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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years

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If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel Pirate au pt 6

this chapters a little long and fluffy but I really like it and I finally gave it a name

Here are the other parts if you’re interested :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

what had azriel’s life become? In the past 24 hours his ship became infested with dangerous females, he had given up his most prized possession, and he was on his way to find a being that still haunted his nightmares.

Berdara was a fine persuader but money was even better. Too bad they seemed to come in tandem. The captain of the shadowsinger needed this hall and there was no way in hell he was loosing a dime to the cutthroat redhead he now lived with.

He stole a glance toward her to find her staring intently at the map. Her mind, her calculating, cold, ruthless mind at work. Her eyes shot up to his and she gave him a smirk, flashing the whites of her teeth and winked. he knew others would see a friendly smile but all he saw were fangs

Infuriating as she might be, she had not said one word, in the past few hours about his meltdown or the other thing he had yet to let himself dwindle over. He was caught between appreciation and the feeling that he wasn’t worth a second thought to her.

“so where will my crew and I be sleeping” her voice was light but there was a slight edge.

“The room next to mine.” He grit his teeth in preparation for the comment that was sure to follow that statement. “now you’re going to say something crude”

at the same time gwyneth said with a wink, “want to keep me close, captain? all you have to do is ask?”

The slight shock on her face elicited pure joy from azriel. While hidden, a practiced eye saw the way her mouth slightly parted and her eyes flare. It was his turn to smirk as he responded, “Your majesty is becoming quite predictable.”

gwyn smiled her psychotic smile and stepped closer to him. too close. “wouldn’t want that,” she whispered into his hear as if she was telling him a secret. Her voice wrapped it’s claws around his throat and squeezed, pulling him to her.

Azriel coughed “You’re all going to have to share a room.”

“it’s quite alright, my crew and I have shared beds before.” There was a suggestive glint in her eyes. and blood rushed to his face faster than this girl could threaten and flirt in the same breath.

“I don’t believe I said anything about sharing beds.”

“Oh I know, but sometimes, shadowsinger, we must learn the difference between necessity and pleasure.” Azriel’s pupils dilated and his skin felt tight and hot.

Gwyn leaned in once again and teased, whispering, “Predictability is worth seeing you blush like a school girl.” She threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and walked away leaving him gaping like an idiot.

cassian and rhys walked out from his room and rhys said with a chuckle “she’s something alright.”

cassian looked at him with mock sincerity “promise me I’ll be the bridesmaid at your wedding”

“and will it be a double with you and that second of hers?”

He held his hands to his chest and tilted his head, “only in my dreams”

Rhys swung his arm around him laughing, “You’re pathetic.”

————————————————————————

5 days passed and every one of them was torturous. His crew at their wits end with hers. Apparently the two blondes were causing quite a bit of trouble. It had seemed one had wiped the floor with his entire crew when it came to the cards while the other was a bit of a thief, a petty thief.

His sharpshooter had made the mistake of whistling at Emerie, she tossed him into the ocean without so much as batting an eye. Thankfully they got him out in time and rest assured there were no more comments or touching.

He hadn’t seen Berdara much as she had been holed up in her room barely leaving beyond the occasional meal. Though every time she did grace his presence, she was sure to leave him flustered beyond relief. What about this girl make him loose all of his composure, he wasn’t sure. But avoidance was a useful tool.

Don’t think about it, don’t care azriel thought as he watched Cassian and Rhys spar on the deck of his ship. HIs two best fighters, facing off until suddenly rhys was knocked to the ground from behind. The culprit, the silver majesties second, Nesta.

There was a determined look in her eyes, cold ambition.

Cassian laughed, unfazed.

“my turn.” her voice was one of mock innocence, venom drenched in sugar.

“don’t be so eager sweatheart.”

“Eager to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs”

“Ooh she’s feisty.” And with that Nesta attacked. She wasn’t graceful but she fought as if her life depended on it, a sure sign that at one point or another it did. She swerved and jabbed with a desperate urgency, one you could only learn on the streets. Cassian dodged and deflected, though he was working much harder than usual. It seemed he also had something to prove.

Azriel turned, knowing this fight would not be over any time soon, to find Berdara walking right towards him. “Nesta will not loose this fight.”

“funny, neither will cassian.”

Gwyneth gave him a serious look. “She does not loose, she never has and she never will.”

“hmm. It’s never too late to try new things.”

gwyn rolled her eyes before a glint appeared in them. “care for a rematch?”

“fists or swords?”

“Let’s spice it up, swords.”

“double or single?”

“A sword and a dagger.”

“Surrender or mercy.”

“Seeing you kneel to me will be sweet.” she paused. “Surrender.”

“You’re on.”

“Pirates oath?”

“A gentleman always plays fair.” She unsheathed her sword and dagger holding one in each hand and smirked. “too bad I am no mere man.” she lunged but azriel had been expecting that and side stepped pulling out his own sword and dagger.

Where nesta had been brute force and aggression, Gwyneth was all grace and speed. She fought with the efficiency of someone who trained with the queens guard themselves. It was like fighting a tornado, she was fast like lightning and when she struck she struck hard. Every move was beautiful and deadly, just like her.

————————————————————————

“We dock in 15 minutes.” Azriel called out to his crew.

“What no, we need to keep going.” Gwyn replied.

“What we need is to restock supplies so we don’t starve to death before we’re richer than the queen herself.”

she gave him a confused look, as if he was speaking a different language.

“We’ve been sailing non-stop for almost 2 weeks and we are out of supplies.”

gwyn mumbled something that sounded like “pathetic.”

As soon as Azriel dropped the anchor his entire crew rushed off the shadowsinger, desperate to be away from the insane women. With of course the exception of Cassian for he was leaning against the rails of the ship bothering Nesta while she was pointedly ignoring him.

“Hey, enough with the heart eyes we’ve got shit to do.” Azriel barked at Cassian who then frowned and sulked off the ship while nesta stared at him with her cold, blank expression. “You too sunshine. Let’s get moving.”

“Order me to do something again and I will cut off your limbs one by one and feed you them for breakfast.”

“I’m counting down the hours.” Azriel narrowly missed the dagger she threw at his head.

“Don’t call me sunshine.” and nesta walked off the ship, katanas at her hips glinting in the cold sun of the winter court. She looked right in her element.

Before he called these women insane but that was far too gentle of a statement, the females that had found their way onto Berdara’s ship were absolutely, completely batshit crazy.

Az was sure everyone was off his ship, everyone was accounted for and yet something was nagging at him.

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see the captain of the silver majesty sitting on the railing, one misstep and she would fall. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she would survive the deadly drop. This women seem to defy all odds, why not death? Her smile was wild and just a little bit mad as the wind swept and curled through her hair pushing it back from her face. As if it wanted nothing more than to be flowing through her her fiery locks that mirrored her spirit. Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling the breeze, the sun lighting up the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was

“Are you done gawking?” she said without even opening her eyes.

horrible, she was absolutely unquestionably horrible. “If I may, what are you doing majesty?”

She turned toward him, in the sun the blue of her iris’s had a twinge of green as if she was born for the sea. “I am simply reminding myself why I left.” Her eyes gazed hungrily over the vast sea as though she saw a challenge, one she had to conquer. “who could resist all this?”

It was unlike her to offer such a raw statement with no ulterior motive and while it was entirely possible she did have one, Azriel believed her. Azriel believed her because he shared the exact feeling. The longing for freedom, the found solstice in constant change and motion, and the occasional guilt for leaving that ultimately fades because it will never not be worth it.

“I pity them.”

“Fools.”

“Utterly.” She offered no more as she hopped down from the railing.

They walked in comfortable silence as they both took in the beauty of the winter court. It was all ice and snow with a slight aura of loneliness.

Together the two captains arrived at the inn. It was cozy and warm and was placed separately from the rest of the town. His eyes shifted and he saw what had to have been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was a bar. Thank fucking goodness. Azriel knew without a doubt that they all desperately needed some liquor.

In the bar he immediately found both their combined crew. A crowd of men and women had surrounded Rhys, hanging on every word he said while he soaked it up flirting to his hearts content. Azriel was going to have to give him a limit on the number of people he could fuck at once, this was getting ridiculous. Next he found Cassian, Tarquin and Viviane doing shots at the bar. But he noticed every time his glance shifted to a certain girl in the corner of the room. Nesta was in a booth with Emerie sipping whiskey, talking in low voices. Cressedia and Drakon were in a heated drinking game and-

Azriel knocked into a body he immediately recognized as Lucien and he held out his hand at once glaring.

“Hey captain.” He said cheerfully.

“empty now.”

The kid dumped a pile of jewels, wallets, and id’s in his hand.

Azriel smirked approvingly “get me a ruby, an Id of a man who could pass for the high lord of the winter court, and 500 more dollars.” Lucien nodded greedily and ran along. It had been a game between the two of them for Azriel to give him outlandish challenges to sharpen his skill as a thief.

But before Lucien could leave the bar every lamp extinguished and the bar turned quiet.

Strangers gasped and knives were drawn.

Moments later the lights reappeared and once his eyes readjusted he saw a women holding two daggers to the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. They struggled against her. But she just laughed and scolded. “No no no. shhhh” Before she looked up again.

“We need to have a chat.” every word was clipped and short. “Put your weapons away and these two might get to live to see another day.” It was an order, and a threat. Azriel didn’t take kindly to threats.

Gwyn looked to the 3 remaining who followed her and nodded at them to listen. He nodded to his own crew.

Nesta sneered but dropped her katanas to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak but Rhys beat her to it, pushing away the women he was flirting with as he drawled to the women in front of them.

“It’s been a long time Feyre, darling.”

tag list: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup

#gwynriel #gwynriel pirate au #feysand #nessian #emerie #gwyn berdara #azriel #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #rhysand #I finally gave it a name #if you find me on the edge we’ll jump together #and btw that’s supposed to be like villain lunatics in love and not suicide #just wanted to make that clear #I love this chapter tho #even if shes a little lengthy

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bookishofalder · 3 years

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Unexpected [Prequel]

Summary: The night everything began.

Warnings: Language, Smut, sweet Spencer Reid (we know we need a warning for this). WC: 2,434

“Goodnight, Tesoro! Kid! Addio!” Rossi sang happily, leaning ever so slightly against the stoic as usual Hotch, who rolled his eyes at the BAU’s patriarch. He did grin though, which Spencer appreciated considering he was the only one at the party not to indulge in the multitude of mixed beverages you and Penelope had concocted. A rare smile from Hotch was certainly a good way to ring in the New Year, especially when it resulted in your sweet laughter before you closed and locked the door.

You sighed and Spencer glanced down at you, a smile pulling at his lips when he took in your tired, soft expression. It was probably the alcohol he’d enjoyed throughout the evening-seriously, why did he have so many margaritas? And what was in those peppermint drinks? They didn’t taste of alcohol! But a wave of affection for you so strong swept through him and Spencer didn’t think before pulling you close, his arms circling your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Your hair smelled like roses.

You hummed happily in response, stepping into the embrace, relaxing against Spencer. “You know, I think it’s customary to kiss someone when you ring in the New Year, (Y/N),” He heard himself say, his eyes on a picture on the wall behind you. It was a favourite of his from when he’d taken you to the Santa Monica Pier after closing up a case in California. Spencer and you, arms around each other's shoulders as you stood on the beach with the Pier in the background. Spencer was stooped because he was so much taller than you, and you were laughing widely when the photo had been taken, golden sun kissing your features.

You leaned your head back to meet his gaze, your eyes glassy and wide. Giggling, you replied, “I always thought that was silly, meant for couples to just show off how happily domestic they are!” You rolled your eyes, but you hadn’t moved out of his arms. And actually, Spencer didn’t want you to, he liked how close you were, how safe and right it felt to hold you.

He cleared his throat, his voice deep despite the cringe-level response he came up with, “It can be...friends, who care deeply, too.” Christ.

Oh, but you didn’t cringe, or laugh, or pull away and affectionately ruffle his hair as he might normally expect. No, your response was anything but expected for Spencer, his words seemingly taking a moment to sink in and, still holding his gaze but with a much more intense one of your own, you wet your lips. He didn’t even hesitate, your subconscious response all it took for it to feel almost painful that he wasn’t already kissing you.

So he tightened his hold on you at the same time he dropped his head and captured your lips with his own. And as much as he must have caught you off guard, you weren’t done surprising Spencer; you moaned and parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. He felt your arms secure around his neck, your body arching into him as you pulled him closer, your bodies responding to one another with equal fervour.

With a groan of pleasure from the sensation and bliss that was you pressed against him, Spencer broke the kiss to trail gentle kisses along your jaw, his voice just a breath. “Sweet girl, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He trailed down your neck, delighting in the sound of your whimpers, at the feel of you, his best friend, trembling with need and desire in the familiar front hallway of your apartment. It had been just so easy to cross that line that seemed to always cut between you both.

You tugged him suddenly, backing up and taking Spencer with you to your living room and your cozy couch. When your legs hit the edge, you stumbled slightly and giggled when Spencer clumsily steadied you. Breathless, you started eagerly working to undress him, your hands working to unbutton his shirt as your eyes burned into his with unbridled lust and desire, the longing so intense he was sure he’d burst into flame under your gaze. Spencer didn’t delay when you guided his hands to remove his pants, shoving them and his underwear down quickly and then dropping to sit on your couch.

He tried to pull you with him, but you gave him a coy smile, leaning out of his grasp. “You’re gorgeous, you know that Spencer? Fucking gorgeous.” You breathed, your eyes raking over his bare, lean body, fixing hungrily on his hard, weeping cock. Wordlessly, as Spencer gazed at you in reverence, you reached behind you and unzipped the back of your low-backed dress, which promptly fell to your feet. Your hands were shaking.

The fire within Spencer seemed to take a new hold over him when he realized that you were nervous. His heart swelled and stuttered at the intensity of his desire to care for you, to make you feel as safe as possible.

“Come here, sweet girl,” He reached out for you, helping to settle you into his lap, your matching underwear and bra still on. When your core rubbed over Spencer’s length you both hissed at the sensation; he pressed his large hands into your back, fingers splayed, and captured your lips again. He could feel himself coming undone as you quivered in his arms. He ground his hips into you, groaning, “Fuck, can I touch you?”

“Please Spence,” You whimpered, and he realized your hips were returning his urgency, seeking friction desperately. “N-Need you, please. I need you so much, Spence.”

Fuck, you didn’t have to tell him twice. With surprising ease and prowess considering how intoxicated he knew he was, Spencer dropped one hand to first trail his fingers teasingly across the outside of your cotton underwear, before he pushed the fabric aside and ran two fingers through your folds. Spencer grunted at how wet you were already, “You have me, you’ve always had me, sweet girl. Come on, touch me,” He urged you, groaning sinfully loud when you reached around to grip him, held his cock steady and sunk yourself onto him.

“Oh, shit, Spence,” You cried out, face tightening as you struggled to accommodate him, “Fuck you’re so much bigger than I ever imagined...filling me so well,” You gasped, more broken moans spilling from your lips, mixed with his name. Spencer took hold of your hips, helping you steadily take more and more of him, groaning in pleasure at the feel of your tightness enveloping his cock.

He had never seen anything in his entire life as beautiful as you.

It hurt him, your beauty hurt Spencer it was so raw and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from your face, as much as he wanted to see you taking his length. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away from your blissed-out expression, the way you tried to open your eyes and meet his gaze only for them to snap shut again as you took another inch of him. Spencer was hooked, obsessed, so much further fucking gone than he had been before when he was just a sad soul in love with his best friend.

Now he was a man on fire. And he never wanted to stop burning.

When you were fully seated in his lap, Spencer pressed one hand to your lower back and brushed the other over your face, pushing back some stray locks of your hair, “You’re doing so well, (y/n), take your time. Fuck, you feel so good,” He grunted when you clenched around him in response.

Interesting, he thought. It was almost as if his praise was...

Spencer tested out his theory immediately, “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” Clench. More wetness. A soft sigh spills from your lips. Fuck.

And just like that, Spencer lost it. Realizing that his praise, his assurances, turned you on more? That was a power, a level of mutual trust he never expected in his wildest dreams. With a gasp, his grip on your hips hardened and he started thrusting up, effectively forcing you to bounce over his length. Yet, you took it in stride, your hands instantly seeking his shoulders for support before you were rolling your hips almost lazily each time you landed back in his lap.

Neither of you was moaning any longer, no. Spencer was talking around his pleasured cries, pulling as much bliss from you as possible by keeping up a constant stream of praise and kind words that he meant, right down to his soul he fucking meant every word. And you...you were a goddess, his name on your lips between screams and gasps, nails digging into his shoulders from how hard you gripped him. It was funny-as much as you couldn’t keep your eyes open, Spencer was unable to do more than blink, unable to tear his gaze from your face.

To spend so long painfully in love with you, hiding the depths of his feelings for years, pushing back any hope that might have cropped up that you felt the same, had been torture. Torture he happily bathed in, day after day but now you were actually in his arms, whimpering his name. It was a gift, a treasure he couldn’t believe he deserved, and he wasn’t going to miss a moment of flawless, captivating you coming apart for him.

“Sweet girl, you are so beautiful,” Spencer moaned out, cursing when your velvet heat squeezed him impossibly tighter.

He adjusted his hips, tilting just so to perfect the angle. The most delicious sounds fell from you as he found the right spot, and that was when it happened. You managed to open your eyes, wide and bright, meeting Spencer’s and gasping at the expression on his face. At that moment, you sent one another toppling over the edge and falling into oblivion.

It was a paradise Spencer had never know the likes of. The universe opened up for you both, and he wondered how he could have spent his entire life deprived of such exquisiteness, the pleasure and love swelling and consuming him-fuck, was this Nirvana? Heaven? He didn’t know, couldn’t think straight as he roared, his movement stilling as your hands slipped into his hair and you started to crumble into him. He caught you, steadying you enough that he could keep watching your face as you broke into a million pieces, as you both shattered into millions and millions of pieces.

“Spencer! Oh! Ooooh...”

“(y/n), I love you, I love you.”

His eyes had snapped shut briefly from the overwhelming sensations, his orgasm overtaking him before he could check to see if you’d heard his quiet confession. He couldn’t bring himself to worry over it when he began to spill inside of you, holding you tight against him, his entire body jerking in bliss. It was easily the longest orgasm of his life, dragged out by the way you whimpered and clenched him as you were swept through your own.

It could have been minutes or months, truly Spencer couldn’t have quantified the time it took until he was slumping into the couch cushions and you were boneless in his arms, your face nuzzling into his neck. Still hard inside you, he could feel some of the overflows of your climaxes spill out and drip down his thigh.

You were gasping for air, trembling lightly as his hands came to hold your head and he finally closed his eyes properly. Colours, a never-ending rainbow of colours dancing behind his eyelids, the galaxy within his grasp with you in his arms. Nothing else mattered-it was only you.

Everything was you. You were everything.

Realizations of the depths of his love for you hit Spencer like meteors; he felt as though he’d never stand again from the weight of it all, his heart impossibly heavy in his chest. How could he ever be worthy of the trust and care you had just bestowed upon him? He simply could not be deserving of such a divine, world-shattering experience. Not with you, his funny, bright, deeply caring best friend. Not with the woman who had been with Spencer through the worst, had seen the darkest parts of him, it didn’t seem right. It must be a mistake, a fluke, and yet...

It wasn’t. You told him as much when you finally found the strength to lean back slightly and press your lips to his, cutting off his train of thought by thanking him, telling him it had been better than you ever dreamed, that you had never felt for anyone like you did for Spencer. As if he weren’t already completely obliterated, your admission now rocketed Spencer into orbit and he knew, he just knew there was no way he’d ever forget this moment.

He’d been on your couch many times before this, you cuddled in his arms, and yet it felt like the very first time. Here in the dark, early morning hours of the first day of the year, it was the beginning of something, of an adventure he couldn’t understand and yet wholeheartedly knew he was ready to leap headfirst toward, as long as it was with you.

With renewed energy, Spencer stood, gathering you in his arms and carrying you to your bedroom as he kissed your lips languidly, eager to continue dancing amongst the stars with you, for as long as you would allow. And as he lay you down on your bed, drinking in the expression of love on your face, he knew there could be no way he would ever lose these memories. He stripped you of your underwear and spread you, keenly aware of the level of trust and anticipation you held for him. Spencer knew he could never forget, happily spending the next several hours worshipping your body like a starving man with his lips, his tongue, his gentle teeth.

Some of the memories may slip away, but surely not even alcohol could steal the way you repeated that you loved him as he plumbed your sweetest depth. As he brought you to your peak, over and over. As he brought your bodies together again and you travelled the galaxy in one another’s arms even as the sky outside began to brighten and then, eventually, sleep lulled you both to its warm embrace.

No, there was simply no way he would forget. Spencer could never, ever forget.

Right?

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

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sinceileftyoublog · 3 years

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30 (Technically 34) Albums We Loved That Happened To Come Out in 2020

So much has already been said and written about this cursed past year, but a few good things came out of it, including the music. Album-wise, like many before it and many to come, it was an embarrassment of riches. But even with so much time on our hands to devour new tunes, it was often old favorites, songs of comfort or familiarity that garnered the heaviest rotation. For many artists, too, it was a year ripe for revisiting or reissues of old material, looking at existing songs with fresh and new perspectives. Simply put, with so much to listen to, new and old, the prospect of ranking a finite number of albums felt not only daunting, but frankly a bit stupid. Maybe we were late to the game, but 2020 taught us that music should and can be appreciated in multiple contexts, not limited to but including when it first came out and when it was heard again and again, even if years later. The records below--listed in alphabetical order--happened to be released in some form in 2020, whether never-before-heard or heard before but in a different format. And the only thing I know is that we’ll be listening to them in 2021 and beyond.

Autechre - SIGN & PLUS (Warp)

The legendary British electronic music duo surprise released SIGN a mere month and a half after its announcement and then PLUS 12 days later. The former was a beatific collection of soundscapes that belied the band’s usual harsh noise, while PLUS embraced that noise right back, drawing you in with the clattering chaotic burbles of opener “DekDre Scap B” and lurching forward. -Jordan Mainzer

Against All Logic - 2017-2019 (Other People)

The perennially chill ambient house artist Nicolas Jaar had a busy 2020, as usual, releasing two albums under his name, Cenizas and Telas. But it was 2017-2019, the follow-up to the debut album from his Against All Logic moniker, that came first and throughout the year helped to illustrate Jaar’s penchant for combining inspired samples with club beats and tape hiss. Take the way the lovelorn vocals of “Fantasy” or soulful coos of “If Loving You Is Wrong” war skittering, scratchy percussion and cool arpeggios, respectively: Jaar is coming into his own as a masterful producer almost a decade after he released his first full-length. Oh, and bonus points for including none other than Lydia Lunch on a banger so blunt it would make Death Grips blush. - JM

Bartees Strange - Live Forever (Memory Music)

Like many, my introduction to Bartees Strange was through Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy, his EP of The National covers. Creativity and shifting perspectives shine through each song’s reimaging, like flipping the coarse, almost manic “Mr. November” into something softer, more meditative. It felt like a mere peek into what was to come on Live Forever. Bartees Strange is a world-builder. Each track on his debut unfolds and welcomes you to a wildly engaging tableau, a fully constructed vision. “Jealousy” opens with soft vocals and birdsong. “In a Cab” is the slick soundtrack to racing through a cityscape in the rain, seeing the blurred lights of the high-rises above as you pass by. “Kelly Rowland” warps wistful pop song feelings. “Flagey God” takes you into a dark, pulsing club while only a few songs later, “Fallen For You” wraps you in echoed vocals and romantic, raw acoustic guitar.

It’s an accomplishment to craft an album of individual songs that stand strongly on their own but still feel cohesive. 2020 wasn’t all bad. It gave us Live Forever, a declaration of an artist’s arrival. - Lauren Lederman

Charli XCX - how i’m feeling now (Atlantic)

Back in the spring, many of us wondered who would put out something great in 2020’s quarantine. It was hard to imagine that the intensity of a global pandemic would really allow for artists to embrace creativity. That thought carries the same eye-roll inducing feeling of “We’ll get some great punk music out of a Trump presidency,” but of course, Charli XCX delivered. Through live workshops with fans and longstanding collaborators, she delivered songs to dance alone to in your bubble. Charli embraces the unknown of the moment but clutches onto what’s familiar. Under the glitch-pop veneer of the album, she digs into the anxieties of not just this moment of time but of the bigger questions we all confront: trajectories of relationships with friends, romantic partners, ourselves. Album standouts “forever” and “i finally understand” embrace that feeling of both looking for control and accepting the lack of it. Charli is a master at balancing this. - LL

Christine and the Queens - La Vita Nuova (Because Music)

Named after a Latin text by Dante Alighieri about missing a woman who has died, Chris’ La Vita Nuova is not about mourning a death but instead about loneliness and isolation, post-relationship or otherwise. It doesn’t bang quite like her previous two albums, but it hits harder than ever.

Read our full review here.

Dogleg - Melee (Triple Crown)

Released on March 13th, right as the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Melee was supposed to be supported by three cancelled tours–SXSW, an opening slot for Microwave, and an opening slot for Joyce Manor–and an appearance at this year’s cancelled Pitchfork Music Festival. Listening to the songs on the record, you can only imagine how they translate: the jerky momentum of “Bueno”, build-up of “Prom Hell”, gang vocals of “Fox”, clear-vocal anthem of “Wrist”, and odd groove of “Ender”.

Read “Buckle Up, Motherfucker”, our interview with Dogleg.

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia & Dua Lipa/The Blessed Madonna: Club Future Nostalgia (Warner)

Where Dua Lipa’s much-anticipated second album Future Nostalgia succeeded was in its disco anthems and retro, club-ready beats, so who better to bring out the best of the record than The Blessed Madonna? The turntablist masterfully curates a mix of heavy hitters of the charts and the underground that not only offers an essential complement to Future Nostalgia but transcends it. Sending the tracks out to various producers and singers for features and then adding her own samples on top, she invites you to peel back the layers, enter a YouTube rabbit hole of sample searching as much as bopping along.

Read our full review here.

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full (Sacred Bones)

Roadburn Festival has long been on my bucket list, and since the pandemic showed me how much live music can be taken away in a flash, when it’s safe again to travel and go to a festival, I may just pull the trigger and go--especially considering it’s the springboard for such fruitful and inspired collaborations as the one between Louisville singer-songwriter Emma Ruth Rundle and Baton Rouge sludge dwellers Thou. Rundle embraces the heavier opportunities on the follow-up to her incredible 2018 record On Dark Horses with the ever-flexible Thou backing her up vocally and instrumentally. Slow-burning opener “Killing Floor” offers a familiar introduction to fans of both--sort of what a Rundle/Thou song would sound like--before grunge chugger “Monolith” introduces huge, catchy riffs and “Out of Existence” a True Widow-esque dirge, newfound inspirations for both artists bringing the best out of each other. - JM

Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters (Epic)

What makes Fetch the Bolt Cutters stand out among Apple’s catalog and music in general is the clarity with which Apple seethes at those who have wronged her, whether ex-boyfriends or patriarchal oppressors, and looks to her relationships with other women for peace of mind.

