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oftenwantedafton · 5 months

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New Year’s Eve - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings for sexual content, prostitution, daddy kink, sexual roleplay, spanking

Also on AO3

Summary - You may be young, but you’re already wise to the way the world works. You’re good at what you do; a sex worker with intuition and an uncanny understanding of each client’s deepest desires.

When the middle aged career counselor pulls up to your street corner the night before New Year’s Eve, you think it will be an easy job for a decent amount of cash.

You’re about to discover this customer is unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

You hear it before you see it: the luxury sedan a vintage model from the late seventies, its engine throaty. Modern cars don’t sound like that; you know the difference because one of your first boyfriends had been into cars.

The dark vehicle pulls neatly along the curb and halts and you shift from the street lamp post you’d been leaning against, grateful that some perverted asshole has taken notice and was going to get you out of the cold.

The driver’s side window eases down—crank, you think, this was before power controls, luxury or not—and you have your first sight of the man. Middle aged, a few lines here and there, salt and pepper hair, neatly trimmed beard. Aviators seated in front of wide set pale blue eyes. He’s wearing a long sleeved dress shirt and tie, you note; it’s a good sign, maybe you’ll be making some decent cash tonight and get a bonus because it’s the night before New Year’s Eve and gratitude stretches on the holidays.

You grin, a cherry red stretch of painted lips, toying coquettishly with the hem of your black skirt, worrying at a rip in the matching fishnet stockings. “Hey there. You looking to have some fun?”

The man’s face is expressionless, and for a moment you wonder if he’s not undercover. Fuck, you really didn’t need this kind of trouble.

“Get in,” he says, his voice a rough scrape of sound.

“Sure, as soon as we talk prices, just so we’re both on the same page. It’s—”

You never get to finish, your eyes widening when he holds out several large bills pinched between two long, slender fingers.

“Consider it an advance.”

You reach for the money and fold it tightly

into your palm. “Okay.” You loop around the front of the car, seeing him leaning over to pull the tab up to unlock the door for you and you slide inside onto the vinyl seat, dumping your oversized purse on the floor between your feet.

The car’s interior is blessedly warm and you resist the urge to hold your hands in front of the vents. The stranger still isn’t speaking and the awkward silence drags on. You’re clearly going to have to direct things here. Maybe it’s his first time with a sex worker. “So, what are you into? I’m pretty good at roleplay if that’s your thing. You know, like a police officer and a criminal or a father and daughter or a school teacher and a student or—”

“—Wait. The second one.”

Of course he’d pick that. So many men did.

“But not looking like that.” He frowns, his eyes roving over the leather jacket and halter top disapprovingly, then down to the skirt and fishnet stockings before snapping back to your face. “And not wearing all that makeup. Clean faced. Hair natural. You understand?”

You blink, then nod. Okay, he was particular. Not everyone wanted a quickie. You didn’t really mind either way as long as you got paid, and this guy was already paying you well.

He digs in his pants pocket, extracting a small plated case with business cards in it. He selects the topmost one and tucks another pair of bills beneath it, handing it to you. “For your time tonight. Be at this address tomorrow at nine.” He pauses, eyes flicking down to your legs again. “Maybe a schoolgirl uniform. Regular stockings.”

“Yeah, I get you.”

He turns his attention back to the road and you feel like you’re being dismissed. You grab your bag and shove the door open, stepping up onto the curb and back out into the cold December air.

You watch the sedan’s narrow rectangular tail lights fade as the man drives away, the money and business card curled tightly in your palm.

Easiest money you’ve ever made.

***

The office building’s parking lot is nearly vacant, save for the car you recognize from the night before.

You direct the taxi driver towards what looks like the main entrance, wondering if it will even be unlocked, but as the cab pulls closer you realize there’s a tall figure standing just inside the doors, and you know it’s your customer.

You hand money to the driver and walk towards the glass doors. One folds inward and you step inside the opening.

“Hi.”

He doesn’t respond, turning and walking towards an elevator. You trail after, following him inside. He punches the button for the fourth floor and you stand across from him. He hasn’t looked at you since you’d first entered the building and you’re unsure of what to think. You’d been careful to follow his instructions from the previous evening, wearing a plain white blouse and navy cardigan over a gray plaid skirt that ends a few inches above your knees, thigh high white tights tucked into platform Mary Jane’s, everything demurely covered, your face clear of makeup and your hair free of product, the picture of innocence.

The elevator halts and the doors chime before sliding apart. You’re guided through a series of corridors before you reach an unmarked wooden door, the nameplate mounted on the wall beside it matching the one on the business card he’d handed you the night before: Steven Raglan, Career Counselor.

You enter the room and hear the door close behind you with a soft click. The office is illuminated by a solitary desk lamp casting a soft yellow glow over the space. There’s one solitary window, the gray blinds covering it drawn tightly closed. A map and a photograph of some nature scene decorate two of the walls, the rest covered with framed accolades — degrees, awards—this guy is good at his job, apparently. Everything is neatly organized, from the books and binders slotted on the shelving unit behind the desk to the items on the desk itself, the desk blotter covered by a calendar clear of paperwork, the cursive writing on several squares neat and precise, the stack of blank paper next to the electronic typewriter pristine in the box it lays in.

Steve settles into the swivel leather office chair behind the desk, pulling open one of the drawers of the nearest filing cabinet and withdrawing a folder. He spreads it open over the calendar, reaching for the pen resting beside it, still seemingly ignoring you.

You’ve dealt with a variety of personality types in your brief time working the streets, but this blatant disregard is something completely new, throwing you off your game. You sit in one of the chairs across from him, pondering what it was the man expected, watching one of the more prominent veins in his pale hands shift as he begins writing.

“What are you working on?”

“Something important. Don’t interrupt me.”

You shift a little in your seat. What the fuck was with this guy?

A few more minutes pass and you find yourself growing more impatient. You were going to have to make him pay attention. You stand, fingers wrapping around the arm rest of the chair before dragging it around the desk so it’s beside the seated man. He pauses mid pen stroke, the only acknowledgment of what you’ve just done before he resumes writing.

You cross your legs, working on the buckle of one of your shoes, repeating the process for the opposite foot. You see the hesitation last longer this time and you smile inwardly. Yeah, he’s noticing. This was the game he wanted to play.

You subtly inch the chair closer, then casually let one stockinged foot slide up the leg of his pants. You’re rewarded with a little hitch of breath. You reach his knee before he halts your progress, his hand closing warmly over your foot.

“I told you not to interrupt me.”

You smirk, slouching down further and raising your other leg, skimming along shin and stroking against calf before your foot shoots across his thigh and rests against his crotch.

