had a big heart, that had been stitched, almost torn by many of long red nails of gothic and ordinary long-haired «succubuses». He'd been tricked countless times that he didn't even remember correctly the lies they'd been saying to him. And he almost gave up, almost decided to not to fall in with anyone, but still wanted to love and be loved one day.

Big sad green eyes, but there's a hope still seen in.

They met each other at the festival. She had just dropped her new album and a good respected label noticed her and offered a contract. At first she didn't trust them because of her previous record which flopped almost immediately, but in the end decided to say yes. And, after all, Elizabeth got a real jackpot.

He, at the same time, had been promoting Type O's album "Bloody kisses" in tours for two years. Meanwhile, the new material for a next release had been accumulating gradually, but there was no time for a proper work. Moreover, guys felt rather tired not only to write new songs, but to give concerts. Sometimes they couldn't decide what to do: to kill each other, because of living on a bus for a few years together and having enough, or to kill themselves.

And Lizzy, on the other hand, was excited to perform in front of a large number of people. Finally, these years of being in "underground scene" had paid off and she could present her music to various listeners.

But beside a thrill there was a huge fear. Not paralysing, but still.

She used to give concerts in bars and small clubs and the last one also were new to her. Girl was just getting used to its surroundings, to crowd of more than twenty people, when a manager said that she'll attend a festival in Europe. It was huge and she was completely terrified by the thought of many people would be there but tried not think about it a lot.

And the day came.

Her hotel room was comfortable but felt blank because of its colour — white. Not this cold hospital white one which make you feel anxiety, but soothing empty white. There were only a few colourful pieces of furniture: round mirror framed with brown wood, grey carpet and her black suitcase. Nothing special.

There was an odd feeling inside Lizzy's chest when she was looking around her surroundings while preparing clothes and make up for the show. It was that moment, when nothing special is happening, but you know that this scene will imprint in your mind as something meaningful.

It was a feeling. Probably it would be a great concert for her.

The hotel was close to the festival's field so it didn't take too long to reach their destination. And when Elizabeth saw a crowd of people she was not only shocked by the number of them but also by their looks. They were all different, but there were so many metalheads that girl immediately wanted to scream at her manager "What am I going to do here?!"

"Take it easy, it's a mixed crowd," said her tech-guy. "There are enjoyers of indie too. They just decided to bring together alternative sub-genres."

"Oh," was all that she could say.

One hour left before the show and their team chose to have a look around. Elizabeth was examining people, listening to their conversations and small talks, looking at other's bands merch tents and just trying to get use to the festival in general. When she got tired of it, which happened pretty quickly, she went to a backstage for preparing.

And there, turning her head and searching for the right direction, Lizzy happened to bump into someone pretty damn harshly.

A strong and massive hand on her left shoulder stopped her from collapsing onto floor but she still stumbled little bit.

"I'm sorry, I'm just huge for this world and you're kinda petite for mine," said a very tall man in extremely deep voice which impressed Elizabeth and even scared a little bit.

"Oh, that's okay, I'm really clumsy today," she chuckled lightly and fixed her hair reflectively because she had spent a few hours by making the vintage hair-dress and didn't want to ruin it.

"Stay safe," the big man nodded shortly but politely and went into the depths of the backstage area which consisted of black boxes with equipment, many sound-tech and light-tech guys, bands with their groupies (there were few of that girls, but still they were), just people who worked at the festival and all of these folk were hidden from view of audience by many metal bars and tent roof.

"Wow..." Lizzy chuckled again being impressed with his height and voice. What a man, really. He looked like a living example of testosterone.

This short encounter cheered her but the girl still couldn't get rid of this creeping anxious feeling in her lower stomach.

Rest of the time of waiting Elizabeth was watching other bands play. Tried to watch their show attentively and understand their art but after every few minutes she was returning to the only one thought: "Fuck, there is gonna be my turn soon! What am i going to do?!". Even if she liked music the fear of failure was so strong that it almost made her choke and cry.

But the girl pulled herself together and when the time had come and violinists started playing the heartbreaking tune she gladly took a hand of one of her tech-guys, who helped her got on stage because of her high wedge shoes and shaking knees it was so easy to twist an ankle and emabarras oneself.

It was daytime. The sun was shining high in the sky but hidden behind some kind of milky haze, there was no a single cloud and no reminding that it could be blue. Just this milky silk with rare golden sun rays.

And because of it the crowd was clearly seen. Many musicians say that doing shows in an afternoon is hard task and Lizzie was not exception.

All of these tiny people dressed in different clothes and looking like scattered skittles on the floor were clearly visible. But it's no more funny when you start gaze in to their faces and see how they were impatiently waiting to see and hear something good.

Elizabeth let out a great breath, opened her mouth and it all happened by itself. So naturally and so right.

Peter was irritated and tired because they had to perform late in the evening and it was only 3 p.m. He had already done everything that the man usually did when he was bored to death and paralyzed by stage fright: firstly, drank a bottle of wine, then got into small argument with Josh but it wasn't a big deal because they both knew that they all were tired of touring, met some fans, signed their CD's and merch t-shirts and also had a good chat with them.

The only thing that Peter liked in touring was communication with their fans. These people literally were giving away their money that they had earned just to see these "four dead trees" standing on stage. Because of fans and due to the fact that they were buying Type O's albums the group members could live on this money and pay taxes. So, Mr. Steele was so grateful to them, loved them for supporting his art and treated with unlimited respect. Also, the musicians and their fan base had something in general; especially it were sense of humour and music taste.

After spending some time chatting with other bands that guys knew before and getting acquainted with new people, Kenny, Johnny and Peter decided to come closer to the stage and look at the next perfoming person while Josh was somewhere else trying to ease an awful headache.

"Oh, that's something different that we've heard here," said Kenny when violins sounded and then a guitar.

"Yeah, I think it's some kind of an experimental artist or I don't know," the drummer also was interested in the current song.

That's the girl that I had almost crashed today, thought Peter and watched how this particular girl untangled a microphone's wire.

And when she started to sing... Well, Kenny was right: that was something that they hadn't heard before.

The audience was hypnotized and so was the gigantic gothic frontman. People, who were close to him, knew that Peter liked not only hardcore music but something sensual, slow and calm; that's why he had admiration for bands such as Cocteau Twins, Portishead and Dead Can Dance. And this particalr perfomance caught his attention instantly... but not only by music.

She looked like she might glow against the beige sky: in that white lace dress with golden cross on her chest, old-fashioned makeup, red long nails and red hair made into the Priscilla Presley's hairstyle it seemed like the girl came straight from the past. And her tunes also were somewhere between present and the times when people used to worship no God but Hollywood and its platinum blondies in golden dresses. This was particularly noticable in the "National Anthem" song. It was a strange mix, audience didn't understand it fully but they liked the whole experience.

She just came and dragged everyone into her weird but magical portal while tearing apart space and time. And Peter was the first who willingly let her take him away.

"Well, I can say this oficially. She's cool," said Johnny and blew smoke while Kenny was listening carefully to the melody and Peter... well, Peter was smitten and even confounded because the man didn't remember the last time when he was so captivated by music which always had been something intimate to Steele.

He was stunned by her sadness and ethereal melancholia that was running through all of her songs and the set, but what amazed him the most it's "Without You". It was like a painful love letter put into a heartbreaking cry and all of these was sang to the accompaniment of a piano and a violin. The girl was so fragile and feminine at that moment, looking like that "China doll" she sang about that Peter and others wanted to know about whom it was. And he felt desire to be... that man?

Well, yes, she had gotten him charmed by her music, so it was no surpise that the big frontman was impressed by her genuine and shy stage persona, not to mention that she was really beautiful.

The girl looked languid but at the same time her behaviour on stage was adorable: she slowly strolled, smoked from time to time, couldn't keep a cool facade and smiled and giggled when people were cheering and giving other positive reactions. Such a cutie.

"Fuck, this weed doesn't make any sense to my migraine," tired and gloomy Silver finally decided to join them backstage but slowly stopped. "Tell me, am I got so stoned or is there Priscilla Presley on stage?"

"No, it's just some retro girl doing her set," snickered Peter.

"Yeah, and she's kicking asses," the drummer exclaimed. It was always so hilarious to hear him talk and do interviews while other members were around, because unlike them he sounded cheerfully and looked like a golden retriever all the time.

"But slowly," added Hickey.

"Deeply and harder," Steele joked referencing their first album and all of them shared small laugh. It wasn't a joke in general, he really thought that the singer put her heart into the art. And the man was not the only one who came to such conclusion; everyone noticed that as well.

When the set came to the end she blew a kiss and waved under the sound of cheering crowd, looking absolutely happy and terrified at the same time. And there, offstage, people also were clapping for her which immediately made her cheeks burn with heat. She did it, but her body was still shivering uncontrollably.

After a while this blood-sucking feeling was no longer gone and was replaced by a pleasent numbness. There, before the show, everything felt like an eternal nightmare, and now Lizzie was almost floating.

In recording studio she felt at home, but in front of audince it was quite opposite. A disgusting feeling, like someone is peeling your skin, however Lizzie thought that life is short. Once she said that It's important to show yourself in the light that you'd like to be shown and the light she'd like to be shown in is not necessarily in a spotlight in front of everyone else. She loved to introduce herself to people through her lyrics and the way that she thought because she liked it. The way that she looked on stage in front of thousands of people wasn't really her thing but she tried to do her best. But only her closest ones knew that.

And that night, after the stressful but successful perfomance, she decided that examining other musicians may help her learn from them some tiny tips. But the girl stayed not only because of "studying process" — she wanted to find a new music and have a great time because the main difference between gigs and festivals is that that they give you more energy and emotions.

Rock and metal wasn't really her thing but Elizabeth was shocked by an attitude of bands because some of them did a really crazy shit on stage.

And how high was level of her curiosity when she saw that tall guy in a green t-shirt with his band. Of course Lizzie understood that he was some kind of musician when she ran into him but she expected him to play a batshit crazy metal and scream his head off (well, actually he did it few times) but not a slow, dark and extremely sensual heavy tunes. What was more surprising that his persona and deep low voice were created for this type of music which the girl started to enjoy sincerely.

She had a great opportunity to see the man from head to toe: huge, pale and muscular, with long wavy black hair, tattoos on each biceps and beautiful manly vocal which amazed with its sensuality and low tones at once. His sharp, almost sculptured face features with sullen look on them were seen from a distance and after all it was no surprise that women who were backstage decided to watch the show. Other guys in the band were no less cool, they even complemented each other which was amazing, but all of the focus was on the gigantic frontman-vampire with bass guitar on chain strap and a bottle of wine on a box case next to a mic stand, who rolled letter "R" and was making sarcastic jokes with crowd. And what about the instrument Lizzie couldn't keep her giggles when she noticed how small it looked in his hands. What an insane view.

But what was more insane that in the end of the set he just tore the guitar strings with bare hands and silently walked away from the stage with band members. That was a sight that Elizabeth would remember for a long time.

The night was in a full swing, only few bands were about to perform but most of people and musicians were partying hard and enjoying themselves. Type O's were not exception. Some guys decided to throw a party in their bus and it was full of drunk folk dancing, drinking and rocking it from side to side with their actions. When Josh saw this shit he rolled his eyes and decided to have a walk at least untill there would be ten strangers and calm his aching head.

His dear childhood friend was also an introverted soul but sometimes touring routine had been killing him and Peter had no choice but to surrender. And when after few glasses of red wine he felt that he was gonna to throw up because of blaring loud music and flirtatious laugh of women who were trying to hook up with him or other members, the man stood up and walked out of the hellish tour bus.

Chilly night air was like a blessing after that stinky transport that he was sick and tired of being in for two years. Why did he quit his job at the Park Department? Why was he such an idiot? He constantly reaproached himself — especially after drinking his favourite drink.

Peter slowly strolled looking at cheerful and drunk people illuminated with colorful spotlights, feeling how the ground was shaking under his legs with every beat of drums on stage. He loved music with all of his heart but sometimes such atmosphere annoyed him and because of it he decided to go somewhere quieter and less crowded.

And there she was. Standing leg-crossed with a cigarette between delicate long fingers, looking thoughtfully somewhere to the left while many colorful rays of spotlights were flashing behind her back. In that white lace dress she looked like a vision, a ghost, an angel. Completely didn't fit into the surroundings.

Peter really was stunned by her (and her bad habit that he had a fetish for) and even though he wasn't a confident man he thought that he would be a total fool if he wouldn't say few words to her. And he approached her.

"Hi, I'm that guy who almost killed you today," said Peter with a little smirk on his face.

"And I'm the dwarf from your world," she smiled. She had such a cute voice in everyday life, he thought.

"Just wanted to say that your perfomance was great, same with your music," his words were really genuine.

"Oooh, thanks..." the girl instantly turned color and added, "You guys were cool as well."

"Nah, we suck but it's not blood," he brushed off and she started laughing and her giggling sounded light and gentle like a crystal bell.

"Well, I can't agree with you," the fragile singer playfully shaked her head.

"Then you definitely didn't see us,"

"I may be blind but definitely not deaf," she said and sucked in the smoke again.

"Well, I can't agree with you," Peter flashed her a toothy grin and even though she laughed he noticed that his fangs caught her out off guard for a second.

But the moment was interrupted unexpectedly by a man, who seemed to be disturbed by something. He ran up to them quickly and made both worry.

"Gosh, I had been looking for you everywhere!" Marc, who was Type O's bus driver in his late forties, exclaimed wearily to the gigantic frontman while being completely out of breath.

"What happened?"

"Kenny, this bloody asshole, got so hammered that decided to smash some guy's face!" the man with funny mustache and round belly had been visibly irritated. "Only you can help us to pull him away from this poor man."

Everyone knew that Kenny Hickey was a nice fellow but sometimes his demons were making people doubt this statement.

Peter suddenly felt embarrassed because their guitarist turned a complete prick mode on and because he had to leave this lovely stranger in order to save friend's ass.

"Can he deal with his mess himself?" he grumbled but tried not to show how really annoyed he was. "I'm tired of being his bodyguard."

"You know that i don't want to disturb you, Pete, but you're the only one here who can break them up," Marc was right; Steele had enough strength to hold some furious fighter like it was an angry small chihuahua. "This motherfucker is short but very prehensile!"

And that also was true.

"It's okay, you shall go and help your friend," the girl assured him that everything was fine. But in reality he didn't want to leave her, not like that.

"Yeah, you are right. I'm sorry. Thank you for a short but nice chat," Peter nodded to her politely and Marc did the same but more eagerly. "See you."

"Bye," she waved them goodbye knowing well that she and this guy Pete would hardly meet again. And when the big and the small silhouettes gradually had faded from sight over the deep blue sky and moist chilly night air Elizabeth dropped a finished cigarette to the ground, stomped it and felt how her body and mind were drained after a festival's debut.

The girl turned and walked away with one wish: to fall asleep under hotel's soft blankets.