Read our full review here.

HAIM - Women in Music Pt. III (Columbia)

For HAIM, the title Women in Music Pt. III is suggestive that, more than their previous two records, their third centers around the experiences of being an all-female band in a historically white cis male-dominated scene, at least one that wouldn’t call catchy riffs written by a man “simple” or call attention to the faces a man makes while playing. What it doesn’t let on to is how deeply personal the record is, how, by unabashedly embracing genres and styles of music that they love, HAIM have made far and away their best album. Co-produced by the usual suspects, Danielle Haim, Ariel Rechtshaid, and ex-Vampire Weekender Rostam Batmanglij, it’s instrumentally and aesthetically dynamic and diverse, consistently earnest without devolving into cheese.

Read our full review here.

Irreversible Entanglements - Who Sent You? (International Anthem)

I’ve been captivated by Irreversible Entanglements ever since I first saw them at Pitchfork Music Festival 2018. The radical poetry of Camae Ayewa (aka Moor Mother) is the perfect front for a ramshackle mix of Luke Stewart’s spidery bass, Tcheser Holmes’ weighty drums, and a horn section that concocts tones that range from hopeful to desperate. At their best, Who Sent You? is a shining example of celebratory Afrofuturism and metaphysics that makes the urgency of Ayewa’s more concrete and political words all the more necessary. “No Más”, composed by Panamanian-born trumpeter Aquiles Navarro, is a declaration against imperialist oppression, while the stunning title track flips the switch like a Kara Walker painting, as Ayewa’s the one interrogating the police officer terrorizing her community. “Who sent you?” she repeats, never spiraling, grabbing a hold of the power and never letting go. - JM

Jeff Parker - Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem/Nonesuch)

It’s Jeff Parker’s mom’s turn. After 2016′s The New Breed ended up being a tribute to the guitarist’s father, who passed away during the making of it, Parker decided to pay tribute to Maxine while she was still alive. Suite for Max Brown (Brown is his mother’s maiden name; Max is what people call her) is a genre-bending collection of tracks inspired by Parker’s DJing, juxtapositions of sequenced beats with improvisation that certainly sound like the brainchild of one individual. Indeed, Parker plays the majority of the instruments on it and engineered most of it at home or during his 2018 Headlands Center residency in Sausalito, CA; though all of the players and the vocalist (Jeff’s daughter Ruby Parker) on The New Breed show up, plus a couple trumpeters (piccolo player Rob Mazurek and Nate Walcott of Bright Eyes) and cellist Katinka Kleijn, Suite for Max Brown is a distinctly Jeff Parker record.

Read our preview of Jeff Parker & The New Breed’s set at Dorian’s last year.

Jeff Rosenstock - NO DREAM (Polyvinyl)

Jeff Rosenstock throws us right into the spinning, manic energy of NO DREAM, his latest release from a seemingly endless well of music that never lacks urgency. It’s a reminder that though it’s been a strange year, the issues Rosenstock tackles here aren’t new. There’s no interest in making you feel comfortable here. On the album’s title track, Rosenstock sings, lulling you into a false sense of security, “They were separating families carelessly / Under the guise of protecting you and me.” But reality sets in, and the hazy guitars spin out as he spits, “It’s not a dream!” and, “Fuck violence!”

My image of Jeff Rosenstock in the year 2020 is masked up with “Black Lives Matter” scrawled across the fabric of his mask in Sharpie, performing album highlight “Scram!” on Late Night with Seth Meyers as high energy as ever. It felt like watching someone send out a beacon, both a distress signal and a call to arms. - LL

Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure? (PMR/Friends Keep Secrets/Interscope)

I am not someone who goes to clubs. I don’t “go out dancing,” preferring to let loose in the privacy of my own home or a trusted friend’s house party. But Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? makes me think I could embrace a night out like that, once the world opens up again, of course. The album is filled with syncopated disco beats that feel fresh and classic all at once. The abundant horns and strings on “Step Into My Life” are decadent, like light bouncing off sequins in a dark room. Ware’s voice is slinky and velvety one moment, windswept like her album cover the next. It’s songs like “Save a Kiss” that embrace both, allowing her to show off her range. - LL

Laura Marling - Song for Our Daughter (Partisan)

With sparse production, mostly from her but with additions from Ethan Johns and Dom Monks, Marling foregoes the comparative maximalism of the Blake Mills-produced Semper Femina, her last proper full-length, and 2018′s LUMP collaboration. The songs aren’t simple, but they’re succinct, and every element, from Marling’s finger-picked guitars, the occasional slide guitar, and that unmistakably calm voice, sometimes alone and sometimes layered, fits. It’s her most universal set of songs yet, centering around the times when we’re apart from one another but reflecting on when we were together and when we might be together again, with no guarantees.

Read the rest of our review here.

Les Amazones d’Afrique - Amazones Power (Real World Records)

The groovy pan-African collective expands upon their debut Republique Amazone and then some with Amazones Power, a tour-de-force statement of female empowerment in the face of oppression against women throughout the African diaspora. Indeed, the album is more than just songs boldly decrying FGM, though those demands ring heavily. Instead, the group goes further, delving into gender power structures in marriage on “Queens” and selectively finding strength in tradition on “Dreams”. And this time, they include men to stand alongside with them. “Together we must stand / Together we must end this,” sings Guinean musician/dancer/artist Niariu on opener “Heavy” in solidarity with features Douranne (Boy) Fall and Magueye Diouk (Jon Grace) of Paris band Nyoko Bokbae. But perhaps it’s her kiss-off on “Smile” that hits hardest: “I shut up for no one.” - JM

Lianne La Havas - Lianne La Havas (Nonesuch)

The British singer-songwriter’s much anticipated follow-up to 2015′s Blood was better than I could have ever imagined. A song cycle about life cycles--of nature, of lives, of a relationship--inspired by an actual breakup, Lianne La Havas is a contemporary neo soul masterpiece. Overview opener “Bittersweet” is an instant earworm, La Havas’ coo-turned-belt filling the space between classic and increasingly emotive slabs of piano and guitar. Funky, lovestruck strut “Read My Mind” is the soundtrack for the unbridled confidence of finding new love. Yes, the doubts begin to sow on the fingerpicked melancholy of “Green Papaya” and “Can’t Fight”, and where the album goes from a simple narrative perspective may be predictable: They break up, they don’t get back together, La Havas enjoys her independence. But the depth of the arrangements and assuredness of La Havas’ singing is a product of an artist starting to really show us what she can do. And how many people can pull off a Radiohead cover like that? - JM

Lomelda - Hannah (Double Double Whammy)

What does it mean to title an album after yourself? Lomelda’s latest album is centered around discovering more about yourself while not always having the answers. Despite the lyrical content, the album is self-assured. Hannah Read’s voice feels as steady as ever as it navigates these twisting questions, like the way the world can shift after a kiss. She finds power in softness and reflection throughout the album, like when she explores the mantra-like words of “Wonder” or through a reminder to do no harm in “Hannah Sun”. In a year that allowed for perhaps more reflection than usual, Hannah makes space for the questions that arise out of figuring yourself out, of making sense of the messiness of it all, wrapped in warm guitar, balanced vocals, and steady drums. - LL

Moses Sumney - Grae (Jagjaguwar)

“Am I vital / If my heart is idle? / Am I doomed?” Moses Sumney famously sang on his stunning 2017 debut Aromanticism, an album that saw him developing his acceptance of being alone. grae, his two-part 2nd full-length, and his first since officially moving from L.A. to the Appalachian Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, doubles down on themes of heartbreak, but instead of being sure in his seclusion, he embraces the unknown. The album teeters between interludes of platitudes about isolation and ruminations on failed human connection, and maximally arranged clutches of uncertainty. “When my mind’s clouded and filled with doubt / That’s when I feel the most alive,” Sumney coos over horns and piano on slinky soul song “Cut Me”; it’s an effective mantra for the album.

Read the rest of our review here.

Norah Jones - Pick Me Up Off The Floor (Blue Note)

At the time we previewed Norah Jones’ 7th studio album, she had only released a few tracks from it. Turns out the rest was just as powerful. From the blues stomp of “Flame Twin” to the rolling piano stylings of “Hurts to Be Alone”, Pick Me Up Off The Floor is an album full of jazzy orchestrations and soul and gospel-indebted arrangements, Jones’ silky, yearning voice tying together the simple, yet lush and deep instrumentation. And that other Tweedy feature, that closes the album? It’s a heartbreaking portrait of loneliness, one of many on a record that still manages to celebrate being alive all the while. - JM

Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher (Dead Oceans)

Phoebe Bridgers is a master of details. Her lyrics shine when they get specific. They range from the mundane to morbid: A superfan’s ghost-like wandering under a drugstore’s fluorescent lights, a skinhead likely buried under a blooming garden, reckoning with the you in “Moon Song”’s lines, “You are sick, and you’re married / And you might be dying.” Bridgers has always been able to set a scene meticulously, and Punisher arrived with 11 songs that expanded that skill, both lyrically and musically, with her dark humor intact and a fuller sound that includes her boygenuis collaborators’ harmonies. - LL

PJ Harvey - To Bring You My Love: The Demos & Dry - The Demos (Island)

Yes, revisiting Dry’s demos as a separate entity is still worthwhile. Harvey’s powerhouse vocal performance carries the acoustic strummed “Oh My Lover”, while the comparatively minimal arrangement of “Victory” highlights bluesy riffing, call-and-response harmonies, and layered guitar and vocals. The singles, the slinky and sharp “Dress” and propulsive anthem “Sheela-Na-Gig”, hold up to their ultimate studio versions, too. But it’s the To Bring You My Love material that provides novelty because it’s never been released and more so because it encompasses the greatest aesthetic contrast from the album. From the warbling hues and guitar lines of the title track to the tremolo haze of “Teclo” to the crisp snares of “Working With The Man”, the demos show a continuity and level of cohesiveness with the diversity of Dry and Rid of Me not shown on the studio version of Harvey’s more accessible commercial breakout. (Predictably, the album’s most well-known song, “Down by the Water”, is the closest to its eventual version.) “Long Snake Moan” is simultaneously more spacious and more noisy, its garage blues a total contrast to the lurking “I Think I’m A Mother” and swaying shanty “Send His Love To Me”. And “The Dancer” fully embraces its flamenco influences, hand claps and all.

Porridge Radio - Every Bad (Secretly Canadian)

Is there a better opening line than “I’m bored to death, let’s argue”? That kind of duality is found across all of Every Bad as it grapples with the frustrations and anxiety of trying to figure it all out, whatever that might mean for you. “Maybe I was born confused, but I’m not,” vocalist Dana Margolin repeats throughout the opening track, roping in listeners with the dizzying feeling of trying to make sense of yourself. The band’s guitar and synth sound coupled with Margolin’s howl makes for a dance party filled with dread, rendering Margolin’s already strong, repetitive lyrics even more spiraling. And yet, by the time we get to “Lilacs”, a glimmer of something else shines through as the music gets more manic and Margolin’s voice begins to soar: “I don’t want to get bitter / I want us to get better / I want us to be kinder / To ourselves and to each other.” - LL

Sault - Untitled (Rise) & Untitled (Black Is) (Forever Living Originals)

Yes, Black Is still pulls plenty of devastating punches. “Eternal Life”, a segue from the gospel boost of “US”, juxtaposes a deliberate drum beat with zooming synths, both ascending like a chorus of angels, as they sing, “I see sadness in your eye / ‘Cause I know you don’t wanna die,” presenting the oppression of Black life at the hands of white supremacy in inarguable terms. Ultimately, though, it’s the anthemic nature of the songs, resistant of platitudes, that shines through. “Nobody cared / This generation cares,” says Laurette Josiah on “This Generation”. Whether she’s talking about young people in general or the latest generation of young Black leaders, the sentiment is reflected on songs like “Black”, wherein over dynamic, sinewy instrumentation, the singers alternate between encouragement, support, and love of the self and others.

Read our full review here.

Shamir - Shamir (self-released)

Shamir’s voice is a bright beacon in a sea of conventional singers. Shamir captures the effervescence of pop music and weaves it together with elements of country, alt rock, and diary confessional lyrics all supported by the emotion and range of his vocals. There’s something for everyone across the album’s 11 shimmering tracks. Lead single and opener “On My Own” feels like a declaration of self and self-sufficiency, an anthem of a breakup song. The almost pop-punk bounce of “Pretty When I’m Sad”, paired perfectly with lines like the angst-ridden, “Let’s fuck around inside each other’s heads,” feels impossible to not bop along to. The twang of “Other Side” would put a country crooner to shame. That’s the power of Shamir. His voice has the ability to smoothly convey joy, resilience, and humor. He uses elements of several genres, not just the dance-pop of his debut, to build a unique album that gives listeners so much to sift through and, of course, dance to. - LL

Songhoy Blues - Optimisme (Fat Possum)

If Songhoy Blues’ second album Resistance lacked “the grit of its predecessor,” it’s clear from the hard rock stomp of the opening track of Malian band’s third album Optimisme that they rediscovered their mojo. More importantly, they couple this maximal brashness with tributes to those who make their world a better place: fighters for freedom, women, the young. It’s perhaps the first Songhoy Blues record to truly combine the celebratory nature of their desert blues with a balanced mixture of idealism and vigor. - JM

Spanish Love Songs - Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

How can you find hope in hopelessness, or optimism when every news story points to cruelty? Is it naïve to keep searching for light in the dark? I don’t think so, and I don’t think Spanish Love Songs does, either. I’d like to think we both believe that’s not naivety, but power. It’s the embers you need to really ignite a flame. After all, this is the band with a song titled “Optimism (As a Radical Life Choice)”. It’s a band whose crunching guitars and earnestness insist that despite death and depression and addiction, the instinct to survive shines brightly above all. That relentless hope resurfaces across Brave Faces Everyone’s 10 tracks even as it works through the bleakness of everyday life. - LL

Tashi Dorji - Stateless (Drag City)

The magnum opus from the Asheville-based picker is a group of evocatively titled, disorderly songs about the desolate hellscape of America for outsiders and immigrants. Enigmatic in its nature, not exactly narrative, Stateless combines Dorji’s urgent strumming with moody motifs, captured beautifully in a studio setting for maximum emotional wallop. - JM

Touche Amore - Lament (Epitaph)

Is this what an almost uplifting Touche Amore album sounds like? It’s cathartic in a newer way for the band, especially after the beautifully rendered grief of Stage Four. Lament loses none of the band’s aggression or urgency. “Come Heroine” thrusts listeners into that urgency and introduces a moment of warmth, Jeremy Bolm’s vocals still rasping and insistent: “You brought me in / You took to me / And reversed the atrophy.” The bounciness of “Reminders” may seem close to optimism, but a sharper look at the lyrics uncovers more than blindly looking to the things that bring joy. “I’ll Be Your Host” is reflective, a few years removed from Touche Amore’s previous album and the immediacy of loss, self-aware and growing, but still raw. The album closer, “A Forecast”, takes a turn, a lone voice and piano acting as a confessional before giving way to thrashing guitars and the realization that growth and reckoning with trauma doesn’t mean minimizing it. It means learning to keep moving forward and to stop for help when you may need it. - LL

Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud (Merge)

The best album yet from Katie Crutchfield is inspired by positive personal change (getting sober, dealing with codependency issues, her blossoming love with singer-songwriter Kevin Morby) and reflections on family and friends. Named after the suburb of Orlando where her father’s from, Saint Cloud is a genre-hopping collection of stories and feelings that doesn’t necessarily follow any semblance of narrative. On opener “Oxbow” and country-tinged ditty “Can’t Do Much”, Crutchfield’s increasingly aware of the need to pick your side and your battles, whether in the relationship between two people or between the allure of the bottle and the next-day hangover. Some of the best songs on the album see her finding commonalities with others as a means towards self-love. Gentle strummer “The Eye” refers to her natural creative relationships with Morby and her sister Allison. “War” she wrote for herself and best friend, who is also sober, the title a metaphor for one’s fight to remain substance-free. “Witches” is an ode to her best friends, including Allison and Snail Mail’s Lindsey Jordan, all equally frustrated by the toxic nature of the music industry and the world at large, ultimately lifting each other up because they simply have each other.

Read our full review here.

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the-pale-goddess · 4 years

Text

Breaking The Habit - Ethan Ramsey x MC (Tiffany Addams)

Don’t tell me about the rules and break them

And don’t tell me about mistakes

And make the same ones I have made before

Warnings: NSFW (+18) It’s kinda emotional and raw?

Author’s note: Consider this piece to be the 30 diamond scene that didn’t make the cut in Book 2, Chapter 9. The story takes off right after MC’s conversation with Rafael.

Taglist (let me know if you want in or out)

@caseyvalentineramsey @interobanginyourmom @newcolonies @ernest-harrington @openheart12 @perriewinklenerdie @mvalentine @ethandaddyramsey @kaavyaethanramsey @lion-ess24 @choices-love-affair @justanotherrookie @rookieoh @rookie-ramsey @queencarb @schnitzelbutterfingers @doilooklikeiknow

OH universe belongs to Pixelberry (well, Tiffany is also kinda mine)

_____

You should go home, Tiffany. You've had a long day.

The grim reality of her mental state knocked her sideways while she was wandering around Edenbrook's empty halls. The sound of her heels passing smoothly through the corridor accompanied her quiet sobbing.

Home wasn't safe anymore. She didn't want to be home. The confined space of her room would make her rot alone with her thoughts. So she kept on walking as in a daze, her feet dragging her to the only safe place they knew. Ethan.

Tiffany's heart jumped instantly, reminding her of its presence. She didn't think this through. She just had to check if he was still in his office. The light was on and she felt even more desperate for his attention. Was it wise to seek comfort in him?

She walked up to the door and knocked loudly. She couldn't hear a proper response, so she took a deep breath and decided to barge in. Ethan's narked expression softened drastically the minute his eyes laid on her. He was in the middle of packing a stack of test results into his bag, the white coat already hanging in his closet – he was ready to leave.

„Tiffany. I was about to call you.” Thank lord she was still leaning on the door, because the way he said her name made her knees weak and she found herself stumbling.

„You...You were?”

„Yes. I wanted to check on you.” Her cheeks flushed and a brief smile lit her face up. „Come in.”

She closed the door and entered Ethan's office. He watched her intently as she slid across the room, waiting for her to address his concerns, but she remained strangely silent. Now that she stood just a few steps away from him, he finally saw it. A wash of pain on her pretty face, fresh tears drying on her cheeks, shoulders huddled in a helpless abandon...He rushed by her side with a heavy sigh. He ran his thumb across her cheek, wiping the tears away, and tilted her chin up. She closed her eyes in an attempt to control the urge to cry. But she couldn't hold it back any longer and Ethan's comforting touch made her even more emotional.

This was Tiffany Addams in all her diminished glory. Unfiltered. Vulnerable. Shattered. Broken. She was standing in front of him with all her clothes on, yet she felt completely undressed, exposed like never before. There was nothing left for him to see. Her solid as a rock demeanour crushed with a piercing howl.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, afraid she might break if he let her go. Tiffany melted into him, allowing her body to relax slowly, while an ocean of tears began streaming down her cheeks. One of his hands was caressing her back, the other was gently stroking her hair. The aggressive sobbing started to fade away when she buried her face in his chest.

„Breathe, Tiffany. I'm here.”

He really was there. Supporting her with his whole body, calming her nerves with his caring touch and soothing voice, intoxicating her with his scent. This was her home. She looked up and saw his face etched with worry. He didn’t have to say it. The evidence was right there, in his every move – he cared.

„I wish I could take this pain away from you.” Ethan’s face was suddenly dangerously close to hers. In a split second his lips landed on her cheek, kissing the tears off her. Tiffany freezed and she wished time would freeze too.

„This might actually work.” She whispered. „Keep going.”

Ethan did as he was told. His lips travelled around her face, planting salty kisses on her cheeks and across her jaw. But then he reached her lips and stopped. His eyes linked with hers – the sheer intensity of their gaze could start a fire. As their noses touched, their breathing got rapid and unsteady. Why would he stop. She was losing it. But when he looked down at her lips it all clicked. He wanted permission. She smiled softly and ran her fingers through his hair. Ethan smiled back, biting his lower lip nervously. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Tiffany couldn't wait any longer. She leaned closer allowing their lips to crash. The kiss was heavy and needy. This time there was no rush, Alan wasn't waiting for Ethan. This time the kiss wasn't a part of the Mass Kenmore heist. It was deliberate and long overdue. It was salty. And sweet. And it wasn't enough. They both felt it in the urgency of their hands exploring the familiar shapes in a hastily attempt to relive their most precious memories.

The sweetness quickly disappeared and got replaced by an untamed passion. Their tongues twisted together in a bruising kiss, leaving no place for air.

„What are we doing?” She gasped when they finally parted and reality checked in. He used to be sure about everything but her. But now he stared at her with such confidence her heart skipped a beat. It was somehow the least and most Ethan thing to do. The look on his face was something new to her. She couldn't exactly name it, but he didn't seem to be ashamed of the intense makeout session he just initiated in the middle of his office.

„Kissing. I'm pretty sure we're kissing, Rookie.”

„There he is.” She chuckled. „The smug I know. I was scared you were getting too soft for me.”

„I do have a soft spot for you, though.” He tipped her chin up, brushing her swollen lip with his thumb. She gave it a quick lick and the sight made him groan.

„So I've noticed.” Her hands reached the nape of his neck, bringing his face to her again and their lips reunited.

Ethan swept her off her feet with a slick movement, her legs wrapped around him the moment she was up. Never breaking the kiss, he walked up to the desk and positioned her on its flat surface. His fingers moved up her thigh, playing with the material of her dress and lifting it slightly while her ankle rubbed his butt in slow circles. She spread her legs a little more, allowing him to nestle between them. All the layers of clothes separating them failed to cover his growing arousal. Tiffany almost jumped when she felt how hard he was.

„Wait a second...Are you seriously going to fuck me at work? On your desk?” The words were out without a second thought. They sounded even more ridiculous out loud. Of course not, silly. Ethan Ramsey would never...But he just grinned mischievously and dived into her neck like a starved man, making her squirm with pleasure.

„Tell me to stop.” His husky voice and hot breath against her ear made her delirious.

„No. You're exactly where I want you to be.” She crossed her legs behind his back, pressing his body closer into hers, while his hand plunged into her cleveage. With a brisk motion, he slipped under her bra and grabbed her breast, giving it a firm squeeze. A lusty gasp escaped her mouth, but she didn't let the sensations overwhelm her. She unbuckled his pants and began unbuttoning his shirt when a sudden noise disrupted their encounter. They both stopped in their tracks and looked at the door in horror, but nothing changed. They were still alone.

„What if someone will be looking for you?” She kissed his jaw, letting her lips linger there for a moment. Ethan freed himself from her reluctantly and moved towards the door with a sigh. He locked it and turned the lights off, leaving the room in a dim glow of a small lamp standing behind the desk.

„They won't find me here.” That confident grin of his made her giggle and he took his time to marvel at her from the distance. She looked like a real goddess laughing on his desk with tousled hair, rumpled dress and legs spread open only for him.

When he finally returned, Tiffany welcomed him with a searing kiss. She quickly finished unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall off his shoulders a bit. With a little help, he moved the material of her dress down, unclasped her bra and got rid of it, exposing her full breasts. He threw himself at her again with tense anticipation, sucking her nipples and pinching them. Tiffany knew she had to control her moans, but he made the task nearly impossible.

Her small hands wandered around his chest, tracing every muscle with her fingers. But that wasn't the destination of their journey. They soon rushed straight into his pants, pulling them down with his underwear without any warning. Her unwavering gaze met Ethan's, a cheeky smile formed on her lips. There was something primal in the way he devoured her with his eyes and it burned her skin to the core. She missed him so much. All of him.

His strong grip landed on her sides, pulling her dress up. Then he slipped her panties off and the air got heavier with their breathing. His eyes immediately landed between her legs. His thumb followed the same path, rubbing her wet centre. She moaned uncontrollably, shivering under his touch. Ethan smirked in response. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged it gently, looking her deep in the eye, the other hand still teasing her clit.

„If you want me to finish what we started I need you to stay quiet.” He planted a brief kiss on her lips, scratching her pleasantly with his beard.

„Right. Like you would be able to stop.” Tiffany laughed softly into his mouth, her hand slipped on his cock and gave him a few powerful strokes. Ethan hissed, urging himself to stay silent as his face turned red and his hand let go of her hair.

„You have no idea what you're talking about. I stop myself every time I see you.” He lowered his face to her neck and bit it gently.

„Really?” She purred. „Do you think of me often when you touch yourself?” The words hit him like a ton of bricks. He swallowed hard, lifted both of her legs and hooked them around his waist, setlling himself near her entrance.

„Always. Do you think of me?”

„Yes. Constantly.” She touched his cheek with a beaming smile. Ethan couldn't help but smile back.

He closed the distance between them, grasping impatiently at the material of her dress draped around her hips, lifting it even higher. His tip finally touched her folds, not daring to move any further.

„I need you, Tiffany.”

„And I need you, Ethan.”

I need you. This short yet meaningful sentence carried the weight of the unbearable longing stored and hidden for months. The rawness of their emotions overpowered them completely as they melted in a fervent kiss. Their hands raced blindly up and down each other's bodies, the obvious need expressed in every touch.

And then he plunged into her. They swallowed each other's moans when his length filled her. Her walls clenched around him, making him groan quietly. The plan was to take it slow and savour every second of the first intimate moment after what felt like forever, but his body wouldn't obey, setting a vicious pace. He was famished and she was the meal he craved the most.

Tiffany had to lean back and prop herself up on her elbows to adjust to this merciless rhythm. She tried to focus on silencing her whimpers, but the sensation of his cock ravaging her was too much. Her mind went blank. His thrusts were so deep and fervid she wanted to scream his name at the top of her lungs.

„Holy fuck, Ethan...” She yelped silently and grabbed the desk at its edge for support as he continued slamming into her. One of his hands had a strong grip on her hip, keeping her in place, the other roamed around her bare chest. The room was filled with the obscene sound of their skin colliding, mixed with muffled moans and the grinding noise of her ass hitting the desk.

A pile of documents went up in the air when Tiffany laid her back flat. The whole desk was moving with them – back and forth, in and out, back and forth...Ethan's medical journals, usually stacked tidily on his desk, hit the floor with a loud thud. But they didn't seem to care. Ethan struggled to keep his moans inside, allowing silent hums to escape his mouth. She was so tight and so beautiful and so deliciously wet. Her hips responded to every thrust with the most graceful eagerness and he couldn't help but follow her every move with hungry eyes.