He drops the pen. “What did I just…”

Your foot teases along the fly of his pants and the rest of the reprimand dies and he releases his hold on you. You feel the hard outline of his cock, massaging, toes curling and stretching, sole and arch and heel stroking and grinding.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.” You bite your bottom lip, continuing to rub against his clothed erection.

That does it.

His eyes snap to your face, pupils dilating with desire. You can hear every coarse, desperate drag of air he pulls into his lungs.

“Come here.”

You draw your legs back and sit up, stockings sinking into Berber carpet.

He pushes back to make room for you on his lap. “Bend over.”

You obey, your breasts mashing into his thighs as you rest your body weight over his legs. You feel the hem of your skirt lifting, inverted and dropped onto your lower back, exposing the plain white panties you’re wearing. The older man massages one cheek, then the other, kneading each globe with equal attentiveness. You squirm and he halts, reaching for the waistband and tugging the undergarment down, just enough to reveal what he wants access to, your underwear now bunched mid thigh. He traces the lace pattern of your stockings, dragging a thumb against the inside of one thigh but stopping well short of where you want him. You feel your arousal leaking out of you, a slow trail of clear fluid dripping down.

This detail clearly hasn’t escaped his attention.

He lets his fingers glide through it briefly, then his hand disappears and you whimper in disappointment.

That’s when his hand returns, this time a hard slap against one cheek.

Fuck.

He follows through with several more strikes that are firm enough to sting and you imagine your ass is quite red already. His fingers dip between your narrowly spread, trembling legs and a pair of them punch easily through your dripping entrance, curling and stroking you inside.

“Daddy…it feels so good.”

“You like that, baby girl?” It’s the first time he’s spoken in awhile and his voice is even dryer and rougher than you’re accustomed to. He sounds almost raw, like the words are being torn from somewhere deep inside of him.

“Mmm-hmm.”

He continues fucking you with his fingers but abruptly withdraws them when he feels the muscles inside tightening, preparing for release.

“Not yet. I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your pussy throbs and you stand just long enough to be repositioned, this time laid on your back over the desk. You can smell ink and paper and the fragrance of your own arousal.

He pulls your panties off the rest of the way and spreads your legs apart and his tongue thrusts inside without preamble. It’s long, the muscle stretching and curling inside your canal as his nose presses against your clit so he can get in deep.

“Daddy,” you gasp helplessly, reaching for whatever you can get ahold of, fingers curling into the soft waves of his hair. He replaces his tongue with his fingers again, sucking at the bundle of nerves below your mound. “Please make me cum, Daddy.”

He moans against you, the fingers inside of you working fervently, his tongue a blur of motion against your clit and you feel yourself shatter, coming apart warm and liquid against him, your thighs shaking violently, struggling to snap closed when the sensation becomes too much but he’s relentless, savoring the quivering of your flesh for a few more moments before he finally pulls away, easing back against the padded chair.

You struggle to recover, the pleasant tingling spasms still snapping through your body as you push yourself up on your elbows and then use the palms of your hands to lurch upright. You can feel whatever papers he’d been working on plastered beneath your bare, damp skin.

The client looks absolutely wrecked. His beard is wet with your juices, glasses askew, the tidy part of his hair mussed, sending a dark tendril across his forehead. You slide off the desk and kneel down, removing his glasses and setting them gently on the desk behind you, then reaching for the belt at his waist. He watches your movements with dark, hungry eyes. The leather strap releases from its metal entrapment and the button and zipper of his fly surrender next. The purple boxer briefs are the final obstacle, the waistband smacking with an elastic snap somewhere at the base of his cock after you wrench them down. You let your fingers drag through the trail of precum ozzing down the shaft, teasing him, watching his reaction.

“Open your mouth, baby.” His large hand is heavy against your cheek, thumb pressing on your bottom lip, encouraging you to cooperate. You open for him, watch the languidly draped form straighten, bringing his hips forward, his fat prick stretching your lips. He’s one of the larger men you’ve been with; probably even the largest. The kind of dick that porn stars are blessed with, and fuck if he isn’t testing your ability right now, pushing himself in further along your tongue, the head hitting the back of your throat. “Good girl. You can take all of it, baby. You’re doing so well.”

He knots a hand in your hair and tugs your head back, easing the rest of the way inside that moist cavity, then holding himself there, studying the flare of your nostrils and the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes before he finally relaxes, withdrawing, and you cough, gagging, his member now slick with a thick layer of your saliva.

You grab a few quick lungfuls of air, preparing yourself for the next push. “I love your fat cock, Daddy.” You stroke over the shaft, the wet sounds lewd.

“”I know you do, baby. Suck it again.”

You let him fill your mouth again and again, allow him to direct how quickly your head moves back and forth as he fucks into your mouth, the lazy pace picking up speed as the pleasure mounts and his urgency grows. “You’re such a good girl,” he praises. “You’re going to make me cum.” His eyes are so, so black, so far above you because he’s so tall, watching you raptly, a hawk studying its prey. A tremor wracks the thigh you’re clutching and he groans as he spills directly onto your tongue.

You swallow the bitter liquid down as his grip in your hair relaxes, surprised when he offers a hand to pull you to your feet. His thumb is back at your bottom lip again, his eyes focused on your mouth. The first lesson you’d ever been taught was never to kiss the customer. It was too personal, too intimate; when you’re willing to sell every piece of your self, it’s the one thing you get to cling to that’s untarnished and untouched.

You are so tempted to break that rule right now; wish he’d just do it for you. Instead his hand drops and he begins straightening his clothing. You hike your panties back into place, smoothing down your skirt while he tucks his shirt tails back into his pants and draws up the zipper. You sit in the chair you’d dragged over earlier in your session, reaching for your shoes, the man surprising you again when he kneels down, helping you slide each foot in and fastening the buckles, the touches oddly tender.

You murmur your gratitude and stand, allowing him to guide you to the restroom across the hall. He’s standing by the door when you exit, more cash waiting for you crushed in his fist.

The money is warm, like he’s been holding it for awhile. You follow him back to the elevators, the ride back down to the first floor silent and swift. You eye the phone on the receptionist’s desk, thinking you’ll use it to call for another cab when his voice interrupts you.

“I can give you a ride home.”

Rule number two: don’t invite the client back to your place, or go to theirs; keep the meetup somewhere public. Followed by the next: once you’ve completed the transaction, go your separate ways. Don’t linger. Time was money. It was strictly about business.

You hesitate.

“Or wherever you want to go,” he adds, as if sensing your reluctance to accept the original offer. “We could get some champagne. Toast in the New Year.” His eyes are still dark, the hunger not nearly sated, his fingers twitching as if he wants to touch you again.