Five months had passed and label's bosses decided that it was enough for Type O Negative to be on tour. After all they still needed to record a new album which of course shall become a commercial success in the end. That's funny how many people think that being well-known musician or other type of artist is so easy: you do what you like, you get paid for it. It certainly gives some privileges but in reality creation of a product of art contains of endless pressure from the record label, self-doubting in your abilities, creative crisis, deadlines, disagreement with your ideas of band members, hours and hours of recording sessions where one single mistake or a badly played note make you return to the begininng, and neverending stress makes you lose it. And you can't leave this game so easily because you had signed a contract for a few music albums.

Peter quickly disappointed when he found out about the music industry when he was 24. Now, being a 32-year-old man he got used to it but still didn't fully accept its rules and didn't wanted to be led. Their work in a studio usually wasn't going well; everytime Pete cursed the day when he left his job but repeatedly admitted that he was a masochist.

Because of their common love of misery guys from Type O's were making the new album but after a month of continuous work they started to take few a days off. And you can only imagine how "happy" was Peter when he found out that his whole weekend he had to spend under the hood of his car which the man affectionately called "The Beast": a huge black machine with no bumpers but large wooden planks, big bright lights on the top of it and a truck horn. This "monster" had been both repainted and repaired many times by Peter himself and many repairings were done for the purpose of upgrading. Unfortunately that time it needed a a real repairing.

But even though being an excellent handyman that he was, that time Mr. Steele was too exhausted to do fixing himself. And a solution was simple: to visit a good friend in a car service in Brooklyn.

The fellow of his was a good man, they chatted for a little bit, caught each other up their latest news, had a good laugh but Peter didn't want to disturb him and then went to a record store nearby the car service.

There in a small room full of stands with CD's and vinyls and a silent salesman behind the cash desk with a magazine in his hands the frontman was studying range of music products. He came there just to kill some time but had been looking at new music with interest before his gaze fell upon one special record in best-selling section.

He felt how his eyes glued themselves to the image of an red-haired girl dressed in a white shirt. The colors and the idea were pretty simple: a mid-shot of girl's face and upper body to show audience beautiful features with serious expression of the artist, blue sky, pale wooden barrier and probably an old-fashioned car. Blue font on white read "Born to Die" and white one on blue was typed in big letters "Lana Del Rey".

Luxurious and vintage as I had thought, Peter thought to himself.

That was what he had been looking for since their short encounter that night at the festival. It was so brief and blurred that the man had no time at least to ask for her name. The next day he'd spent looking for her merch tent to buy her music but it turned out to be that she had no one. Moreover the idea to look for someone when you don't even know their name itself was stupid and doomed to failure from the beginning.

And at that moment Peter felt that a missing puzzle piece went up in its place. It was an exact feeling when you finally learn about what you have been trying to find out for so long. Some kind of bliss may be said. Plus he really wanted to listen to the records of this melancholic songstress because he saw the same mood in her music that he had in his own.

But what Peter didn't expect is to see her at the same record store, slowly shuffling through vinyls.

His heart dropped for a second and the next was slight panic and the urge to grab her so she wouldn't disappear. It was so sudden that he didn't know what to say to her and not look like an idiot. Although Peter couldn't miss the chance.

He had decided that it would be better if he'd just leave the CD on the self to not look like some creep in her eyes and went straight to her while slightly waping his sweating palms on dark blue jeans.

"Hello," a familiar deep voice came above her head.

Lizzie quickly looked up and jumped a little, the height of the gothic bassist gave her a slight jumpscare. He couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Oh, hi," she immeaditely became flustered. "What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me too actually," and then he frowned a little. "I'm sorry that I disappeared so quickly last time."

"That's okay," the girl simply waved her hand. "I hope your friend is doing fine."

"Yeah, he is much better now," Peter slightly snored at the memory of Kenny kicking and screaming threating nonsense and being completely pale with greenish shade the day after he had spent hugging a toilet.

The man took his large hand out for a handshake "I'm Peter."

Lizzie accepted the gesture, her elegant small hand was swallowed by his very gentle touch.

"I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you officially."

Peter felt a slight pang in his chest.

His "favourite" name. Again.

But he didn't show her sadness hidden behind green eyes. She was not "that" Elizabeth, she was more humane and warm person without a single doubt.

"The pleasure is mine. I've been looking for your records at the festival but found it here" Peter pointed at the best-selling section "I can say that you're doing great".

"Yeah and I still can't believe it..." looking at her own image with grateful expression Elizabeth shooked her head and the gigantic rocker believed the sincerity of her words. And when a dreamy glint in eyes of hers was gone she turned to him with crossed arms. "What brought you here?"

"Firstly, I live here. And secondly, my car is getting fixed down the street," Peter explained in his velvet low voice.

The girl smiled when she understood which accent he got.

"I'm here to see my uncle. I used to live in Brooklyn too with him and my aunt."

"You did?" he slightly raised his eyebrows in surprise. When Peter first saw her onstage he had a strong feeling that she was somewhere from West Coast. Now she looked like a typical city girl: her wavy red hair was loose, same vintage makeup but not so catchy that was at performance, dressed in tight jeans and racing Ferrari red bomber jacket.

Brooklyn was not a glamorous place to live in and Peter knew it well and wondered how living there had affected her or even had inspired in work.

"Yes, but then I had moved to Bronx, after that to New Jersey, lived in a trailer, then returned back so... Well, actually a list of my relocations turned to be a little bit longer than that," she felt a bit awkward because of oversharing and the thought that she was boasting off which was not true.

"You have an interesting life as i see," a small smile was curving the frontman's lips. But the next moment he got slightly tensed, inquired. "Would you like to have a snack and tell me more about your journeys someday?"

"I would love to," her face was graced by a radiant smile which made Peter's stomach drop but he had no clue why.

"I'll give you my phone number..." he took a crumpled small piece of paper and short pencil from pocket of his leather jacket and

"You've prepared," Lizzie giggled citing the fact that he could use it while meeting women.

"Being an old man that I am I need this to write down a grocery list. I hate this feeling when I'm in a supermarket looking for milk but ending up buying tampons," this dramatic head shake and the fact that he had been joking so easily about himself made her think that he liked to be some kind of a clown.

"Poor Peter," she snickered.

"I can say the same about all of musicians," he grinned and caught her looking at his fangs with curiosity again while laughing.

The fact that the girl was exposed didn't go unnoticed and Elizabeth's pink cheeks showed her embarrassment at the situation.

"Thank you..." she lowered her head when he gave her the paper but quickly regained her composure. "Um.. can I ask you for something?"

"Of course," his eyes showed slight concern.

"I have been looking for your records but didn't find one. Can I find it here?"

Oh that, our shitty music albums, the man chuckled at himself.

"Let me see," the musician decided to act like he didn't know that their and Carnivore's discography was in that store. Peter Steele was kind of hero of Brooklyn music scene, many musicians and metalheads knew him and his music (even though he was harsh on himself) had a great impact on others' musical creations.

He went to a section of rock and different genres of metal and pretended to be searching hard for the album, in fact just moving his CDs back and forth, and after a minute of that shameless simulation under Lizzie's watchful eye he picked the latest one, "Bloody Kisses".

"Here," Peter returned and gave her the current CD.

She gladly accepted it while paying attention to how long his slender fingers were. But her attention was instantly captured by two moaning goth-like girls on the cover in a moment of heavy make-out-session... Well, Elizabeth heard their songs live and all of the erotic messages that were there, so it wasn't a big surprise.

"Oh, that's... provocative," she giggled awkwardly looking at the cover from both sides.

"We play dirty," stated Peter in pleased voice. But the cause of his high spirits was that he liked to see how she was getting shy in front of him at his actions or any nonsense that he'd said.

The man turned to get her record but instead was interrrupted.

"Oh, It's not a good version. Trust me!" Lizzie exclaimed. The puzzled and confused gaze he gave her made songstress disappear behind various stands.

And when she came back he saw her holding another music record of hers. The cover was shot with the same prospect but style was different: vintage luxury, swimming pool and palm trees in the back, dressed in swimming suit with straight loose hair looking magnificent as always. All of these was framed with golden textures. It had the same name but under the title there were small gold letters: The Paradise Edition.

"This is a special edition, went on sale only a week ago. The first one sells good but this has twelve more songs and costs the same, even cheaper."

"Thanks for taking care of my wallet," smirked Peter. "That's actually good that you've decided to add so many songs even though I'm sure that your label made you do it."

"Yeah, but I'm glad that I can finally show my material to the world..." he noticed that her cute voice always sounded very garetful when it came to the music and opportunities that were given to her. And then Lizzie stole a quick glance at a round wall clock that hung on the wall behind the salesman. "I think that I shall go and meet my uncle, don't wanna make him wait for me."

"Sure," the frontman felt a sudden wave of sadness and despair by looking at her buying his CD and knowing well that they wouldn't meet so soon, hastily added. "I'd like to call you but I don't know when you'll be in New York next time."

"I'm here everyday," the girl said and threw him a meaningful smile over her shoulder. Then she got the change and waved at him. "Bye."

When glass doors closed themselves with a quiet slam Elizabeth no longer saw the amused look on the big man's face.

"What was that?" Peter chuckled to himself under the annoyed gaze of the salesman, who had been waiting impatinately for them both to pay.

What was that, Lizzie thought to herself while walking down the street to a café when she and her uncle had decided to have a cup of coffee.

Looking down at the CD record in her hands she couldn't help but shake her head with wry chuckle. This is all so strange. At first that festival which almost made her shit herself, then this huge gothic guy with fangs and corny sense of humour...

He wasn't her type at all. Yes, she had said many times that she had no type but all of her boyfriends had something in common: appearance or some kind of fleur around them. But Peter was different. He was beautiful in a dark way; pale, long-haired with manly face and hypnotic green eyes looking like a black-maned demigod or a vampire. But Lizzie had no interest in vampires... until when?

Anyway, there was something about him that seemed to be magnetic for her romantically or not.

Five days later they met in a good place where they could have a proper meal and a real conversation and where nothing and no one could interupt them this time. At first Peter had wanted to invite her to a premium restaurant but then he thought that it would look like a date and he didn't want to scare her away that way... Well, to be honest the man didn't fully understand what he felt for her. But the one thing was clear: he was drawn to the melancholic songstress.

"...and then you moved to London?" Peter asked while pouring red wine into his glass after she had kindly refused the drink. He was trying to sort out Lizzie's life and her numerous moves and almost every one of them had been remembered by him.

Her life looked like that detailed puzzles that people buy and then forget about them because its complexity irritate them and make them feel oppressed due to they can't easily collect it. But when it's finaly ready it looks so fascinatingly and reassuring that they can't tear their gazes away.

And Peter even felt little bit embarrassed because being six years older than Elizabeth he still hadn't moved out of his parents' basement. His life was so boring compared to hers: no relocations, no life in a trailer, no metaphysics degree.

"Yes, right after my first studio album got flopped," she said and took a sip of her Pepsi. "I lived in a shitty flat with no heat, it was so awful."

"Looks like you took everything from life," he smiled and got chuckle out of the girl.

"Not at all," with slight frown Lizzie remembered all those ten years that she was desperately trying to break into a music scene.

"Anyway, I'm pleased to be in a company of such an intelligent and erudite woman."

And again there was heat rising on her cheeks.

"Am I wrong or you do really enjoy see me blushing?" her lips curved into an cute-awkward smile. "However, thanks."

"Making people feel uncomfortable is my another favourite hobby," significantly stated Peter and there was a mischievous small sparkle in his eyes when he sipped wine.

Oh, if only she knew about "Nazi" scandal, the original cover of "The Origin of the Feces", being "misogynist" and this "Prelude to Agony" song...

He wasn't proud of it at all, but that's what happens when you have a provocative vision of art and crude humour.

"I noticed that when you played this 'Christian Woman'. Kinda reminded me about the time when I was in a Catholic school. Singing in choir and loving going to a church..." the girl's face assumed a nostalgic expression as if she cherished those times which surprised the gothic musician — his own experience was quite the opposite.

"Oh, that means that I wrote this song about you?" he asked jokingly.

"Well, I don't remember that I could be touching myself while looking at crucifix at nights. So, probably no."

"Yeah, it was me who had been fantasying about Jesus, sorry..." Peter was fooling around again, like he used to act around with his close ones, but when he saw her restrained smile and shining eyes he decided to tell a little bit more. "Actually, I wrote this song out of my experience being a catholic boy during puberty. Nocturnal emissions and other embarassing things, you know. Just made up a sensual story out of a teenage nightmare."

"I do write songs based on my life too," Elizabeth nodded knowingly. Her favourite way to write music was when the stuff that made the girl emotional had happened so she could see things more clearly. But at that moment she thought about how many of his songs were filled with real experience and not wet and gloomy fantasies.

There was a short pause before Peter spoke again.

"You have this interesting song. Um, 'my pussy tastes like Pepsi cola' as long as I remember..." he uttered with a puzzled expression, looking away like couldn't remember it properly but in reality he was just messing around with her again.

Her hazel eyes immediately widened.

"Oh my god!" she choked on the exact drink and quickly caught the attention of other visitors. Some of them had stopped their conversations and turned around to see what the matter but they saw the songstress wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Very interesting line," the man could hardly keep the smile off his face.

That bastard... that extremely good-looking bastrad, Elizabeth thought.

"Oh my god, ughh!" she hid her face behind palms and groaned embarassingly. If few moments ago her cheeks were briefly dusted with pink, now she was sure that the heat her face was radiating could be felt from the other end of the table.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to embarrass you so much!" he laughed heartedly. It was a deep rumbling sound that Lizzie wanted to hear again and again. So smooth and calming.

"No, it's fine," the girl waved her hands. "Well... oh my," she couldn't help but snored again. "One of my friends, he's Scottish, ones said that American girls' pusseys taste like Pepsi cola. And I thought that's would sound cool."

"Your friend seems to be an expert in foreign cuisine," Peter noted ironically.

"I don't want to go into these details!" the girl exclaimed giggling.

He liked to make her laugh, how she lowered her long lashes, how her plump lips were curving into a gentle smile. That was a hypnotic sight to see.

Although, this part of conversation was hillarious but Lizzie couldn't help but felt slightly insecure.

"Do you have silly songs like this one?" she looked calm but the way she started to pick her long manicured nails didn't go unnoticed by the big gothic musician.

"Every song of ours is silly," his biting self-criticism was storng as always. Had this man ever admitted his achievements?

"Come on," the songstress rolled her eyes in a playful manner.

Peter coughed — that was the habit of his, he did it occasionally during conversations or interviews — and thought.

"Alright... um, from the last album it is Black No. 1," that time the answer was honest and serious.

"Really? But it's a hit. I saw the crowd going insane when they heard it," she wondered. The song was brilliant, catchy and had great pontential and not to mention the fact that it was the single. Audience was shouting, jumping and singin along with the band that evening.

"I would like to look at them when they find out that this song is about hair dye that I wrote in a traffic jam while driving a garbage truck," Peter smirked. "Although, I've said that too many times in interviews. People don't understand that's a sarcasm. I noticed that they don't understand what sarcasm is at all."