Beads of sweat ran down his chest when he kept on pounding her tirelessly, feeling the release is close. With a strong motion he lifted her up, bringing her flushed body as close as it was possible. They were face to face now – riveted on each other, admiring the pleasure taking control of them.

„Fuck...You're perfect.” He groaned before claiming her lips. Tiffany's arms twined around him tightly as she bounced on his cock, her nails scratching his back. They moved in unison, desperately chasing the highly anticipated climax. Their lips brushing, tortured with soundless moans.

„Ethan, I'm – I...Oh!” Tiffany wanted him to know how close she was when he hit the spot before she even managed to gather her thoughts. She arched her back, squirming in ecstasy and the sight drove him wild. This was the finish line. His grip on her ass tightened as his last thrusts became sloppier and deeper and he finally came all over her with a low groan.

Their sticky bodies were trembling violently with pleasure, trying to cool down and adjust back to reality. Still locked in a loving embrace, Ethan rested his forehead on hers with eyes closed. Tiffany gave him a lingering wet smack on the lips. They wouldn't dare to move – both of them refused to let go of this fragile intimacy.

But they did eventually have to move. Ethan pulled himself out and pecked on her nose before reaching to one of the drawers for a box of tissues. He took one, cleaned his lover up, his touch delicate and cautious. Tiffany watched him startled. She suddenly remembered everything that has happened between them – the mentoring, the longing, the surrender, the rejection and the battle, all the hurt, the professionalism, the rules. And here they were, breaking them all again. A wash of dread weighed on her shoulders when she realized this bubble might burst the way it did the last time. Or worse.

He noticed the conflict in her eyes while cleaning himself up. Afterwards, he put his pants back on and cupped her face. She leaned closer as if a magnet pulled her towards him.

„What's bothering you?”

„This. Us. We have a lot more to talk about after today...” The young doctor smiled nervously and moved away to make herself decent. She hiked her dress up, covering her upper body. Her eyes skimmed the floor in search of her underwear, but Ethan spotted it first. He picked the lacy material up and moved back to Tiffany.

„I suppose we do.” He answered while his fingers flew up her legs, helping her put the panties back. “I’m sorry I didn't reach out immediately after...”

„After you unexpectedly kissed me in front of your apartment?” She finished when he struggled to describe their encounter after the softball game the other night.

„Precisely.” They smiled at each other, every single detail of that kiss still vivid in their memories. „I didn’t mean to make it even more confusing. I just thought burdening you with my feelings would be inconsiderate, due to everything that followed. You have enough on your plate right now.”

„You’re right, the time is...Challenging, to say the least. But I’m also freaking tired of excuses and mixed signals. I want clarity. I need something good to stay.”

„Do we have to talk about it here?”

„Where do you suggest we do this? Or rather when?” Her brows furrowed and Ethan understood that it would be wise to say it literally any other way, but it was too late. He sighed as if trying to restore his confidence.

„I suggest we move to my place. I'll cook the Chef Ramsey Special for you and we will be able to talk about us the right way. And then you could...stay the night. That is – only if you'd like.”

Tiffany couldn't believe her ears. She stared at him speechless for a long moment before a broad grin lit her face up

„Is Ethan Ramsey inviting me for a sleepover?”

„Well, if that’s what you want to call it...” He was prepared for another sassy remark, but she was done teasing him.

„I’d love that.” Tiffany slipped her hand into his and entwined their fingers. Her reaction was greeted with the most sincere smile. „Could we drive by my place to grab some things?”

„Sure. Don't pack too much, though. You won't be needing any clothes at my pajama party.”

„You're not done with me, are you?” She giggled, but his expression was serious. She bit her lip seductively and traced a finger down his bare chest, his skin still burning and sweaty.

„Not in the slightest.” He smirked. Tiffany readjusted his shirt and began buttoning it up.

„We should get going then.”

___

NEXT PART > The Talk

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #oh fanfiction #ethan freaking ramsey #my fanfic writing #doctor whipped

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tinalbion · 4 years

Text

Call Out My Name - Brahms Heelshire x Reader

This is part 2 to Someone To Stay which I didn’t plan on making into a part 2, but damn guys, I WARNED you all. I’m sorry this is so long, but I hope you guys let me know if you liked it! Enjoy some fluff and a bit of spice~

Words: 5,117

Warnings: Lemon (Citrus Scale/ NSFW)

Once you had gotten over the initial shock of discovering a man living within the walls of Heelshire Manor, it was something to get used to now that the living situation had changed slightly. You knew he was there, walking through the walls and watching you, but he rarely made sounds nor did he show his face very often. You had only seen him once before, the night he had first made his true presence known to you when he had found out about the death of his parents.

That was an experience all on its own and you hadn’t known how to feel once you discovered he was still alive. The grocery man who had delivered to the manor once a week had tried to make conversation to pique your interest, but the fact that the Heelshire’s made you babysit a doll was just beyond crazy. After hearing about their son’s death from Malcolm, it hurt you more than you thought it would. After that, you felt more sympathy toward the doll, acting as if it were one of your own, so it was like second nature taking care of him despite you not having a single motherly bone in your body.

The night you saw him in his full, fleshy glory, you almost wanted to run and never come back, but you were both at a point that if you would have left, it would have been the worst possible decision. The mask was a dead giveaway to who he had really been and seeing those eyes peer out at you with such raw emotion had tugged at your heart, so you stayed. He spoke in a soft voice, still being the child he knew how to be, and he spoke your name as if he had known it for years. The feelings you held for the deceased child you thought were no longer something you just felt was necessary, you had felt true feelings for this man. So naturally, you became protective of him and took to him immediately, but he had still felt safer within the confines of the walls.

You would always sit in a room and speak through the wall, your head leaned against it as you talked about your past or just read to him. Whatever he had felt, you wanted him to know that you were no threat. But what you didn’t know was that he felt a great deal for you, his mind was filled with nothing but you. His dreams had your face in it, his waking moments held you in them. Whenever Brahms would hear Malcolm enter the home, he grew irritated and on edge, his eyes never leaving you as he watched safely from the shadows.

Despite your past learnings, you began to feel something more than just motherly instinct for him, and it bothered you that you were so easily falling for someone who had been mistreated so badly. How could you really help him when you could barely help yourself? It was a learning experience that you both would have to go through together, you figured. It was possible that you were both feeling the same for one another, you thought. When he had first shown himself and the way he looked at you, it was unmistakable that he had no one else, but lately, his quick glances turned into something longing.

As an unspoken promise, you never told Malcolm the true secret of Heelshire Manor and you never would. Brahms was thankful for that, but his darker moods took time to subside when that grocery man came over and acted as if he owned the place. He didn’t appreciate when the man would try to tempt you into leaving, hearing him promise you a good night out on the town filled with drinks and unspoken curiosities that Brahms knew very well what he had intended.

You were his and his alone. He chose you, there was no going back on your promises now, you were here for him and those were the rules. He would show you soon enough.

Brahms became incredibly possessive of you the first night you had seen him, he knew you wouldn’t leave, you stayed here knowing who and what he was, and you continued your routine with him as if nothing had changed. Keeping to his schedule added a bit of normalcy to the entire situation, which would be best for Brahms.

The day he grew incredibly bold was when you had just a taste of what you were in for. You had spoken loud and clear, alerting him that you needed to head out to town to grab a couple of essentials when you heard the normal response of creaking, and you figured he would just follow you as you walked to the door, you didn’t expect him to grab your arm before you even stepped outside.

“Where are you going…?” he asked in that high pitch.

You smiled nervously up at him, hoping not to scare him off. Seeing his glassy eyes through the mask made your heart leap. “Just going to town, Brahms. I promise I’ll be back.”

“No,” he stated, “you should stay here. Nothing you need is there, everything is here.”

Clingy wasn’t an issue with you typically, though he had been abandoned by his only family, you felt it would be normal for anyone to act this way, but the urgency in his voice only grew the more you insisted you should leave.

That’s when he finally allowed himself to drop the act and belt out his normal voice, he growled deeply beforehand. “I said no, you’re mine, you hear me? You must not leave me! I will not stand for it.”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t afraid of him for the duration of this conversation, but you also were completely understanding, strangely enough.

“I said I was coming back, I’ll always come back,” you assured the tall man and smiled up at him.

His grip on your arm only tightened. “Please.” The desperation in his voice only worsened as you insisted, and if you left, he would not forgive you so easily.

You sighed in defeat and chuckled. He was still hurting and in more pain than you could imagine, the least you could do was stay here until he was able to let you go for a few hours. That’s when you set your bag down and closed the front door while Brahms continued to hover near you, and when you locked it up, that’s when he dropped to his knees, his height still impressive as he leaned his head against your stomach and held onto you.

Unsure of your next move, you slid a hand through his hair and stroked his curly locks, allowing yourself to feel just how soft you had imagined they’d be.

Brahms let out a satisfied groan as he finally felt you touch him for the first time, his skin crawling from the shivers he got as he allowed himself to bask in the pleasure he so longed to feel. You were his and he would not let you touch anyone else. What he imagined you would do with your hands once he had you all to himself was never this comforting, but he wouldn’t turn you away, not now or ever. His eyes closed as he breathed in your scent, the warmth from your body warming his hands while he sat there like that for a little while.

“You must be uncomfortable, come on, let’s get you up. You hungry?” You pulled away slightly from him to look down at his covered face, your hand still playing with his hair.

“Not yet.” He peeked up and looked at you, his eyes a beautiful color of greenish-hazel that peered at you silently for a moment. “You won’t leave, will you?” he asked quietly.

“If you ask me nicely, I won’t,” you replied sweetly.

He paused and his grip tightened on you. “Please, don’t leave…?”

This made you chuckle as you grabbed his arm and tugged on it gently, signaling him to stand, which he did. Brahms towered over you easily while you pulled him along to the living room, where you placed your bag and your sweater over the back of the chair nearest to the door. He shuffled along with his bare feet barely making a sound as he walked to where you stood, not once taking his eyes off of you. He feared you would try to distract him and leave the first chance you get, but he didn’t want to be alone right now, he needed you there for him before he allowed himself to wallow in sadness.

“I think we should read something, anything you’d like, what do you think?” you asked happily, your eyes scanning the titles as you felt the man walk up toward you again.

His breathing was heard from behind his mask and you had wondered just what he looked like, but you feared how he would react negatively if you were to try and have a look. Instead, you took this for what it was and accepted that you may never get a look at him, you just enjoyed being around someone who cared for you so deeply. It was misguided, sure, but you would have to be the one to teach him things now.

You pulled out the book that you haven’t seen in years, a title you remember reading back in middle school as an assignment but ended up enjoying more than you thought. “I love ‘Phantom of the Opera’!” you gasped as you turned back to Brahms, his glass face closer than you expected. “Would you like me to read it?”

Brahms unexpectedly pulled your body closer against his own, the earthy smell of his cardigan taking over your nose. He wanted to say something to you, he wanted to tell you so many things, but how would he even begin to start when you looked at him like that? Wordlessly, he tugged at your sleeve and pulled you toward the large sofa and waited for you to sit down. Once you did and propped up against your side with one of the decorative pillows, his lanky frame had enveloped around you as he laid his head on your lap, wanting to feel as close to you as he possibly could.

You didn’t mind this, in fact, you found yourself craving his touch as you sat there and turned to the first page of the book, your heart raced as his head rested against your stomach and his chin rested on your lap. You allowed your hand to run through his curls again as you began to read, feeling his heart thumping against your leg while you tried to focus your attention on the writing.

You read it for over an hour, getting about halfway into the book when you realized that Brahms had dozed off in your lap, but as much as you had wanted to move, you knew you would wake him. You looked over toward the clock, which read that it was already three in the afternoon and you had chores to finish. You set the book down and stroked the side of the man’s face, hoping he would stir soon.

“Brahms, let’s get you to the bedroom,” you offered as you shifted your leg a little.

In protest, Brahms groaned and clung to your waist tighter, lazily tilting his head up to look at you with half-lidded eyes. “Come with me, please,” he began to whine, his hands grabbing fistfuls of your shirt to keep you in place. You couldn’t go now, he had enjoyed you so much here, forgetting about everything around you both.

The more you wanted to pull away from him the more he fought it, your frustration growing as he refused to release you. That was when you had wanted to raise your voice and firmly tell him that he needed to behave, but you were thrown off when he had suddenly risen and hovered over your body, his face inches from yours as he glared daggers at you. You didn’t feel threatened whatsoever, you did feel that he would retaliate and throw a tantrum, which was more of a minor inconvenience than anything. You had grown accustomed to this behavior and did your best to rectify it, but his parents had let him get away with so much that it took longer to sink in, especially with whatever was truly wrong with the man.

None of that really mattered and it wasn’t a problem for you since you had seen the lengths Brahms would go to because he cared, no matter how misguided it was. Being here for six months, you began to pick up the ins and outs of his mannerisms, the way he would react to certain things you did or didn’t do, it was intriguing, to say the least.

You looked at him as he hovered, his hands firmly planted on either side of you as you sunk beneath his intense gaze on the sofa, afraid to say anything more. He leaned in close to you and you could hear him smelling your hair through the holes in his mask. “Brahms,” you began, but you didn’t have the heart to continue.

Brahms only consumed you as he pressed his mask against your face, mimicking a kiss as if he wasn’t wearing it. When he pulled away, his breathing picked up slightly. “Don’t you dare leave me, Y/N, I will not allow it. You are mine, I chose you and you stayed with me, do not make me regret this decision.”

Possessive, that was it.

You sighed and cupped his mask’s cheek, the cold surface of the porcelain seeping into your fingertips as you held it there. “I am yours,” you agreed, “but not allowing me to follow your rules and do the chores isn’t the way to prove that.” The only way to win this game was to use his rules against him. You smiled, feeling triumphant against his growing frustration while you looked into those unknowing eyes.

He was weak to your touch despite not feeling it against the mask, but the motions of your hand as if it were on his own skin made him shiver, the danger in his eyes subsiding as he looked at you with more adoration than anything. He was weak for you in more ways than one, his own body working against him as he mindlessly reached up and placed his hand on yours, his long digits wrapping around your own.

“I'm…” he sputtered, but couldn’t finish.

“Brahms, it’s okay, we’re taking it one day at a time. I swear to you, you can trust me.” You closed your eyes as you felt his hand give yours a small squeeze.

“That’s what they all say,” he retorted in slight annoyance.

“And that’s why I’m going to prove myself to make sure those words no longer have an empty meaning.” You were also annoyed, mainly for those who had hurt him and pushed him to the brink of trusting no one, but he was only human. He needed stability and normalcy more than ever. “Come on, you should rest. I’ll wake you up once dinner is finished, deal?”

With a small scoff to follow, he nodded his head and reluctantly followed you to his room, his feet shuffling against the carpeted areas and then silent when he reached the doorframe of the room. He didn’t enter with you as you continued to walk in, he just watched you set up the bed and smooth out the blankets, but he tilted his head as he watched you pull your hands away.

“This bed is rather small, you sure you’ll be alright here?” you asked him softly, thinking that your gaze would meet his as you spun around.

He wasn’t there anymore, instead, he decided to take the opportunity to take this moment and turn it into a game. Brahms tiptoed away from the room as you readied the blankets and took off down the hall, sneaking into the master bedroom that you had slept in. He took it upon himself to slither under the covers and act as if he’d done nothing wrong, waiting to see how you would react.

When you figured he was hiding from you, the first thought was he was in the walls and knocked on it. “Brahms, you know I don’t know where the doors are,” you groaned with a smile, “you’re not playing fair.”

He laughed to himself as he heard you knocking on the walls, speaking as if he were right beside you, watching. He would fall into a fit of laughter once you discovered that he was content within the safety of your sheets. Your scent was still on them, the sweet and gentle smell along with the fragrance of your shampoo; it drove him wild as he would smell it mixed with your natural odor. He had grabbed a fistful of the material and inhaled, a content sigh followed as he imagined you beside him, his mind racing with other thoughts, too. In addition to you being there and taking care of him along with the Manor, maybe he would have to show you that he wanted you for another reason.

You were beautiful inside and out, you never retreated in fear, you met his behavior with a fire of your own and never backed down. He adored you. Brahms wanted to stay and play the game longer, but now another game was on his mind, so he slid out of the bed and quietly made his way to your closet. There within was another hidden door, so he made sure to cover his tracks and shut everything behind him, snickering to himself as he wove his way through the paths, finally meeting you on the second floor, where he watched you walk toward the stairs.

Brahms quickly emerged from a nearby door and flipped the light switch off, flooding you with total darkness, save for the setting suns glow from outside.

You gasped and stopped where you were, your eyes wide as you waited to adjust to the light. “Brahms, I swear if that was you…” you barked, feeling a little frightened.

There was a small child-like giggle that pulled your attention behind you until it was too late. You felt his hands on your back, quickly capturing your arms and holding them down at your sides. “Gotcha.”

“That wasn’t funny!” you sighed, a small laugh of relief followed. “What are you doing, Brahms?” Your voice got smaller as you were held into place, not wanting to fight your way out of his grasp in case he tightened his grip.

Brahms didn’t say anything, instead, he leaned forward and leaned his face against your hair as he sniffed at it, shuddering as the smell intoxicated him. He wanted to act on impulse and take you right there and then, the overwhelming urge was hitting him like a wave crashing against the side of a cliff. He hadn’t even noticed that his breaths had become sporadic and uneven until your voice seemed miles and miles away and called out to him.

“Brahms,” you breathed, leaning your head back against his shoulder, “come on now, let me go so I can get back to the chores.” You didn’t think much of his behavior, you only figured he was just a little more playful since he had gotten some rest.

“New rule for tonight,” he breathed beside your ear, smiling beneath the mask. With that, he guided you along back to your room and didn’t bother turning on the lights, then he pushed you over toward the bed and watched as you stumbled onto the plush mattress.

Whatever had come over him, it was not something you’d seen in his behavior before, this was new and it was definitely foreign to you. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t imagine Brahms doing this to you, his large hands groping at your body as you lay beneath him, allowing him to take control and dominate you. He was a shy mess of a man, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t end up taking what he wanted soon or later, and you were curious to see how this would play out.

There wasn’t much time to think before the man had towered over you as he crawled onto the bed, the light of the sunset now drowned beyond the horizon, and the only lights in the room were the dim glow of the candle flames. You could see the minor details in his mask as he looked down at you, noticing the pulse of your heartbeat beating against your neck. He knew that meant your heart was racing and you were nervous, maybe even scared.

You reached out your hand and placed it on the side of his mask again, desperately wanting to see what mysteries it held beneath it, but the last thing you wanted was for Brahms to pull away and change his mind. You smiled and traced the outline of the lips, dragging your fingertip slowly along the chipped porcelain.

“Brahms,” you said again. Truth be told, you loved saying his name as much as you could, you loved the way he would react to you saying it, too. You noticed it every time, the way his body would respond with a small jump or a twitch of his shoulder. You didn’t know what it was, but you enjoyed it.

You had only realized this was the first time you were together in your bed. He had always retreated into the walls after you would tuck him in while in his old room, so you hadn’t even realized it until you were as close as you could have been. You would imagine it late at night, wanting to touch yourself as you pictured him sneaking into your bed and taking you under the thick blankets as he would touch you everywhere. As much as you wanted to, you kept the personal touching to a minimum in case you were to wake Brahms or draw attention to yourself. The last thing you needed was getting caught.

Now though, the man you had dreamt of touching you was right here, hovering above you as you froze in place, unable to move and guide him like your body yearned for. Would he make the first move and go with it? You hoped he would.

Brahms looked at your body through the eye holes of the mask, swallowing you up as he allowed one of his hands to get dangerously close to your breast. His eyes flickered up to yours as he watched you curiously. He wondered if you would punish him if he were to touch you. You didn’t object as he awaited your permission, so he grabbed at you and squeezed, what followed was music to his ears. You let out a gasp mixed with an audible moan, and he wanted to hear more, so that’s when he no longer decided to wait for permission.

His other hand found your other breast, he began kneading them and rubbing his thumb over your hardening buds, watching as you arched your back slightly under his touch. He got comfortable and straddled your hips, you already felt him hardening against your thigh as you sprawled back against the bed.

“Brahms!” You cried out, wanting to feel more than just the heavy petting he was giving, but you had to be patient with him, so you bit back your whining of protest and allowed him to explore you.

He released a low guttural growl as you cried it his name, wanting to hear it again. He slowly began to work his hips as he began to grind into your leg, feeling the friction against him only made him become more impatient. “Say it again,” he demanded.

You blushed at his request, his name formed on the tip of your tongue so easily as you looked away out of embarrassment. “Brahms, please,” you begged, not wanting to give in. You wanted to give him everything you had; your heart, your body, your soul. This man burned himself into your brain, unable to think straight when he was around, you couldn’t understand it even if you tried.

Pushing everything aside that screamed at you to rethink it, your hand had reacted before you even thought about it, and you slid your cool fingertips under the edge of the mask. His rough beard tickled your skin as you boldly continued your exploration and suddenly came into contact with his marred skin. You had no idea why he exactly wore the mask, you never figured to ask, afraid of upsetting him. When you heard him gasp as your fingers met its mark, you quickly sat up and looked at him, your noses only an inch apart as you placed your other hand on his face. Wordlessly, you slid the bottom half of the mask up and kissed his lips.

You expected him to push you away and cut you off from the attention he had been giving you, but you were pleasantly surprised when he met your kiss back with such fervor that you almost didn’t get a chance to prepare yourself.

Brahms had always imagined what you would taste like on his lips, how soft yours were against his own, and just how much he would melt into your touch. He feared how you would react to seeing his face for the first time, the horror you would endure just laying your eyes upon his face, but here in the darkness, he had nothing to worry about. His body relaxed beneath your touch and he finally allowed himself to give in.

What the man expected from you wasn’t any of this, he surely didn’t understand why you wrapped your arms around his neck and continued to kiss him, your lips slowly beginning to travel from his lips to his cheek, down his neck. Without thinking twice, he removed the mask completely and tossed it aside on the pillow. He was too distracted to notice how your eye had lit up, the sunset rays causing the room to glow, which illuminated his face. He looked back at you and saw the complete reverence in your eyes as you drank him in, etching the way he looked into your mind as you bit your lip to hold back your words.

He tried to tug away from you and reach for the mask again, but your hand against his face stopped him as his eyes met yours again.

“You’re breathtaking, you know that?” you asked in a whisper.

You doubt Brahms had ever blushed before but you surely witnessed it now, his head turned away from yours, covering his burns from your gaze as he tried to catch his bearings. “You don’t mean that,” he snapped.

If you couldn’t convince him with words, you would go beyond that to show him just how you truly felt. You pushed yourself up to reach him, your lips once again connected with his skin as you peppered his neck in gentle kisses while one of your hands slid beneath his shirt as you ran it across his bare stomach. He let out a breathy moan as your hand decided to go a bit lower, palming him through his trousers, his excitement returning as he continued to straddle you. He decided this was the point of no return and greedily tugged at your shirt, quickly sliding it over your head and he disposed of it somewhere on the floor.

Gently, you pushed the cardigan he wore off of his broad shoulders and watched as it was discarded onto the floor with the rest of the clothes you both wore. Brahms was hesitant to strip completely in front of you as his hands stopped at the hem of his underwear, but you wanted him to want this as much as you did, so you smiled and waited. He took a deep breath and removed them, quickly he leaned over you so you wouldn’t have much of an opportunity to look at him, and that’s when you got to feel him against you for the first time.

He wasted no time in rubbing against you, his body twitching as he could feel the slickness from your core while he positioned himself between your legs. His body shuddered as he pushed into you, finally feeling you as he gave several off-pace thrusts, allowing his body to adjust. You cried out his name again once he entered you, your arms wrapped around him and you pulled him closer, matching your hip movements with his own for more of a rhythm. You couldn’t hold back as your moaning echoed through the room, feeling him thrust as deep as he could go.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as your hands gripped tightly at his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in further. He wouldn’t last long and he was disappointed in himself as he could already feel that pressure building in the pit of his stomach, all he wanted was to make you proud, but the way you cried out with your muffled screams only made him want to cum even quicker.

“I can’t-” he began, but you only silenced him with a deep kiss.

“It’s fine, keep going,” you replied, breathless from your movements as you clung to him in desperation. “Please, Brahms, cum for me.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer as his body shook and he growled deeply next to your ear, his voice ragged as he called out your name, spilling himself within you as his hips jerked and then finally slowed. His breathing was heavy as his chest heaved against your own, but you didn’t even mind that you didn’t get to cum with him, you just wanted this moment to last forever as you held him close. As sweaty as you both were, you didn’t want to move as you rested your head against his chest until he finally found the strength to pull away, his face soft as he looked down at you. You didn’t know what went through his mind, but it didn’t matter.

Again, you cupped the side of his cheek and placed a gentle kiss on his marred skin. “I love you, Brahms.”

He couldn’t help but smile as you looked at him like that. “I love you.”

#tinalbion writings #citrus slashers #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms the boy #the boy 2016 #slashers x reader #slashers imagine #slasher boys #im sorry this was so long #i couldnt stop myself

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geraskier-hell · 4 years

Note

May I please request 76 + 90 (smut prompt) >:)

As I previously mentioned, the numbers of the prompts don’t match on my phone and on my pc, so I did my best to understand what you guys had actually asked for, I chose the ones that made more sense to me, but if I was wrong, feel free to send me a prompt again (this time with the full dialogue) and I shall write another one shot for you. In the meantime, please enjoy some bottom Geralt ;)

Prompts: “Please, remind me again why we’re having sex behind a tree?” + “How quickly can you cum?”

Read here or on AO3

Fallen pine cones break under their feet and leaves rustle as they hurry through the garden. The music from the party gradually quiets down and the light coming from the house becomes more faint, making it easier for them to stumble on the uneven ground. Excitement runs through Jaskier when they reach the furthest tree behind the house, away from indiscreet eyes.

“Here should do,” he says.

“Please, remind me again why we’re having sex behind a tree?” the boy with him deadpans.

“The bathroom was busy, and this is the only place that came to my mind.”

“Not the first time I fuck outdoors, I suppose.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page on this, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbles. Did he really have to rub it in that he fucks more often than him?

Geralt hums and grabs Jaskier by his sweater to pull him in for a kiss. Jaskier is surprised by the sudden move, but he has dreamt too many times about this moment to shy away. He presses Geralt against the trunk and follows his lead, lips hungrily moving together. Geralt tastes way too good, but maybe it’s all the build-up to this moment that turns the hint of beer on his lips into a sweeter flavour.