You know right then you’re going to break the commandments you’ve been given.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #fnaf fanfic #fnaf movie #william afton #steve raglan #dividers credit @ saradika

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shittysawtraps · 1 year

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You are just getting into vinyl records as a hobby. You want to search this vintage records shop for interesting additions to your collection. Before you stands a choice. In one aisle is a denim jacket clad mustached man who's looking at a mint Beatles album. He has a polygamous pride pin and a black coffee in a "the office" brand mug. In the second aisle a blonde woman wearing flannel and ripped skinny jeans is holding a Taylor Swift album. She has a messenger bag covered my little pony, vivziepop, and political dog whistle pins.

You must engage one of these people to enter the records shop and retrieve your prize. Choose and survive.

#shitty saw traps #submission

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foxgloveprincess · 1 year

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Secluded Cabin Vacation

Word Count: 660

Warnings: Barely Any Editing, Mildly Suggestive Themes, So Much Fluff (you might barf). Minors do not interact (18+).

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess). Seeing this anywhere else means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age. Thank you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me, it’s cold,” you curse, sitting on the couch and holding your arms tight to your chest, bundled in blankets to keep warm. Not even Bucky’s favorite henley can help now.

Out the window, snow falls in soft flurries to rest on the white blanket of the ground. Steve’s out there, gathering firewood or chopping it up or ripping it apart with his bare hands. Either way, he’s not here keeping you toasty—like he should be.

And Bucky? He’s upstairs unpacking and getting the bedroom all ready for you all. With the way he’s rummaging around up there, you’d think he was redecorating the whole place.

When you told them you’d be fine in the cold living room of the cabin, you didn’t think you’d have to wait this long for them to get back to you. Sure, what they were doing was important for your overall stay at this cabin out in the middle of the woods. But you’d finished unpacking the groceries and scoping out the kitchen ages ago.

The back door opens with a bluster of snow. The wind that follows rips right through every layer trying to insulate your body. Steve steps in with an armful of logs and immediately heads to the fireplace.

You can only imagine how pathetic you look when he glances over his shoulder. He pauses and his brow creases with worry.

“Shit, is it really that cold?” he asks, hands fumbling in his haste to light the kindling and get the fire roaring. “Buck!”

As Steve stands and walks over to wrap you in a warm embrace, Bucky strolls down the stairs in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

“What are you wearing?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Well,” Bucky begins to explain, “someone stole my shirt.” He huffs a chuckle and shakes his head.

“Cause it’s freezing bananas!” you retort with a pout on your lips.

Steve responds by drawing you closer and Bucky’s brow pinches.

“Damnit. Doll, you shoulda called for me,” he curses, rushing to your other side and enveloping you with his one arm.

You sigh and sink into them, finally cozy. Sometimes you forget how hot the serum makes them run—your own personal furnaces. But you love every second of it.

As the fire continues to heat the cabin and they press up against you, you begin to sweat until you have to push them away with gentle hands. They scoot away a fraction. Just enough for you to get some cooler air on your skin.

“No frostbite,” you announce lightheartedly before asking, “What was taking you both so long?”

“Wood,” Steve gestures toward the stack by the fireplace, a cagey look sent to your other partner.

“I was preparing a surprise for tonight,” Bucky replies without shame. His lips quirk and he stands from his spot, satisfied that you’re comfortable.

He walks across the room and messes with the vintage record player, browsing through the stack of vinyls before selecting one. The melody drifts through the air and Steve squeezes you tighter, just on the verge of too much but not quite—just how you like it.

“You remember this, Buck?” Steve asks, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Best night of our lives,” Bucky responds.

He offers out his hand to both of you. You both accept, letting his flesh arm surround as much of you as he can before reciprocating with your own embrace.

The three of you sway to the old song, the one that played the night you first met. It’s a little nostalgic, a little bittersweet, and a little perfect.

Your lips begin a lazy trail across exposed slivers of their skin, feeling their heat against you. You sigh once again. Honestly, the only reason you care about the surprise they’ve prepared is because they do. You’re perfectly content right here, right now. Encased by them with their abounding love and your blissful solitude.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #stucky fanfiction #fluff #so much fluff #that’s all this is #an exploration of comfort

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Breach Of Contract: Part 6

Rosie’s diner stood just as he remembered it, with an oddly paired vintage and rustic appearance that had been first introduced by the off-blue neon sign that hung above the door. The curved letters were faded slightly, yet they hung just as they had since he was in university and even before, it was almost a cornerstone for his life before politics.

And it was clearly part of your life since you had relayed that you’d been here studying late at night or seeking their comfort food when you had nothing else to do. It was a marking bind that aided in the connectivity he had felt between the two of you. It was already almost more than he had in common with Peggy, and it was one of those moments that made him aware of how out of touch his marriage truly was.

It was a harsh truth, one that had been made to settle under his skin and yet he couldn’t have denied the truth any more than he could have denied his loneliness.

Both had eaten away at him, both had felt like a slow-acting poison that made him grow more discontent and ill over the state of his relationship and marriage. He was a man who wanted marriage and wanted it to be happy, he was a man who had known that marriage took sacrifice and devotion, Steve knew it wasn’t easy and it wouldn’t have been easy but this was unlike anything he was prepared for.

He had loved Peggy at one point, at one point he had felt as if she could be the greatest love of his life, only for that illustrious shine to be tarnished and tainted by her selfishness.

His idea of marriage had turned to ash and dust, it had all fallen apart until only the finite strings holding it together had been left. Steve knew his marriage was over but she wouldn’t grant him a divorce, she wouldn’t dare part with him and trying to come to terms with his political career that was leading him to a potential presidency had overshadowed his desire to put himself through that right now.

His dreams for a happy marriage, his deepest wants to have children, had seemed lost. It seemed all for naught and Steve was left to deal with the reality that faced him, Peggy Carter did not and would not have kids.

She had taken the choice from him, completely ripping any say he had in this relationship away from him.

“Rosie’s hasn’t changed a bit.” Steve had commented while holding the door open for you, instinctively resting his hand on your waist as you move, protecting you from the metal side of the door as you turned to let someone else out. “It’s exactly as I remember it.”

“I love it here,” you had thanked Steve for holding the door open for you, and he in return had felt the subtle, soft sparks of your connectivity running through him, “where do you want to sit?”

“At the back,” he had spoken softly, watching you walk ahead of him to the red vinyl booth seats, the puckered material edged with brass designs, and a studded trim around the edge of the table, “here is good?”

“Perfect.” You had approached the bench seat and started to shrug off your blazer, your arms nearly out of the sleeves until they had been caught and you started to struggle.