Then she started to understand that Peter Steele was not about gothic romantism and sex; this person was much deeper and complicated. But in a witty way, may say.

"Being a musician means that every song of yours shall mean something deep and contain higher thoughts. But how exactly this hair dye inspired you? I'm interested."

"My ex-girlfriend used it and she still does, I think. She was a gothic girl, a real hot stuff. She listened to goth bands and was making fun of my music taste, especially hardcore bands that I liked at that time. She said that I don't know the real music."

"That's kinda stupid of her," said Lizzie with furrowed eyebrows and took another sip of Pepsi. She'd always thought that It's so childish to make make fun of something that you don't like or don't understand yourself.

"Yeah, but at that time I was crazy about her, I didn't mind," the man just shrugged his shoulders.

This made her wonder about that girl: how she looked like, was she really that hot as Peter saw her, how she smelled like and what kind of a perfume she used, was her voice low and sultry or high and pitchy, how she prefered to spend her free time and was she more beautiful than Lana herself.

Lizzie found herself thinking about these silly things and but decided to brush them off. She had no need to know about his love life. But anyway, almost every song that Elizabeth had heard on that 'Bloody Kisses' record (oh, and how she got so fucking scared when in the beginning some girl started to moan heart-rendingly) was about both mental and physical relationships with women.

"So, according to my observations can I say that women are your main inspiration?" the girl asked curiously but couldn't hide that mischievous glint that was seen in her hazel eyes. She wondered if this giant would deny it with male shame or agree willingly in order to cozy up to her.

"Not main, but they are also important to me," Peter stated simply understanding that the talented companion wanted to mess with him little bit. And he smirked himself teasingly. "But you too have these love ballads from what I've heard."

And then that glimmer in her eyes faded. Lizzie had two options: to tell the truth or to laugh it off playfully and move on next topic. But somehow she felt urge to share a little bit. Maybe because he was an artist too or because she just wanted to.

"Ha, well..." Lizzie giggled but it was more nervous and sad chuckle. "I'm an ex-alcoholic."

The playful mood that was between them two quickly vanished after that leaving a ringing silence. Peter was looking at the girl and feeling guilty for making her feel uncomfortable by offering to drink wine earlier but Lana was okay.

That moment he saw her in a different light but not in a bad one: behind this careless lush red hair, vintage makeup, long nails and golden necklaces was something dark, tragic and fragile. People who saw her and heard her music thought tha she was just a foolish beautiful doll with whining songs and a pathetic product of a good label. But that's not true.

This beautiful porcelain doll had barely noticable cracks and Peter wanted to see what was behind them, inside.

The man felt ashamed for drinking wine so casually in front of her all the evening.

"Oh, sorry, shall I..." he started to apologize hastily and his already big green eyes became even bigger while fussing and attempting to get rid of alcohol on their table.

"No, I'm not so fucked up," Elizabeth rolled her eyes with ironic smile at his fuss, he was so cute. "I mean, almost in every music piece that I create there is a small hint about my past addiction."

He nodded silently in response and felt no desire to sip this wine; the laid-back atmosphere around them collapsed like a shattering glass but it wasn't girl's fault. Suddenly Peter found the dark red liquid in his glass so interesting to observe.

"You may be silent but I see the question in your eyes, you know," Lizzie joked and got chuckle out of the frontman.

"Right," he smirked in a guilty way and slightly lowered his head to hide a fact that his pale cheeks were flushed with shame.

"It's all started when I was fourteen," she began her story. "When I was very young I was sort of floored by the fact that my mother and my father and everyone I knew was going to die one day, and myself too. I had a sort of a philosophical crisis. I couldn't believe that we were mortal. For some reason that knowledge sort of overshadowed my experience. I was unhappy for some time. I got into a lot of trouble. I used to drink a lot. That was a hard time in my life."

"I know it all sounds silly, but... I was a big drinker at the time. I would drink every day. My parents were worried, I was worried. I knew it was a problem when I liked it more than I liked doing anything else. I was like, 'I'm fucked. I am totally fucked'. Like, at first it's fine and you think you have a dark side — it's exciting — and then you realise the dark side wins every time if you decide to indulge in it. It's also a completely different way of living when you know that...a different species of person. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"In general, my album is about me being a crazy mess in my teens," the girl waved her hands so simply that made Peter blink distractedly. One minute she was telling a harsh story and then acting like nothing happened. There was no bad taste for her but maybe they are telling truth? Time heals?

"I just wondered why we're here and was sort of consumed by the fact that everyone's gonna, um, leave this planet. About love..." Lizzie smirked tauntingly returning to the previous question. "They think that I write songs about a specific guy who broke my heart or 'bout the man I will love forever, but the true is most of my "love songs" are about alcohol. Don't know, when I write about the thing that I've lost I feel like I write about alcohol because that was the first love of my life."

The gothic bassist remained silent but couldn't tear his gaze off. Not anymore.

"Anyway, this fact doesn't change that I still have bad taste in men," an awkward giggle escaped her lips.

"Can say the same about my taste in women," Peter joked to support. But in that one there was also some truth.

Elizabeth really wanted not to talk about her personal life, at least not right now, but the urge to babble about it was so strong so the girl was holding herleslf back as much as she could.

"It's just like, once I was blessed to find someone who made me so happy. But, in the end, it seemed like I wasn't good enough for him."

"I think you were more than enough," he said surely, his deep voice was filled with warm and kind notes.

"You can't know such things, you weren't there," she uttered with her hand shuffled through patterned napkins in a carved metal napkin holder on the table. Lizzie didn't want him to assure her in something that she still couldn't figure out.

"I know that's true because someone who says this usually that one who tried their best in a such shitty relationship."

That made her reflect on it.

"Well, I can't help but agree with you this time..."

The rest of the evening went well and calm. They felt some kind of an ease and were joking and talking like nothing had happened before, just having a good time in general. However, both sensed that someting intimate flashed between them, especially after Lizzie's honest tale. In response the gothic frontman told her that bottles of wine onstage were not for cool entourage: he had a bad stage fright like Lana did.

Later that night, when Peter came home being greeted by his few cats he played her CD again. Skipped to the 'Born To Die' and started listening to it from a new perspective knowing small details and a skeleton of the piece.

And that moment he knew — he was falling for her. Fast and irreversibly.

After that night Peter and Elizabeth started to spend more time together. At first they had been meeting twice a week but soon Peter started to notice more and more often that he's on phone with Lizzie asking her for a walk. And their walks weren't romantic or too amorous. That were two brilliant people, even though they didn't know that about themselves, walking around New York together, telling stories and discussing many topics but all they did was only in a friendly way. Even though Peter cut his long strides in half to walk alongside the girl, her legs were aching anyway after their 'city tours'.

Elizabeth was intrigued by the fact that passers-by always looked at him, examined his tall figure, long black hair with a police cap, dressed in the leather jacket. Of course it was difficult not to notice him but he had something special about him, and it's not just beauty, that made women stare at him.

Especially Lizzie Woolridge Grant.

Once they walked around Manhattan and she told him how the city had inspired her in so many of her songs. When she was younger the girl used to wander around New York and hum some tunes then she just cuptered them on paper. 'I was a waitress at that time,' she said. In return the Brooklyn's giant took her to his favourite Chinese food restaurant and bought meals for 60$.

Peter started to quickly dissapear after every music session and the guys liked to make fun of him every time they got a chance. Kenny and Johnny were joking, Josh did it too but more cautiously. He knew very well how vulnerable his friend was so he didn't want to rescue his big boney ass if something would go wrong. Even though they didn't know Lana personally three of them had a common joke that next time Peter would write a sarcastic song about vintage hair curlers and a glue for fake eyelashes.

Meanwhile Lizzie began to realize that she was attached to him not only because he a beautiful, intelligent, polite and restrained Individual... The reason surprised her — she liked him.

While listening to his album, which was a gimmick in her collection, the girl found herself not enjoying Type O's instrumental anymore. From then on it was all about his voice, no matter if he talked or sang. His deep velvet voice with rambling laugh made her knees weak. She could no longer look him in the eyes without admiration which immediately led to confusion and shyness.

At the same time Elizabeth started to caught his glances more often. Of course Peter had found her attractive before but now he couldn't help himself. Every time the man looked at her gorgeous face he wanted to trace his fingers down her cheekbones, full lips... those lips... The frontman wanted to devour them in the most hot and sweet kiss at once.

This continued for some time. Long walks along Coney Island, restaurants meals and conversations about music, art and love affairs.

They said that they didn't want anything serious or a proper relationship and the very next second they were passionately kissing in his car. Long slender fingers tangled in red hair, long manicured nails slightly scracthed the back of the neck. Both knew that there was no way back. Both were so fucking glad.

Peter didn't paid attention to friends'mockeries of him being excited and in love. Instead he began to invite Lizzie to their recording sessions which didn't disturb the process at all. She had known inner workings of the recording and tried not to distract them very much but she made friends with all of them somehow anyway (what a bunch of facts, both gross and nice, guys told her about Green Man...). And for Pete her presence in the studio had been good. Melancholic songstress didn't know that she was in fact his muse at that time and that most of his creative fantasies, and not only creative, were about her.

Out of respect she didn't buy this 'Playgirl' magazine with his spicy photo session. But in the very beginning of their relationship there was a huge temptation because her hormones gone wild.

It was so scary and thrilling. Lizzie was afraid because she'd heard about his tour lifestyle. God, she even didn't need to hear about this — the girl saw with her own eyes how women were looking at him wherever they were going together. Particularly after that infamous magazine which seemed to be not only for ladies...

But she decided to dive into it, knowing there would be no turning back. Only a broken heart and vain hope.

Though everything between these two were developing gradually and correctly.

Several months later Peter being a family guy that he was decided to introduce Elizabeth to his big family. His mother, Nettie, really liked her (the woman complimented her hair-style every time), five older sisters and their kids thought that she was nice and even Peter Sr who usually prefered to stay out of son's private life, that was his wife's job, who knew about love adventures of their youngest child, appreciated his new squeeze. He also promised Peter that if he would hurt her somehowhe he would get in the neck. In response the man just laughed and pledged that she will be cherished and taken care of. Just like Lizzie deserved and how his sisters taught him to treat a woman.

Life is so god damn weird, she thought looking at his sculptured masculine profile while having a ride with him one night. Peter could swear loudly at passing cars or speaking in puns just to hear Lizzie's laugh, her real laugh: loud and bright, not small giggles.

That European festival supposed to increase the music career of hers, a task with which it was succesessful, but in addition it gave Lizzie something bigger: a great man and worthy relationships.

Compared to this her past experiences were just a shit on a sole. No regrets.

Behind shutters there cars were passing in the night with a dissapearing flash and a distant roar. The light in the room was dim, a lamp with a red illuminating bulb was on. Such glow created a mysterious atmosphere with lit candles in the bedroom combined with living room in the flat in Queens.

Cocteau Twins' 'Pepper-Tree' was softly playing in the background. The only sound that was heard besides it were light sighs and quiet girly moans.

Lizzie's naked body was wriggling on light burgundy cotton sheets under Peter's skillful tongue and watchful eyes. She was lightly swaying her hips, arching her back with sexy breathy 'Oh's, grabbing her perky breasts herself and pinching hard nipples between the middle and index finger.

Looking at such erotic and mesmerizing view Peter was absolutely sure in one thing: he would spend his whole life between legs of his angelic girlfriend if he could just to hear these moans and see her beautiful face in pure ecstasy, with closed eyes and parted full lips.

"Mm, you taste divine..." he murmured lowly and adding thoughtfully. "Those soda bubbles and cherry... or vanilla, I haven't figured it out yet..."

She rolled her eyes but this time not from pleasure.

"Why do you have to do this right now?" Lizzie asked irritably and rose on her elbows feeling her climax fading and lustful mood ruined.

"Because you yourself say that your pussy tastes like Pepsi cola. It's not my fault!" said the man in his defence. He could hardly hid the cheeky grin behind her smooth silky skin.

Sometimes he was so unbearable.

"When I wrote that I thought that it would sounds cool, but now I hate this line more than anything!" she stated heatedly and lay on her back again.

He always found her so cute and funny complaining about her lyrics.

"I think it's one of the coolest things that I've ever heard about vagina."

Elizabeth turned a deaf ear on that.

"Ugh, why am I such an idiotic songwriter?!" Lizzie groaned hiding her face behind palms.

Peter was looking at her while calmly running his big palms up and down her thighs in soothing manner.

"I am always trying to create something but every time ending up doing some stupid shit!"

"And because of it I love you."

Bitter annoyance and frustration were gone. Her tongue was immediately caught in her throat. She even forgot how to breathe.

The girl looked at him over her naked breasts expecting to see a grimace of fear and painful waiting but she saw absolute assurance in his pretty manly face. These words weren't a fleeting gust even though they were in bed.

"What?" sounded like a choked gasp.

"I love you."

Lizzie had blinked few times before she began to feel hot clear tears running down her shocked face.

She grabbed him in attempt to pull closer and planted a hot and strong kiss on his lovely mouth. While their lips were moving Peter felt her whispering 'I love you' all over again and again. And they couldn't be happier than at that night.

'You make me feel electric' Lizzie said to Peter when they were lying on the bed in his basement, just cuddling with his cats at their feet. Grizzelda was purring when the songstress scratched her tiny head delicately.

Both lovers and cats were napping that rainy evening and Elizabeth felt absolute peace. It was always like that near him.

'That's because I always give you these electrical shocks every time you touch me?' he asked hoarsely and she giggled tiredly.

He was so humble, so sweet, gentle and down-to-earth that the girl could no longer imagine her life without Peter. More important, it was mutual.

For the first time Pete saw that his woman could show as much affection as he did himself with her. Every hour spent with Lizzie he could compare to delicate sunbathing in warm Spring days. The muscician almost felt how the light was seeping through him with their every interaction.

She made a discovery that he wasn't that gloomy and serious like she saw him on that European festival. He was a jokester, who liked to fool around with puns and scare his loved ones with weird noises that the deep voice of his could make. But the man treated people with respect and was friendly to everyone. Of course he could have bad days like any of us, when the bassist could sit there all grumpy with furrowed bushy eyebrows and with no desire to share his worries with her. Peter preferred to keep everything to himself, just not to bother anyone on or not to look like a weak person.

Otherwise, he was a tender and supportive soul.

But still, Lizzie anxiously waited for that moment and it happened. He just couldn't be only hers forever. Not him, not Peter Steele.

One day at the party of some friend of' the drab four' guys' Kenny went to her to talk about it. She was terrified to hear next 'You see...' or 'I don't want to be the person who'll tell you this but I know that he has no balls to do it himself, so...'. But instead the guitarist said that he was almost shocked to see Peter not paying attention to any other woman anymore but her. And he said that he was very proud of his mate and them both. Lizzie didn't know what to say and Kenny didn't know what to do when he saw her crying.