Jaskier has been pining after the boy for months now, ever since he saw him at one of the football games Yennefer had dragged him to. He has always been more of a fine arts kind of student, but after that moment, his interest in sports suddenly awakened. He wasn’t able to shake off his crush on the white-haired boy all summer and when his second year of college rolled around, his heart annoyingly skipped a beat whenever he saw him around campus.

Jaskier has never thought he’d actually have a chance with Geralt, but he surprised him sneaking glances at him many times in the library, so when Geralt asked him to go somewhere more quiet during the party, the thought of declining his proposal didn’t even cross Jaskier’s mind. So there he is, lips glued to Geralt’s, and cock getting harder by the second.

Geralt is into the kiss as much as Jaskier is if his hands groping Jaskier’s ass are anything to go by. He pulls Jaskier closer and their cocks bump into each other, making them both moan in the other’s mouth. The sound turns Jaskier on even more, to know that Geralt is enjoying himself as well is all he needs to get bolder, so he bites his bottom lip and licks it until Geralt opens his mouth.

He glides his tongue on Geralt's, arousal shooting through him, igniting a fire inside him that contrast with the chilly autumnal night. His desire makes him more daring and he palms Geralt through the jeans. He is hard and wanting, and he grunts into the kiss, forcefully chasing Jaskier’s tongue into his mouth. He unbuckles Jaskier’s trousers while he kisses him breathless and strokes his cock, sending Jaskier's mind into overdrive.

“I want this buried deep inside me,” he whispers in Jaskier’s ear when their kiss breaks.

Jaskier’s breath hitches in his throat. He has fantasised about fucking Geralt way too many times, but none of his dreams come even close to the sexy reality that is Geralt actually saying those words.

“I think I can arrange that,” he mutters.

Geralt smirks and looks so fucking perfect Jaskier doesn’t even think before kissing him again. Geralt keeps leisurely stroking him, thumbing away the precum already gathering on the tip and making his way down to Jaskier’s balls. His touch is heavenly and his tongue even better, so much so that Jaskier thinks he can come just like that, but then Geralt’s order echoes in his mind and his attention suddenly shifts.

He breaks the kiss and slides down on his knees. He quickly undoes Geralt’s jeans and pulls down his underwear, cock bouncing free in front of him, hard and inviting. His mouth waters at seeing it and he wraps his lips around it with a satisfied sigh that matches Geralt’s own. The bitter taste that spreads in his mouth leaves him unfazed, and he licks down Geralt’s length to have more of it, to feel more of his weight on his tongue.

Geralt is as thick as he has imagined, and his desire only increases when he feels him in the back of his throat. As he blows him, little grunts come out from the boy’s mouth, so quiet Jaskier can barely hear them, but the way his grip tightens in Jaskier’s hair is enough to give away how much of a good job Jaskier is doing. He pulls away to suck on his balls, feeling Geralt’s cock brush his cheeks, but Geralt stops him, forcefully pushing him away.

“Do you have condoms and lube?” he asks. His voice is raw and even in the darkness, Jaskier can see the urgency portrayed on his face.

“Yeah.”

“Then get to it.”

Jaskier stands up, cock heavy between his legs and almost comes when Geralt turns around, showing his lovely bottom to him. The sudden need to put his face between his cheeks and fuck him with his tongue comes over Jaskier, but with an enormous effort he stops himself and takes the sachets of lube he has in his pocket. He pours some on his fingers and directly on Geralt’s ass just to see more of his reactions. He isn’t disappointed as Geralt shudders in front of him and hisses, pressing his face further against his arm.

The response only makes Jaskier want to tease him more, so he slides a finger in his hole, loving the way Geralt clamps around him. He works him open while relishing in the soft grunts that come from him. He wishes Geralt were more vocal, but for as much as he tries, he can’t pull a full moan out of him, so he has to settle for what he can get.

He fucks him with his fingers until he deems Geralt ready and then wears the condom, emptying another sachet of lube on it and rolling inside in one slow motion. He is immediately engulfed by Geralt’s heat and once more the reality is so much better than his dreams. Desire makes him fuck Geralt hard right from the beginning, quenching that thirst he has had for months. He firmly holds his hips and rams into him with a fast pace, but still nothing more than grunts come from his crush, and the fact bothers him.

He slows down and thrusts inside Geralt with shallow movements, barely pushing all the way inside. Geralt tries to urge him on, to meet his hips as fast as before, but Jaskier keeps him in place and continues with his slow torture.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.

“You’re not letting me hear you,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt turns with a deep frown on his forehead. “And?”

“I don’t like it.”

Jaskier is sure there's a challenging look in Geralt’s eyes as he says, “Then do something about it.”

Jaskier's cock twitches at the words. Geralt is so full of surprises, one better than the other that he is taken aback once more.

“How quickly can you cum?”

“Pretty quickly if you moved.”

“How about we make the fun last a bit longer?” Jaskier says in his ear.

He can’t see it, but he’s pretty sure there’s a smirk on Geralt’s lips, and the way he clenches around him is enough confirmation. He starts moving again, so slowly it feels like torture for him too, but soon the same soft grunts are coming from Geralt, and the discomfort immediately turns into pleasure. He keeps his thrusts shallow, fucking Geralt only with his tip and teasing his hole more than anything.

Geralt hides his face in his elbow and clenches his fist, stubbornly keeping his hands away from his cock. He bucks his hips backwards, trying to get Jaskier to move deeper inside him, but the brunet doesn’t flinch and holds him in place while he leisurely moves inside him. The way his body desperately begs for more is in such contrast with his closed mouth that it only makes Jaskier want to tease him more.

He wraps his fingers around his cock and slowly strokes him too, barely a caress on his painfully hard length. This time a louder hiss leaves Geralt, a satisfying sound for Jaskier’s ears but still not enough to give him what he wants. He pushes a little deeper inside and clearly sees Geralt bite his lips to contain his moans.

“C’mon, let me hear you,” Jaskier whispers, brushing his fingers against the boy’s cock.

“You’re not good enough,” Geralt replies, voice so hoarse it puts a wicked grin on Jaskier’s lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Geralt doesn’t reply, just pushes backwards once more, but by now Jaskier has realised he does it more to make him punish him than to actually urge him on. Jaskier doesn’t need to ask him twice and keeps his thrusts as slow as before, torturing him for as much as he can handle. He loves the way Geralt’s hole twitches around him and his body lightly shivers as he tries to keep it together.

His effort is admirable, so Jaskier decides to reward him for it. He tightens his grip on his cock and fucks him a little harder, and Geralt gasps for the sudden movement.

“That��s what I like to hear.”

He licks Geralt’s ear and pushes all the way inside, staying still while Geralt quivers in his arms. A quiet murmur comes from him, so soft Jaskier can’t make out the words.

“Sorry, what?”

“Move,” comes Geralt’s voice, so fucked out it’s like a melody.

“I can’t hear you properly,” Jaskier smirks, shifting inside him.

Geralt grunts but he’s finally reached the point of no return as he groans, “Jaskier.”

“What did you say?” Jaskier asks with a harder thrust.

Geralt moans a bit louder and the way Jaskier's chest fills with satisfaction is almost embarrassing but so rewarding after restraining himself for so long that he doesn’t care about it. He holds Geralt’s hips tighter and starts fucking him in earnest, pounding inside him fully aware neither of them is going to last long.

Geralt sucks him in every time and his groans get more high-pitched as Jaskier hits his prostate. His hand replaces Jaskier’s and he jerks himself off in time with Jaskier’s thrusts. He sounds so far gone Jaskier can’t help but fuck him harder to hear more of him. His moans now clearly reach his ears, mixing with his own as Jaskier too nears his orgasm, but his voice suddenly breaks when Jaskier pounds on his sweet spot and his hole clenches as he comes. The unexpected tightness is what does it for Jaskier, and he cums too, burying himself deep inside Geralt just like he asked.

They both slide down on the grass, pants barely covering their asses. As he looks at the sky, Jaskier thinks the stars have never looked more beautiful and even though he knows his sappy thoughts are due to the afterglow of his orgasm, he can’t help but feel happier than ever. Geralt is resting next to him with his back against the tree and his lips slightly parted as he catches his breath.

“So,” Jaskier starts. He has never had a one night stand and doesn’t know how these things go at the end. The silence is too awkward, but speaking feels even more embarrassing.

“So?”

“This was good?” Jaskier tries.

“You can say that,” Geralt scoffs.

“So good that I might even want to do it again.”

“Right now?”

“No, I mean another day,” Jaskier quickly corrects himself. “Maybe after a dinner for two in a nice restaurant?”

“Is this your lame-ass way of asking me out?” Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Where’s the harm in trying?”

“Exactly, one might even say yes to that half-assed proposal.”

“So, next Saturday at seven?”

Geralt stands up with a grunt, fixing his clothes and hair. “But we’re not doing it behind a tree.”

“I’ll change the bedsheets for you.”

Geralt blankly stares at him, clearly unfazed by Jaskier’s promise. “Well, see you around then.”

“Oh, okay, see you.”

Jaskier isn’t sure how to feel about their exchange, isn’t sure how Geralt feels about it either, but when he finds a piece of paper with his phone number next to the condom’s wrapper on the ground, he suspects Geralt isn’t as indifferent to him as he seems to be.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #my writing #prompts #answered

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sevenwonderwitch · 5 years

Text

Comfort Inn Ending

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, fluffy smut

Summary: you hadn’t heard from Michael in weeks. When he finally does call it’s urgent.

A/N: ugh. I feel like this is terrible. I haven’t written smut in so long I feel like my last two smut fics were bleh. So if you guys like this one please let me know. 💕

That night we shared at comfort inn, made love like the world was ending.

I groan, looking down at the time on my phone as it rang. The number was one I didn’t know and I was ready to cuss them out. Who calls someone at three in the morning?

“Hello?” I say groggily, sitting up and rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Y/N?” My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.

“Michael?” I ask, unsure if it was really him.

I had known him since he lived with his grandmother, Constance. Even when he moved away from her home he has always kept in contact with me, but as of late I’d heard nothing from him. Not a call to check in. Nothing. I squeeze the phone in my hand.

“Oh my god Michael, where the hell have you been?” Worry and anxiety dripping off of every word. He doesn’t respond, not right away, I almost think he’s hung up. “Hel-“

“Meet me at the Comfort Inn. On 20. I need to see you.” The way he said it, the longing in his voice has my toes curling and my stomach fluttering. We had never been lovers, but I had always been in love with him. “Y/N?” He asks.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m on my way.” I going the blankets off myself and grab my keys, not bothering to change my clothes or put on shoes. If Michael needed me, I would be there. Always.

A half hour later I pulled into the parking lot of the dingey motel. My headlights shining on a lone figure, standing outside of one of the rooms. Dressed in all black with his hands behind his back. I get out before the car is even shut off all the way, flinging myself into his arms. He catches me gracefully, with ease.

“Michael!” I cry, burying my face in his shoulder. He smells like patchouli and sandalwood. I inhale his scent deeply, not wanting to let him go.

He strokes my hair fondly, pulling me with him towards the door, with one arm he reaches behind himself, fiddling with the knob, before pulling me inside. He lets me go quickly.

“Michael what-“ he backs me up against the door, pressing his body firmly against mine. When I look up into his eyes, I can see his urgency, the struggle and desire to tell me something. I open my mouth again to speak, but he presses a finger to my lips.

“Shh.” His voice is soft. “We’ll talk later. For now,” he runs his hand up the side of my bare arm and back down again, I shiver getting goose bumps at the contact. “I want to love you like I should have the first time I met you.” I gape at him, but he leans down, pressing his mouth firmly against mine and every thought I had turns to mush.

I grab him, threading my fingers through his hair, the kiss takes a turn, less soft, more passion, our teeth gnashing against each other as we try to swallow one another whole. He presses firmly against me, fingers curling around my upper thigh to lift my leg around his waist. I can feel him growing against me and roll my hips, causing a desperate moan to escape both of our mouths.

His mouth leaves mine to trail hot, wet kisses down my jaw and the side of my neck. I jump slightly, wrapping both of my legs round him. His hands slide down to cup my ass, pressing me forward, I rub my clothed cunt against his dick. He takes a shaky breath.

“I love you.” I whimper before I can stop myself. He looks up at me, turning to toss me down on the lumpy mattress. He watches me, like a predator stalking his prey.

“I know.” He acknowledges, he crawls over me slowly, sliding a soft hand under my tank top. I never wear underwear to bed, and his eyes rollback when his hand brushes my breast, he gives a light squeeze, flicking my nipple with his thumb before siting back on his heels. He extends his hand, pulling me up into his lap. He rests his forehead against mine, stroking my cheeks with his finger tips.

“Michael?-“

“You make me weak,” he murmurs with a sigh. “Love is weakness,” he pulls back, brushing my hair out of my face. His eyes held nothing but love and adoration. “And the only thing I fear is losing you.” I lean forward, pressing my lips to his collarbone, he tilts his head, granting me access to the soft flesh of his neck. His hands slide back up my tank top, the pads of his fingers pressing along my spine. “No matter what happens,” he gasps when I find a sensitive spot below his ear. “I’ll always keep you safe...my treasure. My angel.” I groan when he jerks his hips, rubbing his hardened cock against my core. I can feel my own juices soaking through my panties and an almost relief floods me as he gently lays me back down. He hovers once more.

“If tonight is all we have,” his words are smooth, low and seductive. His hands slide up my thighs, grabbing my thin black shorts, I lift my hips to help him tug them down. He inhales deeply once my lower hand is exposed and I cry out when he reaches down and cups my hot wet cunt in his hand. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.” He presses the heel of his palm against my clit. My body jerks as my fingers knot in the sheets. When I look up at him his eyes are hooded, pupils wide with arousal, his breath shallow. “Let me taste every inch of you.”

Before I can think he roughly grabs my thighs, spreading them apart. I watch as he slides down, kneeling between my legs and throws one over his shoulder. His nose trails along my leg and up my thigh and I whimper weakly when he sucks on my inner thigh, gripping me tightly, slowing edging his way closer to my core.

I feel his breath first, hot as it hits my clit, and then I feel a tentative tongue flick across my clit. He must have liked the way my body tensed because he does it a second time before placing his mouth on me and sucking on my clit hard.

“Michael!” I cry out, fingers threading in his hair, he groans, the vibrations sending shivers up my spine as he begins to lick at my entrance. His blunt fingernails dig into the skin of my hips as he pins me down, keeping me from moving and making me feel everything.

His eyes never leave my face. He watches my body writhe and my eyes slam shut in ecstasy. He almost doesn’t blink, like he’s in a trance.

He finally pulls away, my juices dripping from his lips, my pussy throbbing, beginning for the release I was so close to. I whine, reaching out for him. He threads our fingers together and positions his still clothed form over me.

“You taste absolutely divine my dear,” he whispers, “have a taste.” He presses his lips to mine and I can taste myself on his tongue. I squirm, opening my mouth wide. He coats my tongue and the inner corners of my mouth in the taste of himself and me. My arousal spikes and I press my body up into his, trying to gain some friction.

His hand that isn’t intertwined with mine, holds me down once more by my hip. “I asked you not to move.” He whispers against my mouth, placing a light kiss to my cheek. His hand slides up my hip and back under my shirt, he pushes my tank up, over my head and stares at my chest hungrily. “Breathtaking.” He leans down, leaving my hand to cup my left breast as his mouth encloses around my right. I moan, running my fingers through his hair once more as he begins to suck and nip at my right breast. I let my hips rise, rolling my naked cunt against the bulge in his pants. He doesn’t protest now, instead he matches my movement, grinding himself against me. He’s stiff and rock hard, I spread my legs as he lifts his mouth from my breast, turning to give my left one the same treatment. “Hmmm.” He hums almost blissfully against my skin.

“Michael,” I moaned, I let my hand slide down his body, I cupped him through his pants, running my hand up and down his shaft. It was huge, bigger than I had expected or imagined.

“Fuck.” He groans, pulling away to look down at me. “You’re so beautiful.” I twist my hand and grin with lust when he bites his lip. “I want you.” I reach up, pushing his hair out of his face, the desperation and longing still plain as day.

“I’m yours Michael. I’ve always been yours.” He grins, leaning down to capture my lips with his briefly before pulling back. He sits up and begins to unbuckle his belt and untuck his shirt.

“You are. Aren’t you?” I watch, mesmerized as he strips in front of me. His fingers gracefully unbuttoning his shirt and hands slowly sliding his pants down his legs. He could be an angel or a devil. It doesn’t matter. In this moment he is all mine.

He positions himself over top of me again, kneeing my legs apart as wide as they could go. He reaches down, taking a hold of his length and pumping it a few times in his hand and positions himself at my entrance.

“I...Ive heard it can be painful…” He says, almost shyly. It’s in this moment that I realize he’s never done this before. This whole time he was following his instincts? And what felt good to him? Was that why he watched me so intently?

I smile, wrapping my legs around his waist and pushing him closer to my entrance. He moans softly when the tip of his cock pushes against my wet folds.

“It’s okay.” I reassure him, longing for him to fill me in a way no one ever could. I lean up and kiss him, gasping as he slides into me raw. It’s different than with a condom, it feels good. He pulls out slowly and pushes back in, pressing hard against me.

“I love you.” I whisper. He just kisses me, suffocating me with his tongue and his lips as he begins an experimental pace in and out of me. I lift my hips matching his rhythm, sure my hips will be bruised later. I don’t care though. It’s slow and steady, but the thrusts are hard.

“Oh Y/N,” he presses his forehead into my shoulder, breathing hard into my neck. he begins to speed up. I grip his shoulders tightly as if my life depends on it.

Michael grunts and groans as he fucks into me, the coil that had begun to tighten when he was eating me out returned and only wound tighter when he began to suck on my neck. My back arches and he presses his fingers into my spine, holding me there as he fucks into me, he goes deeper and groans, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck…” I grip the bed sheets, I can feel him growing harder inside of me, his thrusts becoming quicker, more shallow. “M-Michael” I whine. He looks down at me through hooded eyes, a pleased smirk on his face.

“i-I feel it too.” He moans, slamming into me and grinding his hips into mine.

I lose it. I throw the pillow from under my head and putting over my face, only to have it ripped away by him. “Let me see you!” He shouts, his pace stuttering as he cums inside of me. I scream as my orgasm rips through my body. Just as I begin to come down, the pillow is ripped away, Michael sinks his teeth into my shoulder, biting and sucking there as he cums, pumping deep into me. I feel his body tremor and shake. His back is covered in sweat and his hair is damp.

He sighs, pulling out of me and resting his head on my breast. I run my fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head lovingly. His fingers run softly over the bruise forming on my collarbone.

“Michael-“

“Shh.” He stops me, looking up into my eyes. He looks sated, calm, happy. “Rest Y/N.” I nuzzle my nose into his hair and do exactly that.

Michael sits on the edge of the bed. The sun was coming up and he watched the way the rays hit her soft skin through the window. Y/N slept peacefully, only whimpering slightly and reaching for him when he moved away from her.

He needed this. It would be a long time before he saw her again. He needed her to feel what he couldn’t, what he shouldn’t say to her.

He leaned over her, caressing her cheek softly before pressing his lips to hers. She smiled, sighing contentedly in her sleep.

“Until we meet again my beloved.”

It would be a long time. But he would keep his promise. Once outside he pulled out his phone.

“Hello?....yes this is Langdon….make sure Y/N is on that flight. Pick her up from the Comfort Inn on 20 in two hours…”

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew; part 11

Summary: Rus is coming into his own heat and he is not happy with this development.

Warning: Lemon! Lemony lemon, all the lemons, tasty citrus within!

Tags: heatfic, dubious consent, NSFW, frenemies to lovers, mates, first time, more if I think of them

PLEASE READ THE TAGS: This is a Heat story, so there are going to be issues of consent. I don’t do partner rape, nope, but hey, I want to be straight with y’all. I like heatfics personally, but I understand how they can be troubling for some people. So there it is.

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Read Chapter 11 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Heat was a shitty description for the actual feeling of a biological imperative burning its way like a fevered infection through a Monster. The first coals igniting in the soul and working its way out into a forest fire to the ends of the limbs, provoking unbearable need along the way.

Control was foreign concept and even with Edge pliant beneath him, drawing Rus down and willingly spreading his legs, Rus fought the urge to hold him down and keep him there. He wanted more, wanted to taste him, be inside him because he knew, deep in the lurking primal depths within that nothing else was going to stop that awful burning. He wanted, no, he needed it. Wants were no longer able to be obeyed.

Almost.

It took some fucking Herculean effort to pull away from the promise of relief, stumbling over his own feet to land on the floor in a skittering crab-crawl backwards from Edge.

Who sat up on the bed, his crimson eye lights burning through the darkness. A bed? Yeah, that’s right, they were in Edge’s room. Rus barely recalled having the sense to come here, leaving behind the cold safety of Underswap to follow the pull of his soul to his mate.

“Rus—" Edge began, carefully. He pushed up to his feet. He was in his pajamas, of course he was, it was the middle of the fucking night. The bite mark on his sternum was dark and shiny, the trickling marrow black in the dimness, and if Rus put his mouth back on it, his teeth would line up perfectly.

“don’t touch me!” Rus could still taste marrow painting his mouth, salt-bitter and sickening. He curled up against the wall, panting harshly. His fingers dug into the wall, paint gouging out beneath the tips. “keep back, don’t touch me!”

“It’s all right.” Edge probably even meant it. He’d been expecting this. Sure he had, he’d known this was coming for all the fucking good knowing did. He took another step closer and Rus hissed out a warning, one eye light guttering and the other going bright as a strobe.

“i said don’t touch me!!” Edge halted and Rus let go of the burgeoning attack, half-summoned bones sputtering out. It’d been hard to dredge up to begin with, his magic didn’t want to fight, oh, no, not at all, the only violence his soul was begging for was carnal. Rus let his skull fall with a muffled thunk against the carpet as he lay there, trying to breathe. “i know, i get it, we have to fuck until it’s over but just let me—give me a minute. and don’t fucking touch!”

The throb in his soul might think otherwise, but there was enough rationality left in Rus’s brain pan to form one coherent thought. He didn’t want this. Not heat or bonds or any of this shit. He wanted to be home, wanted to follow his own choice so he could be fucking any of the others from Muffet’s, wanted their come in his cunt or running salt-bitter down his throat. Not this, not the mindless burn in his soul deciding for him.

The wall Edge taught him to create around his thoughts was crumbling, falling brick by brick, letting him feel the concern Edge was radiating. All that worry/desire/concern/regret/worry coming at him in a bruising flurry and fuck Edge for wanting any part of this. Rus wasn’t alone in his body or his head, he hated this, hated it.

Behind him, Edge made a choked, hurt sound; must’ve let down his own mental brick wall, ‘cause he’d felt that, and Rus was resentfully glad of it. Let him hurt, this was his fault, his and his brother’s, all of it. If they’d stayed in their own Universe, kept all this heat bullshit to themselves—

“i hate this,” Rus groaned aloud. He tipped his head up to look at the ceiling, tasted repulsively sweet tears as they slid back in his skull to fall thickly on his tongue. He was shaking, bones rattling together as he forced himself to stay here, away from Edge. “i hate you.”

But it wasn’t enough to make this stop. The bitter pulse of emotion didn’t prevent what little desperate control he’d managed to claw up from finally giving way, didn’t keep him from crawling back to Edge as it ebbed. Who was unresisting even when Rus pulled him down to the floor, rolling him onto his knees. He went willingly, didn’t protest when Rus scrabbled at his soft pajama pants, yanking and pulling them down to bunch around his thighs. Any lingering dregs of patience were lost there, wisping away, because Edge’s pussy was already formed in the same rich crimson as his magic, glistening invitingly.

Edge grunted as Rus impulsively slid his thumbs down the slick lips. Wet, already wet, ready for a cock, and his hips gave an unwilling little jerk into Rus’s lingering touch.

That burning in Rus’s soul was spreading, clouding his vision, his mind. He couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t think of anything past having, taking. Rus jerked down his own pants, palming his aching cock as he shuffled awkwardly forward on his knees, whining at the feel of the first brush of hot, slick pussy against the head of his shaft as he lined up and pushed to the root in one hard thrust.

Edge hissed out a breath between clenched teeth, sharpened fingertips punching through the carpet and into the floor. Probably hurt all at once like that, and Rus didn’t give him a chance to adjust, couldn’t, he couldn’t, not when the clench of his cunt was so tight around him. He starting riding him immediately, pulling out and then back in, jabbing into him, using his hold on Edge’s iliac crests to haul him back into each one.

“you didn’t tell me it was like this,” Rus choked out. Moving helplessly with rising urgency, rocking them together in unrelenting rhythm.

Beneath him, Edge was breathing like he was dying, wasn’t fighting him, not at all, lax and willing, and over the rising sounds of their bodies crashing together, Rus heard him gasp out, “I tried!”

“didn’t tell me enough! fuck!” Rus shuddered, clawing at Edge’s rib cage, trying to hang on anywhere. It was impossible, they were both slippery with sweat, mingled honey-gold and crimson painting Edge’s bones. “you’re so fucking tight, i can’t!”

Edge made a low, guttural sound, flame-flicker of emotion licking over Rus’s soul. It was enough to make Rus slow. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t. But the heat ebbed enough for him to see through narrowed sockets. Taking in the quiver in Edge’s shoulders, his pain-tight expression, half his face buried into his folded arms. His own emotions were leaking through their bond like rainwater from a leaky gutter, but Edge was closed off, empty, giving nothing back, what the hell. Irrational anger flared alongside lust; it was a fucking bond, what was Edge hiding from him, he couldn’t be afraid, was never afraid, what wasn’t he showing?

Possibilities flittered through Rus’s mind, one standing out starkly.

“have you done this before?” Rus demanded. Wouldn’t make a difference, he couldn’t stop, every sentence punctuated with another ragged thrust, but he needed to know. “has anyone else ever fucked you? tell me, tell me!”

“No!” Edge snarled out. There, yes, hell yes, Edge was taking it, yeah, letting himself get fucked like a good boy, but the hot wash of his temper shot an arrow through their bond before it was choked off. His visible eye light was a blazing, crimson hellfire. “Only you!”

Fuck.

He’d never done this before. Rus suspected that from the start, from the first moment he’d braced himself to go into a room with Edge for a long night of mercy sex. Of course he’d been a virgin; Edge was younger that him, as young as Blue was, Red had told him there was no one to trust in this world, and Rus never even asked, not before, not now.

“fuck,” he whined out. He ducked down, his forehead clattering against Edge’s spine, smearing sweat. Hips still moving, driving on because the tight clasp of pussy was sucking him in, the need to come delirious, implacable. “i can’t stop!”

“I know.” Barest prickle of emotion, not anger this time, unnamed and unfamiliar as it soothed over the rawness in his soul, “It’s okay, Rus, I know.”

It wasn’t okay, wasn’t even on the same planet as okay, in the same universe.