Steve had inched closer to you and gently grasped the ends of the sleeves in one hand, giving them a sharp tug to help free you from the jacket. He folded it in his arms and held it out to you to take, a small smile built on his face when you muttered a bashful thank you. He had removed his coat and folded it, tossing it into the corner of the booth seat.

Steve had taken the place opposite of you, sliding in on the bench seat before he reached for one of the menus that were already resting on the table. The menus were simple with black writing against a white background and had only been double-sided and laminated yet they seemed more inviting and welcoming than more than half the other places he had been to.

“You know I always look at the menu and usually get the same thing.” You had spoken quietly, holding the menu in one hand while the other was folded and tucked under your jaw.

Steve had peeled his eyes away from the menu and set his sights on you, his eyes sweeping across you with studiousness that paralleled his intrigue. You were younger than him, you were probably the youngest among his team of personal assistants and yet you carried this wisdom among you.

You were quiet and a little reserved, yet you weren’t without your brilliance, it was a contrast to so many people he had been around who were loud because they thought they needed to have themselves heard. But you…

You were like a soft flame in the dark, a whisper among so much noise that was chaotic and catatonic. It was an endearing quality, even if you hadn’t been as quiet or reserved as Steve thought you were, you had conducted yourself with the knowledge that a loud voice and angry screams weren’t always relative to change and good intentions.

“I don’t know why I’m reading this.” Steve had set the menu down and pushed it to the side, already knowing that he would get his usual favourite, the unchanging choice was calling to him like it usually had. “I know what I’m going to get.”

“Me too.” You set your menu down and pushed it to the side as he had, and then you averted your gaze and studied the décor in the diner, the two of you sharing a similar familiarity with the building, the menu and the food.

“Sorry,” the waitress had scurried up to your table, a huff falling from her lips and her hair messily tied out of her way, “can I get you something?”

Steve had motioned for you to go ahead and place your order first, both as a means to be polite and in case he had second guesses about what he wanted. It was a brief few milliseconds where he could study the middle-aged waitress, one that was even older than himself, and then focused on you. The sweeping brush of your eyelashes against your cheeks when you blinked and the subtle way in which you had licked your bottom lip.

“Can I get Rosie’s traditional shake and a plate of extra crispy fries?” Your voice was smooth, even and soft. “Please?”

“Sure, and for you?” The waitress questioned while Steve had look back over you, unable to tear his eyes away for too long.

“The same for me.” He had finally looked at her, giving her his attention for the moment.

“Great, give me a few?” The waitress had come and gone within a brief exchange and then you were alone again.

“I know you probably get asked this a lot, but why politics?” You had questioned with minute hesitation as if you didn’t want to be a bother for him.

“I took some university classes after high school but I wasn’t ready for a steady career. I joined the military with Bucky and I served my country but then came back…I wanted to do more. I thought that maybe I could make a difference, and that’s…” Steve hesitated and then looked down, shaking his head.

“I met Peggy through some connections in the military. Her father is big into politics, he has a lot of connections and he got me started. It was my relationship and eventual marriage to Peggy that pushed me forward in my career.”

“You want to make a difference,” you tucked your hands under your chin and rest your elbows on the table, “you wanted to make the world a better place for people.”

“For everyone,” Steve had locked eyes with you again, a flutter in his heart and a pulse radiating between you two, the allusion to chemistry that was more intense than it ever had been with Peggy, “everyone deserves a fair chance at being happy, at having a good life.”

“Please don’t fire me for this,” you spoke and winced, almost as if you were already regretting what you were going to say, “but if everyone deserves a fair chance to be happy and have a good life, then….doesn’t that include you? If you deserve the chance to be happy, why are you still with someone who makes you so miserable?”

The question hit Steve head-on. It hit him square in the chest and he knew you were right, he knew there was nothing rooted in that statement that wasn’t blatantly true. He was miserable and he was making himself miserable by hoping that Peggy would suddenly change her tune. He was making himself miserable by pretending that she gave a damn about him.

“I’m sorry, Senator Rogers. I overstepped-“

“Y/N,” he spoke your name and eased your worries with a small half-smile, “you didn’t. You’re right.”

There was a half-beat of silence and then he spoke again. “Call me Steve, you don’t need to do the formalities. Please, I wish someone would address me by my name rather than my title.”

“If I ever overstep, please feel free to tell me to shut up.” You mumbled lowly as Steve chuckled and leaned back against the seat.

“I feel like you should be telling me to shut up.” He spoke with mirth and looked over his shoulder, watching the fries and shakes being loaded onto a tray. “Shakes and fries?”

“You didn’t have to order the same thing,” you teased him, an air of ease passing back and forth between you, “and FYI, dipping crispy fries into a chocolate shake is delicious.”

“First time for me.”

“You didn’t have to give me your leftover fries.” You reached for your keys in your bag, grasping the lanyard that kept them together as you both stepped in front of your door. “You also didn’t have to walk me to my door.”

“I didn’t want you to come up by yourself, call me a worrisome soul.” Steve leaned against the doorframe, holding the boxed takeout container and his coat draped over his arm. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

“Thank you,” you shoved your key into the lock and turned it accordingly, waiting for the sound of the deadbolt before you twisted the handle, “I appreciate your service.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve watched you push open the door and grab a small rock to keep it from closing, and then he saw you turn back, “thank you for coming out with me. It was nice.”

“When’s the last time you were able to eat greasy fries and have a chocolate shake?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, the two of you closer now than you were in the diner.

“Its been a while.” Steve handed you the takeout container, dropping his gaze to your lips as you mumbled a quiet thank you, before he raised his eyes.”I guess…I’ll see you at the airport in a day.”

“California, I’ve never actually been to the Pacific Ocean, I’m looking forward to it.” You admitted, quietly confessing to Steve as he drew himself closer to you.

The air around you had grown heady with tension, something akin to a kind of intimacy and he had wondered if he could get away with brushing his fingers down your cheek, or if you would let him embrace you before he said goodbye for the night.

“I hope you can have some time off while we’re there. Whenever I’ve gone, I’ve loved sitting by the piers.” Steve couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t help but study you as the conversation was quiet and soft.

“It sounds beautiful,” you were unflinching, unmoving as he dropped his gaze again, his fingers twitching by his side, desperate to either make a move or not, “I can’t wait to see it.”

You were standing mere inches from each other, mere inches between your body and his. He had looked down at you while you gazed up at him, your eyes searching each other’s as your breath wavered and you bit down on your bottom lip.

It had felt like hours was passing the two of you by as you held each other’s gaze’s and tried to bid each other goodbye to what felt like the most genuine night he had ever had. It was exhilarating in the most simple way, a direct extension of what he had almost wanted his life to be.