And how shaken was Peter when he saw his girlfriend shedding floods of tears in a corner with his best friend standing next to her.

"What a fuck is going on, man?!" shouted the frontman angrily without paying attention that his friends and acquaintances stared at him instantly while being anxious and confused.

"Pete, I..." Kenny started to make excuses but his mate didn't want to hear any.

Peter looked at Lizzie for an answer but without any words she unexpectedly threw herself at him, tugging his neck down and capturing his lips with a strong kiss full of adoration. Distractedly accepted the gesture and scooped the melancholic songstress closer but still had no idea; his friends just snickered and returned to their previous activities.

Later she told him the reason of this public 'rush of love' and the man couldn't help but laughed and pulled her closer to his huge frame.

But still there was a third wheel between them two.

It was a miracle that the city in their such differernt tour programs had coincided. Lizzie's first worldwide tour had been a success. Sales were great, people bought tickets for the shows and records, appearences on TV and interviews on radio. Life was sweet like cinnamon. But what eluded her the most that she had opportunity to see her man performing right after her perfomance would be finished.

When the time had come Lizzie was walking down the backstage hall hurriedly to see Peter after five-month-separation.

"Johnny!" the singer greeted happily walking past Kelly.

"Hi, dear," the drummer smiled in his cheerful manner.

"Where's Peter?" the eagerness in her voice made her sound like a little girl waiting for Santa at midnight.

"He is in the dressing room alone," he showed her the very last door in the end.

"Thank you," she lightly patted his back and went into the direction.

Full of enthusiasm and giddy impatience Lizzie had thought how tightly he would hug her. His warm mitts on her back, cheeks, gentle kisses on lips, the crown of the head.

But when the door was open Peter didn't show joy at all. The frontman had been trying to hide a bottle of red wine but failed. The red liquid accidentally spilled on the dirty carpeting from the sudden movement.

"Shit!" he hissed lowly either of being caught red-handed or because he'd almost ruined his pants.

Elizabeth's expression turned to stone one. The wish to squeeze him tight in her embrace died, instead she wanted to leave with a loud bang of the door but it was not her style.

"We were talking about it, Pete," Lizzie said quietly but as stern as she could.

"I remember," the man nodded not looking at her with a blank face.

"You told me that that was the last time," at that time words came with more passion.

"I remeber that too."

"And you told me that you'll make an effrot."

"I have a good memory," Peter quipped. In his opinion it wasn't really a big deal. Few sips could reduce endless anxiety level, a few bottles could make his legs went to jelly and give this excellent feeling like he was at home during perfomances.

"Looks like you're definetely not!" she threw in return angrily. Thanks to the empty backstage hall and loud banging music no one would hear them arguing.

The frontman could fight back, make excuses, explaining or shout at her but he was so tired of touring, performing, living on the road, giving interviews about his penis in 'Playgirl' magazine to stupid journalists, endless parties just all of that shit that he couldn't stand.

Peter stayed silent not wanting to say any word.

Of course the girl knew how he "liked" his job but there was something about it that the Brooklyn giant was sick of the most: live perfomances. Even there, at 'home' clubs she saw him panicking and stressing out, trying to dull feelings with alcohol before a show and then celebrating it with another portion of booze after.

One big vicious circle.

"Pete, I fucked up on TV!" Lizzie exclaimed wanting to comfort him even though that fact hurt her very much. "My performance on SNL was so bad that almost every fucking person in this country thinks that I can't sing! But it didn't start to drink again after that."

"Yes, I see that you're much stronger than me," he rolled his eyes turning a jackass mode one.

"I didn't mean that," Lizzie stared at her boyfriend coldly. "I just beg you to stop, because it will drag you to nowhere"

"Sounds not so bad," Peter smirked dramaticaly and she almost send him packing.

"You don't know any shit," the songstress chuckled bitterly. At that moment he reminded her a small boy who hadn't listened to anyone but in the end that boy admitted that he was wrong. And she knew that he would come to it himself but on his way he would receive many wounds and scars.

Lizzie was slowly passing around the stuffy small room with greyish-blue carpeting and stains of splashed wine on it, a worn out black couch, a smudged square mirror and a coat rack by the door. Peter was sitting on the couch, his hands were lazily clasped, elbows were on his knees. His gaze was focused on a plinth, the forgotten bottle stood next to the right leg.

When music subsided a little the girl began to speak again.

"I know that it's much easier and more understandable when you smash your face into a table. It immediately shows how things are going. But believe me, you don't want it."

Peter looked like he'd closed inside himself but he heard everything she'd been saying. The gothic bassist just didn't want to face it, not now. God, please, not now.

"I do this because I care about you. And the reason why I care about you is because I love you. I don't want to see you going through the same things that I went through," her lovely voice was tender that time, like she wanted to touch something deep inside him, to wake her loved one wake up. Unfortunately he didn't want to wake up.

When silence had become unbearable Lizzie sat down on the couch next to Peter whose look was distant. This was this type of silence when one of them understood that there was urge to tell something meaningful and that feeling was pressing on Elizabeth.

She had never actually told him about her past. Peter didn't want to push her and the girl considered that phase of her life was over. It was so long ago that seemed far, far away from her and current events.

But still, it was painful and nasty to tell about. And she had no way; the youngest child of Ratajczyk's was so stubborn.

"I stopped when I lost my parents' car somewhere and couldn't remember where, why and what happened then," admitted the melancholic songstress. The voice was steady but still there was a shameful tone. "And I'm afraid that you will stop when you lost your parents' house when you'll be officially of the rails,"

And then the frontman was all ears.

He was looking at her carefully, the right side of girl's face was hidden behind loose wavy red locks; they didn't look presentable like they had been a few hours ago. Even though Lizzie looked sad and tired after the performance, it was seen in features and slightly smudged mascara, Peter still saw her as the most attractive woman even with fake eyelashes peeling off.

"And the recovery wasn't all about rainbows and unicorns. And the first attempt wasn't successful and the last one. These things don't go smooth."

She stared at the deep scratch at the bottom of the door and continued half-heartedly.

"If you want to know more, I worked as a volunteer at drug and alcohol rehabilitation centres in Brooklyn. Before that I was in rehab myself, great times," Lizzie chuckled lowly and felt a strong desire to smoke right now but the room had already smelled like a mix of piss and smoke so the decision of hers was to not make it worse.

"I saw their desperate exhausted faces," memories of that poor lost people flashed n girl's mind but Peter couldn't understand that tragedy fully, he didn't see them. "They knew that we were ready to help them, but the only thing that was out of their reach was that everything starts with themselves."

Their lives were chaos but her own had been no good too.

"I know what is like to have an alcoholic boyfriend," Lizzie smirked and if Peter didn't know her he would have thought that she tried to make him jealous or feel guilty. "And I know what is like to be an alcoholic girlfriend to a sober guy, a complete mess both ways."

Although the man continued to stay silent at that moment his brain was absorbing the new information rapidly. Since the day one, when he first saw her on European stage in that white dress with Priscilla hair, the musician couldn't get rid of the impression deep inside in the corner of his mind that she was like a fog: weightless and illusory, without a story behind and big shocks. However she had everything. She had a family, parents and two siblings, childhood in Lake Placid, funny stories, adventures with her dad, arguments with mom, fears and failures.

She was like a real human being, just like him and any others he knew. But much sweeter and cheerful, and because of it Peter loved her with his whole heart.

And Lizzie thought that the man was like a Frankenstein. Not because there was something monstrous about him, which was absolutely not true, it was as if he was made and stitched of different pieces that at first sight couldn't fit.

"You're so weird..." the girl muttered with amused chuckle and a head shake.

"Oh, you stabbed me!" Peter sarcastically placed his hand on his heart. That were his first words in last fourteen minutes.

Lizzie still was feeling down but could help but chuckled quietly.

"You almost hate your musical career. But since sixteen years old you only do that create bands and play music..."

"You are the most fucking conflicted person that I know," she confessed honestly.

Peter decided not show that it struck him because everything that was coming out of her mouth was true. In her and others' eyes he looked like a masochist.

"You flatter me," the gothic singer brushed off with irony natural to him.

However, his so called "playful" mood was killed when the girl finally looked at him. And oh boy, Peter had never seen her so serious and overwhelmed at the same time and he almost regretted what he had said.

"Your self-conscious will caught you up one day, Pete," Lizzie stated not wanting to tip-toe with the whole topic. "It'll destroy from the core."

And then the man could no longer keep a deadpan expression. Certainly Elizabeth Woolridge Grant was a smart girl, she saw that painfully shy small boy in the big man's body, who ripped guitar strings barehanded onstage once. If a person could be brave (and tall) enough to look into his blue hazel eyes with green contacs, that Brooklyn giant had been buying on King's Highway, they would see vulnerability that contrasted his overall presence. Peter was so soft for her, he could do literally anything that she would ask for, but the only thing that he couldn't do was to not kill and poison himself with his own self doubts, venomous criticism and self-deprecating jokes.

"Small things inside of us can fucked up everything," her voice got quieter, raspier, and her pretty features expressed only tiredness.

Now Lizzie was observing Pete without any frustration. The frontman turned and looked away but his whole appearance showed noticable weaking of his positions.

"I don't know how to do this," he muttered quietly gazing at the bottle beside his leg. It seemed to him that he could smell the intoxicating smell of wine from that distance.

The small questinable ' hm?' came from the songstress and Peter tried to recollect his frantic thoughts.

"I hate parties, I've always hated parties and being in bunch of loud and annoying people," the man sounded almost exhausted and dark, with no jokes and sarcastic remarks. "I'm grateful to our fans but I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders every time I go onstage because I need to do my job good. They pay money just to see us messing around with instruments. But what's more important that I chose to die with a bass guitar in my hand than with rake because I wanted to use my brain, not to say that I have any."

"I don't know how I've ended up here," he confessed heartedly and felt completely lost.

Lizzie saw something shattered in big green orbs, so she moved close to the man and gently brushed shiny long black strands away from his face. Her delicate moves, cold hands and long nails always caused goosebumps on his skin.

"Just start, it will get easier, you'll see," the girl briefly touched his temple.

Peter closed his eyes wearily but suddenly opened them again when he felt how she took his big palm into hers.

"And I'll be there with you, I promise," Lizzie almost whispered but the words were loud like a scream.

That made him look at her, then at their clasped hands and then at her again. The man sensed a warm feeling inside, it was much warmer than two liters of a red wine.

Without any words Peter tugged his melancholic vintage girlfriend closer, holding her in tight and sweet embrace and sniffing the rich scent of her perfume.

And he started.

Not immediately, but started.

The spring breeze blew thin creamy curatins with pale floral patterns. The sun was shining high in the sky, that May was warm and bright. The electric black clock showed 3 p.m with its neon green numbers which actually was the wrong shade of green.

They moved in only three weeks ago but thus far felt like that Brooklyn apartment had been their home, like they used to live here before. There was a big number of boxes around but all of the furniture was already assembled by the leader of Type O Negative and him only.

That was a big step and both of them knew it. But Peter, for the first time in his life, was ready to move in together with his woman of his dreams and newly there was enough trust and love to try and create something special. And Lana felt enough assurance to buy a property with her man for once and not to be tricked or cheated.

"Well, my boyfriend's in a band," Lizzie sang softly to herself while shuffling through the box full of her notepads when they had been resting in the living room. "He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed..."

Peter couldn't hide a smirk when he heard the line about musician-boyfriend. He tore his gaze away from a scientific book that he had bought last week and looked at her but Elizabeth was so focused on the task that she didn't notice a gentle stare.

"I've got feathers in my hair..." at the last word she did this raspy thing with her voice that he loved so much. "I get down to Beat poetry."

Peter caught himself thinking that it was a new song, because he probably didn't hear that before.

"And my jazz collection's rare," that time the songstress switched to a beautiful melodic falsetto. "I can play most anything."

At such moments she reminded him of that retro female singers or cartoons' princesses, it sounded so airy, so fantastically like in a fairytale or in the old musical TV perfomance.

"I'm a Brooklyn baby," Lizzie caught a wave and she could no longer be stopped. Her eyes were closed, small smile palyed on her full lips. The girl repeated. "I'm a Brooklyn baby..."

When the girl opened her eyes she saw a strong adoration on Peter's face, who was sitting across from her in the opposite armchair to hers.

"Come here," he said in his deep voice putting the book aside.

Lizzie fluttered from her seat easily and teasingly and with a playful smirk sat on his lap.

"So, you're Brooklyn baby now?" the musician asked with a pleased look. His mitts lovingly wandered over her bare legs in denim shorts that he liked so much. "Hm?"

"I think I've never stopped actually," Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders thinking back to the days when she used to serve in cafes in Long Island and giving first gigs. Although she added giddy and proudful. "And I will always be the coolest couch queen."

"You have to prove me that, darling," Peter flashed his fangs with a rolling "R" and quickly got up from the armchair with screaming Lizzie in his hands. Her loud laughter boomed around the room when her body hit a soft sofa and one of his cats ran away from there with annoyed 'meow!' not wanting to nap anymore with these two around.

He was biting her neck lightly and tickling girl's sides with long slender fingers while she was trying to kick that fucking big oaf off of her. After all, she gave up and took initiative upon herself, kissing him deep and slow just how he liked.

And Peter felt that familiar taste of a cherry lipbalm and Pepsi cola on his tongue. Just like he preferred.

Tried not to make it cheesy, hope turned kinda okay?

#peter steele #type o negative #lana del rey #peter steele x lana del rey #fanfiction #slight angst #i know that's weird but they have same vibe lol #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #the green man #Lana Del Rey fanfiction #originally posted on ao3 #Peter Steele smut #Lana Del Rey smut #goth music #Peter Steele fanfiction

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friendship-switchblades · 1 year ago

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1, 2, 3, 19! :D

Song of the year? Ok, this one is ALSO tough because I'm 1. indecisive, 2. always late to music releases, and 3. spent a lot of time revisiting old favorites...

Newly discovered: Groove is in the Heart 2023 release: This is Why, Padam Padam Old favorite: Blue Monday, Don't You Want Me, Bleed American

(Yes I AM subscribed to Todd in the Shadows why do you ask)

2. Album of the year? Let's do the same here...

Newly discovered: Where the Heart Is (2022) 2023 release: This is Why Old favorite: Hesitant Alien (2014)

Hesitant Alien is always in regular rotation, but maybe because I'm in my 30s and see my life stretching before me I'm starting to pick up things I never noticed before.

3. Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year? SWEET PILL!!!! as usual I was late to the party. I found out about Where the Heart Is in January, and have listened to it nonstop all year (see above). The twinkly guitars, the way Zayna sings likes she's pulling it out of her gut!! Incredible debut. Can’t wait for their headlining tour this spring!

19. What’re you excited about for next year? Since these questions were all music themed, I'll keep my answer just to music for now. My listening exploded this year - I haven't scrobbled this many tracks to lastFM since COLLEGE. I'm excited to pay attention to what's coming out! I already have my ticket to Sweet Pill's Brooklyn show! I always give myself a planner for Christmas and I'm itching to fill it up with shows! (Another thing I got back into the swing of this year).