“don’t let me hurt you,” Rus pleaded. He managed to work a hand around Edge’s hip, down between his legs. Feeling at the damp folds for the hard nub hidden within. He knew he found it when Edge sucked in a hard breath, shuddering out a cry as Rus circled it with a slippery fingertip, feeling it swell eagerly beneath his touch.

“You aren’t,” Edge moaned, and Rus moaned with him, feeling that vibrating shudder from the inside. “Oh!!”

Fuck, the sounds he was making, deep and urgent, desperately gorgeous, Edge was gorgeous. Gasping out Rus’s name pleadingly as he pistoned into him, short and hard and brutal. Rus wasn’t gonna last much longer, not this time, probably not the next, ecstasy overtaking him.

Rus came hard, feeling the liquid bloom of heat surrounding his cock deep inside, but it wasn’t like any orgasm he’d ever had. The euphoric pleasure engulfed him in a cooling wash over his overheated soul, soothing away a fraction of that burn as he choked out in a relieved sob and slumped to lay heavily across Edge’s back. He grunted disagreeably, but took Rus’s weight, braced against the floor.

With a grunt of his own, Rus pulled out, hissing at the cool air on his wet, overheated pseudoflesh. Edge’s pussy didn’t seem real happy about letting him go, desperate shivers wracking him as he teetered on the ledge of orgasm that Rus didn’t let him fall over. It wouldn’t be good enough, not even close. He’d barely started liking it, Rus wasn’t letting Edge get off with an unsatisfying little throb of a climax.

He kept a hand on Edge, petting his spine warningly. Stay put, that hand meant, and Edge did even though Rus could see his pussy clenching emptily, a thin, obscene trickle of his own come dribbling down the slit.

That burning heat was nowhere near gone, only banked back for the moment, enough for him to get a good look at what he was working with. Last time, Edge was the one in control, everything was what he wanted. This time Rus let his gaze rove over Edge voraciously, taking in the sights.

So many scars, on his femurs, slashed across his ribs, gouged into his skull. Even marring his fingers, his usual gloves were missing and his cracked phalanges clenched into fists. Broken, healed, broken again when Edge came back for more.

Except his pelvis. It was relatively intact, only a couple small scarred cracks. His pelvic cradle glowed crimson with his magic, the transparency clouded within from being filled with Rus’s come. His sacrum was untouched, a smooth plane of bone with delicate holes marching down the length.

A sudden flood of soft fluid filled Rus’s mouth. Yeah, he needed to taste that.

He ducked his head, licking briefly at the delicate nub of his coccyx. Used broad, flat strokes of tongue to work his way higher, riding out the lurch of Edge’s hips as he jerked in surprise. Following the path to that tempting sacrum and forcing the eager tip of his tongue into the first little hole.

Edge squealed out a startled cry, satisfyingly shrill, oh, fuck, yes. Rus wanted to hear that again. The tang of magic was heavy on his tongue, they were both sweat-soaked, and Rus lapped their mingled taste from quaking bones. Edge’s trembling legs gave out, spilling him to the floor and Rus followed him down, giving each hole his full attention, tracing them over and over again with his tongue in teasing little patterns until Edge was quivering, moaning desperately, his hips pushing back against Rus’s mouth in a silent plea for more.

Yeah, more, he could do more. Rus drew away, licking away the smears of spicy sweetness from his teeth as he crawled back on top, lining up and pushing back inside with a shaky groan. This time Edge’s pussy was welcomingly drenched, clenching around him in a tight ripple as Edge choked out a moan and finally came, desperate cries leaking through his clenched teeth.

“yeah, that’s it,” Rus panted, forcing his way deeper through every wild, clenching throb of the passage surrounding him, “gonna do that again for me, gonna do that a lot, baby, fuck, yes.”

Fuck, yes, that was all Rus wanted. Wanted to fuck him, claim him, see his ripe belly swell which makes no fucking sense since Edge couldn’t get pregnant any more than he could. He still wanted it, the idea standing out in his mind’s eye and he barely realized he was pinning Edge down by the wrists, covering him with his own body from shoulder to knees. He wasn’t stronger than Edge, except somehow he was, long bones straining in his grip. Testing him with minute struggles and Rus shuddered, holding on.

“don’t fight me,” Rus growled warningly, and his soul felt like it might burst when Edge laughed, fucking laughed.

“Try and stop me,” Edge said, gaspy with laughter and need, and Rus burned.

Later, he couldn’t have said how they ended up on the bed, sense blurring into desperation. The only thing Rus knew was the frustrating, endless wildfire to have Edge in ways he could hardly fathom. Braced against the headboard, one knee jerked up high to allow Rus deeper inside. Held up against the wall with his slim legs braced on Rus’s hips, bouncing along with every vicious thrust. On his back, his femurs spread wide and Rus was torn between fucking him and burying his face into those swollen, dripping folds, lapping at their combined fluids, pushing his tongue in almost as deep as his cock until Edge was begging, clawing at his skull and leaving behind stinging scratches and the pain was the only way Rus realized he’d actually done it.

Everything was colored with the frenzy of need driving him, until he was weak with exhaustion, aching deep in his bones and magical ligaments strained. The relentless burning in his soul hadn’t let up, still demanding more, and Rus sobbed dryly, bitterly.

“enough,” Rus pleaded. His voice was reducing to a low rasp, words fighting out of his throat. “no more. please.”

He didn’t know if he was begging Edge or his soul. He couldn't move anymore, couldn't fuck, he couldn't, too exhausted, his mouth desert dry, desire blending into agony. He was filthy with sweat and come, they both were, the sheets beneath them dappled with heavy smears of crimson and orange.

The mouth suddenly against his own was tender, soothing, and Rus only sobbed into it, kissing back through the brief sticky flood of his tears dampening his dry mouth, even as Edge pushed him to lay on his back.

“Shhh, I know,” Edge crooned. His weight was more than Rus could fight against, holding him down as Edge straddled him, but the tenderness he exercised was almost worse. “I’m so sorry.” Edge was wobbly as a newborn gyftrot as he sank down and another wet, bubbling sob escaped Rus as Edge winced, riding Rus gingerly, “Not much longer, you can do this.”

“i can’t,” Rus heaved out, even as his hips tried to rise, chasing that slick, soft pussy. The heat around him hurt as much as it pleasured, searing his aching pseudoflesh. “please, i’m so sore, no more.”

Edge only pet his rib cage and didn’t slow, rolling his hips in a careful rhythm, “Let me help you,” Edge whispered, “it's all right, I have you. Let me take care of you this time.”

“i need you.” Low and guttural, all the desperation in his soul bursting out in three words. Rus didn't mean to say it, he didn’t mean for anything of this.

But his soul soared as Edge whispered back, raspy-sweet, "You have me. I'm yours. No one else's, only yours.”

Orgasm was less a pleasure than a relief, a brief, unsatisfying throb coupled with a bare spurt of come and when his soul began to pulse again, Rus let out a bitter, tear-laced groan. It took three more times before he could finally collapse, three more times of Edge crooning to him, petting him with disconcerting tenderness, cajoling and urging coaxingly until Rus could only give in.

The sheets were uncomfortably damp beneath him, but Rus could’ve sooner walked through the shield with a suitcase in one hand and cigarette in the other than he could have moved. Turned out, he didn’t need to. Rus only mumbled out a disagreeable sound as he lifted, the sound gently shushed and soon he was beneath a cooling rush of gorgeous water spraying down on him. Rus lifted his face into it, mouth opened like a baby bird as he drank greedily.

“Easy, you’ll make yourself sick.” Whispered against the side of his skull, fingertips on his chin turning his head away. Disgruntled as he was, Rus obeyed that touch, even as a distant sense of gratifying pride swelled in his soul. His mate was taking care of him, washing him gently, a soapy cloth easing his aching soreness. Soon he was lifted again, wrapped in a fluffy, warm towel and carried back to the bed. He must’ve drowsed off, waking briefly as he was settled onto clean sheets that smelled of nothing more than strong laundry detergent.

“edge?” Rus mumbled, reaching out, searching. His soul cramped in dismay as he found nothing within reach and he struggled to open his sockets, an unhappy whimper escaping him.

“Shhh, I’m here.” The bed creaked with added weight, a bare, slim body settling between the sheets, pulling Rus into his arms. Rus sighed in weary contentment, cuddling up against him as best as he could.

There was a certain warmth glowing in his soul, not heat, no, it was something…something else, Rus wasn’t sure, wasn’t even sure if it was his own. Edge might’ve spoken, crooned more of that soothing his way, Rus couldn’t tell. He was wrapped up in that warmth and Rus let it encompass him like a mental blanket, drawing him with tender implacableness into sleep.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #biting off more than you can chew #heatfic #lemon goodness #please read the warnings

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fred-frederator-studios · 4 years

Photo

Dale Pon, R.I.P.

Pretty much the most famous media advertising campaign in history is “I Want My MTV!” –the May 2020 Google search returns 184,000 results, more than 30 years after the last flight ran– and it was the result of the brain of Dale Pon.*

* As I explain in detail in the pieces below, writer extraordinaire Nancy Podbielniak was the word spark for the campaign; it was George Lois who suggested ripping off “I Want My Maypo!” Dale Pon was the person who took these notions and turned them into brilliance.

Dale persuaded me and the powers that be at MTV that he could make it work, Dale who convinced MTV programmers to recording artists to participate for no fees. It was Dale who took the paltry budget allotted and strategized how to maximize the network’s cable distribution. And finally, it was Dale Pon’s dogged persistence and genius that caused cable operators across America to beg us to please stop running the campaign before all the telephone operators quit in frustration from all the people “demanding their MTV!!!”

My great friend –and better mentor– Dale Pon, passed away from difficulties due to Parkinson’s and Covid19. There’s no way to convey all of the ways people expressed their sadness to me today, but one of them probably encapsulated things best by saying “Complicated but brilliant, creatively inspired, strategic like chess master , we were lucky to have been touched by his talents...” All too true.

Dale could be –to say the least– a challenging personality. Determined to win, he could be a bulldozer crushing an ant. Warm at his core, he could be beyond generous will all he had at his disposal. Unlike many others with talent and raw intelligence, he was quick to share his remarkable thinking, lavish in his ability to elevate the talents of the shy and uncertain, and as bountiful with praises as he could be lacerating with his critical observations. He loved as deeply as he was able, and a constant explorer for the meanings of life.

When it came to the work, there was no one better at understanding media, and getting fans interested in its rewards. I don’t know if it was his methodologies and personality, or the fact that media promotion wasn’t all that well respected in the ad biz, but Dale didn’t have too much of a profile in the advertising world. I think, ultimately, he was much more focused on the work than on the publicity. So, things being what they are, what I’ve collected seems to be the most comprehensive look at his career, at least the parts that I’ve directly touch. By no means is it comprehensive, I know nothing about his radio days in the early 70s, and little about his work after I joined the cartoon industry. But all of what I have is yours, below.

I’ll lead with what a few of his colleagues and friends wrote a few years ago for Dale’s birthday. And then, below that, all the various campaign pieces (written from my perspective, of course) I’ve recalled over the years.

.....

April 2016, on the occasion of Dale’s birthday.

Dale Pon, my mentor and friend. Fucking smart.

Dale Pon’s been on my mind lately, as he is almost every day, because of the ways he taught me to think about …. um,everything. I’ve written about some other important mentors before, but Dale’s influence was so staggering I could never figure out how to sketch it out in anything shorter than book length.

“Dominate the space.” (He was referring to graphic design, but it might have served as a life philosophy).

“Of course, there’s an absolute truth.”

“You remember the first thing you see, but the last thing you hear.”

“The power of three.” (Broke that rule with this list.)

“Advertising is a frequency medium.”

“You make album tracks. I make hit songs.”

I’m not sure that he ever thought of himself as particularly quotable, but as you’ll see below, I wasn’t alone in internalizing. There were hundreds more bon mots, most of which he probably forgot as soon as he said them but stuff I’ve never been able to shake off, to this day.

His resume doesn’t do him justice, but quickly… For 40 years, Dale Pon was at the forefront of media programming and promotion for many of the major media companies, CBS, NBC, Viacom, Storer Broadcasting (where we met). He specialized in radio throughout his career, but when Bob Pittman moved into cable television, he prevailed there too (“I Want My MTV!” is still returns hundreds of thousands of Google search results, 30 years after it went off the air). He was wildly successful in an advertising agency partnership with ad legend George Lois, before setting up a solo shop, Dale Pon Advertising, in New York City.

Dale was brash and loud, very, and he certainly wasn’t to everyone’s taste. The friend who first recommended me for one of his jobs called in a rage when he quit and said if I really needed a gig so badly… I knew Dale’s work from its supremacy of the metropolitan subway system for the New York country music powerhouse (a paradox if there ever was one) WHN Radio, but it hadn’t occurred to me that actual human beings created advertising, or that it took any real brain power. Dale quickly disabused me of that notion, as he sent me to his tailor to buy me my first three piece suit (more appropriate for Park Avenue media than the cut off shorts I wore to our interview).

Most of all, he was really fucking smart. And deeply, articulately, astute about media. He could tell the story of radio stations or television networks better than anyone, and persuade their audiences to fall profoundly in love, by sticking to the basic human emotions like truth, desire, love. (My favorite? “Love songs, nothing but love songs” for WPIX-FM, directly appropriated for an Off-Broadway show). He didn’t end it there, with a creative, strategic and statistical brilliance that combined, to quote Bob Pittman (from another context completely) “math and magic.”

What I appreciated most was his intense, almost overwhelming desire to teach me everything he knew at exactly the moment I was desperate for his knowledge. In fact, as I observed him with myself and others over the years, it would be fair to say that if you wasn’t interested in being taught, Dale Pon wasn’t interested in you. And, not for nothing, it went both ways. He’s was as incisive a questioner and listener as one could want. Curious, intrigued, dying to know anything on almost any subject. In my case, it meant that we generally spent six or seven days together all the years we were together in two different media capitals. Whew!

Difficult? Challenging? Exasperating? You bet. I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.

Dale’s the one who changed the course of my work life, and as Scott Webb says below, “he changed me.” It’s because of Dale that I stumbled on my understanding that I wasn’t a music guy after all, or even a TV baby, but a pop culture sponge. I wouldn’t had the chance to participate in any of the culture shiftings I got to observe first hand. Who knows, maybe I would’ve stumbled through a life of complete dissatisfaction. That’s how profound his influence was on me.

Dale’s birthday recently passed by, and stuck for cogent things to say about him, I reached out to a few friends who’ve crossed his path and might be better at expressing themselves than I ever could. You’ll notice they’re pretty powerful personalities themselves, but Dale made an impression. Boy, did he make an impression. (I left out some of those controversial moments and unproductive comments.)

Well, our friends didn’t let us down. They got to the heart of the matter in ways I never could. Thanks everyone.

…..

Herb Scannell: Mythical.

Dale Pon is mythical.

He’s the man who “wanted his MTV” and got the world to say the same. My friend Fred always claimed that he learned whatever he knew from Dale and whatever I know I learned from Fred so it all comes back to Dale. Or blame them both. Happy Birthday Dale! Forever young!

…..

Bob Pittman: The Mad Scientist.

Dale Pon is the mad scientist of advertising. Full of passion, always with a breakthrough idea and the urgency to get it done quickly with no compromises. He made a huge contribution to my successes at WNBC Radio, MTV and even Six Flags theme parks. One of a kind….happy birthday to him from a big fan!

……

Scott Webb: “Most people don’t know how to think.”

Dale Pon didn’t just change my life he changed me. He encouraged me to be brave and fearless and never stop solving problems. He is one of the smartest people I have ever met and the teacher I will never forget.

You never know how things are going to happen. After 4 years at Sarah Lawrence, one of the most expensive liberal arts schools, I was clueless about a career. My secret wish was to write comics (mostly because I had no talent to draw). Unlike most of my class at SLC my parents were basically working class folks with a yankee work ethic who expected me to not move back home after graduation.

One January evening, I was talking with my friend Betsy K who had just graduated. She had just returned home from job hunting in the city. She had an interview at WNBC Radio; they weren’t hiring but were looking for interns. “What’s an intern?” I asked. I was so naive.

I immediately fell in love with the energy of the radio station. I had to work there.

“You’ll be working for Dale Pon. He’s very demanding. Do you think you can handle that?” asked Buzz Brindle, a WNBC program director. Me? Of course! I’ve got my Yankee work ethic and my Sarah Lawrence education. I thought I was ready for anything. But I was not ready for Dale Pan.

Dale was bigger than life, louder than anyone else in the company and frequently slammed the door to his tiny office. I found him brilliant, charismatic and intimidating.

My first big assignment for Dale was to create a chart of all the radio stations in New York and rank them by ratings performance over the past 2 years. I wanted to do a great job for him but the truth was that I was terrible at chart making. I was a liberal arts comic book kid and he had me doing statistical analysis and I knew if I did a bad job I would probably face his famous wrath behind a slammed closed door. But despite my inept chart building, Dale painstakingly taught me how to read the Arbitron reports and methodically went through my work and instructed me how to correct it. I learned more from him over that 5 month internship than I had in my last 2 years of college. But my lesson wasn’t in statistical analysis or radio promotion. Dale had high expectations of me, he believed in me and he was demanding in the pursuit of excellence.

A lot of people at the station didn’t like Dale mostly because he would raise his voice to make a point or because he was passionate about his beliefs, or would not hold back his opinion when something was mediocre, pedestrian or just plain stupid. Dale expected greatness in people, work and business. His mission was to win and often people found that difficult to embrace. I, on the other hand, found it awesome. I guess he reminded me of the comic book heroes I admired so much - characters who were extraordinary and could do things other people thought were impossible. Most people at the radio station were happy to have a job and get a paycheck and could care less about being #1 but for him that was all that mattered.

It didn’t hurt that he was so smart and insightful. He had the uncanny super power of understand exactly what the problem was – and he taught me that creativity was the ability to solve problems in fresh, innovative and smart ways.

“Do you know why I hired you?” he asked me at the end of my internship. “I didn’t want to hire one of those kids who studied advertising or media in college. Those kids have been ruined. They show up thinking they already know everything - and they haven’t even had a job yet. You didn’t know anything but you were willing to learn and think. Most people don’t know how to think.”

Those were some of the most important words I ever heard. They lit a fire of confidence and trust in myself that did not exist before and served me throughout my life, not just in work but in life.

…..

Bill Sobel: He yelled at me on the phone…no idea why.

…..

Noreen Morioka: “Good creates things, and Evil destroys it.”

There is no doubt that we all have a great Dale Pon story. Dale never did anything average. He did everything in extremes. Whether you were laughing so hard that you couldn’t breathe or wanting to shake him like a rag doll, Dale is unforgettable.

One of my favorite Dale Pon stories is when he was pitching a new name for a network. Since the channel was going to be all re-runs of a lower level, Dale named it Trash TV. I loved it, but when I presented my designs, he thought what I did wasn’t trashy enough and proceeded to get another designer to put flies swarming around the proposed logomark. When he presented his concept to the network president, he stopped at the building dumpster and pulled out garbage to bring up to presentation. Needless to say, the meeting didn’t go well, and the president was furious that Dale brought garbage into his beautiful office. Stern words were exchanged on both sides and security was called to take Dale and garbage out of the office. He called later to let me know they were going to search for another name. The network changed their name several times since then, and each time Dale would just smile. We all knew his solution was genius.

Like you, Fred, Dale taught me a lot. He taught me never to settle, always come back stronger and most importantly what the difference between good and evil was.

“Good creates things, and Evil destroys it.” Thanks to this simple Dale Pon-ism, I live my life by.

I will always have a deep respect and love for that guy. Happy Birthday, Dale. You are the true original.

…..

Tina Potter: So thoughtful.

Dale is a magnanimous gift-giver. I once told him the Chrysler Building was my favorite building in NY, and the next time I saw him, he brought me a beautiful framed B&W print of the building! So thoughtful. I still have it!

……

Judith Bookbinder: ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

I learned a lot from Dale in a very short time.

Dale taught me that ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

If you want to make something happen, figure it out or find someone who can do it for you.

This simple wisdom is something that has served me throughout my professional life.

…..

Ed Salamon: Directness and Simplicity.

I always appreciate the opportunity to say something nice about Dale, but the stories that first came to mind involved women, drugs, and fistfights. Or were otherwise too self-incriminating. Here’s what I’ve come up with:

The genius of Dale’s creativity is its directness and simplicity (like “I Want My MTV!”). Unfortunately that sometimes resulted in it being underappreciated.

When we worked together at WHN Radio I once heard our boss say to Dale at the end of the day “We need a new ad campaign slogan for the station by tomorrow. Take twenty minutes tonight, walk around the Village and come up with something.”

When I later started The United Stations Radio Network with Dick Clark and others, we hired Dale to create the logo, which he agreed to do out of friendship for only a nominal fee. The logo was a distinctive type face, with the letters stuck together (“united”). Some in the company commented that it was too simple; others appreciated its genius.

……

Tom Freston: A great bunch of guys.

Dale is a great bunch of guys. Argumentative, persistent, a perfectionist, fun, difficult, and smart as hell….winning, ultimately, most of his arguments. Happy birthday.

…..

Therese Gamba: “Work smarter, not harder.”

Long before there was “Better Call Saul” it was “Better Call Dale” when you were faced with a creative challenge. Dale had a long term relationship with MTV Networks having been part of the launch team for that iconic channel. So when The Nashville Network had to be relaunched as the new home of the WWE (then the WWF), oh and it had to be done in three months, there was only one person to call.

My first meeting with Dale was over lunch at the Mercer Kitchen. Fred had prepped me that Dale liked metrics and to be ready for a lot of questions. But as anyone who’s met with Dale will tell you, you can never be fully prepared for the hurricane of creative energy that is Dale Pon.

I was prepared with my Venn diagram of the overlap between TNN’s current viewers and the WWE’s viewers (no surprise, not a big cross section). Then the questions started in what felt like a ping pong match at warp speed.

Two hours into the lunch I had held my own and received the nod from Dale that I was on the right track. I was exhausted, relieved and thrilled to have passed the test. I learned that once you’ve basked in the glow of Dale’s approval, you were hooked. I also learned that I had become a member of an exclusive club, “Dale’s World.” My fellow club members all know the stories, share the memories and still live by what he taught us.

Dale always said “work smarter, not harder.” That mantra has never failed me just as Dale never failed to be supportive, inquisitive and completely one of a kind!

Happy Birthday dear Dale!

(From left): Dale Pon, Anne Grassi, Scott Webb at WNBC Radio, circa 1980.

Alan Goodman: “I’ll give you 50 bucks to fuck up this guy’s haircut.”

Two stories about Dale Pon –

1. I was in Paris with Dale (who ran our advertising agency – my mentor was now my supplier) and MTV’s VP of Programming, Les Garland. Dale and Les weren’t pals. How tense was it? We had dinner together one night in Paris and Les bought us all expensive Cuban cigars. Outside, Dale waited until Les split off to go to his hotel. The first second Les was out of sight, Dale pitched his cigar in the gutter.

We had flown on 10 hours notice so we could shoot Mick Jagger saying “I Want My MTV!” Dale had already shot a number of other MTV generation stars shouting the line, and some were even biggish. But Jagger was THE “get.” We knew that once Jagger blessed our campaign by participating, we’d get anyone else we would ever want. (We did).

We waited around the hotel a couple of days until we got the bat signal that Mick was ready, and raced over to his hotel to set up. Very quickly, what was supposed to be Dale’s shoot had become Les’ shoot. Dale was pissed, rigid with anger, sequestered with me in the adjoining room forced to watch the proceedings on a monitor. I went over to him to try to diffuse the situation. I can’t remember what I told him. But I remember his response, word for word:

“Do you think I need to hear any of this right now?”

I realized why I was in Paris. I was there, as the client, to witness who threw the first punch.

I had spent every single day of the past four months in the office trying to figure out how to do a job I had no idea how to do. I was exhausted. I had zero interest in the kind of politics and shenanigans that network executives pull, and I didn’t want to be there. That’s it, I decided. I’ve had enough. I’m a writer. I have a talent. I can make a living. I will get back home and I will immediately quit.

I said nothing. I smiled through the rest of the shoot. We stopped at a bistro after we wrapped, and had a lovely dinner and wine with the crew. It was a celebration. For good reason. We had Jagger. I stayed quiet. Silent, even. No one knew of my plans.

When we reached the hotel, Dale drew me aside and sat me down.

“You’re not going to quit,” he said. What?! Huh?! How did he know? On top of everything, the man can read minds??!

“You’re not going to quit. You are at the very beginning of something that will change the world, and you will have a great career. You have to stay there and be a part of that and do what you do really well. You cannot leave. Do you understand? You cannot quit.”

He went up to bed. I went home the next day, and didn’t quit. Instead, I stayed and helped make the thing that changed the world. And it was the beginning of a great career.

2. I went to get my hair cut at Astor Place one day. I walked up to my guy, and there in the chair was Dale. I didn’t know Dale used my guy. Dale looked up at me, looked at the barber, and told him, “I’ll give you 50 bucks to fuck up this guy’s haircut.”

…..

Scott Webb (unedited): “He didn’t just change my life he changed me.”

You never know how things are going to happen.

I was a few short months away from graduating from Sarah Lawrence College with no idea what I would do for a job. I was a kid who had grown up reading and loving comic books. After 4 years at one of the most expensive liberal arts schools I was clueless about a career. My secret wish remained to write comics (mostly because I had no talent to draw). Sarah Lawrence was a great place for me. It was there that I understood how to learn. I was naturally curious and SLC exposed me to a world of ideas and brilliant people (students and teachers). But Sarah Lawrence was not a place where I could start a career path. 5 months from graduating I felt the looming pressure of finding a job and making money. Unlike most of my class at SLC my parents were basically working class folks with a yankee work ethic who expected me to not move back home after graduation.

One January evening, I was talking with my friend Betsy K who had just graduated. She had just returned home from job hunting in the city. She had an interview at WNBC radio with a guy named Buzz Brindle. She said they weren’t hiring but were looking for interns. “What’s an intern?” I asked. I was so naive. She explained that an internship is where you work for free - for experience and to get your foot in the door. WNBC was part of NBC - one of only 3 existing TV networks at the time and my eyes lit up at the idea of of doing anything with a big media company. So I lined up a meeting with Buzz to see if I was intern material.

Buzz was sweet and avuncular and I immediately fell in love with the energy of the radio station. I had to work there. “We’re looking for interns in the promotion department” Buzz explained and I just nodded as affirmatively as possible. “You’ll be working for Dale Pon. He’s very demanding. Do you think you can handle that?” Me? Of course! I’ve got my Yankee work ethic and my Sarah Lawrence education. I thought I was ready for anything. But I was not ready for Dale Pon.