“I should go-“ He cupped your cheeks and stopped you from moving, his eyes dropping again to your lips before he leaned in, the tip of his nose bumping against yours.

He had exhaled against you, his eyes fluttering closed before your lips met his and that lingering spark that had buzzed between you two had become a direct jolt of powerful lightning that struck between the both of you.

Steve had moved his lips against yours, he had muttered something incomprehensible as he pushed you against your doorframe, your hands snaking up his chest to grab hold of his pressed dress shirt, falling into the moment. You leaned into him, you pushed into him while angling your head to the right, giving him more access to you.

And when he had brushed his tongue against your bottom lip, your lips had parted as you gave him the access he desired. His tongue stroked your own, his fingers gripped your cheeks as he kissed you, ravished you with his mouth.

Desire pulsed and radiated between you two, and only when you needed air had he parted. He held your cheeks, he kept cradling you with his hands as you inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Steve had admitted, his eyes sweeping across your face, “it’s only been the first-“

“Date,” you answered for him, turning into his touch, “can we even consider it a date?”

“It is,” he agreed and nodded his head, “a date. This is…”

He let you go, and slipped his arms around you when you leaned into him, hugging you tightly. It was a goodbye for now, it was time to return back to the pretty home with empty walls. It was time to return to the woman who had his ring but clearly not his heart.

“I’ll see you in a few days.” Steve had finally bid you goodbye, with a brush of his thumb across your cheek.

He waited until your door had closed before he turned and departed you, taking the steps down to his vehicle parked by the curb.

#senator!steve rogers x intern!reader #senator!steve rogers x reader #senator!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine angst #Steve rogers imagine fluff #breach of contract masterlist #breach of contract series #breach of contract #breach of contract part 6

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bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

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What are some of the most Canadian things that you would introduce to Freddy, if you could?

Oh my God this is a fantastic ask, I love this! Okay sure, what are some of the most Canadian things I would show good ol Freddy Krueger? I would show him Kids In The Hall, some vintage classics. I would make him listen to Spadina Bus as well as The Vinyl Cafe’. I would introduce him to bagged milk. I would show him how to snowshoe and take him to a Chinese food buffet I love up here The Mandarin, did you know the Chinese food buffet was a Canadian invention? I’d show him a maple syrup farm and give him the quintessential Canadian childhood experience of pouring fresh syrup into divots in the snow, wrapping it around a popsicle stick and eating it, one of the best treats ever. How about going out for a rip and hitting up Tim Hortons, or going to Boston Pizza and Canadian Tire after? And then of course, watching some Letterkenny.

Those are the biggest ones I could think of right now anyway.

#Freddy Krueger #BHF asks #This was so fun #Thank you!

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dubljarnasims · 6 months

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Cheyenne Dubljarna

Part of the 5th generation of my legacy and the only child of Quentin and Sierra. Not quite a Boy Called Sue, but still...Cheyenne often wonders how he got stuck with the name. Is it because his parents really wanted a girl? Or some holdover from his mom's former commune-living days?

No CC included in the download - please see the list and links below.

Parents: Sierra Meadows & Quentin Dubljarna

✨ DOWNLOAD HERE (Google Drive)

Clothing/Accessories:

Glasses - Suzue | Miru

Pants - Darte77 | Vinyl coated jeans

Shoes - becky-sims | Converse chuck 70 vintage low canvas

Top - Darte77 | Ripped knit sweater

Hair/Makeup/Skin Details:

Beard - Golyhawhaw | Stubble tint

Clavicle - Sunivaa | Male clavicle

Eyebags - Northern Siberia Winds | Eyebags N2

Eyebrows - RemusSirion | Eyebrows N14

Face - Pyxis | About face details kit

Teeth - Simbience | Teeth #1

Defaults:

Skin - Luumia | Vanilla default skin

Eyes - Pralinesims | Oasis v2 default

Sliders & Presets:

Butt - CmarNYC | Enhanced butt slider

Chin - Magic Bot | Default chin slider

Eyebrows - Magic Bot | Default eyebrow slider

Eyebrows - Obscurus | Eyebrow sliders

Eyes - marsosims | Eye size slider

Face - Luumia | Face asymmetry slider

Hips - Luumia | Hip shape slider

Lower Legs - CmarNYC | Enhanced lower legs slider

Mouth - Magic Bot | Default mouth slider

Mouth - Teanmoon | Mouth scale slider

Nose - Magic Bot | Default nose slider

Thighs - CmarNYC | Enhanced thigh slider

🐌 Many thanks to the CC creators! 🐌

@becky-sims - @darte77 - @golyhawhaw - @luumia - @magic-bot - @marsosims - @northernsiberiawinds - @obscurus-sims - @pralinesims - @pyxiidis - @remussirion - @simbience - @sunivaa - @suzuesims

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 download #sim download #ts4 legacy #born in game #gen 5

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rhettabbotts · 2 years

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okay time for soft!rhett thoughts (sorry it took a lot longer than expected!!! also kinda wishing I typed the thoughts I kinda had about this earlier when I was at work rip)

I finally sorta started listening to Tyler Childers & Zach Bryan because of tik tok (sorry to my brother who’s been trying to get me to listen to them for a while now lmao) but it has me thinking. I feel like Rhett would very much be into their music because it just makes sense ya know? it’s like classic country, but still modern. they both have this really interesting and unique quality to their voices that just really fit rhett’s vibe tbh and it’s very soothing. like that soft afternoon glow that brings a sense of warmth to everything. I think he would definitely have vinyls of their music because it add to that nostalgic/vintage quality their music has.