#fs original #ask

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thebowerypresents · 1 year ago

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Les Claypool’s Fearless Flying Frog Brigade Deliver at Brooklyn Steel

Les Claypool’s Fearless Flying Frog Brigade – Brooklyn Steel – October 22, 2023

The Frog Brigade are the jam-band-iest of Les Claypool’s many thrilling projects. Or they’re a jammy band with a love of funk, prog, psychedelia and Frank Zappa that would be surfing the big waves out near the edges of sanity anyway but just so happen to get their marching orders from Claypool. (That is, not unlike all the musical projects the relentlessly quirky, generationally talented bassist puts his name on.) Either way — or, more likely, both — they’re a force, and what a treat to have them back, 20 years after their heyday and any semblance of regular touring — and in midseason form, to boot.

At Brooklyn Steel on Sunday, the Frog Brigade were on the attack. As in most of the shows during this year’s reunion tour, this one housed a full, go-for-it, manic-jammy full reading of Pink Floyd’s Animals. But what came before and after the Floyd excursion over the course of two sets and nearly three hours was just as delectable. And maybe marching orders isn’t the right way to describe the Claypool effect on a band like this. Claypool himself would seem like the command-and-control boss of this outfit but in practice he’s more the chief creative officer, giving like-minded creators enough room to be their zany selves in the framework he’s created.

This version of the Frog Brigade is assembled and plays like a Frankenstein’d version of the original — many of the same players, yes, from the heady days of ought-three, but also coconspirators from other Claypool bands like the Claypool Lennon Delirium (whose other namesake, Sean Lennon, now has the guitar chair for the Brigade). Sax sorcerer Eric “Skerik” Walton is here, and so is Mike Dillon, the percussion-and-vibes madman. Keys are handled by the prog-inclined Harry Waters (son of Roger), and Paolo Baldi, the Claypool regular and former skins-man for Cake, is on the drums. Together, as in all Claypool bands, they create a cauldron of sonics to which the listener and concertgoer aren’t so much witnesses as they are plunged in, the band driving up the intensity using aggressive, nudging rhythms, often sinister (but not untender) melodies, and free reign to, y’know, beat and blow shit up. This year’s repertoire overall is polyglot Claypool, and on Sunday, that meant plenty of Brigade cuts, but also tunes from Sausage (“Riddles Are Abound Tonight”), from the Holy Mackerel, from the Delirium (“Blood and Rockets”), and from the Bucket of Bernie Brains (a fizzy “Thai Noodles” in the encore), plus covers as varied as Prince Buster (“One Step Beyond”) and the English Beat (“Mirror in the Bathroom”).

The Pink Floyd stuff? Yeah, totally fun, as advertised. I could listen to Claypool and Co. pillage their way through “Sheep” for hours (and their “Dogs” is just as on point). But no matter what it is, these guys kick up a mighty groovy racket. Late in the second set came “Precipitation” (from the Holy Mackerel back pages), which built to a whirring, stab-syncopation solo-fest around its “Rain, rain, rain” refrain. “Hendershot,” another Claypool staple, had a bit of ragtime piano from Waters thrown in before it became a surf-rock adventure, Skerik’s sax screaming over it. The tale of “David Makalaster” (both parts!) had the band at a steady-rolling chant, pushing, pushing, pushing its stabbing rhythm.

There’s a tendency to call this music wacky but that kind of misses the musicality in it, especially when each of these songs gets a healthy work-through. The six of them don’t for a second lose the collective sonics — if you really listen closely, you hear them playing off one another with subtle asides, even when one of them is blasting away out in front of the jam. —Chad Berndtson | @Cberndtson

Photos courtesy of Dana Distortion | distortionpix.com

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deweyduck · 11 months ago

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Hello I'm so sorry this took 5 days I'm officially the world's worst secret santa 😭 to make up for it pls end your response with an info dump on a topic of ur choice <3

Anyway I adore your cat!!! So cute ❤❤❤

To be honest I think I would have chosen the opposite to you for all 3 tgw bonus track questions 🙈 but tbf I love them all, honestly tgw is already one of my fav albums of all time (unfortunately this means im also disagreeing with you on the album question ahaha) ysuft is definitely the superior song tho. Tbh idk about the closers I think I prefer history of man as a song but it's hard to choose as a closer, I think I'd still pick history of man though it very much feels like a contemplative epilogue to the story 🤔 there it goes still wouldve been the closer to end all closers tho I said what I said 💁‍♀️ as for the EPs, honestly I can't choose 😅 the first half of iybbiyf are 3 of my fav maisie songs but I find the second half relatively meh (no maisie songs are meh, just compared to her other songs lol) whereas dtnfaj is pretty solidly good the whole way through but there's no stand out favs for me 🤔 so 🤷‍♀️ they can be tied

I feel like I talked way too much there im sorry anyway today's question have you seen maisie live? If yes how many times, did any songs make you emotional, which song(s) was/were the best to hear live? If no which songs do you most want to hear live, would you rather see her on her own tour or at a festival and would you go with someone or on your own?

Bye for now don't forget to infodump about whatever (if you want to ofc) happy Mid December vibesss <3

- MPNSS 🎅🎄❄

no go off!!!

i loved the good witch but ysuft has such a special place in my heart it would be very hard for maisie to beat it for me. there genuinely isn't a single song on it that i don't LOVE.

the first 3 iybbiyf songs are 3 of my faves too!! taste!!!

i saw maisie live when she toured australia in march! i was so scared i'd have to go to an ed sh**ran concert just to see her since she was opening for him but thankfully she did her own shows too i'm sorry maisie i just don't like his music at all it all sounds the same

i got most emotional when she played brooklyn bc i was there with my sister who is my best friend so i was all 🥺 she didn't really know that much about maisie she just went bc i asked her to but still it made me v emo. also when she played john hughes movie bc it's my favourite maisie song and the little bit of glowing review during the medley

i've never been to a festival before but unless it was all acts that i like i think i'd prefer solo shows. and i'm all for doing things on your own but something like a concert is too scary for me to go to by myself 😭 maybe if it was daytime and 5 minutes from my house isuhdcuishfuihf

#ask #mpnsecretsanta23

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freeworldallahmbaclass · 1 year ago

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Very very true I'm not a religious debator I don't argue with Muslims , 5 Percenters or Israelites I'm an ex drug dealer that got kicked off my team along time ago but I redeemed myself and is on a much better team now ROC Nation literature my spot on the bench I will take it , it's ROC and Jay Z maybe I will get to perform ( play ) one day but just being on Jay Z roster is okay for me that's Hov and I could just say I'm on his team and it be true but I got on with him because I'm a builder my program and that I eventually figure it out one day because I seek education like I will eventually find myself an job , and somewhere say to live that fits me and my lifestyle , he paid for my life at an auction thank you Jay Z and Beyonce black royalty bailed me out and he offered me a job of recording music with his team if I could just get there I been in drama with Muslims , 5 Percenters and Christians , city workers and black kids that is using voodoo witchcraft on me along with police and correction officers please get off of me and no I ain't cool with me disrespecting me ever and never will be and I don't answer to people trying to be god over me that will never work for me and that is no good and I really don't know a true religious person that does that no thank you and I always loved books since my mom's house and started reading again when I moved to Brooklyn and no I don't get into circles and attempt to let somebody tell me who I am or who they think I am when the book say different and whoever I say I am that is what I am and which ain't really important no more and no it ain't nobody god over me or me god over them and I don't mess with religious people that will kill or hurt people because of religious debates that is dissension and weakness and how you black or Spanish and haven't read Carter G Woodson . The miseducation of a negro yet you got to read it definite banger and classic get your mind right my cousin gave it to me she a CEO must of meant read it , I read it mad times instant classic you gotta get that book and no I don't mess with voodoo witchcraft or people that practice I wish they will get off of me with that voodoo curse and yes I'm about money building helping is my passion of mines and I got famous from doing it and yes I'm a king just like you though by having knowledge of self I know who you are who you truly are and yes I was a drug dealer that was my vocation my trade and skills and yes I legalized drugs so the Dope boys can get out of jail and stay out of jail on my honor I was one that was my daily activity and no I don't knock their hustle I know what is for me and I moved on from the street life I more like pass laws to help them now because no I don't mess with people that talk to me disrespectfully no disrespect and no press for me and no stress for me I just want to get it to you that I do run my own life and I'm done with every game, case and places where you playing with me at and leave me alone I'm about accomplishing stuff and of course big business and I guess I gotta learn concert performance that is what the Ed Sheeran apple music tour is for it is for me he did that for me to learn , thank you .

It is very good to see Camron and Mase again on their show I just saw it and Mase claiming me well it is about time we from the same borough they would be considered my OG my big homies my family that is true basically I'm from their family tree the way it is with me they took me on as a helper a builder in New York and the world and Cam referred me to Roc Nation me just saying it makes it true that how much family we are and Joey Fat Joe from the bronx just put me back on the team the bench which I accepted and Mase and Cam go back as my big brothers that make dope hot music and got their new show please tune it is hot and ask Mase what's with album your music hot bro and I sit on the bench and be quiet what had happened it just some guys I grew up with including my brother which is their brother we all family got me back now I'm like an football player with it I got hit hard by a 300 pound linebacker now back to the huddle and snap that is people I knew since elementary plus my aunt's sisters and cousins over there off the females in our family we aight so their is no trying to kill each other no we will fight like brothers do all the time because we brothers but I'm an athlete and I want to play again I'm on the bench but I do gotta train myself I just been hit hard get back up and go back to my team , Mase , Cam , Vado , Jae Millz , MK we all from the same neighborhood and is family so yes we are cool and all them got super super dope ass music and movements that you need to tune into I know I am and I can't say nothing different .

This is my culture and my house in Harlem and where Teyana Taylor is from she from my hometown in New York City I love her music and movies and no I'm not racist neither is my culture and remember my brother and sister is white Caucasian if anything is said that seems racist in my culture it is to explain the injustices and all the inequalities done to us by another people for centuries that left a scar on us as a community as a people as a people in general in job offerings job opportunities the wages we are paid and then how we see and love ourselves and our fate and what we feel our probabilities and chances in life are for us which was and kinda still is created for us by another people and even as Individuals as humans we suffer from done to us against us as a people black people I came to realize her movie is teaching me about life and taking care of myself 1001 pushups and about my resume writing , job interview and cover letter skills then I have to show the courts I rehabilitated with that program I'm in now the bridge back to life program referred to me by industry people and I have to accept that where I'm at in life and go from there the order is

Cover letters

Resumes

Job application letters

Job interviews like learning how to talk on the job interview

Then you get the job and then chase the big stuff like stardom some do it without a job my brand is my intelligence and I do own my own library in New York City with an education and knowledge everything is possible so need to go crazy or turn into an active shooter when you have a great resource like a library I own my library and I'm proud of myself learning the correct procedure and process is great but you know in a world where people unprofessionalism can cause you anxiety and worry is a major problem that is all our curse . I have to learn my way in the job market and then go from there and live a good normal existence , so sorry to her your music is dope to me Teyana I love you and everything about you and your movie is good and yes I remember Mike from NBC over there in Rockefeller center he shot me down for a job a while back and it was my unpreparedness that made him do that now I have professors like Prince Harry that stack me with books , Teyana thank you , and I got a chance to go to my friend Nas store the Sweet Chick store it was cozy and put me back at home in New York City that was cool , Love Nas . Riddle solved lotta work to do and train hope the best for you read the books and learn it is amazing we make ourselves by the education we give ourselves .

Thank you to the city of Brooklyn New York City for the Biggie smalls statue in front of 360 Adams street the statue symbolizing that I have stage fright that is what it means and what is taking me so long is stage fright hopefully I break out of that as soon I get on a stage any stage I said thank you to Brooklyn I have to learn my way out of that it is my 3rd picture or statue as me as the late great deceased rapper Biggie Smalls of course his memory will live on forever through his mom's and his kids , his community and all communities especially communities in Brooklyn his city his borough from the 5 Boroughs of New York City in honor of New York City .

#Youtube

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luvsellie · 2 years ago

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STROKE [e.williams]

pairing modern au!ellie x fem!reader

summary after months of not seeing your girlfriend due to her being on tour, you decide to surprise her by flying out before one of her shows

warnings fluff fluff and more fluff, heavy make-out scene ;)

wc 3.9k

note someone tell me why i can literally hear ellie loud and clear in almost every single piece of dialogue i actually gave myself butterflies while writing this

inspired by brooklyn baby (adeline troutman)

part 2

in all the years that you had known ellie, you had grown used to her constant leaving for tours and other events. you knew what you had gotten yourself into when dating a member of savage starlight, the indie-rock band your girlfriend had been a part of since her early teens. and, so, even when most of your support came from behind the screen of a cell phone, you still cherished every second spent interacting with her. but the constant longing to see her in the flesh led you to where you were now; waiting in a dimly lit dressing room, your nerves tuned as high as they could go.

muffled talking came from the other side of the door, and when you recognized the sultry voice of ellie, you suddenly felt faint.

“no, tell jesse i said we don’t have time-” the sentence abruptly stopped as your girlfriend walked into the room, her slightly annoyed expression slipping into something more shocked. “oh my god, babe, what’re you doing here?”

you jumped down from the stool you sat on, a nervous, toothy grin plying your mouth open. “i pulled some strings, booked a flight, and, well, here i am.”

some part of you panicked when she only continued to stand in the doorway with wide eyes, a surprised dina right behind her.

“you’re, uh, glad i’m here, right?” you managed to ask, hating the unfamiliar awkwardness and hoping you hadn’t caught her at a bad time.

nodding frantically, ellie dropped her guitar case by the door and rushed over, almost tripping on her own feet before enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug. she pressed a kiss to the side of your head as she whispered, “god, you have no idea how glad i am that you’re here.”

over her shoulder, you watched as dina gave you a quick salute before closing the door and walking in the opposite direction.

“i’ve missed you,” you said into ellie’s hair, inhaling deeply and reliving a sudden nostalgia. “like, a lot, el.”

smiling, she pulled away just enough to cup your cheeks, her green eyes flecked with gold. she scanned your face before leaning in and kissing you. deeply. “me too,” she muttered against your lips. “me-fucking-too.”

before she could start a full-fledged makeout, you grabbed her wrists. “el.” when she only started to move toward your jaw and neck, you tried again. “ellie.”

“what?” she mumbled, her mouth still attached to your burning skin, body backing you against the vanity.

as your ass hit the wooden surface, you craned your neck enough to get her to pause and look at you. she slid her hands from your waist to your hips as you said, “talk to me first. then your horny ass can do whatever you want to me.”

ellie let out an amused scoff, her lips quirking up on one side. “anything i want?”

“yes,” you assured in the same tone of voice. “i promise.”

a throaty chuckle left your girlfriend before she took a step back and let her arms fall back to her sides. “okay then.”

you took a seat in the chair from earlier as ellie turned around. “tell me how the tour’s been. i wanna know it’s everything that you’ve dreamed of.”