I interned at the station 2 days a week and It appeared I was the only male in Dale’s promotion team. I reported to a woman named Anne Grassi but Dale was the boss. Dale was bigger than life, louder than anyone else in the company and frequently slammed the door to his tiny office. I had never worked in an office before. I found him brilliant, charismatic and intimidating. The other interns and I would huddle in the conference room where we did our work and wait for our next assignment.

I did many things as an intern but my first big assignment for Dale was to create a chart of all the radio stations in New York and rank them by ratings performance over the past 2 years. This was no small task - this was way before computers in offices - and required me to go to the NBC research department to collect dozens of Arbitron ratings books and laboriously extract the data he wanted and lay it out graphically. I wanted to do a great job for him but the truth was that I was terrible at chart making.

I was a liberal arts comic book kid and he had me doing statistical analysis and I knew if I did a bad job I would probably face his famous wrath behind a slammed closed door. But despite my inept chart building, Dale painstakingly taught me how to read the Arbitron reports and methodically went through my work and instructed me how to correct it. I learned more from him over that 5 month internship than I had in my last 2 years of college. But my lesson wasn’t in statistical analysis or radio promotion. Dale had high expectations of me, he believed in me and he was demanding in the pursuit of excellence.

The chart was part of his battle plan to make WNBC #1 in the NYC market and when I understood the big picture of what he was doing I felt even more inspired and willing to do anything in the service of that cause.

It didn’t hurt that he was so smart and insightful. He had the uncanny super power of understand exactly wha the problem was - and he taught me that creativity was the ability to solve problems in fresh, innovative and smart ways. “Do you know why I hired you?” he asked me at the end of my internship. “I didn’t want to hire one of those kids who studied advertising or media in college. Those kids have been ruined. They show up thinking they already know everything - and they haven’t even had a job yet. You didn’t know anything but you were willing to learn and think. Most people don’t know how to think.” Those were some of the most important words I ever heard. They lit a fire of confidence and trust in myself that did not exist before and served me throughout my life, not just in work but in life.

.....

Susan Kantor and David Hyman were on the opposite side of their relationships with him, Susan as a long time account executive in Dale’s agencies, and David as a client. Drew Takahashi, a trusted friend and wonderful creative partner.

I’m particularly fond of the pull quote from David’s recollections. Having had hundreds of restaurant meals with DP over the years, waitress confusion was probably my overriding remembrance.

Susan Kantor has traveled to the upper heights of television since her time with Dale Pon in the 1980s. But when you read her memoir below he prepared her well, as he did with all of us.

Drew Takahashi is a director who co-founded (Colossal) Pictures, San Francisco, one of the most creative production companies of the 1980s and 90s, and one of the key creative suppliers to the first decades of MTV.

David Hyman became my head of marketing at the MTVi Group when the company purchased Sonicnet.com, one of David’s early digital music endeavors (he’s gone on as founder of MOG, one of the seminal digital music streamers).

…..

Susan Kantor: “Lead, don’t follow”. Love, Dale”

Hands down, Dale Pon was my most influential career mentor. Ridiculously smart, enormously passionate, admirably courageous and truthfully a little scary.

We would all brace ourselves for the moment the elevator doors opened and the sound of his fiercely determined walk in his trademarked cowboy boots could be heard. With the first, “good morning” would come a rapid fire interrogation of where we were at on all the “to do’s” he had just given us an hour ago. “Why isn’t it done yet?”

Leslie Fenn-Gershon and I used to joke about putting a Valium in his Perrier so we could get through the day.

When I got to the office in the morning there would often be a “note”, on my chair written with red Sharpie marker on yellow pad lined paper (pre-email), from Dale. His handwriting, had as much conviction as his spoken word. These encouraging notes were meant to guide, remind, teach, mentor or simply, to show his appreciation - often complimentary, occasionally piercing. I still have them.

“Lead, don’t follow”. Love, Dale

“Let’s make things happen!” Love Dale “

“There are children and there are parents. Be a parent.” Love, Dale “

“Everyone wants to be told what to do. Tell them.” Love, Dale “

“We had a good day today. Thank you for your help.” Love, Dale

As we chased rock stars around the globe helping MTV and VH1 revolutionize the music industry, and traversed across the county to position many TV and radio stations in their market, Dale always imparted the importance of what we were doing and demanded we do our very best, every day.

He recognized my innate work ethic, enthusiasm and willingness to do whatever it took to learn and succeed – he also knew how young and naïve I was. Ripe for mentorship and direction. I got both, and then some. The Dale Pon “boot camp” was not always pretty, but it was always colorful, impactful, memorable and most importantly, meaningful.

Not only did he teach me all about advertising and the importance of finding the unique selling proposition and saying it as simply as possible so people would remember it, he showed me the world and how not to be intimidated by it. He made me self-aware of my talents and my shortcomings. He also taught me there was no substitute for doing the work.

To this day, I love you Dale and I thank you for believing in me and giving me the chance of a lifetime.

Belated birthday wishes and hope to see you again soon!

…..

Drew Takahashi: “…he gleefully pushed me to do stuff I hated.“

After seeing you and the MTV crew took me back to good/bad old days. I realized I missed Dale Pon.

Back in the day I didn’t know he was a mentor. I only knew he gleefully pushed me to do stuff I hated. In the end I realized you and he knew what was better for me than what I knew. Someday I’ll learn my lesson.

Steve Linden and I went to shoot with Dale for WNBC [AM]. He asked us to meet him at Windows on the World bar for drinks and dinner. He showed up two hours later and Steve and I were suitably toasted. Then he insisted we join him in a very alcoholic dinner. I was so hungover the morning of the shoot I didn’t know how I could direct the talent, Don Imus. Dale apologized for needing to shoot something first so we didn’t roll my spot until the afternoon. Saved my ass.

Many more memories. The weirdest was him in the Colossal bathroom cleaning crabs of their guts for a surprise picnic in the middle of our animation camera shoot.

…..

David Hyman: “[He] always confused the waitresses.”

Here’s mine:

Dale came up with the name of my company, Gracenote. I think that just came really easy to him.

For a while he was a really great teacher to me. I stubbornly couldn’t take the occasional abuse that went with it, even though it was probably good for me. I was honored to be asked as the voice over for a $30 million tv ad campaign by Dale and encouraged to do voice over work. Thrilling to be informed I had career chops outside of sales & marketing.

Dale is the only person i know that would always order two margaritas for himself (at the same time). It always confused the waitresses.

.....

With Dale Pon @WHN Radio. 1977, New York City.

It was against all odds, but my late 70s stint in country music radio hooked me up with a mentor who made the difference.

Before I got to New York’s 1050 WHN, I was aware of the station. Well aware. Sometime in 1976, my friend/future partner/father of my beloved nephew and niece, Alan Goodman, asked me whether I’d seen some giant subway posters (the top photo above). Of course, I’d noticed them, with large portraits of Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, The Eagles, Charlie Pride, Loretta Lynn, Kenny Rogers, Olivia Newton-John, Linda Ronstadt and seemingly dozens of other traditional and contemporary stars of the era. There were so many, they seemed to be everywhere. And, they were gorgeous, well designed, in a sea of drop-dead-New York graffiti, hum drum posters, homeless campers and mess, standing out like nothing we’d ever seen down there before. Too bad it was for music we couldn’t stand.

After I got the job with the station’s creative director and ad man, Dale Pon (another story for another time), I found out a bit about the thinking at the station and the advertising campaign. How did a city that was the home of the most sophisticated popular music of all time –to the likes of Duke Ellington, George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Frank Sinatra– welcome the shitkickers in and become the second most popular radio station in the United States (or the world, for that matter)?

Dale was the supremely gifted Vice President of Creative Services, and he introduced me to Ed Salamon, the station’s innovative program director (Neil Rockoff was the General Manager who brought them together), who used a Top 40 radio approach* to country radio, upending the entire (typical New Yorker’s) notion that country music hadn’t evolved since Hank Williams.

No ordinary radio promotion guy, Dale had been a media buyer at Ogilvy, a radio upstart (a mild description) when the world switched from AM to “progressive” FM, and run radio ad sales teams. In the 80s, he would go on to successfully run his own advertising agency, and together we started one of the most famous media campaigns of all time, “I Want My MTV!”).

Dale Pon wasn’t going to promote the station as cowboy boots and hats, like the last team did. He wanted big ratings for WHN, big ratings. They all did.

* If you’re interested, Ed’s written a book that details his contrarian, and wildly successful, methods called WHN: When New York Went Country.

WHN Radio illustrations from top to bottom, all creative direction by Dale Pon 1977: New York City subway station double truck posters (L-R) Olivia Newton-John (obscured), Linda Ronstadt, Elvis Presley; Olivia Newton-John; Kenny Rogers; Television/Radio Age cover ads; Linda Ronstadt double truck subway poster.

.....

I Want My MTV! Early 1980s, New York City.

MTV had been on the air for six months and we’d fired the storied Ogilvy & Mather and hired Dale Pon’s LPG/Pon (a joint venture with George Lois) at my insistence. Now they were presenting their first trade campaign for advertisers and cable operators and my first big decision was being called into question. America is fast becoming a land of Cable Brats! “It’s audacious! Outrageous! Just like you guys.” George Lois was a big talker, a big seller, and a bit of a smart ass, loudmouth. He was also smart. Even though I knew he designed the “cable brats” thing, it was my brilliant mentor Dale, who’d never steered me wrong creatively or strategically, who was behind the whole thing. His ex-girlfriend, and now one of my best friends, Nancy Podbielniak, had written the copy. Besides, I agreed with Dale that generally trade advertising was a waste of time and bigger waste of money. Consumers were where it’s at, and weren’t all the tradesmen we were hopping to reach consumers too? If we had a knockout punch of consumer advertising our job would be done. I knew he was keeping his powder dry for the big show.

America is fast becoming a land of Cable Brats! There’s an incorrigible new generation out there. They grew up with music. They grew up with television. So we put ‘em both together – for the Cable Brats, and they’re taking over America! They’re men and women in the 18 to 34 age range advertisers want most – plus the increasingly important 12 to 17 segement. The Cable Brats buy all the high volume, high ticket, high tech, high profit products of modern America. They’re strong-willed, cunning, crazily impulsive – an advertiser’s peerless audience. They look and listen and they want their MTV. And they buy, buy, buy. Rock'n'Roll wasn’t enough for them – now they want their MTV. (The exploding 24-hour Video Music Cable Network (and it’s Stereo!)

George was certainly right. It was audacious, and it was a touch outrageous. Somehow, the tone wasn’t quite right, but after the crap Ogilvy had done for us, it was way better. Besides, hidden in there was the sand grain that was going to lead us to our pearl.

.....

I Want My MTV! 1982, New York City.

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I WANT MY MTV! took the phenomenon that had taken over the imaginations of young America and supercharged it into a famous brand with just about everyone in the country. I just googled [in 2010] “I Want My MTV” and it popped up almost 4,760,000 results. Pretty amazing for an advertising campaign that ceased to exist 22 years ago.* Pretty potent. The whole thing was the work of my mentor and friend Dale Pon. He’d been my first boss in the commercial media, at WHN Radio in New York when it was a country music station. He’d recommended me for my job at Warner Amex Satellite Entertainment Company, as the production director of The Movie Channel, and eventually as the first Creative Director of MTV: Music Television. We’d fallen in and out over the years, but in late 1981, when it came time for us to hire an advertising agency again –at first, the top dog had vetoed Dale as not heavy enough for a company like ours– with a lot of help from my immediate boss Bob Pittman, I was able to convince everyone that Dale understood media promotion better than anyone else in America. Anyone. Besides, didn’t he have “insurance” with his partner, legendary adman George Lois?

Dale Pon (via MTV: The Making of a Revolution)

No one had ever encountered an ad executive like Dale, because he had the unique ability to be completely and analytically strategic –”math and magic” Pittman might call it– and be wildly, and intelligently, creative at the same time. An almost unheard of combination, especially in media advertising. Sure, he had a volatile nature, in advertising that was often a given (look at his partner). But it was his strategic, creative abilities that really set him apart.

We’d already done our first trade campaign, the “Cable Brats,“ to the discomfort of most of the suits in the corporate marketing group (Bob and his team, me included, were in programming). But Dale didn’t buy into the efficacy of trade ads anyhow, so now were onto the big show, television advertising. The only problem was that we all recognized that an effective campaign would cost about $10,000,000. Our budget only had $2,000,000, and if we didn’t spend it quickly the corporate gods would probably take it away in the fall.

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"I want my Maypo” commercials, created by John Hubley

Looking back, the core creative ended up being the most straightforward part. Dale’s closest friend and creative partner, Nancy Podbielniak had written the cable brats copy and had a tag line “Rock'n'roll wasn’t enough for them – now they want their MTV!” That rung a bell in George Lois, someone who never missed a chance to abscond with someone else’s good idea, and decided to rip off his own knock off of a Maypo campaign from the 1950s and 60s (animator John Hubley originated it as a set famous animated spots, and George had unsuccessfully knocked it off using sports stars) and presented a storyboard that completely duplicated his version. Rock stars like Mick Jagger were saying “I Want My MTV” and crying like babies, implying they were spoiled children being denied. No one was buying it until Dale let me know that there was no way he’d ask Pete Townshend or Mick to cry for us. “Pride! They need to show their pride in rock'n'roll! They’ll be shouting!” After a little corporate fuss we were able to sell it in.

AMERICA! DEMAND YOUR MTV!

Now, it was the next part that was completely and utterly brilliant. Because Dale came from the school that great creative was all well and good, but unless it could move the business needle, what good was it? In this case, the needle wasn’t ratings (cable TV didn’t have ratings in 1981), but active households, distribution for MTV. Cable operators were all relatively old guys who thought The Weather Channel was a better idea; they’d turned a deaf ear to their younger employees who were clamoring for us instead.

To dramatically simplify the strategy Dale organized, he decided to only advertise in markets where:

• There was enough penetration to justify a modest ad spend.

• But where there were critically large cable operators on the fence about taking MTV.

• And that we could afford a 300 gross rating point buy (three times heavier as any consumer products agency would suggest) for at least four weeks in a row (the traditional media spend would call for pulsing 10 days on and 10 days off).

The “G” in LPG/Pon was Dick Gershon. Along with data from our affiliate group, he crunched and crunched and crunched until he came up with a list of markets and dates we could afford. It was 20% of what we needed, but everyone figured if we could really start to knock off a bunch of cable systems, get them actually launch our network, the domino effect would solidify MTV’s hold on the market forever.

Strategy in place, the creative was back on the front burner. The basic campaign was a great way to get famous rock stars endorsing our channel, but where was the close? What would actually make the 'ka-ching’ we needed? Luckily, back in the day there was only one way to for a homeowner get anything from your reluctant jerk of a cable operator (they figure they held all the cards, why should they do anything to make life better for their consumers?). And what was it that young adults loved to do? Dale knew immediately.

No one alive in front of a television set in the summer of 1982 could ever forget

Pete Townshend, with the wackiest haircut of his career, shouting at the video camera:

“America! DEMAND your MTV! Call your cable operator and say, "I WANT MY MTV!!”

We shot the spots wherever the rock stars would have us for 20 minutes (they still weren’t really sure this MTV: Music Television thing was going to be good for them). Our director and producer, Tommy Schlamme and Buzz Potamkin, got together with some puppeteers to choreograph the 'dancing’ stereo television. I asked my partner to go into the studio to edit the music sections when they weren’t rocking enough, and –poof!– famous advertising.

Nothing to it, yes?

* For comparison, “I Want My Maypo” posts 112,000 results on Google. Or “Where’s the beef?”, another famous 1980’s campaign for Wendy’s returns 176,000 (or if you only use that phrase, which has been appropriated for all sorts of uses, you get 2,640,000).

.....

“Mee, mee, me, meeee!” MTV Networks Online, 1999/2000 New York City

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MTV got Sonicnet in the middle of another transaction they thought would be more important. But as the internet heated up in the business world’s consciousness, Sonicnet.com became something they thought to pay attention to. Which meant that, as president of MTV Networks Online, I was trying to help make the thing successful.

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MTV had also acquired a then-unique personalized radio application. Coupled with Sonicnet, we decided an ad campaign would supercharge the site, something large media folks like us thought was necessary. (It wasn’t.*)

Over a few objections, I hired my brilliant, challenging mentor Dale Pon to create our campaign. Dale had done our the iconic “I Want My MTV” for me in the early 1980s and constantly proved himself to be the most creative and effective media ad man in America. The stunningly talented and perfectly musical film director Tim Newman was already on our online staff (after turning his back on a career that included some of the greatest music videos of all time), so he was really the only person who we thought could direct the spots. Dale hustled our head of marketing, David Hyman, into his one and only –and perfect– voice acting job. (And, I should put in a word for the Sonicnet logo. Designed by AdamsMorioka, from a concept developed by Fred Graver.

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You can see for yourself that Dale knew how conceive big ideas to bring out the best from stars. With Tim in the director’s chair, the results were pretty stunning. And, to cap it, Dale really knew how to use MTVi’s clout to reach for the stars (like Isaac Hayes, James Brown, Joshua Bell, Jewel, Pat Metheny, Sheryl Crow, Beenie Man, Gang Starr, Faith Hill, Lindsey Buckingham, Don Henley, Al Jarreau, Alice Cooper, Blink 182, Kenny Wayne Shephard, Bon Jovi, Buck Cherry, Charlotte Church, Christina Acquilera, Dwight Yoakam, The Ruff Ryders, Eve, Johnny Resnick (The Goo Goo Dolls), kd lang, Buck Cherry, Kelis, Lindsey Buckingham, Melissa Etheridge, Moby, Seal, Sisqo, Static X, SheDaisy, Hillary Hahn, Charlotte Church, Yo Yo Ma, and Sting.)

This campaign, like every other one I’d worked on with Dale over the decades, was a hoot. One of the best things to come out of my one year in the early corporate internet.

…..

* IMHO, one of the great mistakes media companies made during Web 1.0, was thinking that their traditional audience reach would give them huge advantage in building web destinations. They’d made the exact same mistake in the transition from broadcast to cable. It didn’t occur to them in either era that a basic misunderstanding of the newest medium –not knowing what the audience wanted from the upstarts– would not attract anyone to their websites.

And, by the by, the same mistake has been made from popular websites bungling the transition to mobile. And, so it goes.

#Dale Pon

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calpops · 5 years

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veiled valor | c.h.

Notoriously known Captain Calum Hood was set to sail--ready to call to weigh anchor and cut into the ocean waves under moonlight--when a stranger stumbled onto the deck of his ship. He used the night to try and barter for her story, more intrigued by the golden flecks in her eyes than the golden pendant she offered as payment for passage.

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Cool wind rolled off ocean waves. Calum stood at the helm of his boat, overseeing the crew he had assembled on a moment’s notice. There were regulars aboard; trusted men he had spent many a voyage with, and plenty of new faces he was admittedly weary of. He had not intended to set sail so late into the night with half a crew he did not trust, but his reputation had preceded him upon docking in the small kingdom. Oil lamps and moonlight guided the crew as they rushed around preparing to set sail. With a white knuckle grip Calum’s hands wrapped around the handles of the wheel and an irresolute feeling cut at his chest. The night sent chills up and down his spine, something menacing about waves lost in the dark. Calum had already decided the course, mapped out and charted all the stops along the way. The night sky opened up to a light spattering of rain that hit the deck and slowly seeped through his clothing. A booming voice echoed through the night, one unfamiliar to Calum.

“Captain? We have a situation on the gangway.”

Calum’s attention was turned immediately to his second in command and most trusted companion. Ashton, stood tall yet hunched with concern, eyes wild and uncertain as they flickered towards the docks and entryway of the ship, motioned for Calum to follow.

“A situation? Why is the gangway still in use? Every man is accounted for. No one should be boarding or leaving,” Calum said as he stomped after Ashton, authoritative demeanor at the ready.

It only took a moment to come upon the situation, a new crew member with an unknown person in his grip. The stranger’s features were shadowed off, face hidden by a hood and body disguised by a thick wool cloak. The new crew member Calum finally came to recognize as Jeremiah handled the person roughly, tossing them to the deck with unnecessary force. The one satchel the person carried hitting the deck too.

“Seems we gots a stowaway,” Jeremiah spat, voice rough and filled with contempt.

The possible stowaway didn’t move and so Calum dropped to a knee, hands coaxing the stranger back up. When they stood, with Calum supporting both of them, the hood fell and light brown eyes bore into Calum’s gaze. Short chopped loose curls barely graced her shoulders and her lips pursed, the corner of her mouth twitching. Calum was taken aback at the woman’s presence, Ashton’s wild eyes and urgent motions finally ringing clear in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to be a stowaway,” she bit back but her eyes pleaded for understanding as they never left Calum, all while picking up the modest satchel and tossing it over her shoulder once more.

“That’s true, Cap’n, she did-“

Ashton tried to defend her but she jumped in with a clear voice and intentions. “I can speak for myself.”

Calum smirked as Ashton sputtered at the remark. Calum could sense Ashton was doing his best to bite his tongue, to stay calm in the face of a foreign situation. Calum nodded at the woman with the unruly tone and panicked eyes, gestured for her to continue speaking.

“I offered payment and services for passage, but this heathen,” she began and gave a pointed look to Jeremiah who stood glowering under her gaze. “Didn’t believe me. Took me by the shoulders and tried to forcibly remove me.”

“Ship’s full and no place for a woman,” Jeremiah scoffed out his weak defense, arms crossed over his puffed out chest.

Calum noted the arrogance that exuded from Jeremiah, the tilt of his head and quirk of his mouth that spoke too much and too stupidly for his own good. Calum had only known him hours, had rounded up men in a tavern with the promise of wages and sailing under a free flag. He already knew this man would be a gamble, his attitude screaming with indignation for authority. Calum casted his gaze back to the woman, she was slightly trembling from the cold, rain clinging to her honey curls and dripping down her bare skin. She worried at her lower lip in the prolonged silence but stood her ground.

“Miss, I’m afraid that heathen has a point. My ship is fully equipped with a crew and ready to sail. What could you possibly offer me or my crew that I don’t already have?”

“A lifetime of experience in a kitchen. I’m sure I could do better than anyone on this boat,” she started and reached a hand up to her neck, gripped a chain and pulled it clear off in one motion. “And this. It’s one of a kind. Solid gold, real gems. This must be worth passage. I don’t need to go far, I just need to go now.”

There was an urgency in her look, capturing her eyes and creasing her forehead. Her words burning through cold rain, voice unwavering and words rolling off the tongue in a way any captain might envy. She held authority in a subtle way; Calum nearly swayed to listen to any words that fell from her lips.

The woman handed Calum the necklace, and sure enough a golden pendant encrusted with rubies sat in the palm of his hand. His fingers curled around the pendant, a gentle hold on such a delicate piece. Calum looked back to her but her head was turned towards the docks searching through the night anxiously. He didn’t know what kind of escape she was seeking but he could see the desperation in her eyes, could sense the urgency in her tone and the nervousness which swayed her gaze back towards land. She looked back at him, their gazes crashing like the sea meeting the shore. There was something all too familiar about her, something that Calum couldn’t quite place in the moment.

“Captain, please,” she begged, voice now trembling and hands clasping at her woolen cloak, attempting to drown herself in the material and ward off the cold rain. Those two words, shaken and broken, showed the most vulnerability she had during their entire encounter.

It took one look and two words to make up Calum’s mind. He was sure, as sure as the moon would fade and the sun would rise. One of her hands came up, brushed against his and noise in the night had her jumping to turn towards the sound. He almost reached out to console her and ease the panic but she turned around with stony eyes and hands that buried themselves within her cloak once more. More than anything, Calum was intrigued by her; the familiarity of her yet the questions surrounding her all unanswered.

“Welcome aboard,” he settled for, hoping it might ease her worries to know she was afforded an escape. She was quick to rush behind Calum and away from the man who had thrown her to the deck just moments prior. “Jeremiah, see about the gangway, we’re nearly set to sail.”

Calum expected the outburst from the short tempered man, had fully anticipated him losing his temper at the decision. With arms flailing and a face turning red as Jeremiah expressed his anger Calum took a step towards him, forcing him a step back, Jeremiah’s foot now teetering the edge of the ship and the gangway.

“You said the ship was full! We can’t be havin’ extras aboard, specially not a lady. She won’t last on the sea!” Jeremiah hollered into the night, past a bustling crew that paid little mind to the situation the newcomer had created.

“The ship is full,” Calum mused, feigning thought as he continued to back up Jeremiah further and further. “Guess I have no need for you now that she’s taking over the kitchen.”

Jeremiah’s eyes went crazed, fist thrown towards Calum but it was an easy dodge on Calum’s part. One strike to the shoulder and a solid shove sent Jeremiah tumbling into the waves below. Calum released the gangway and called to weigh anchor, completely ignoring the shouts of the man gone overboard. Calum turned back to face the crew, having taken one moment to pause their activity to witness the scuffle.

“Back to work! I don’t pay you to stand around!”

The crew bustled back to life with rigging the sails and sending stock to the stores. Calum turned back around to see the woman stood still, soft eyes glazed with concern as she took in the waves lapping at the side of the boat Jeremiah had tumbled past.

“Worry not, ma’am. He can swim,” Ashton quickly told her. “Captain’s not one for that severe a punishment.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she retorted quickly, voice picking up strength yet her body weakly swayed in time with the rock of the boat. It was a lie if Calum had ever heard one, his trained ear picking up on the nuances of her voice, his eyes catching the subtle flinch of fingers curling into her palm.

Calum took a moment to eye her; hooded eyes painted with exhaustion, hidden frame that was in tune with the rock of the ship, lips bitten raw and clothes that could be mistaken for a commoner if the materials weren’t so rich. Calum had only questions building in his mind. Why did she need to escape? How far away would be far enough? The pendant he had slipped into his pocket now sat heavily, weighed down by wonderings of her past. Her tired eyes scanned the deck feverishly, raindrops slipping down sullen cheeks and light brown eyes blinking harshly. Calum questioned if some of those raindrops may have been tears, what with the quiver of her mouth and twitch of her nose.

“Ashton will bring you down to the galley to warm up and show you where your duties will lie. I’ll have a cabin prepared for you,” Calum said, voice gone gentler as he apprehensively reached a hand out and placed it on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch under his touch as he almost expected she might. Instead she let out a sigh, soft and forlorn and coated with a pain Calum couldn’t quite understand.

She nodded at him as she turned to leave with Ashton coaxing her towards the galley stairs. Calum watched her begin to walk away, rain still falling, bearing down harder than before. The crew began simmering down as the boat cut into the ocean waves on its set course. She turned back to look at him, and if the moon weren’t so bright that night he wouldn’t have seen her say thank you with sincere eyes and a tilt of her head.