enough of the build up here we go so with that being said…

it’s been a long tough day for rhett. things were not going right at all whatsoever. his dad is pissed at him again for whatever reason even though he’s certain he actually didn’t do anything this time. he also had to fix yet another fence line that keeps breaking. His truck got a flat on the way into town and his attitude and just been sour since he opened his eyes since you weren’t there with him. He knows you’ll be home by the time he is, but it still put a damper on his day. by the time he walks into the house, he just wants to crawl into bed and forget about the entire day. he knows you’re home because he can smell whatever you made for dinner and he can hear the music on in the background. his heart perks up a little when he realizes what you’re playing. when you hear his boots drop, you turn around to give him your standard greeting but stop yourself short when you actually take a look at him. you can just tell without him saying anything, the toll that the day took on him. so you slowly walk up to him after wiping your hands on a dish towel, gently grabbing his face. “you wanna talk about it, handsome?” “no, just need ya to hold me darlin’.” and so you welcome him into your warm embrace and even though the day has seeped deep within his bones, rhett begins to feel lighter and things begin to feel not as grim. the defeat of the day still lingers, but he knows the longer he spends in your arms, the better he’ll begin to feel. he starts to feel you swaying to the song that just came on, Sun To Me, and he can’t help but let out a soft chuckle and the smallest smirk. his hand goes to your lower back while the other grabs yours that was resting on his shoulder. his head is tucked into your neck and he presses the softest of kisses there. “thank you for making the bad days better. I don’t know what i’d do without you” “i hope to whoever or whatever is out there, neither of us will ever find out that answer my love.” and so you both sway with each other in the middle of your kitchen, finding solace and comfort within each other until he’s ready to sit down for dinner. after plates are rinsed and left in the sink (taking care of your man was more important than dishes at the moment), you run him a bath to help release the tension and help him relax. he becomes so overwhelmed with the tender love and care you show him, combined with the day he had, he can’t help but let a few tears escape. the stoicism he tries to keep up, slowly crumbles as you gently wash away the day and massage his shoulders, placing gentle kisses wherever you could, your own heart breaking at how sad he is. wordlessly you help him dry off and get dressed for bed. he crawls into bed while you finish doing your nightly routine before sliding under the covers with him. once you’ve laid down, he immediately lays himself on your chest. without having to say anything, you know he needs you to be so gentle with him. soothing kisses and gentle fingers caressing through his hair are what helps him drift off to sleep, ocean blue eyes fluttering closed. “goodnight my love, tomorrow is a new day and i will always be here for whatever you need” rhett feels safe with you, he feels loved, cherished, taken care of. he feels like he can be his true self with you, his family name and his own notoriety be damned. you are home to him. you are his solace, his guiding light, a safe place. rhett already knew you were the one for him, but his grandmama’s ring that is tucked deep within his dresser is going to surface a lot sooner than he had initially planned, but sometimes plans don’t matter when you want the rest of forever to start as soon as possible.

fin

side note: I truly think Sun to Me is his song through and through. The opening lyrics? That’s him getting up every morning before having to help on the ranch. It becomes your song and when you both finally get married, I feel like it would be your first dance song because of that moment in the kitchen.

sierra i want you to know that i’m in just a puddle of tears right now oh my goodness this was so beautiful!!! i absolutely love zach bryan and sun to me is one of my favorite songs it always makes me think of rhett when i listen to it!!

i want to wrap rhett up in my arms and take care of him so badly :(((

thank you so so much for sending this to me, it has brightened my day up so much and you have no idea how much i appreciate it my love <3

#asks #mxgyver #rhett abbott

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airadam · 8 months

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Episode 172 : Yield To None

"Do you wanna be dope, or do you wanna deal it?"

- Common

All Hip-Hop at a nice steady pace - but a varied platter of vibes - for this episode, as I celebrate my birth month!

Great personal news : I'm very proud to be included in the new "Hidden Histories : Black in Manchester" resource by Parise Carmichael-Murphy - have a read!

Twitter : @airadam13

Twitch : @airadam13

Playlist/Notes

Meyhem Lauren & DJ Muggs : GT3

From the car-themed "Members Only" 2019 collaboration between Meyhem and Cypress Hill DJ/producer DJ Muggs, this track integrates the sound of some very angry engines as an additional instrument/element of what is otherwise an extremely sparse bit of production - drums and bass only. Meyhem is laid-back and comfortable at this pace, crafting a track that even those of us without a Porsche on the driveway can appreciate - well, as long as our speakers or headphones deliver the goods!

[RZA] Raekwon : Can It All Be So Simple (Remix Instrumental)

You might detect a little sonic garbling where I was using Serato's "stems" feature to try and remove the vocal samples in the hook, but other than that here's the glorious sound of a hard-to-come-by RZA instrumental of a track from the monumental "Only Built 4 Cuban Linx..." LP. Rae, Ghost, and RZA took their track from the Wu-Tang debut LP which was already a classic and subtly made it a little darker, a touch rougher and a little less nostalgic. A masterful remix and rewrite.

Roc Marciano : Ridin' Around

A very different kind of rider music to the opening track, but still with an ominous bassline which helps carry the vintage crime vibes perfectly. This is a deep cut from Roc Marciano's seminal solo debut "Marcberg" album, with his gangster wordplay on full display atop a track with more drum action than on much of his later work.

Showbiz & AG : Trapped

This is one of those records which, despite being by a highly respected group, has likely slipped under your radar. The DITC production legend Showbiz is here under his original name (you can find much of his other work credited as simply "Show") alongside his day one MC AG on this late-night creep number from the 2012 "Mugshot Music" album.

Planet Asia ft. Prodigy : Stick & Move

If you love your dark, underground NYC Hip-Hop, you might have heard this sample used elsewhere, but for the current episode this is the slow, menacing, bi-coastal track that gets the nod. Fresno and Queensbridge in combination as Planet Asia and Prodigy (RIP) go back and forth over an Evidence beat on this 2005 release. Not even a hint of going for the pop audience here, just gutter from start to end. Got to respect it.

Mud Family : Itchy Town

I've been holding onto this one for absolutely years! I first heard this on a "Radio Zero" show courtesy of Dave The Ruf, and it's a dark, brooding piece of UK boom-bap from this highly-regarded north London crew. Centred around the MCs Chester P, Skinnyman, and Mongo, they released their core work in the late 90s and early 00s, with this absolute beast being on their very first wax release, 1997s "The Mud Files, Vol. 1". Production on the EP as a whole is credited to Deckwrecka, Firebomb Fritz, and Mad Money Wah - not sure who did what on this cut, but I applaud them for cooking up a track that still bangs after over twenty-five years!

DJ Premier : Dee Ell P

It's been over a decade since DJ Premier gave us a "Beats That Collected Dust" collection, but there's a good reason for that...as he correctly points out, the beats that end up included have to be given time to collect that dust! With that said, the third edition is out now, and is a good digital pickup while the (likely pricey) vinyl works it's way through distribution to the shops. As for the title of this selection from the new release, I haven't deciphered it yet. "The LP"? Was it a track meant for Large Professor, perhaps? Probably overthinking it - just enjoy the master of the MPC 60 going back into his vaults.

Mabanua ft. Kev Brown : Holdin' It Down

I had completely missed this but was introduced to it by none other than Kev Brown himself when he played it on one of his "Beats 'n' Stuff" shows on Twitch! While he drops plenty of unreleased material, he'll throw in overlooked gems from his discography like this one, a collaboration with Japanese beatmaker Mabanua. Given that Kev is on the mic all the way through, I can only assume that Mabanua did the production here - even though it has that Kev Brown feel in spades!