“it’s…well, as one would expect tour to be,” she said, picking up her guitar case from the floor. she set it near an end table before working the ends of her t-shirt over her head. “the cities are great, so’s the audience—boston was my favorite for obvious reasons—but the jetlag and constant hustle are starting to be quite exhausting.” she shrugged on a gray wife-beater before adding, “and i was starting to really miss you.”

smiling down at your lap, you twisted toward her vanity. busying your fingers with organizing the cosmetics there, you said, “yeah, the phone calls and facetime’s really aren’t the same, huh?”

“as great as it is to have modern technology,” ellie began, “the real thing is much better.”

you hummed your approval as you grabbed a small jar that you didn’t recognize. looking over your shoulder in the mirror, you asked ellie, “what’s this?”

she squinted before moving closer. realization hit her with widened eyes. “paint. it’s face-slash-body paint. since it’s pride month, me and dina paint our flags on our cheeks for concerts.”

your mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ as your girlfriend came up behind you. she braced a hand on your left shoulder as she reached for a bottom drawer and opened it. “all the other colors are in here.”

rather than placing the jar in the drawer, you grabbed some of the bottles and hauled them out one by one. “so, do you apply the paint yourself, or does dina?”

“i do,” ellie said immediately, her gaze narrowing as she stared at your reflection in the mirror. “why?”

you shrugged, a small pout appearing on your mouth. “no reason; just wondering.”

“uh-huh.” the verbal response was anything but convinced, but ellie let your answer slide. in fact, she suggested, “how about you paint the lesbian flag on my cheek?” she glanced at the clock that was bolted to the wall above the doorway. “i’ve got a show in about, give or take, two hours. it’ll have to be done at some point, so, why not now?”

your eyebrows jumped to your hairline. “are you serious?”

“of course,” ellie mused, grabbing the appropriate colors and lining them up before you. based on the toothy grin she was sporting, you guessed that she also had something else in store.

clearing your throat, you shifted on the stool before standing. “here, take my seat.”

slightly confused, ellie took a step back. she pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “why don’t we use the lounge chair over there?”

“oh,” you merely said, blinking from the auburn-haired woman to the magenta furniture. “yeah, that totally works. good idea.”

ellie hid a smile as she grabbed three of the five colors and went over to the cushioned chair. she set the paints by one of the wooden legs and sat down, scooching low enough so that she was at an angle. her eyes reflected pure excitement as she watched you bring over the remaining two jars and a few small brushes.

“come here,” she said thickly, patting the uppermost part of her thigh.

heart already hammering in your chest, you lifted a leg over her pelvis and straddled her body. she shifted underneath you, warmth radiating off her sun-kissed skin.

trying to gather your muddling thoughts, you inhaled sharply, speaking more to yourself than to ellie. “okay, here we go.” with that, you opened the dark orange and leaned over her, brush in hand.

the only noise that followed was steady breathing, the air between you both growing unbelievably dense. as you dipped the bristles into the creamy paint, you forced yourself to breathe deeply through your nose, calming the heightened nerves that had returned from earlier.

the first stroke made ellie’s eye twitch. “jesus christ, that’s cold.”

“sorry,” you muttered, continuing on and ignoring your girlfriend’s sharp inhales. well, you tried to. she kept moving her head. not by much, but enough so that it was still a noticeable disturbance. “ellie. stop fidgeting.”

“but it’s fucking cold,” she said, her words coming out in a whine.

you huffed, shifting your weight enough to reach your free arm up to her chin. now gripping it between your thumb and forefinger, you said, “since when do you whimper like that?”

her brows rose in immediate challenge. “whimper? i didn’t—i don’t—whimper,” she spat the word with distaste. “i merely complained, okay?”

“okay,” you settled with a smile, tilting her head just enough to continue your work and add another layer of the dark orange on the apple of her cheek.

the next few minutes followed in silence, but even without ellie talking to you outright, you could feel her eyes burning into you. her stare wasn’t menacing; it was filled with both admiration and her utmost attention. she took the opportunity as an excuse to observe you.

after swapping out colors and giving the small flag every bit of your focus, you eventually finished, leaning back with a sigh. “done.”

ellie stretched her neck and lifted her arms back. “ugh, fucking finally; i can move.”

you scoffed down at her as you closed the lid on the magenta. “i didn’t hold you down for that long. i took, at most, like, probably ten minutes.”

“i’d argue twenty,” she replied bluntly, though a teasing smile tugged on the corners of her mouth.

“whatever,” you dismissed with an eye roll, already trying to get off her lap.

at your movement, ellie’s hands latched onto your hips, holding you firmly in place. “where do you think you’re going? it’s my turn; i get to paint something on you.”

“okay, that was not the deal-” you tried.

“there was no deal,” ellie reminded you, the smugness on her face incredibly familiar.

sitting back, you said, “alright. but i specifically remember you asking me to paint the lesbian flag on your cheek. that was it. there was nothing else.”

“yes, yes. although, before that, you told me i could do whatever i wanted with you after we talked, and, well, i’m pretty sure we talked,” ellie said, sitting up fully with you still in her lap. “so, whether you like it or not, i’m painting something on you.”

pursing your lips and acting like there was a decision to be made when there clearly wasn’t, you gave in. “fine. but if you paint a dick on my forehead, or anywhere on my body, i am breaking up with you on the spot, understood?”

already smirking, ellie reached for the lighter shade of pink with a low whistle. “yes ma'am.”

the acknowledgment sent your stomach flying. her tone made it sound like you had more authority in this relationship than what was actually true.

“alrighty,” ellie started, glancing at your face with narrowed eyes, "what to paint, what to paint…”

“you didn’t already have an idea?” you asked with a skeptical expression.

she gave you a look. “well, i technically do. this”—she motioned to your face with an open palm—“just isn’t the canvas i had intended it for.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you said, though you figured you already knew what she meant.

and, of course, ellie was completely aware of this. “you know what i mean, babe.” she didn’t waste a second before adding, “take your shirt off.”

you were sure that when you swallowed, it was audible. but, without hesitation or argument, you did as you were told, and ellie was more than glad to help as well. her nimble fingers followed yours as you tugged off your plain t-shirt, exposing the bland maroon bra you wore. ellie simply tossed the piece of clothing over by the vanity.

“there we go,” she murmured, using a hand to push you back. “now lay down.”

tongue pressing into the back of your teeth, you scooted off her lap and onto the cushion, letting your head rest on the soft surface, though there was no elevation like the other end.

ellie moved over you, her jean-clad leg coming to rest between your own as she took in her ‘canvas.’ her dilated pupils and half-lidded stare made your skin heat up tremendously.

“what’re you going to paint?” you asked.

she shrugged, the flag on her cheek glinting in the low light. “you’ll see.”

there was no fighting her; if she wanted you to wait, you’d wait. but that wouldn’t stop you from guessing.

releasing a shaky breath, you peeled your eyes from ellie to the ceiling. as you tried to distract yourself from the sudden cool draft in the room by counting the tiles above you, a hand snaked its way under your waist. it pulled just enough to make you arch.

“stay like this,” ellie muttered, drawing away to grab one of the jars. she twisted the top off and dipped the already-stained bristles into the paint. wetting her lips, she steadied the brush just under your bra before pressing it to your skin and drawing the first stroke.

you lied there, following her instruction, and letting her paint whatever the hell she wanted on your stomach. and, although there were moments where you felt yourself move in order to gain more comfortability, ellie made sure her hand was there to guide you back or hold you in place.

with each passing second, and every deep inhale, the quiet stretched on, leaving you to silently try and think about what the woman practically on top of you was painting. though even with all the brain power you could muster, nothing popped into recognition.

“i think i’m going to start guessing,” you said with an exasperated sigh. “it’s killing me just lying here.”

chuckling, ellie nodded. “figured you’d speak up soon enough. but guess all you want, i’m not letting you see it until after i’m done.” she slouched down a little further, her warm breath beginning to tickle.

“well, you never were the best liar, so we’ll just have to see if your facial expressions give anything away,” you teased with a smile.

“uh, i am an excellent liar,” ellie said defensively. she looked up from her work as she went on. “you just happen to be the only person i can’t lie to.”

when she averted her eyes, you pressed, “and why is that?”

ellie mumbled something under her breath, strands of hair falling around her face.

“speak up,” you said boldly, lifting yourself with your forearms and testing how far you could get if you played this game with borrowed courage.

eyes slowly sliding up to meet yours, ellie’s gaze narrowed. “what?”

“i said,” you started, “speak up. you don’t like it when i mumble, so why should i allow you to do it?”

there was something like surprise on ellie’s face, but it was gone just as fast as it had appeared. the immediate look of challenge she shot your way made you regret speaking up. of course, you were never going to get away with talking to her like that. you never did.

chest rising and falling with slow—but definitely quickening—breaths, you had failed to notice that the brush’s bristles were no longer tickling your skin. rather, they were poised just above the most recent stroke.

“what happened to you guessing?” ellie asked with a scoff, defectively changing the subject.

ignoring her poke and sitting up a little more, you said, “what did you mutter? why can’t you lie to me, ellie?”

she exhaled through her nose before answering. “because i don’t need to. you know me in and out. lying to you would be a waste of both our time.” sliding a hand from your side to your shoulder, she continued. “now, i’m not going to tell you again, lay back. and stay that way.”

having no choice but to obey, you let yourself stare up at the ceiling once again. the air in the room had shifted from dense to just downright thick with unspoken sexual tension. it left you craving her touch. the way she was hovering over your body just wasn’t enough.

gulping thickly, you said, “is it, um, a guitar, or something?”

ellie scoffed, her mouth curving into a smile as she returned to her work. “nope. you’re never gonna get it, babe. just wait ‘til i’m done.”

“why can’t you just tell me?” you whined, wriggling with impatience. “i want to know what it is.”

grinning in amusement, ellie shook her head. “not happening, sweetheart. but, i’m almost done, so just give me a few more minutes, alright?”

“fine.” you frowned and let out an exaggerated sigh, still mentally trying to guess what she had decided to paint just above your navel.

as more quiet settled in, the sound of an a/c unit turning on sparked an idea. you tugged on your bottom lip with your teeth, sifting through the possibilities of your plan to get your girlfriend undressed actually working. with nothing but your pride to lose, you opened your mouth. “you know, this shirt-to-skin ratio isn’t fair.”

ellie didn’t waste a second as she quipped, “is that so?”

“mm hm,” you hummed, wiggling your hips slightly and mustering every bit of your courage to continue. “you should take your shirt off.”

now grinning down at your stomach, ellie licked her lips, not showing any signs of shock or surprise at your bluntness. she tilted her head to the side as she looked up. “okay,” she agreed, sticking the brush’s handle between her teeth before peeling the garment of clothing over her head, careful not to hit the object in her mouth.

the sight of ellie in nothing but a black sports bra, jeans hugging every sharp curve, made your tongue run dry and desperation spark higher and higher. the painted lesbian flag on her cheek seemed to send you over whatever ledge you had been hanging from.

“kiss me,” you found yourself whispering, making to grab at the auburn-haired woman with quick hands.

but ellie decided she wasn’t going to give in so quickly, at least not without a little teasing. grabbing the paintbrush from her teeth, she said, “getting a little demanding, now, are we?”

“ellie.” her name came out in a pleaded whimper, and you started to sit up, itching to get closer. your fingers latched onto the discarded shirt in her lap; you threw that and the paintbrush onto the floor, not caring if paint got onto things that it shouldn’t.

“fuck,” you heard ellie say, dropping the teasing tone and letting you push her back into the lounge chair. she didn’t really care that the art she had painted was about to get smudged against her own abdomen.

straddling her hips once again, you wasted no time pulling her in for a rushed kiss. “i need you,” you said between breaths, feeling her fingers skim your back.

“i know,” she muttered, letting the words fade as you leaned down and trailed kisses down the column of her throat. exhaling shakily, she found the back of your bra, undoing the clasp in one swift motion. you pulled away just enough to let her slip the garment down your arms and off your front.

now completely topless, ellie made a go for your chest, her lips leaving wet, bruised marks on your hot skin. it was when her mouth latched onto one of your taunt nipples—thumb and forefinger fondling the other—that your hips started to grind down on her thigh, chasing the release that had begun to build.

your arousal spread lower and lower, and, with each hickey, you swore that your heartbeat was now in your cunt.

as ellie switched from one breast to the other, you couldn’t help the lewd moan that passed your lips, your fingers threading themselves into her wolfcut. she let out a guttural groan when you tugged on her hair, the vibrations against your sensitive bud sending another wave of shallow whines into the air.

“i love you,” ellie stated, her weighted sentiment sending you into spiraling, heavy breaths. her lips started back up the valley of your breasts again. “i love you so fucking much.”

you inhaled sharply as her kisses traveled the expanse of your neck and toward your mouth. “i love you too, ellie.”

when her lips found yours, she thrusted her hips to meet your own, hands squeezing the flesh there. her tight grip controlled the speed at which you were humping her thigh.

you kissed her feverishly, your front pressed against hers and smearing the still-wet paint from your torso to hers. but neither of you cared, nor heard the approaching footsteps outside in the hallway. only when someone pounded on the door did you flinch with recognition.

“oh, come on,” ellie muttered as she pulled back, her gaze sliding from you to the direction of the noise. she pushed you off gently and stood. “wait here.”

grabbing your bra from the floor and putting it back on, you watched ellie answer the door, her back muscles working with every move.

you couldn’t make out every word being exchanged, but you were sure that you heard ‘rehearsal’ and ‘right now?’ flow between the conversation. sure enough, when ellie finally shut the door, she had a sour look on her face.

“lemme guess,” you began, swinging your legs over the edge of the chair, “you have to go rehearse or something?”

“unfortunately,” she sighed, walking over to you and reaching down to grab her shirt from the floor. she planted an arm beside you before kissing your cheek. her breath tickled your skin as she said, “we’ll finish this later. and don’t get any funny ideas while i’m gone, yeah?”

you grinned and pulled her in for a quick peck on the lips before motioning downwards. “no promises, my love. and it looks like you got a little something on your stomach.”

ellie followed your gaze, staring at some of the smudged pink and orange. “oh,” she merely acknowledged, quickly shrugging her shirt over her head. as the paint disappeared behind fabric, she kissed the back of her teeth. “there. now no one will know what we were up to.”

“the purplish marks on your neck say otherwise,” you countered, standing from your spot with a short laugh. pulling her in by the belt loops on her jeans, you lowered your voice as you said, “but don’t worry, i think they look great on you.”

smirking, your girlfriend let you fix a few strands of her misplaced hairs. “yours look quite lovely as well.”

“well, the artist did do a lovely job,” you complimented, looking at her with large, doe-like eyes.

she grinned, going to say something snarky when another loud knock came from the door. “ellie, let’s go!” jesse shouted from the other side.

letting out an annoyed sigh, ellie turned to you, “babe, i gotta go.”