The breath in Calum’s lungs cut short, his arms crossing over his chest as his eyes narrowed and bored into the back of her head. She disappeared down the stairs, her posture and movements precise past the sway of the boat. A tap on Calum’s shoulder broke him of his reverie, had him whipping around to stare at his boatswain, Luke. He was another man Calum trusted after spending numerous voyages together. He was damn good at his job, invaluable in the orderly conduct of running the ship.

“Captain, is she not-“ Luke began but Calum cut him off quickly. Trapping dangerous words inside, not daring to have them spoken into the night with listening ears and questionable morals.

“She is. Tell no one,” Calum demanded. “But do tell the entire crew that should someone so much as lay a hand on her their fate will be much the same as Jeremiah's.”

Luke nodded curtly, all the recognition that once flickered in his eyes dissolving in the pools of blue as he disguised his knowledge. Luke nudged Calum, lifting an eyebrow and darting his eyes towards the galley stairway.

“You don’t think they’ll figure it out?”

Calum’s chest tightened, hands curled into fists and jaw clenched. The pendant in his pocket bearing weights of worlds unknown now. Quickly he shook his head no. Licked his lips and swallowed, mouth now dry and throat burning with fear he would never speak aloud. He let it sit inside as he pulled aside a passing by crew member and ordered them to ready the cabin adjacent to his. He wanted her close.

***

Calum ducked down the galley stairway, hand gripping the wooden rail a bit tighter than necessary. She sat on a barrel with a pewter mug raised to her lips, her one belonging on the floor below her. Ashton stood off to the side and took his leave when Calum nodded at him. He tried to read her, but nothing in her body language or eyes gave way for him to explore. She was glassy and poised, one leg crossed over the other and posture stiff. If anything, she exuded unease past her better efforts to remain stony. Calum approached with slow steps and sidled up to her, took a seat on a barrel across from her and arched his eyebrow.

“I hope you’re finding my ship well suited to your needs,” Calum said.

She nodded, lowered the cup and lightly licked her lips. Her eyes fell, gazing at her skirt, unsure fingers fiddling with the material. For one quick moment Calum yearned to reach out and stop the anxious tic, offer her comfort and brush the hair out of her face.

“It’s more than I could ask for. Thank you, truly,” she replied, voice much softer than on deck.

“Quite humble compared to castles, isn’t it?” Calum asked, voice low and eyes inquisitive. “Princess.”

Calum could see the way her chest heaved with a surprised breath and how quick she was to fix her demeanor. To an untrained eye it would have gone unnoticed. But Calum was beginning to read her easier; from the slight flicker of her eyes to the minute twitch of her fingers. He recognized the panic; onset by honesty she wasn’t prepared to hear.

“Elodie will do just fine, Captain.”

Calum tilted his head to the side, her strong voice carrying the name proudly between them. He tapped a hand along his thigh with an arched eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. When she merely raised her cup once more and hid behind it, Calum smirked. She was playing innocent though her lack of words and surprised motions gave her better efforts away.

Calum let his hand trail up to his pocket, remembering the pendant cushioned inside. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with wonder—unsure how she may respond to his next tactic.

He pulled the pendant out and offered it back to her with an open hand. She looked down at it with apprehension, finally settling the mug back down. She swallowed and shook her head.

“That’s part of your payment for my passage.”

“Well, you see Elodie, I find information much more valuable than gold and jewels,” Calum began to which she only nodded slowly. “Like why a princess would run from her castle.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t her castle,” she answered swiftly, not missing one beat. Still she would not own her story as her own. She played coy with Calum and only offered half truths.

Calum brought the pendant back to him, toyed with it between his fingers and feigned a deep examination of it. “Tell me, how much do you wager this is worth?”

Elodie shrugged. “Enough for my passage,” she reiterated, voice gone stubborn and eyes narrowed.

Calum could tell he was cracking her, from the way her posture slackened and her fingers went completely restless against her skirt, digging at the material endlessly. He waited one moment more, let her words hang in the stuffy air of the galley. Footsteps on deck sounded above them and Calum thanked his crew mentally for not interrupting the secretive moment.

“I’m willing to place my bets this pendant and your contribution in the kitchen are less valuable than the safe return of a princess to a castle she fled from.”

To Calum’s utter surprise, she stayed poised. “And I’d be willing to place my bets on the word of a princess and not a pirate. Only that pirate would say said princess fled, perhaps that princess were to contradict the pirate. Who do you think the other royals would believe?”

Calum scoffed, her tone and the web of tangled what if’s building more and more intrigue.

“I would say the princess is assuming a captain of noble intentions is in fact a pirate. Is that princess willing to make that gamble?”

Elodie’s eyes drifted down to Calum’s covered wrist, the white sleeve of his shirt expertly banded with a cord of leather to keep it in place. Her bowed lips upturned and eyes gleamed as they flickered back up to his face. Calum could see the smugness in her eyes as she reached a delicate hand across, agile fingers pulling the cord and letting the sleeve loose. She didn’t look down as she pushed his sleeve up, her touch sizzling as she traced a fingertip along the branded P on his soft skin.

“Only a captain with nothing to lose would willingly take a princess on the run aboard his ship.”

“I assure you, Princess,” Calum began in a whisper. “I’ve been branded unjustly.” His voice grew stronger as he spoke the truth, his hushed tone turned steely and ringing clear through the wooden walls of the galley. Her touch fell away from Calum all too soon, leaving behind burning cold in its wake.

Elodie nodded with just the smallest tilt of her head, chin upturned and eyes narrowing more. Calum could tell it was she who was trying to figure him out now. Her puzzled expression had her brows furrowing, lips like flower petals pursing in her contemplation. Calum let out a small huff, arms crossing with the pendant still in his hold. He leaned forward, the distance between them thinning as she took his challenge and scooted towards him without flinching.

“Don’t all pirates believe their branding unjust?”

Calum licked his lips and let his teeth sink into his lower lip, quirking his head to the side. Elodie’s ever challenging tone and words that were just as sharp left Calum nearly speechless. But he was a man of trade and barter. Quick wit was necessary in his line of work.

“Perhaps, but not every pirate has nothing to lose. We’re actually quite greedy by trade. I myself have more than you could imagine I fear losing.”

“And what is it you so fear losing?” Elodie inquired, the minimal space between them decreasing even more as she shifted forward, feet hitting the floor, hand finding his arm once more.

Her grip was loose but spoke volumes. There was an innate need to figure each other out; Calum’s growing curiosity matching her endless wonder of life outside palace walls. Calum swallowed, placed a hand over hers and brushed a thumb along her fingers. She didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink at the contact. For some astounding reason it felt natural; the sizzle and the spark lighting them both up and the contact going unquestioned.

“I’m a man of equal trade. Should I share my story with you I’d barter for you to share with me.”

Elodie’s eyes shifted down to their grasps on each other; the reverie broken as she pulled away and leaned back on her barrel. Calum supposed there were some things in this world not worth trading. He wondered why her story was so valuable, what it might have entailed to keep it so close to the vest. And for one moment he wondered why he craved it so much.

“Captain, her cabin is ready,” Luke’s voice called down the stairs as his footsteps neared.

Calum turned his attention to his approaching boatswain and heard Elodie’s breath catch in her surprise at his voice. Whatever moment made of secrets shattered at his words. Whatever delicate yet steely connection they were approaching was drowned out as his footsteps grew nearer. Luke emerged on the last step with helpful gestures and eyes worth trusting secrets with. Calum knew that if anyone on the ship were to be in the know of Elodie’s identity, Luke would take the secret to an underwater grave. Calum just hoped beyond belief the rest of the crew was too drunk and too insolent to figure it out as well. Calum stood and quickly Elodie did the same after gathering her satchel.

Before Elodie took her leave and followed after Luke, Calum placed a light hand on her shoulder and offered the pendant back to her once more.

“This is worth much more than passage aboard my humble vessel,” he said as he placed it in her unsure hand.

Elodie looked down at it, turned it over in her hand with uncertainty and looked back at Calum for a belated moment.

“I do wager it’s much safer in the hands of a captain with only noble intentions than with me. At least for now,” she replied and put it back in his hand; folded his fingers over the gold and let her hand linger for a moment. “Thank you, again, Captain.”

As she moved to follow Luke up the steps Calum called out to her once more. “Calum will do just fine.”

He didn’t see the smile on her face as she took her leave but he heard the light and airy breath of his name tumbling past her lips; only as if to test the waters.

***

Calum wound up at Elodie’s cabin door that same night, the rain finally dispersed and only gentle waves seeing them through the dark. He stalled a moment, fist raised to the wooden door but not knocking. He felt at a crossroad; unsure how to proceed. It was she who made the decision for him, the door opening slowly—her now uncloaked figure and easy eyes greeting him. She was curved yet supple. He immediately put his hand down, kept it balled in a fist at his side as she peered past the door at him. For a second she looked up at the stars, wonder capturing her gaze and settling in the golden flecks of her eyes.

“Care for some fresh air?” Calum offered, stepping aside to let Elodie slip through the doorway with ease.

The deck was empty, the crew tucked away for the night as calm waters laid ahead. Elodie’s refined gait led her towards a rail, Calum trailing after her. Her hands gripped at the wood and her gaze shifted down to the dark depths of the sea. Her jaw set and nose twitched ever so slightly as she took a deep breath. Calum laid an elbow on the rail and leaned down but kept his eyes upon her.

“Sail often?” Calum wondered aloud.

“Only once,” she whispered without reservations.

The admittance explained enough; the sway of her body influenced by the rock of the boat. The terse grip she kept on the rail and the uneasy look she casted at the waves below. The admission did little to tie the pieces of her story together, but Calum was intent on unraveling her piece by minuscule piece if that’s what it took.

“Then why run to the water?”

Her gaze shifted from the waves back to Calum; crashing but as sure as the ocean. “How else do you propose fleeing an island?”

“With a ship full of pirates and scoundrel alike?” Calum questioned.

Elodie chanced loosening her grip on the rail to tap her fingers on the knotted wood. She set a slow rhythm, one finger tapping at a time until they came back to rest. Calum wasn’t sure she would continue speaking; what little answers he’d gathered from her throughout the night was a struggle enough to pull out of her. So when she looked back at him with quivering lips and proceeded on she surprised him greatly.

“Your ship was the first with free flags I saw. A fleeing princess couldn’t very well board a palace owned vessel and find freedom within it.”

Calum leaned more heavily against the railing, eyes caught in the ripples of the ocean water the moon highlighted. He pondered her words; understood the meaning and the ingrained desire to seek freedom. Freedom from what, he did not understand. At least not in her case. He had plenty of reason to run for freedom, to find life without restraint and live for himself first and foremost. Calum knew he would endlessly wonder about Elodie, that the night would keep him awake; tossing and turning in his sheets. She would be one cabin away and all that was on his mind.

“”Have you found what you’re looking for?” Calum asked gently, letting his words fall to the waves.

Elodie shifted from foot to foot, took in a deep breath and sighed into the night. She turned to him, just one hand on the rail and the other gone up in search of a pendant no longer round her neck. It was still in Calum’s pocket, he didn’t dare leave it where one might come across it. Her fingers found nothing to fiddle with and so her hand dropped back to her side.

“Perhaps I’m on the way to it,” she answered.

Elodie excused herself with a vague gesture towards her cabin door and began to head off. Calum watched her leave for one moment until a thought struck him that he couldn’t contain.

“Elodie, wait!” He called out, pushing off the rail and headed towards her. She turned back to face him, one hand resting on the door.

“Yes, Calum?”

“Lock your door at night.”

Elodie tilted her head to the side, hand falling down the wood and pinching at her skirt.

“I always do,” she began and though that aroused many questions in Calum’s mind he stayed quiet and let her proceed. “Is there any particular reason for such a request?”

Calum shuffled his feet, leaned an arm against the wood and arched an eyebrow. He ran a hand through his thick curls and settled it at the back of his neck. As good with words as he was there were some moments even his wit and sparring tones could not handle. He considered himself an honest man, at least in most moments, but under the moonlight with eyes so gently gazing at him he swallowed his inhibitions towards hard truths and forced the words out.

“There are many good men on this ship. And some I wouldn’t trust to catch rainwater in a bucket,” he said and she let out a huff of an incredulous giggle. She silenced when he pressed on. “I’ll do my best to keep you and your identity safe. But there are some things you can do for yourself.”

“What might those things be?”

“Lock your doors. Don’t roam the deck at night without someone you trust.”

“Can I trust you, Captain?”

Calum blinked, taken aback at the bold question. He paused only one moment; the intensity of the question crackling in the air between them. Elodie’s eyes marveled at the way Calum unconsciously responded. His body shifted, arm pressing further into the wood and fingers curling into his palms. He took a short but deep breath.

“That’s your decision to make,” he said, and in a whisper that only she and the moon could hear he tacked on a, “Princess.”

Elodie didn’t say anything else, but when she went to reach for the doorknob Calum stopped her short. There was one more thing he needed to discuss with her to ensure his peace of mind. His hand enveloped hers and she didn’t pull away. For all the quick wit and slightly biting words they had traded in the galley all their edges had gone soft as they sailed on into the night.

“For your protection, should I not be around,” Calum said and pulled his pistol from the holster on his hip.

Elodie squeezed his hand with fragile fingers and didn’t look down at the offering once. Instead, she let her other hand grip at her skirt and pull it up; revealing a makeshift holster strapped around her upper thigh, a pistol forged of expensive material resting against her skin. Calum couldn’t peel his eyes away, if not for the immodesty she displayed then for the daring and dangerous weapon she brought aboard. She closed the distance between them as she dropped her skirt and whispered in his ear, lips near brushing against him with every word.

“Princesses are not fools, Captain. Did you really think I’d board a ship with pirates and scoundrels alike with no protection?”

A grin of disbelief spread across Calum’s face, realizing then and there he should never underestimate her again. As princesses are not fools, perhaps pirates are, he did not see her next move coming. She seamlessly tucked herself against him, her arms wrapping around him for a moment he found to be too short. Against salt water winds he breathed in her scent; something soft and sweet; but intoxicating nonetheless. Calum wasn’t sure how to respond, unsure arms loosely wrapping around her for just a moment—until she pulled back with a bitten lip and regret filled eyes.

“Sleep well, Elodie,” Calum said, meaning those words more than he knew.

She nodded and tore her gaze away from him, quickly opening her cabin door. “Good night, Calum,” she called over her shoulder—words tight and unsure.

Calum waited as the door shut; waited to hear the metallic click of the lock and fading footsteps as she wandered towards bed. He headed his own way, an endless ocean of questions still crashing through his mind. He figured he’d have time to work through them and figure her out. They had months together before docking next. He patted his pocket as he walked away—feeling the pendant still safe within—curious what turning tides had brought them together. Curious how long she’d stay in his life.

***

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @gorgeouslygrace @empathycth @cuddlemecalx

If anyone would like to be tagged in future parts (or other fics or blurb series) just send me an ask <3

#calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum hood blurb #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood x oc #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos x oc #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #calum hood series #calum hood angst #calum hood one shot #5sos one shot #5sos au #calum hood au #veiled!valor

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bittersweetmelodie · 4 years

Text

heart of the storm

Fandom: RWBY Pairing: Blake Belladonna/Sun Wukong Summary: In the time before the battle at Haven, Blake and Sun have a heart-to-heart.

Ao3

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to Rooster Teeth

A/N: My contribution to the Like Morning Follows Night zine.

Blake stares out into the distance, watching as the sun set, giving everything an orange, almost ethereal sort of glow. Haven is beautiful, and she wishes that she could have been here under better, less dire circumstances.

“Hey.”

She glances over her shoulder when she hears the familiar voice. She doesn’t really need to turn around to see who it is – she knows his voice like she knows her own.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks as he approaches the railing. His voice is lighthearted, but when she looks up to meet his eyes, his gaze is a stormy blue, and more serious than she has ever seen.

“Hey,” she returns with a tight smile of her own.

“The guys are fine, by the way. A little angry with me for leaving them for so long without trying to get in contact with them, but they’re good.”

“Good, that’s good,” she says, although she sounds distracted.

He touches her arm, a feather-light, barely there touch. “You okay?”

“Yea,” she murmurs evasively, “yea, I’m fine.”

It’s a blatant lie, and they both know it. Nothing about the moment is fine, and she doesn’t know if things will ever be fine.

His expression is tense, almost knowing, and she stiffens under his gaze. She wishes that his return home didn’t have to be fraught with the dangers of the coming day. She wishes she could enjoy the wonders of Haven with him without the looming threat tomorrow, and with that thought comes her fear that she won’t get that chance, because neither of them can know what might happen during the fight.

There is just so much uncertainty in the days ahead of them – whether they can win the fight against the White Fang, against Adam, whether or not either of them will make it out alive. The only thing she can be certain of at the moment is that she can’t stand the thought of dragging Sun headfirst into that fight with her, can’t risk losing him like that, because she can’t stand the thought of living a world without him. She jolts at the implications of what that means, but she’s not necessarily surprised by it.

The feelings have been there for a while now, simmering just beneath the surface of her thinly veiled indifference and cool façade, just waiting for something to cause it to bubble over. She doesn’t think she is in love with him, at least not yet, but he was able to so easily break through the barriers that she had carefully built around herself.

She never meant to let him get as close as he did, because you can’t lose something that you never had. She never lets herself have the luxury of having somebody, not after losing Adam. She supposes she hasn’t really lost Adam – his presence is something that still haunts her to this day, but she has, because the person that he is now isn’t the person that she had.

But Sun had snuck up on her, slowly taking her walls down brick by brick, and he did it so gradually that she hadn’t realized it was happening, and when she did, he was such a solid presence in her life that she couldn’t ever imagine him not being there. And she can’t afford to lose him.

She clutches the railing so tightly that her knuckles turn white. The breeze catches her hair as she turns back to stare out into the city skyline. “Do me a favour, Sun.”

“Anything for you.”

She doesn’t need to turn, doesn’t need to see his face to know that he means it, that he would mean it every time she asked something of him, and it makes her want to cry. He would die for her – he almost had – and she doesn’t understand what he sees in her that would make him so willing to jump in front of a bullet for her. She wants to protect him, shield him from all the danger in their lives, even if it seems near impossible sometimes.

“Stay away from Adam tomorrow,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She knows he hears her though, because she can see his hands curl into a fist at his side.

“Anything but that,” he amends, voice hard and unyielding.

“Sun,” she hisses. She turns to face him again, and she can see the anger and defiance in his clenched jaw. “You said anything.”

“Not that, Blake. You know I won’t promise you that.”

And she does know, she had known that he would refuse before she even asked, because Sun is the most selfless person that she knows, and he would risk everything to make sure she’s safe. But she can’t let him near Adam, can’t put him into the line of fire like that. She already has so much blood on her hands, and she doesn’t want to add Sun’s to it, because it would stain so much darker and more permanently than any of the others’, and she could never hope to get rid of it.

“It’s my fight; he’s my problem.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to do it alone, Blake. You’re not alone anymore, and I promise, I’m not letting you go into this by yourself.” His gaze is steadfast and determined as he reaches out, as if to put a hand on her shoulder. But he seems to think better of it, and lets it drop to hang uselessly at his side.

“I can’t – I can’t lose you.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can filter them, her voice raw with emotion. Her years in the White Fang had taught her to shield her emotions with her life, and she had never been particularly good at expressing them, and now she falters as the mask she wears like a second skin starts to crack.

She reaches over and places her palm over his chest, over the scar from Ilia’s sword; she can still see the blood seeping through the cloth of his shirt. There had been so much of it, permanently staining his shirt and her hands. They hadn’t been able to get all the blood out, and he’d had to get a new shirt. But she couldn’t cleanse her hands of his blood that easily. Her hand trembles as her fingers curl, twisting into the material of his shirt. “I can’t,” she repeats, her voice breaking.

“Blake.” His voice is quiet, an almost whisper, like he’s afraid that if he’s any louder, the moment will shatter. He places his hand over hers, gently uncurling her fingers so he can give them a squeeze. “You won’t.”

“You can’t – you can’t know that,” she huffs exasperatedly.

“No, I suppose I can’t,” he murmurs. “But I promise that I’ll be careful. I’m not that easy to take out.”

“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice strangled. “We almost – your heart stopped, Sun. You were – you died. I didn’t think you would make it.” She presses her forehead against his shoulder and swallows thickly before continuing, her voice hoarse. “I never want to see you like that again.”

His expression softens and he runs his hands through her hair in a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Despite her fears, she manages a watery snort. “Only you would apologize for almost dying.”

“Blake, I swear I’m not going to –”

Not willing to listen to make any more promises that she’s not sure he can keep, she impulsively leans up and slants her lips over his, effectively shutting him up.

He freezes with one hand in her hair, the other still holding her hand. It takes him a moment to understand that Blake is kissing him, and another moment longer to respond.

The kiss is desperate and rushed, tinged with the urgency and adrenaline of the upcoming fight. It’s not how she imagined her first kiss with Sun would be. She would have hoped it would be under better circumstances. But his lips are soft and pliant against hers, and for a moment, thoughts of tomorrow and her fight with Adam slip her mind.

She thinks she could keep kissing him forever, spend the rest of her life memorizing the taste of his lips and the feeling of his hands, burning hot against the cool skin of her face, and her hips. It hits her that she might never get the chance to learn his body and the way his skin feels under her hand, that this could possibly be their last kiss, and her eyes burn with unshed tears.

She squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry, but a traitorous tear slips down her cheek.

He pulls away when he feels her tears dripping on his hand and tastes the salt on his tongue. He strokes her cheeks gently and watches her carefully, looking for any signs that she might regret what had just happened, but finds nothing but admiration and melancholy, tinged with a bit of sadness and fear.

“I love you,” he whispers after a beat of silence. His eyes widen a little, as if he’d been thinking the words, as if the words had been bouncing around in his head for a long time, but he hadn’t meant to let them slip out. But the surprise on his face quickly melts adoration.

She’s not – she’s not surprised that he felt this way – he wasn’t the most subtle person, and he had a tendency of wearing his heart on his sleeve – but that doesn’t make her any less shocked that he’d actually said them.

“Sun, I –” she starts, but the words get caught in her throat. She’s never been particularly good at showing affection or expressing her emotions, and the words she wants to say can’t seem to make it past her lips.

“Don’t,” he says gently, shaking his head at her. He gives her a small smile. “You don’t have to say it back. I don’t want you to say something you don’t mean just because we’re standing on the brink of something we might not be able to come back from. I just need you to know. We don’t know what might happen tomorrow, and I – I need you to know.” He wipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t,” she whispers fiercely, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Don’t say it like you’re saying goodbye.”

“I’m not,” he promises. “I’ve always liked you, Blake – I think you’ve always known that, though. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now, but with everything else that was going on… well, a stupid crush didn’t seem like such a high priority, you know?”

“Stupid,” she huffs teasingly, punching him gently in the arm. “Now isn’t much better, you know.” She doesn’t wait for a response before she leans up and kisses him again, slower and softer this time, trying to pour all her feelings and thoughts, all of her unspoken words, into the kiss.

The smile on his face when she pulls away, bright and loving, tells her he understands what she’s trying to say, even if she can’t say the words.

She leans her forehead against his shoulder, wraps her arms around him. The tension in her shoulders eases a little as he pulls her in close, his arms tightening around her waist.

He presses his lips to the top of her head, between her ears, and mumbles, “Together, okay?”

“Together,” she echoes, her words slightly muffled by his shirt. Because even if they have nothing else, even if everything goes wrong tomorrow, they’ll be together. And if everything gets shot to hell, at least they’ll have this moment.

#rwby #blacksun #blake belladonna #sun wukong #otp: like morning follows night #word vomit

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pinkrival · 4 years

Text

there was chaos in the tangle.

something was wrong — bede had figured that much out from the moment he set foot inside the forest. what had normally served as a place of comfort and tranquility suddenly felt like nothing of the sort. he struggled to understand how such a dramatic change had happened seemingly overnight. there was a tension hanging heavy in the air that bede couldn’t quite place. ( like a veritable miasma of aggression and fear. ) it was almost as if all of glimwood tangle — the location itself had been thrown into intense, emotional turmoil and for the life of him, the gym leader couldn’t figure out why.

that alone had been concerning enough, but then he heard the sounds. screaming. sobbing. snapping branches. the whistle of something powerful whipping violently through the air. ( powerful enough to shake the ground beneath his feet whenever it made contact. ) most chillingly, the telltale hiss of an angry hatterene. bede didn’t think — he just started running. heading towards the noise, as opposed to away from it. ( even if common sense told him to do the opposite. ) someone was in awful danger, and it was his responsibility to put a stop to it. he was the gym leader, after all — he was more than capable.

however, bede wasn’t prepared for the sight that met him.

one of the wild hatterene from the depths of glimwood tangle. she stood at nearly eight feet in height ( abnormally large, even for members of her species ) and bristled with aggression. the fairy type swung her clawed tentacle with reckless abandon, cleaving through huge portions of the trees around her as if they were made of brittle plaster. the hisses and shrieks pouring out of her mouth were a garbled, furious mess. unintelligible. bede caught a flash of blonde hair as someone struggled to get away from the enraged pokemon, her arm bent at an unnatural angle. this was bad. ( an understatement. ) wild hatterene were dangerous to begin with, but one from deep glimwood was likely both abnormally powerful and unaccustomed to the turbulent emotions of humans.

her victim turned, blue eyes meeting violet. bede’s lips parted, as if to question the familiarity in her gaze, only for his attention to snap to the side. ❝ LOOK OUT — ! ❞

he wasn’t fast enough.

the hatterene’s claw CRASHED into her head, swatting the blonde to the side like a fly. she slammed against a nearby tree with a sickening crack, and hit the ground. she didn’t move. she didn’t make a sound. it happened in less than a second.

bede screamed — in shock. in blind panic. it took him a moment to realize his error as the fairy type spun around, cruel gaze fixing on the newest source of strong emotion to invoke her wrath. reflexively, the boy took a step back — only for the hatterene to teleport in front of him, claw raised to silence him permanently. time seemed to slow to a crawl. bede’s mind went blank with fear. he couldn’t move. he couldn’t get out of the way.

with a sudden burst of red light, his own hatterene shot out of the great ball in his coat pocket, crashing violently into her much larger double. she shrieked — no, she SCREAMED in a way bede had never heard before, throwing the other fairy type back with powerful claws. her opponent flew several feet before she managed to catch herself, fixing the pair with a scowl. her tentacle waved back and forth, talons flexing. ( the gym leader could practically see the gears turning in her head as she plotted her next move. ) bede’s hatterene didn’t give her the luxury of weighing her options — she immediately closed the distance between them with a teleport of her own, slashing and clawing like her life depended on it.

bede watched, numbly. the gym leader only snapped out of his stupor when his back hit a tree. ( had he really been about to run away? like a coward? ) his gaze darted to the blonde, still laying prone on the ground. ( shit... he couldn’t just leave her. ) sucking in a hissing breath, the gym leader spared the battling pokemon an uncertain look, before making a mad dash to her side. thankfully, they appeared too caught up in their furious brawl to notice.