De La Soul ft. Common : The Bizness

An old classic from some of the greats. If you don't already have De La Soul's "Stakes Is High" album, you can now easily buy digitally or stream it, so get on that! This track has, apart from one regrettable homophobic reference from Common which the label partly censored, bars upon bars of heat on a self-produced track that you can't help but nod your head to. I can also think of at least three Hip-Hop tracks that sampled/scratched lines from this one, which is a sure sign of a piece of work that has your peers paying attention!

Blu & Exile : Berries and Juices

You can't help but bop to this, Exile's beat has an undeniable bounce and while Blu does say "beat so sweet that I ain't even gotta do s--t", he unquestionably lifts it to that next level with a couple of chilled verses. Bonus points for the "Coming To America" reference 🙂 Take heed to the title of the album this is drawn from - "Give Me My Flowers While I Can Still Smell Them" - and apply that sentiment to not only this duo but all the artists you enjoy!

pH7 ft. Access Immortal and DJ Roger Rekless : New York

A long-lost track that only resurfaced for me during the Great Digitisation of 2020-2023! A trans-Atlantic collaboration with German artists pH7 (Cologne) and DJ Roger Rekless (Munich) coming together with Bed-Stuy MC Access Immortal for a jazzy number with solid boom-bap underpinnings, tight cuts, and an overall clean and refreshing sound. You can find this on the somewhat obscure "Blazing Heat" EP,

Ilajide : Ayerloom

Taking it back (ok, not that far back) to 2015 for a beat from "Latex", the first solo LP by one of my favourites, Ilajide of Clear Soul Forces. That drum beat could have come from an 80s Hip-Hop classic, as could the rest of the sounds on the track - and yet, as a whole it doesn't seem of that era. This Detroit beatsmith isn't afraid to go after a certain sonic hardness that other producers might shy away from in the modern era, and it's that banging aggression that helps set him apart.

Kuartz : Glitch In The Ghost

Local beat legend Kuartz released his new LP "Hybrid Dialects" this month, and it's a collection of bassy, techy, angular production that is well worth spending your hard-earned cash on! This was the first track I heard from it, which he debuted earlier in the year at Manchester's WORKINONIT beatmakers event - it was so raw that I had to ask him for an advance copy 😁 I've played it on Twitch a couple of times but now here it is as a taster for the album.

Grand Agent ft. Liv L'Raynge : Ooh-La-Lah

I hadn't heard this for absolutely ages until pulling it out earlier this month, which is a sign that no-one I've been listening to has been playing it either! Grand Agent collaborated with Oxnard production wizard Oh No on the "Under The Circumstances" LP which this track is drawn from, and the album has the husky-voiced MC Liv L'Raynge as the featured guest - with this track being her standout performance. She burns it down on the opening verse over Oh No's heavy beat, and really steals the whole show to be honest!

Coyote ft. Shaquille O'Neal : 3 Lokos

I first heard an excerpt of this on Instagram - not sure it was on Shaq's page, but either way it sent me to go ahead and find the full version of this new single! Coyote is the pairing of Ladies Love Guapo and Ricky Blanco, neither of whom I know already but they both spit rugged on this track, which they produced alongside Brian Lee and on which they were specifically going for a hardcore 90s feel. I know, I know...you want to know about Shaq. Well...he kills his verse. The doctorate-holding four-time NBA champion has been recording since 1993's guest appearance on "What's Up Doc?" by the Fu-Schnickens and his "Shaq Diesel" LP, and despite a long break he comes out spitting with that hunger!

K-Otix : World Renown

Classic underground Hip-Hop right here from 2000, and now available along with the rest of the "Universal" LP on Bandcamp, so no reason not to put some dough in the artists' pockets! You might hear this record and think NYC, but nope - this is a Houston record! It might have been releaed on Bronx Science record, but the skills are all Texas-raised. The incredibly memorable beat comes from the man known as The ARE, who has also done some amazing work outside the crew, and Damien and Micah take the vocal reins. Big record.

DJ Spinna : Surely (Instrumental)

As we move with the wind-down, here's a beautiful track from the studio of DJ Spinna, taken from the instrumental release of his solo debut on BBE, "Here To There". With Ovasoul7's vocals gone, the guitar of the late UK jazz guitar legend Ronny Jordan and the programming work of DJ Spinna get to take centre stage, giving the track a different dimension.

Method Man ft. Ghostface Killah : Afterparty

An appropriate record to end the show with! A dope sing-songy exchange between Meth and Ghost starts the track off, and the melodic approach pops up throughout the track in between straight up bars over a smooth beat from a producer credited simply as "Q", but better known to most as Qur'an from Da Youngstas (sorry, can't bring myself to put the incorrect apostrophe in!) Still my favourite track on "Tical 0 : The Prequel", just as it was on first listen.

Please remember to support the artists you like! The purpose of putting the podcast out and providing the full tracklist is to try and give some light, so do use the songs on each episode as a starting point to search out more material. If you have Spotify in your country it's a great way to explore, but otherwise there's always Youtube and the like. Seeing your favourite artists live is the best way to put money in their pockets, and buy the vinyl/CDs/downloads of the stuff you like the most!

Check out this episode!

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somethingvinyl · 9 months

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Here I am with the newest addition to my collection, one of the only Zappa records I was still missing! I have only seen one other copy of this in the wild, closer to the beginning of my collecting… I wasn’t totally sure I even wanted a copy. It’s not one of his best albums; I barely ever listen to my digital copy. But this showed up in absolutely GORGEOUS shape, nearly perfect vinyl and only a bit of fairly attractive ring wear on the sleeve, and I knew I needed it. And turns out, the right format works wonders. The music hits much better on vinyl. It’s some quality fake doo-wop—don’t go in expecting satire, because this is really a loving homage. Some great guitar solos from Frank between all his “badum badum” bass vocals. The gatefold is vintage Mothers, and the back cover is just hilarious… all in all, I’m thrilled with this one. (I’d make a Cheap Thrills joke, but this was not cheap 🫣) Now if I can just run across the perfect copy of Weasels Ripped My Flesh, I’ll have all the Zappa I care about…

#frank zappa #vinyl

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robmillistw2 · 2 years

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Ken Hensley re-evaluated ('Proud Words On A Dusty Shelf'; 1973)

Like any musician/songwriter preparing to record an album, especially those of us in the lowly pub/club circuit and definitely self-recorded, produced and released catalogue (this will be my second), I have been looking back through my vinyl racks at sources of inspiration - and when you play mainly Hammond organ and electric piano a lot of the time but are very much an 'album rock' man, you don't have the role model choice of guitar-toting contemporaries. So it's Traffic-era Winwood and the Greg(g)s Allman and Rolie. Leon Russell and/or Elton John circa Tumbleweed Connection. And Lee Michaels, for the more intrepid.