“i know,” you said, your hands resting on her shoulders. squeezing lightly, you leaned in to kiss her, satisfied with the time you had spent, but also dreading to see her walk away, even if you knew she’d be back within a few hours.

ellie pushed her lips against yours, palms sliding down to cup your ass before she eventually pulled away, the logical part of her brain telling her to wrap things up. “i’ll see you in a bit,” she whispered, your breaths mixing in the open air.

you nodded before opting to sit back down, watching as ellie finally turned, picked up her guitar case, and stepped out into the corridor. she left you in baiting silence.

exhaling heavily, you glanced over at the vanity, tilting your head to the side as you remembered the whole reason that you had moved to the lounge chair in the first place. you grabbed the dirty brushes and a few of the paints before moving over to the vanity again. as you placed the art materials on the sleek wood, you caught the vibrant colors decorating the area below your bra.

the paint was smeared, sure, but there was no denying the lesbian flag-colored planets and stars peppering your skin. of course, you thought. of course, ellie would paint something space-themed.

so, you stood there, gawking at the pink swirls and orange rings, as a sense of pride and warmth filling you to the brim. there was nothing, at this moment, that could possibly ruin the overwhelming happiness that came with seeing your girlfriend in person.

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mixedstyles · 2 years ago

Text

Instagram Blurb - As Long as You Are Series

Author’s Note: This is a longer Instagram blurb, and some of the comments actually matter! It goes to Part 4/5 of THIS series, but can be read on its own! Might make a bit more sense with an understanding of the story, but I don’t think it’ll interfere too much with your experience!

ALaYA Masterlist | Main Masterlist | send me things!

Instagram stories, night of June 18

8,562 likes

DailyStylesNews Harry and Mitch were spotted at y/n’s concert last night in Brooklyn

View all 236 comments

fannewsdaily guess I need to go to one of her shows so I can meet Harry 🤪🤪

↳ harrystyles Not sure why this was in my recommendations, but please don’t go to y/n’s show just because I might be there. Go because she’s an amazing artist and performer.

↳ y/nprotector NOT HARRY DROPPING IN ON A FAN PAGE TO DEFEND Y/N

↳ fan34 @y/nprotector looks like you’re gonna need to change your user because Harry’s stolen that title from you 💀

harryyystyles why would he stay extra days instead of going back to the UK to prepare for the next ONO?? AMERICA, EXPLAIN

━━━━

Instagram post, early afternoon, June 19

Liked by harrystyles, conangray and others

areyoulistening I know I already posted, but last night was insane!! Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who came!

View all 342 comments

conangray your mother sent me and Olivia videos 🥹she was very proud. (and so are we)

↳ areyoulistening are you telling me my mom has a group chat with you and Liv??

↳ oliviarodrigo Yes.

fan01 sis spill the tea. are you friends with Harry Styles??

↳ areyoulistening there is no tea to be spilled, but we’re more acquaintances than friends!

↳ fan01 AHDSHHF she responded

↳ harryshome GIRL he was literally at your concert

━━━━

Spotted: late afternoon, June 19

6,541 likes

DailyStylesNews Harry was seen in NYC today leaving the gym.

harryobsessed Isn’t that the same sweatshirt y/n was wearing the other day in one of her YouTube videos?

↳ harryschild HDJSJSHFD IT IS WTF IS HAPPENING

harryfan3 y’all, it’s literally her merch. it’s not that big.

fan4 He’s not even following her 😭😩

↳ harryshome Maybe they’re trying to keep it on the DL?

↳ fan5 He’s literally wearing her merch. Idk if that’s on the “down low”

↳ fan4 I JUST CHECKED AGAIN HE’S FINALLY FOLLOWING HER AGEHFHSHUSD AND SO IS MITCH

harryfan7 I hope you guys know that this isn’t a big deal. If you’ve ever actually paid attention you’d realize he has so much merch i- 🙄

━━━━

Instagram story, evening, June 19

8,162 likes

DailyStylesNews Harry’s Instagram story from today

View all 125 comments

harryshome omg a story that isn’t a tour photo repost. he’s learning

↳ harryfan03 he needs to learn how to change the background color next. that tan is not it. 🥴

↳ harryswhore Leave the old man alone 😭

fan03 who’s the girl?

↳ fannewsdaily kinda looks like y/n

↳ y/nisthebest that’s what I’m saying 👀

rulistening Are we getting a collab?????

↳ y/nfan I would shit myself if we did

↳ rulistening please don’t. I’m begging you

━━━━

Instagram story, evening, June 19

587 likes

Y/NUpdates y/n posted this on her Instagram story tonight! Looks like her and Harry are hanging out, thoughts?

alayafan stop. i feel like this is the most harry has ever been active?? or at least recently

atla09 CAN WE ALL ACKNOWLEDGE SHE CALLED HIM CABBAGE MAN IN FRENCH

09fan02 I believe “mon petite chouchou” is a French term of endearment. It means like sweetheart if I remember correctly

mixedstyles NOT THE CABBAGE MAN 💀💀💀 Y/N is an icon for that

touroflove Sokka??

↳ fann Y/N is Suki and Harry is Sokka??? 🥺🥺

━━━━

Spotted: 1:27 A.M., June 20

6,458 likes

DailyStylesNews a fan saw Harry at a 24/7 bodega in Manhattan late last night

View all 103 comments

loveontourr LEAVE THE MAN ALONE. LET HIM BUY HIS HOAGIE IN PEACE

nycfannn hi! I was the one who saw him. I saw y/n with him and heard her talking to the owner but I didn’t want to be creepy and take a picture of her too 😭 it was already weird taking a photo of him

↳ hsfan2001 Y/N WAS THERE TOO???

↳ y/nfan04 is it bad that we recently found out they even know each other and my ship has already sailed??? 😩🫣

↳ nycfannn @hsfan2001 She was! I was behind them in line. They were joking around and talking to Tony (the owner). I tried not to listen to their conversation but I’m so nosy 😭😭 y/n said something about they got distracted and didn’t realize the time??? I don’t want to be weird but they did seem pretty close!!

thisisafamilyshow On a different post I saw someone wondering why he's still in New York even though he has a show in like two days. He always leaves like, the morning after a show to travel to the next venue. Two extra days is a lot comparatively

↳ 1989hs I'm so curious as to what's going on. Like... I don't want to speculate but my little fan brain is doing the most

↳ thisisafamilyshow exactly! I may or may not be actively keeping up with harry pages to see what's going on. Trying to put together the puzzle pieces. I'm not expecting much, and frankly I don't really care, it's just so entertaining. wtf is wrong with me 😭

↳ 1989hs girl, we're all keeping up-to-date with harry you're not alone. we're all a little weird here 😭🤍

━━━━

Instagram story, afternoon, June 20

11,862 likes

DailyStylesNews a music student at NYU (auden.png) saw some people talking to Harry outside of a school building

View all 238 comments

harrysarms This bitch (harry) is everywhere near nyu

↳ y/nfan5 well nyu is basically all of New York so i’m not really surprised

↳ harrysarms it’s always the music buildings though

↳ y/nfan5 he could literally just be making music. it doesn’t have to be anything more

numberonefan Is it just me or does that look like @areyoulistening on the far right behind the person in black?

↳ areyoulistening you're right, it do be me

↳ numberonefan Y/N! wtf are you doing here??

↳ areyoulistening lurking 😈 jk it came up on my for you page? probably because it's AUDEN'S photo

↳ areyoulistening i'm looking at you @auden.png

↳ auden.png I had no clue they would find the photo 😭🤍😭 ilyyy @areyoulistening

↳ areyoulistening i'm giving you more theory homework the next time i see you 😤 @auden.png (ily too)

DailyStylesNews not y/n and her friend having a conversation in my comment section 🤪

━━━━

Spotted: late afternoon, June 20

5,437 likes

DailyStylesNews Harry was seen grabbing drinks before heading into the NYU Steinhardt building in Greenwich Village for the second day in a row.

View all 87 comments

fan4 you guys know who goes there? 👀

↳ harryismylife y/n 🐸☕️

alaya01 did he buy her a drink too? 🥺

↳ y/nfandom it’s literally a drink 😭😭

↳ alaya01 i can pretend it’s something more

━━━━

tag list: @theekyliepage @tati813 @reveriehs @thomaslefteyebrow @mxltifxnd0m (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)

#alaya!timeline #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles x oc #harry styles x famous!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry x y/n #harry styles fic rec #Harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fake social media #harry styles fake instagram

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years ago

Text

Masterpiece

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader (OTP ninja and puppy)

Words: ~900

Summary: Ransom gets a little jealous.

Warnings: explicit language, implied p in v sex, kinda revenge porn, slimy ex Steve Rogers, slightly possessive Ransom, warring testosterone, 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Just a silly little dirty thot about ninja and puppy that popped in my head and I popped out in like an hour.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications.

“Ran, I got arrabiata and I got bolognese, you want one or should we do halfsies?” You grabbed a bottle of wine before heading into the living room where Ransom was sprawled over the couch watching TV. “Oh god, why are you watching this?”

“What?” He turned to give you a lazy smirk as you frowned at the sight of your ex showing some reporter through his Brooklyn brownstone on the screen. “Your parents wouldn’t shut up about this asshole, and I got curious.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You rolled your eyes as you sank into the couch next to him, huffing when he pulled you against his chest and kissed your hair. “This wasn’t what I had in mind for this evening.”

“Yeah, well I wanted to see just how big of a douche you wasted your time with.” He chuckled when you slapped his hip, winding his arm across your chest and pulling you closer while you grumbled at him. “Not that you can tell with all these softball questions.”

You just hummed agreement as you grabbed your glass of wine and took a sip, growling when the reporter asked if there was anyone special he was going to be spending the holidays with and he went off on his usual spiel about no one special since the girl who broke his heart. The same fucking one your parents tried to lob at you whenever they called to check in. And now they were doing the fucking art tour, because Steve was such a sensitive painter and made all the girls soak their panties. He probably got that reporter to suck his dick after this interview. Fake ass nice guy schtick…

“What the fuck is that?” Ransom’s hiss brought you out of your little internal monologue with a snap, your head whipping towards the screen until you let out a hiss of your own.

“That rat bastard!” You were frozen with rage as you watched Steve talk about the painting that was on screen to the reporter. The ‘tasteful nude’ painting of you spread out on his couch while soft sunlight filtered through the window and managed to obscure the most private parts of your anatomy, and you couldn’t see your face, but still.

“Is that you?” He didn’t know why he was asking, it was obviously you. He couldn’t decide how he felt about your ex showing a nude painting of you off to whoever was watching this thing. Yes he could, he was pissed.

“I’m gonna kill him.” But apparently not as pissed as you, he took your wine glass from you before it shattered in your grip. “That blonde asshole.”

“Ok, think that’s enough of that.” Ransom shut off the tv when you started vibrating with barely contained fury, cooing softly and rubbing your shoulders to help you calm down. “Let’s go eat in the dining room.”

“But…”

“No baby, let’s not give that dick another thought.” Like he wasn’t obsessing over how that motherfucker probably jerked off to that painting every night.

It was two days later when you brought up the blonde bastard again, frowning at the sight that Ransom had greeted you with when you got home.

“This is because of Steve, isn’t it?” You chewed on your lips and tried not to laugh as you looked at the white sheet and the buckets of body paint.

“Maybe.” Ransom brushed his lips behind your ear as he pressed his chest to your back and worked at unbuttoning your blouse. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Not necessarily.” You let him slide your blouse off and worked at unzipping your skirt. “I won’t say I haven’t been wanting to get back at that dick a little bit, but I fail to see how this is going to achieve that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” Ransom purred when you turned around once you were fully naked, lifting his arms over his head so you could peel off his sweater and humming when you pressed your lips to his nipple.

“Sure you do.” You grabbed a bucket of paint and dipped your fingers into it, smearing it over his chest while he grabbed his own bucket. “We could just do this, though, you know I love feeling you up.”

“We could, but I want my own piece of art to show off.” He grinned at your laugh when he poured the whole bucket over your tits, turning you around and shoving you on the bed unceremoniously before climbing on top of you. “Now hold still, want to make sure we can tell it’s you.”

—————————————————————————

“Hugh!” You were angry all over again, walking through the front door and getting even more mad when you got a look at the painting hanging over the fireplace. “Hugh Ransom Drysdale! Where the fuck are you?”

“What’s up babe?” You were gonna smack that smug smirk off his face, little cocky bastard.

“You put our sex painting on Instagram.” You were seething, your vision getting red at the edges as he just shrugged at you and dipped his bourbon. “Which I could have maybe been ok with, but you tagged Steve in the damn post.”

“Did I?” He gave you a look of false innocence as you moved to stand in front of him, and you hated him so much because it was hard to stay super mad when he had that extremely pleased look on his face at how much chaos he had probably caused.

#natalie writes #ninja and puppy #ransom otp #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom x you #ransom drysdale au #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x reader #chris evans #chris evans character #eighteen plus #eighteen and over #do not interact if you are a minor

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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 months ago

Text

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Twenty Four.

Apologies for missing last week's update, guys! Thanks as ever for your continued support. You are all beautiful people :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,595

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Monsters of Rock, Moscow, 1991. It had been one of the largest ever live music festivals to date, with a staggering estimated 1.6 million rock fans descending on the Tushino airfield in Moscow. The year two thousand and sixteen heralded its return, but with a slightly smaller audience.

This time around, the organisers were arranging a push of eight hundred thousand tickets, all of which had virtually sold out by April, the performance due to take place on July seventeenth. Bands such as Motionless in White, Queens of the Stone Age, Lamb of God, Machine Head, Slipknot, Korn, Sepultura and Marilyn Manson had been signed on to perform on the day.

The headliners? Seventh Gate.

For one Sunni Balakrishnan, this meant stress. A lot of it.

“Right, before we start filling our faces, let’s get down to the details, ladies,” their powerhouse tour manager spoke, sitting with the five in a restaurant in the SoHo area of Manhattan. “Now, we all know that Russia is a volatile climate to play in. We’ve toured there before, but Monsters of Rock is an entirely different animal. There’ll be no contracted security for a start. The entire event will be overseen by the police and Russian miliary, and I am saying this to you all now, and fucking clearly. There will be no fucking around and finding out.

“They will likely get heavy with the fans, baton use, pepper spray. If you see it, you will not intervene, or you will be arrested. Katie I am specifically looking right at you here,” he spoke, pointing a finger at the guitarist. She didn’t even bother trying to look innocent, her grin spreading devilishly. “There will be none of you opening a can of Brooklyn whoop ass. None. You will be clubbed; you will be cuffed, and you will be thrown into a cell I likely won’t be able to negotiate you being released from.

“Jade, you will spout absolutely no propaganda, feminist, religious or otherwise while you are on that fucking stage, or you will be arrested. You cannot play Holy War, Kill your Masters, Fallen God, Temple of the Whore or Rise Up. You will be arrested.”

“What the fuck?” Jade spluttered, Sunni begging to gesture with his hand wildly, eyes almost out on stalks.