So it was that in the rack lurked Ken Hensley's 'Proud Words On A Dusty Shelf'. Oh, that one. Haven't played it for thirty years. Let's see what's what.

Now, let's be clear - thirty years ago I was 18 and soaking up just about anything of a certain vintage. I was working in a record shop on Saturdays, so had great access to the kind of second division LPs that you didn't casually hear. One week it was Uriah Heep's 'Salisbury' I took home.

I'll be honest - at the time, I didn't feel it. David Byron is held up as a god by metal fans (and to be fair to Byron, he was absolutely the genuine article of what Justin Hawkins is a very, very bad photocopy of) and Mick Box's guitar work is owed a debt of gratitude by everybody who came along in NWOBHM time - but at the time, I was a bit more hippy dippy than hard rock, and liked the 'sixties hangover' that Zep and Mountain seemed to have more of than Heep. With hindsight, I should have persevered as it is one of the more interesting heavy rock albums of c1970-71, as the 'roots of metal' bits are tempered by softer moments, and the whole thing concludes with the title suite with orchestral accompaniment. But this isn't a post about 'Salisbury' and suffice to say that at the time, I didn't feel it.

The LP went back to the shop, but I did log that the mellower moments were written by Ken Hensley, the organist, who also wrote copious sleeve notes and seemed much more sensible and musically sophisicated than just a 'metalhead'. Not long after I was in a junk shop somewhere and for almost no money at all I found a copy of 'Proud Words On A Dusty Shelf'.

It was inevitable I'd buy it: it was one of those typical early 70s lavish gatefold sleeves with a leather-bound book theme. They always did those luxury packages for spin off albums by main writers (Alan Hull 'Pipedream', anyone?) in the early 70s. Love all that. And of course 'Oh, that's the nice, chatty chap from Uriah Heep who wrote the mellow bits' sprang to mind. I bought it, gave it a spin, thought no more of it. It was good enough to keep. I wasn't a singer or songwriter in those days.

Thus 30 years on, in the search for Hammond-wielding, singer-songwriter examples, this week I played it again. It's pretty good, actually.

Hensley wasn't daft and the album opens with 'When Evening Comes' - plenty of guitars there to avoid losing the Heep audience, which by 1973 wasn't small, who would also be comforted by the presence of Lee Kerslake (drums; RIP) and Gary Thain (bass; RIP) who along with Ken himself are the core of the album crew. The only other credit is to one Dave Paul for some of the bass parts; this makes sense at the sessions for this album started back in 1971 when Thain was not in the Heep camp yet.

Hensley had always mixed and matched keyboards and guitar in Uriah Heep and bittersweet ‘From Time To Time’ sees his acoustic well to the fore, with synthesiser and organ joining the party as the song progresses, almost in lieu of strings and nicely judged. Kerslake turning in a solid beat here that Levon Helm would have patted him on the back for.

‘A King Without A Throne’ sees Ken back on the piano, in a kind of shuffle/boogie, kind of pop way that the driving, melodic bass is as much responsible for making you want to think of Macca as the piano.

There’s definitely a classic American songwriter influence - the effortless melody, the Brian Wilson/Carole King chord inversions about ‘Rain’, a gentle piece with Hensley again at the piano, with just vibes and a bit of organ used to build dynamics, and no rhythm section. The vocals at full throttle are Ken in harmony with himself and as you’d expect, much of the high harmony work that was a Heep trademark is evident on a lot of this record, albeit in a subtler fashion without Byron - less Three Dog Night/Vanilla Fudge.

Side one closes with the title track, which along with the opening cut bookends the first side with solid guitar fare; Ken’s slide getting an airing here as it did often in Uriah Heep. Kerslake and Thain (or Paul?) again coming up with the goods, the former shining in a very Simon Kirke-like fashion.

‘Fortune’ kicks off side two in a more arranged fashion: what starts out semi-Floyd-y with a bedrock of organ and heavily reverb’d slide guitar then gives way to passages of acoustic guitar and a tempo change to triplet feel over a distinctly George Harrison guitar arpeggio that when this passage returns, closes the song in a semi ‘She’s So Heavy’ manner. Once again, Ken’s vocals are big and soulful. The cycling song sections are a little of their time - but, hey.

One of the most striking elements about ‘Proud Words On A Dusty Shelf’ is how great a drummer Lee Kerslake was outside of heavy rock (his Heep and then Ozzy tenure rather cement it within the genre). On ‘Black Hearted Lady’, Lee sounds to my ears very much like Martin Lamble was in early Fairport - solid, but restrained and a little playful here and there. In fact, the whole song sounds like a product of that scene - not unlike Matthews Southern Comfort with Ken playing some lovely tasteful song-led lead guitar (a pal commented that there’s more than a little of early Stones tenure Mick Taylor about it) and some immaculate acoustic descending arpeggios.

The acoustic guitar, great drums and vocal harmonies mood remains for ‘Go Down’, and again Kerslake has my bacon sandwich on the floor: here he is very Keltner (and the bassist has the Lee Sklar vibe) and the entire song has that USA 70s ‘shop gloss’: Ken’s tracked vocals, pristine acoustic parts and composition presage Hall & Oates here: of course, this is a 1973 product and that was the year of ‘Abandoned Luncheonette’ and Springsteen’s debut - the 'new USA breed' - but this was recorded between November ’71 and November ’72!

Ken is back at his piano for the intro of ‘Cold Autumn Sunday’, and after the beautiful intro, Kerslake is back in Levon mode, both for the fill that brings the band in and the general infectiously unhurried groove. This is my absolute favourite of the album, with a Leon Russell/early Elton feel and some distinctly Ronnie Wood like guitar from Ken. I’m a sucker for Spooky Tooth/Joe Cocker ‘white rock meets gospel’ and the band briefly hushes a little for the choir before the final hurrah.

youtube

Anglo-Americana is still the mood of the closer ‘The Last Time’ and here Ken (the album notes say everything but bass and drums is he) gives an even more Transatlantic flavour by adding pedal steel.

It strikes me that Ken Hensley was a very adaptable musician, true to his craft: the song came first and the parts to serve it. Lee Kerslake has knocked me for six listening back to this and to return to my original context of listening to albums before recording myself, in Ken Hensley I’ve found a great role model of a man who sang with soul and conviction without being blessed with a David Coverdale, Mike Harrison or Gary Brooker king-sized voice, and without overdoing the faux American twang. Enjoyed that a lot; RIP Ken Hensley and Lee Kerslake who left us in 2020.

Kenneth William David Hensley (24 Aug 1945 – 4 Nov 2020)

#Youtube

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