“You bloody, bloody, bloody won’t do it! It’ll be seen as defiance, or incitement, and Russia do not mess around there!” And people said Jade could be wound tighter than a watch spring when under duress.

“But we near enough always close our set with Kill your Masters! It’s one of our most famous songs!”

“Yes, because it’s basically one long battle cry against oppressors, of which the Russian fucking government very much are! For fucks sake, the music video alone showed you personally beheading an overload, holding up said severed head and instructing thousands of enslaved people to break their chains and do the same! Shall we talk about how many countries it was banned in?”

Jen couldn’t help herself, snickering into her hand. “Sunni, that vein in your head is popping hard, homeslice.”

“Jennifer, I feel like I’m on the verge of a heart attack and we haven’t even landed on Russian soil yet!” The wild gesturing continued; his arm flung around as he pointed at all of them. “Trying to manage you lot is like attempting to herd wild lions! Please, just work with me and bloody behave yourselves!”

“I don’t enjoy being censored,” Jade muttered, Sunni’s eyes fixing upon her sharply.

The finger was pointed, waving, his brow beading with sweat. “You. Will. Not. Do. It. I am not even going to risk it, because you know Russia doesn’t play. As I have plainly stated, if you fuck around, you will find out. There will be no provocations, no lewd gestures, no inciting of riots, and for the love of god will you please tell me that Adrien will be accompanying you, because if there’s one man you’ll behave for, it’s your husband!”

Her smirk had the girls falling into mild fits. “Not all of the time.” Oh, their poor, dear Sunni. He honestly looked like he was about to birth his own spleen out of sheer stress. “Yes, Adrien is coming with me. He’ll be there for the other five festival dates, too.”

With no album release that year, their only touring obligations were to six open air shows, one in the UK, two in Germany, one in Sweden and one in France all prior to Monsters of Rock. It was shaping up to be a nice, sedate year. Both she and Adrien had little in the way of work, deciding to take a very well-earned break from filming commitments, the latter only just home again after leaving her almost straight after the Oscars for a month-long stint in Bulgaria, shooting his only movie that year.

As it would turn out, both would discover that the timing of their break was orchestrated quite perfectly.

After eating, Jade used the restroom, ready to head back to their apartment, Jen already having to leave on account of her and Nick getting ready to take a two-week vacation back to Scotland to visit with his family, Jess out the door rapidly to meet up with her new boyfriend, leaving just her, Katie and Charlotte after Sunni had also departed.

“I need a favour from one of you,” she spoke, sitting back down at the table, her girls looking at her with curiosity. “Can one of you head into the drugstore down the street and buy me a pregnancy test, please? Obviously, I don’t want even a sniff of this leaking to the press or general public, and if I get pictured buying it, it’ll be all over the fucking media before I’ve even had chance to piss on the damned thing.”

The faces before her lit up, Charlotte gently flapping her hands in exclamation. “Oh my god, yes! Do you really think you might be, then?”

Sipping her sparkling water, she nodded. “My period is now nine days late, and that never happens with me, as you both know.”

Katie squeaked quietly, bouncing in her seat. “You are. I can feel it.” Turning then to her wife (she and Charlotte had finally gotten hitched two years before on their eighteenth anniversary) her eyes widened. “We’re gonna be aunties!”

“Shhh, walls have ears!” Jade shushed her with gently, putting her arms around her and kissing her cheek. “But yes, I think you might be.” With one clandestine rush to the drugstore four blocks away, Charlotte reached beneath the table to slip the paper bag containing the rest into Jade’s hand with a wink, the latter tucking it into her large, slouchy boho style leather bag before getting up to hug them both warmly before leaving, deciding to take the twenty-minute walk back to her apartment rather than jump in a cab.

On the way back, she collected a loaf of fresh sourdough from the local artisan baker, an armful of flowers and some tomatoes she intended to snack on with the large ball of fresh mozzarella in the fridge for lunch, a bunch of basil purchased, too. All the way home, the test seemed to burn in her bag, her excitement reaching overload by the time she stepped foot in her apartment.

“Bug, where are you?” she called, Adrien appearing from the kitchen and pointing to the phone in his hand, moving to give her a quick kiss before absconding again, taking the bags from her with a smile and a wink. She quickly steered herself in there to fill four vases with water, leaving him to it and arranging the flowers she’d bought. The calla lilies went on the table in the hallway, the roses and stargazer lilies on the coffee table, and the peonies into the remaining two vases at opposite ends of the lounge.

Once done, she grabbed the test, heading down to the bathroom. While she knew that for accuracy, it was best to take a it in the morning, she’d asked Charlotte to buy two. The waiting would likely kill her, so one would be taken right away and the other in the morning to be certain. One quick pee onto a stick later and she was pacing a circle, her heart thundering as she waited the required time. Was this it? Had it happened for them? Reaching for the test, she saw the definite answer right there on the display.

Pregnant.

Clasping her hands over her mouth, the test was dropped into the sink with a small clatter, Jade jumping up and down as she squealed quietly. She had to be quiet, as on her way home she’d thought of the most adorable way to tell her husband if she did happen to get a positive result, wrapping the rest in a heap of tissue and stuffing it into the bin before hiding the second one.

Come 7am the following morning, the display read the same again. She was elated.

And so began her little plan to tell Adrien, calling up Amazon on her phone and ordering exactly what she needed in order to let him know he was doing to be a daddy in just over eight months' time. It wouldn’t arrive until the following day, and it almost killed her to keep the news a secret. The poor Amazon delivery guy almost had his arm ripped off in her haste to grab the package with thanks, shutting the door and scurrying into the kitchen, opening the boxes to pull out the gift as well as the sheet of wrapping paper she packaged it in.

Walking into the lounge, she placed her phone against one of the vases of flowers, already recording so that they had the moment he found out immortalised forever. “Honey, here. A little gift,” she spoke, handing it to him where he sat in the corner armchair, placing down the book he’d been reading.

His face was a picture of curious as he took it from her. “Thanks, Moo. What is it?”

“Open it and find out, silly!”

Tearing the paper with a smile, he wondered what on earth occupied the small, rainbow paper wrapped square, pulling out a tiny t shirt and reading the slogan printed across the front. His heart all but jolted into his throat. ‘If you think I’m cute, you should see my dad.’

“You’re fucking kidding,” he spoke, his face stunned as his eyes began to well up. “Really? You really are?”

“Yep,” she grinned, watching him shake his head.

“I’m gonna be a dad?”

“You are, baby.”

“Oh my god.” Placing the t shirt down, they were both in tears as he stood to lift her into his arms, hugging her tightly. “Oh my god!” Happy laughter filled the space, Jade wrapping her legs around him as they hugged, kissed and cried, stroking his face, her heart bursting. “I’m so happy, and stunned, and shit, if that wasn’t the cutest way you could have told me!”

“I’ve been bloody bursting for the last day and a half! I found out when I came back from the band meeting, but I wanted to be sure, so took another test yesterday morning but then had to wait until today for the t shirt to be delivered!”

His eyes widened a little. “Shit, that’s some restraint right there, not caving in the meantime. Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

Placing her back down, he gave her another kiss, Jade racing to retrieve her phone, explaining she’d recorded it. He thought that was just as lovely, too. “I really don’t know how the hell I didn’t crack, or that you didn’t notice that the alleged Jack Daniel’s I drank yesterday was actually iced tea! I had to bloody think fast, there!”

Sitting back down in the armchair, he pulled her onto his lap with a look of comic trepidation. “Oh god, you without alcohol for the next nine months. I’m scared.”

Barking a laugh, she stroked his chest, resting her cheek against his head. “I hereby promise to try not to be living hell.” She thought a little longer. “Oh fuck, I can’t have coffee either! I’m going to be resigned to shitting decaf!”

“Okay, I’m moving out for the duration. I’ll stay here, you go back upstate,” he joked, guffawing at the narrowed eyes he received. She then looked thoughtful for a few moments, hand still idling circling over the centre of his chest.

“I have to bring my performance A game while being just over four months’ pregnant. That’ll be interesting,” she mused, Adrien nodding.

“You still going ahead with that, then?”

“Gotta do it, innit? We’re contracted in, and as long as I’m completely healthy still, it shouldn’t be a problem. My life can’t just stand still because I’m pregnant, but seriously, how well did we time this break we’re taking from work?”

“Perfectly. I have psychic sperm, evidently.”

His words had her in soft fits, hauling herself up to go and prepare some lunch while he went back to his book. He didn’t remain long.

“Excuse me, Mr. B,” she spoke, Adrien wrapping his arms around her as she sliced tomatoes. “You are hampering my making of salad caprese.”

His hands moved to her tummy, stroking it lovingly. “There’s a baby in here.”

Oh, he was so adorable. “It’s probably only about the size of a peanut right now, Bug,” she spoke, finishing her slicing, slapping his hand when he stole a piece. “No stealing! She needs to be marinated!”

He shrugged. “To use a Jade-ism, calm your tits.” he was elbowed away, but it didn’t keep him from once again wrapping her in his arms. “And I don’t care how big it is, it’s my peanut. I’m fucking thrilled. God, my ma is gonna howl. Full on ugly cry when we tell her. And yours will probably deafen us. You definitely get your volume from her.” He paused then, Jade feeling him shaking with laughter. “What if this child inherits their mother’s lungs? Oh man, we’re screwed.”

“You, you,” she began, turning to wave her finger at him. “You’re just adamant to piss me off today, aren’t you? Fucking wanker.”

“But I’m not wrong,” he chuckled, his abs hurting from her spluttered reaction.

Her lips tightened, softly kicking his leg. “Get the fuck out of my kitchen!”

“No, I have things to ask you,” he spoke, batting away her foot, “like when are we gonna tell people? Twelve-week scan, is that when they say you should?”

“Hmm, well since Charlotte and Katie know of what my suspicions were – it was Charlotte who went to buy the test for me, save I be photographed – we might have to tell them and swear them to secrecy.” She then looked conflicted. “But that means leaving Jen and Jess out, and I don’t feel comfortable about that. Then if we tell them, of course I want to tell our parents. Aw, hell. I think we should wait, though. Not to jinx anything, but when I’ve been pregnant before and sadly lost it, I want to double make sure that everything is okay this time around.”

He hadn’t even thought of that, his features softening as he reached to stroke her cheek. “I think Jen will understand, given the circumstances. Same as everybody else. And try not to think about what happened before, even though I know you will. Doesn’t mean it’ll happen this time, does it?”

It didn’t, but just as he predicted, it was on her mind right up until the moment the sonographer told them everything was fine twelve weeks on from them, both overjoyed to see the small smudge that was their first child and hear its rapid heartbeat for the first time. Armed with a few of the sonogram pictures, they then put the cute idea on how to reveal it to their mothers into action, heading over to Queens first...

Lois was in the middle of wiping down her kitchen when she heard her doorbell buzz, the dogs doing their usual routine of dancing and barking. “Move it, boys, lounge!” she spoke, Ginsberg and Bukowski scampering off at speed, poking their heads up at the front window. Opening the door, she was puzzled for a few seconds to see nobody there, until her attention was caught by a large bouquet of sunflowers, her favourite blooms sitting there on the step.

“Open this before you go into the house.” she read aloud, pulling the card from the little holder and opening up the small envelope. Reading what was inside, coupled with a sonograph picture, her jaw practically unhinged.

‘Congratulations on becoming a grandma!’

“Mother of pearl! Oh, my goodness!” she cried, her eyes then caught by her son and daughter-in-law popping up from behind her car where they’d been hiding. “Are you fucking serious, Adrien Nicholas Brody? Doing this to me on the doorstep!!”

They doubled over with laughter, making their way up to the house, a very tearful Lois pulling them both into a hug. “I am thrilled for you both! Oh my god, this is wonderful. Wonderful!” she exclaimed, kissing their cheeks in turn as she continued to shed a storm of happy tears, ushering them both inside. Patrick was home, too, and of course had some unique words upon hearing he was going to be a grandfather.

“Well, this is exceptional news. It’s been six years; I was almost certain you were firing blanks.” Adrien was about to admonish him for such, but couldn’t, seeing his dad swiftly remove his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes welled. “I’m so damned happy for you, son.” Pulling him into a huge hug, he kissed his cheek, clapping his hand upon his back a few times. “It’ll be the best thing you ever do. Trust me on that, because it was for me.”

Those tender words from his father had him choked up, Adrien kissing his forehead fondly. They spent a little time there at the house before jumping into a cab and heading to Harlem, phase two of their plan put into action. As a chronic hay fever sufferer, the only flowers allowed within Gemma’s home were of the faux variety, Jade having the perfect idea how to surprise her after visiting a small giftshop.

Opening the door to her brownstone, Gemma was confused at the sight of a pile of helium balloons there in a little arrangement, a note affixed to one of them that instructed, ‘pop me before you go back into the house.’ There was a pin sellotaped to the note that she carefully unpicked, bemusedly doing at instructed. It sprayed confetti everywhere, as well as a little card that had been carefully placed into the balloon prior to it being filled, with the same message as the one that had greeted Lois.

“I’m... oh!!” Instantly she began to cry, her eyes scanning the immediate surroundings of the frontage of her home. “Jade Lucia!” she boomed, clasping her hands over her mouth for a moment, “come out from wherever the hell you’re hiding!”

Up she and Adrien popped from behind the wall at the front of the house, ready for round two of the joy they felt at finally being able to share the news with their parents. “Get up here right now and let me hug you both! Oh my god, I am shocked to my bloody bones, buba!” Gemma’s joy in life were her grandchildren, and now she had a third on the way, she couldn’t have been happier. As was Steven, who luckily wasn’t on shift. Yes, Jade had checked in a clandestine way earlier in the week after phoning her mother.

“Well, would you look at that?” he spoke, holding the sonograph picture, his other arms wrapped around his daughter as he laid a kiss upon her head. “First you get the little gold fella, and now a little baby. I’m absolutely thrilled for you, monkey.”

They stayed for dinner there before heading back to their apartment, content to curl up on the couch and watch a film before going to bed. The next day, Jade visited both Jen and Jess to tell them her news, calling her brother and sister too before they boarded a flight home. With a few more close friends told later that day, as well as their management teams to field off the likely incoming median questioning reaching out for comment when Jade inevitably began showing, they’d told everyone they were ever going to.

There would be no “official” announcement made, the pair not the kind of people to make statements about their private life in such a way. Their baby was their business, and they loved every second of their journey into parenthood.

“Baby, quick. Come see this,” Jade called softly, Adrien entering the lounge to a heartwarming sight. Usually, Juno would only curl up with him, very much his cat, but on that evening, the big puddle of pale grey fur was lying contentedly with his wife, her paws softly kneading against the tiny swell of her tummy. “She knows! Look at her!”

Crouching by her knees, his smile crinkled his eyes, rubbing Juno’s head. The cat purred and drooled, her tail swishing contently, continuing her kneading. They weren’t the only ones excited that in just over six months, there’d be a brand-new member of the family arriving, it seemed.

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