❝ hey — ! get up, quickly! ❞ urgency filled the boy’s tone as he dropped to his knees next to the blonde. no response. ( oh arceus. please don’t be... he quickly stamped down the thought. ) ❝ there isn’t much time, we need to go — ! ❞ again, bede was left without a reply. with a growl, he reached over, shaking the stranger’s shoulder roughly — by chance, the movement jostling her just enough that the pale locks obscuring her face slipped away.

laura. bede’s heart sank like a stone. laura. laura. laura. what the hell was laura doing there — ? he shook her again, much gentler this time, but to no avail.

❝ laura...? ❞ his breath hitched in his throat. ❝ hey... ❞ panic began to buzz anew in the back of his mind like a hive of furious combee. bede reached for the blonde’s good arm, pressing trembling fingers to the pulse point in her wrist.

nothing. nothing. he felt nothing, no pulse, NOTHING. bede released her hand, watching through blurry eyes as it hit the ground limply. forgetting where he was ( forgetting even the fierce battle raging on behind him ) the boy fisted desperate fingers in his hair and harshly pulled, an agonized whine slipping out from between his lips. ❝ no. no. no no no no. NO NO NO NO. ❞ she couldn’t be dead. she couldn’t be dead. she couldn’t be. ( and just like that, another person had abandoned him. just like rose. just like his parents. again. again. again. )

he doubled over, wailing in agony like a wounded pokemon. released his hair in favor of clawing desperate fingers through the dirt. bede was crying. he didn’t care. his hand brushed thoughtlessly against one of the tangle’s many roots. ❝ please. ❞ a delirious whisper escaped him. ❝ please, please, please... somebody help me. ❞

his plea was answered when a sudden pressure wound around his fingers.

bede blinked away tears, looking down with equal parts confusion and shock. the tree roots were wrapping around his hand — rapidly snaking their way up his arm. with a startled gasp, the gym leader tried to pull away, only to find that he couldn’t. ( the roots were strong. abnormally so. ) it took him a moment to realize they were shaking — humming, as if with barely contained energy. what? what was this? distantly, he noted even the hatterene behind him had stopped their fighting, as if captivated by the sight.

then suddenly, bede’s world exploded into anguish.

all of the power — all of glimwood tangle’s magic began pouring into his body. it seared each nerve ending raw, danced across his skin like bolts of lightning. he felt like he was coming apart at the seams, like everything inside of him was being rapidly eroded away by strips of ghostly sandpaper. his eyes flashed, pink and blue and pink again, sclera flooded with unnatural light. the tears dripping down bede’s face evaporated instantly, pastel haze leaking from rapidly flickering hues. all the while, the tree roots continued to wind around him. wrapping tighter. anchoring him to the spot — as if intending to make the boy one with the tangle itself. it hurt. it hurt. it hurt. it hurt. it hurt. the power was too much — he couldn’t contain it all in his fragile human body.

bede wailed — in pain. in mourning. ( in both, because it had always been both. ) a burst of powerful energy sent both hatterene flying as though they were made of tissue paper, tearing effortlessly through the woods with no sign of stopping. the tangle went dim and silent as every ounce of magic it could spare flooded into its chosen conduit.

tree roots curled around the boy’s throat. he couldn’t think. he was losing himself. black spots danced across the edges of bede’s vision, obscuring more and more. in his last moments, the gym leader’s frantic gaze settled on laura.

fix this. he desperately thought, staring at her lifeless body. i just want to fix this.

then he thought nothing more.

#[ the missing trainers ]#Long Post #Death TW #Violence TW #illusivisage #— ★ . * ( DRABBLE. ) ┇ ❝ ᵗʰʳᵒʷ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˡˡ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵃ ᶜᵃᵛᵉʳⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᵒʷⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗˢ ❞#( ah yes... the vibe check )

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jamesmarlowe · 4 years

Text

RADTASK002: A GIRL AND HER DOG

March was a month without a season. Couldn’t call it spring yet; most of the trees were still bare, their long, dark limbs scraping up against the sky. Temperatures hovered indecisively around the low-fifties, then plummeted steeply each night. But there was something stirring: a birth of new smells, a trace of green in the yellow grass. A feeling of change, or the very brink of it, which had possessed him like an infusion of fresh blood and driven him outdoors— despite his three-hour block of afternoon classes, despite all the half-finished projects waiting for him in the studio. Outside, clouds skimmed the blue sky and squirrels tightrope-walked the phone lines. Birds huddled on exposed branches, returned from their long winter vacations. There was a smell of mulch in the air, fertile and earthy. A warm wind was blowing— as he walked outside the art building, Marlowe could feel it blowing through him as if through an open window, airing out all the trapped gloom in his soul.

Gloom could accumulate even in him, of all people. There was something elemental about his need for sun and fresh air and open space; it was a quality he shared with all the other wild creatures who, after several long months deprived of all these things, were now also emerging from their dens and burrows, hungry and restless, desperate to roam.

Today he was wearing a paisley bandana fashioned around his head, Springsteen-style, and a silver hoop through his ear. Both of these accessories gave his appearance a swashbuckling, pirate-y effect. Marlowe seemed to embody the part as he cleared a railing one-handed like a rodeo clown, then took the rest of the stairs two-at-a-time to where a girl waited for him at the bottom, her blonde hair lifted by the breeze. She kept her head bowed over her hands, deeply engrossed in the cat’s cradle she was weaving.

Spacey Kasey. She was a junior in the Comp-Sci program. Sometimes people reacted to this information with a slow raise of their brows, or an actual laugh— more out of surprise than anything else, but that didn’t make it any kinder. No one really knew what to make of her. She could write code like Mozart wrote symphonies, but might also ask you if you knew how pineapples got their name, since they looked nothing like apples? Marlowe had met her at a party where she’d wondered precisely that, out loud, before turning her wide eyes to him; she had a child’s inquisitive stare. Why not pinefruit? He’d been fascinated from that moment on. His love for her had been a product of that fascination; he’d sensed something dreamy and outcast in her, something rare, easily misunderstood. They’d coupled up in late September, lasted till early November, the days dwindling and the nights lengthening by the time his old restlessness caught up with him— not her fault or his, just the natural progression of these things. Now, their relationship had lapsed into something easy, casual. Friends, sometimes more. He still found her endlessly fascinating. It was just a matter of how many other things in this endlessly fascinating world were also competing for his attention.

At the sound of cowboy boots smacking the pavement, Kasey looked up. The thread between her fingers went slack and her blue eyes brightened the way they always did whenever she saw him coming. Marlowe could not prevent a smile in response. Blue, he’d once heard, was the true color of the sun.

He whistled a short, upwards swoop. “Kase the Ace! Right time, right place!”

She was wearing an outfit almost as egregious as his own, tie-dyed shirt in sorbet shades of pink, purple and blue with only a pair of Lycra bike shorts underneath, exposing legs pale and goosebumped. There was a face looking at him from the front of her shirt, sinister drippy eyes loaded with glamorous make-up. Kasey’s own face was bare, her fair eyelashes almost invisible. Her earrings were a pair of mismatched plastic dinosaurs— one a red triceratops, one green T-Rex. Marlowe watched with visible amusement as she struggled to untangle the knots around her fingers.

“Jeez, I used to be so good at these! I once taught all the girls at my summer camp how to do a ten-step cradle and I was like, their guru.”

Eventually the two of them set off for the trees that hemmed the edges of campus. He briefed her about the reason for today’s outing— a hunt for materials, looking for found objects not yet found— but knew it wasn’t necessary, because Kasey could always be counted on to show up when he invited her. She was always happy to tag along, if only he asked. The quad they passed looked soggy and matted down in parts, the streaming sunlight revealing all the bald patches of mud and first sprigs of dandelion shoots. Marlowe kept his gaze ahead, away from that wide expanse of grass, letting Kasey’s idle chatter filter pleasantly through one ear and out the other. His gait was lopey but brisk, hers uneven as she skipped ahead, long blonde hair streaming behind her like a scarf thrown to the wind.

“So what are we looking for today?”

Marlowe angled his face up to the sky, watching a bird disappear into a cloudbank. “Y’know, the usual. Hidden treasure, lost artifacts. Ancient ruins. Maybe a secret Amazon warehouse deep in the woods, that’d be useful. Could steal a lifetime supply of bubble wrap.” Rarely did he embark on such expeditions with a specific item in mind; mostly he just wandered around, expecting unusual things to find him and reveal their significance. Maybe it’d be a loop of blue ribbon, snagged on a wire fence. Or a child’s plastic bucket abandoned by the side of the road, handle broken, too lost to find its way back to the nearest sandbox. He searched for these banal objects that existed somewhere between tenderness and neglect— overlooked by so many who passed them by without any idea what they might’ve been before, what they could be next.

Kasey had begun walking backwards. There was a white patch of vitiligo on her forehead. Combined with her skipping and prancing, she often reminded him of a painted palomino. “I brought granola bars! They’re a little stale, you’ll have to use your back teeth.”

Marlowe flashed her two-thirds of a grin, revealing teeth that were good and strong, if a little crooked. “What if I told you I don’t have any? Will you mash them into a pulp and spit ‘em in my mouth?” He mimed the open-mouthed, head-back position of a hungry fledgling.

Kasey made a retching sound, dissolving into a giggle.

Soon they were stepping off the paved campus sidewalk and crossing the marshy grass towards the surrounding woods. The trees were sparse, still just skinny bodies stripped in the cold, but slowly the forest became denser the deeper they went; thick-trunked oaks and dark beeches grew here, close together, their twigs sprouting tiny green buds and unfurling fists of leaves. Branches criss-crossed the sky. Marlowe led the way through the corridor between trunks, but Kasey immediately began crashing through the skeletal undergrowth off to the side.

“How about this?” Marlowe looked to where she’d hiked her leg up onto a large boulder like a big-game hunter posing with a kill. The stone jutted out of the ground at an odd angle, making him think of a dislocated jawbone. Kasey looked down at it, her expression deeply pensive. She tapped the toe of her sneaker. “You could like, give it a face. Glue eyes on it!”

Marlowe imagined an oversized pet rock in the likeness of Rocky Balboa, Stallone’s heavy scowl painted on. Shaking his head, he rewarded her sincere effort with an equally sincere smile. “Babe, I’m flattered that you think of me as some kind of circus strongman, but I’d need like, triple my current muscle mass to carry that.”

They found other things. An empty gallon jug, the kind used to hold water or milk, split almost in half. A tattered piece of fabric too muddied to even tell the original color. And most interestingly, a thin sheet of metal with torn edges, sharp as shrapnel. It leaned against a tree like a large canvas; the patterns of corrosion on its surface— oxidized red, blue rings of mold— made it seem less like a raw material and more like an already-finished work. Marlowe stood back with one finger resting against his chin, head tipped to the side as he appraised it like an art collector at a gallery. But in the end, he decided not to carry it either. He wasn’t up-to-date with his tetanus shots.

They began to follow their own trail, no map or compass, forging a path through the woodsy vegetation that grew close to the ground and left long, raking scratches on arms and legs, resisting intrusion. Kasey swept back the flexible branches of saplings and peered into rotted tree hollows. Marlowe was more inclined to follow a few steps behind her, no urgency in his loose-limbed stroll. He tilted his head back and admired how the naked branches looked like slats of a broken roof letting most of the sky in. By now, the chill on his face had turned itself inside out; he grew warm, renewed in some vital way. He wanted nothing more than to walk deeper and deeper through these woods and never turn around, never retrace his steps, never go back. If he had to, he could survive out here. He’d exist just like the wild birds and foxes, on a diet of small, hard berries and foraged mushrooms.

It was often in these moments of complete distraction that discoveries happened. The trees stood back. A secret flagged him down from behind them, kept until today, confessed now in this partial glimpse. “Hey, I think I got somethin’,” he said out loud. He didn’t look to see if Kasey heard or noticed. Eyes fixed on the gap between trunks, Marlowe forced his way through a thicket of mulberries to get to the other side.

In the clearing, there was a statue of a little girl. One arm outstretched, sunlight on the crown of her head. Her empty eyes grazed the sky. Some kind of moss crawled up her legs, giving her the appearance of wearing knee socks. There was a dog at her feet— a terrier with perked ears.

“What did you find!” called Kasey, still wrestling her way through the brambles. The sound of snapping twigs and a soft ow! told him she was making slow progress of it.

“Something,” Marlowe replied. Unusual, he added only to himself. “Some kind of statue.”

The pose of the statue, he thought, must’ve been intended to look like the girl had just thrown a stick in a game of fetch, but there was something about the frozen gesture that told a different story. It was an open grasp, fingers straining; he almost turned around to see what she was reaching for.

“Woah.” Kasey exhaled the word in a single breath. She had finally spilled out into the clearing behind him, looking disheveled but no less enthused, tugging one checkered sock up around her ankle. “Who’s that?”

Marlowe was already crouched. He brushed dirt off the foot of the statue but there was no inscription; if there’d ever been one, time had worn it away. Now she was as nameless as the trees around her. Standing up, he slid hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked backwards, giving the girl the same look he’d given that piece of rusted sheet metal: eyes slant with a certain sharp curiosity, their color like a jar of dark honey with sunshine in it. “Don’t know. Maybe a memorial or something. Or,” He began to pace around the statue, boots leaving sunken footsteps in the loam. When his phone buzzed in his back pocket, he reached for it absently. “Maybe she got turned to stone by some wicked Baba Yaga ‘round these parts. Her, and her little dog, too.”

It was hard to read anything through the disaster of the cracked screen. His eyes scanned Syd’s incoming messages and when he got to the last two, Marlowe stopped walking. His heart stalled.

SYD: also ?? im at the studio and haven't seen my sculpture anywhere SYD: r u sure you dropped it off?

Of course she had noticed by now; of course she was looking for it.

“Who’re you texting?” Marlowe raised his eyes to find Kasey observing the standstill he’d come to; she was leaning down to give the little stone dog a scratch under his chin. “Syd,” he answered, simultaneously dropping his eyes back to his phone. “She named her cat Martin. I’m expressing my deep, deep disappointment with her lack of imagination.” I did, at the gallery, he texted back. forgot 2 text you but the eagle safely landed.

The thing about lying was that it came so easily, so naturally, he usually felt no guilt doing it.

“Tell her I say hi!” Losing interest in the statue, Kasey had found a divining rod. She was sweeping it back and forth now with brisk efficiency, like a metal detector. “How ‘bout this? Look, it’s almost perfectly symmetrical,” she asked.

Message sent, Marlowe let his hand drop back to his side. He used his laugh to distract them both. “Does that thing have a crude oil setting? Fuck making art, let’s start fracking. I’d rather be a Texas millionaire.” Kasey whipped around, face lit by a wide, genuine smile; but as another text from Syd arrived, his own smile barely skimmed the surface of his face, too distracted to really stick. He typed back another answer.

i'm sure it's just misplaced syd don't sweat

worst comes to worst, we can case the frats and make sure no one stole it to be their new beer pong deity or whtever the fuck those guys do

Like any good liar, he prided himself on being truthful most of the time— which made it that much easier for a lie to slip through, unsuspected. A wolf in honesty’s clothing. No less convincing than everything else he said. And wasn’t it a little bit of a favor, in this case? Better that Syd think some hulking frat brothers had stolen into the art studio under the cover of night and carried off her sculpture for a ritual sacrifice, some dark summoning to help the university through its football championships. Better that than the truth.

Marlowe glanced over his shoulder in the same direction as the statue’s outstretched fingertips. Clouds worked across the sky, ragged and white, and behind them there was only blue, but now he felt like he could see what wasn’t there; a new, bad darkness, descending fast out of the western sky. Like those sudden thunderstorms in Virginia that rolled over the mountains, pouring like smoke over the lip of a bowl. The knowledge of the storm’s inevitable arrival sank low in his chest: present, but not yet fully understood.

Even if she asked him in person, he’d deny it. He’d lie again. He’d help her look for a sculpture that he knew was already unsalvageable, dissolving with each cold rain that swept over the campus, turning to paste beneath the soil.

“Hey, c’mere.” Eager for distraction, Marlowe lowered himself down to the base of the statue, where there was deep cold beneath the velvety moss. Obediently, Kasey trudged closer, still holding the forked branch; when he pulled her down, she fell giggling and side-saddle across his lap. She circled his neck with her arms. He wrapped his own loosely around her waist.

“Would you ever hate me if I did something, like, really bad?”

Kasey pulled back to look at him, the wrinkle in her brow implying that she didn’t understand. “Like what?”

Marlowe shrugged beneath the weight of her arms. “I don’t know, I don’t have an example. But like… bad. Something that really hurt you.”

Thoughtfully, she thumbed the silver hoop in his ear. The light was full on her face— she wore no make-up, and her lips were chapped. She must’ve been chewing them before, because he could see the faint bitemarks. His heart twinged, suddenly protective.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” Her expression went away for a moment. There was a soft vacancy in her eyes that he’d gotten used to in their time together. When she returned, the look she gave him was earnestly sweet. Whatever the imaginary hurt, she was looking at him like she’d already forgiven him for it. “Because I’d know you didn’t mean to.”

Because you wouldn’t mean it, Syd had said close to his ear that one night at Splatterhouse. He did things without thinking. Did them so often, it had become his defining trait. Marlowe knew he escaped accountability because of it; he was one of those people the world tended to forgive too easily, meaning he’d always be protected from himself, sheltered from the consequences of his actions, because there was no real intention to hurt behind them— and that alone absolved him. You couldn’t blame the tornado that destroyed your home, not when it was only doing what tornados did.

Marlowe kissed the stain on her forehead, where the skin was pinkish like a newborn’s. He kissed her between the eyebrows, then lower, just underneath the chin, on the pulse that beat like a hummingbird’s heart. Kasey pulled away to look at him again. Her hands had strayed to the back of his neck, toying with the hair curling up at the nape.

“Ew, Marlowe, in front of a little girl?” Her big eyes lifted up towards the statue. The shadow of that reaching arm fell over them both.

“It’s spring,” he replied in a what-can-you-do tone, though it was still only the end of winter. It was only March. His eyes met hers, glinting with uncivilized suggestion. There was a faint smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. “And y’know, considering how long she’s been here, she’s ancient. A withered old crone, hundreds of years old. If anything it’s weirder to have a dead dog watching us.”

She frowned. “Why’s the dog dead?”

“Dogs don’t live for hundreds of years.”

She pouted at it. Poor thing. It didn’t seem to occur to her that humans didn’t live for hundreds of years either. Then she leaned back in, meeting him in his daring with another kiss, hands twining into hair, one bare leg swinging over to straddle him. And all around there was the sound of unseen birds, calling to each other from the trees: mimicking, teasing, pleading. A riotous awakening of spring. The next text from Syd would go unread for several hours, left without an answer. The Burger King meal she’d promised him would be forgotten. And the encroaching darkness would also recede, withdrawing to the far-back reaches of his mind— for now, the coming storm was only a dim, gauzey threat on the horizon, rumbling with the promise of distant thunder.

#u can probably tell exactly where my stamina ran out....... not even at the halfway point #anyway. will probably end up editing this later bc im neurotic :/#the only thing this turned out good for was introducing spacey kasey <3 #radtask002 #self

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tastefullynefarious · 5 years

Text

Torment never looked so goddamn fine

Chapter 3 / 10 - Kansas - Carry On Wayward Son

Words: 3,387

Warnings: Stuff!, you can kinda see what to expect from the moodboard lol, SMUT!, emotions i think?, probably typos.

I was going for something, not sure how well it translated from my head but hope ya’ll enjoy!

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Masquerading as a man with a reason

My charade is the event of the season

And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion

Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean

I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

Carry on my wayward son

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

Billy had no idea if she'd still be there, but he didn't know where else to go, didn't have where else to go. In hindsight, it hadn't been his initial choice. He tried the quarry first but it was buzzing with horny teens basking in the late afternoon sun. He even went to stumble into the forest hoping for some alone and quiet, but he almost bumped into the chief of police, a trail a yellow flags in his wake. Billy didn't know if he had the energy to explain his bloody face nor to find out what was the cop doing. So he just hopped back into his car and drove aimlessly for a while, warm blood seeping from above his right eye. Passing by Motel 6 had been nothing more than pure coincidence. Sandy had been a good fuck, a great one even, but she was not his friend and definitely not his savior.

Despite his little rant, as soon as he saw the sign he turned the steering wheel and entered the parking lot almost mechanically. He passed the rooms on the ground floor, 01 to 10, in a daze. Would she still be there? Would she even open the door if she was? He went up the metal stairs and counted the doors, 11, 12 and finally 13, the world slightly spinning, or maybe it was just his pounding head wound. She was still a stranger despite their little midnight encounter a few days prior, she owed him nothing. If she was behind that door, she would send him away. He was not her problem, not her responsibility. Not a charity case.

The door flung open before he beat down this pride enough to knock.

"Well shit. Come on in." It was all she said as she stepped aside and he didn't question her sanity for letting him follow. Even in his state, blinking briskly to keep the blood out of his eye, it was hard not to notice she was only wearing an almost sheer bathrobe, her lean legs in full view.

She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, gathering the notes and pages scattered on the mattress with some urgency before coming back with a first aid kit and began checking on his bleeding temple. Her cool fingers were already doing wonders for his headache. He relaxed into her touch, hands moving his head to find better angles with a steadiness and dexterity that only came from experience. His eyes never left her, the question of what was her story resurfacing like an undertone in the storm of thoughts that was raging in his mind.

"It's not that bad, head cuts just tend to bleed a lot." It was strange, the way all his wounds seemed to hurt less when she was the one treating them, her hands not particularly light as she whipped the blood away. And stranger still that she seemed to be able to find all the sore spots that weren't even visible, pressing her fingers to his side to see if his ribs were cracked. She even poked at his knee, an old surfing accident that didn't usually bother him, but a weak spot that his father sometimes exploited, knowingly or not. "Nothing's broken, but you should really watch yourself for a while. Stay off that leg as much as possible."

"Doesn't hurt much..." It was more of an afterthought. He knew the pain of broken bones well and that was not it. But she gave him a half smile, her eyes averting from his fast. His hands balled into fists at his side, anger running hot beneath his skin. He hated it, the pity, the walking on eggshells around him like he was one step away from breaking. He loathed himself even more because it was very close to the truth. But Sandy didn't seem to notice his fury, or chose to ignore it completely, picking up his left hand instead. Her brows furrowed as she examined the fast forming bruises on his knuckles, his fingers loosening at the unexpected touch.

"You should take a shower first. Then I'll bandage this up." He opened his mouth, but she was faster. "No complains, Billy! Get in that shower."

"You just want me naked." She faked an overly dramatic gasp, hand brought to her gaping mouth and wide doe-like eyes, but she was already moving backwards towards the door Billy assumed was the bathroom.

"Even if you discovered my wicked plan to get in your pants, you're not getting out of this, mister." There was a deafening silence left behind her as she disappeared from view and it rubbed Billy wrong. He shouldn't have come! Why did he? His usual routine would have been to seek an abandoned place where he could lick his wounds in solitude. So what brought him to this stranger's room? Sure, a part of him had been certain that he would only find an empty space, no traced left behind the mystery Florida girl named Sandy. But she had been still in town, still at the cheap motel, so what was he still doing there, sitting on her bed, waiting for her to dress his wounds for him? The damage was not even that bad this time around, the pain having mostly subsided already. He was left… numb, an endless black void inside of him screaming to be filled with something, anything, else.

Billy got up from the bed faster than he intended to, stumbling on the short distance to the bathroom. She was slightly bent over to reach the faucets, adjusting the water temperature. "Fucking finally. Get it."

Sandy sauntered towards the spot just past the doorway where he seemed to have caught roots. His eyes were dark, face set in all hard lines and jaw clenching. Paired with all the bruises and overall scuffed up appearance, he looked dangerous, the bad boy mothers warned their daughters about, the hungry wolf stalking the pen. The corners of her lips curled in a playful smirk, hands already tugging at his shirt. She pulled it over his head, her powers alerting her of the strain in his shoulders so she turned his dial lower. It was a risk, too much and he would start noticing something was off. Billy had other things on his mind though. One swift pull on the cord that held together the thin robe covering her and it was pooling at her feet, only a pair of lacy panties underneath. The snarl that came out of his sinful mouth was all kinds of cruel, his shoulders straightening as he inched even closer into her personal space.

"Were you already expecting company, doll?" She batted her eyelashes, eyes all big and feigning innocence.

"I was hoping you'd come around-" It seemed to be the correct answer, his mouth on hers barely letting her finish the last word. He pushed her backwards towards the shower and she made fast work of his jeans and boxers. In turn, he ripped the fragile lace than hung on her left hip letting the panties slide down her other leg just as they reached the shower.

The water was steaming, leaving their skin red and raw. Sandy turned their pain down another notch, breaking the kiss to wipe the blood from her nose, but masking it by quickly starting to nip and kiss down his throat. He let his head fall backwards as she went lower and lower, nails digging in his sides. A small groan escaped his lips and she thought he was enjoying it, but was surprised when he pulled her up and pushed her against the tiles rather forcefully, both her wrists caught in a vice like grip above her head.

On any other given day Billy would have more than welcomed her to wrap those lips around his cock, but he was desperate for something else. He lifted one of her legs, a jolt passing through his wrecked arm, but he ignored it, the pain already fading under the boiling water. He was inside her in one swift motion, her back a perfect arch and head pushed back against the hard wall. They settled in a frenzied rhythm, bodies slamming into one another with a ferocity that could almost be mistaken for passion. She moaned loudly and his eyes were drawn to her face, eyes half closed and lips parted. And blood flowing from her nose, still evident even under the heavy stream. She must have caught on his worried expression, his pace slowing down.

"Shit! Don't you dare stop now, Billy!" She rolled her hips with force and he followed suit, his thrusts becoming long and deep rather than fast. He let go of her wrists and wiped the blood off, her arms snaking around his neck instantly. She kissed him as soon as his thumb brushed away from her face, biting his lower lip and sucking on his tongue, teeth clashing as they rushed towards their releases. His now freed hand found her waist and pulled her even closer, fingers imprinting five dotted bruises on her skin. He wrapped her leg around, freeing his hand to tease her clit and she let out something between a moan and a scream as they both came, seconds apart. She rolled her head forward, resting it gently against his. The gesture was far from new yet somehow still foreign and he took a sharp inhale, the steam filling the minuscule motel bathroom making it particularly difficult. He checked her face for any signs of distress, but her eyes were closed and there was no more blood.

"You okay?"

"Better than." She lifted her eyes to meet his, but started coughing almost immediately. "But we should really get out of here before our skin melts off or we suffocate."

She untangled herself from him and turned off the water, the absence of both her body and the hot pour making him shiver despite the temperature still high in the small fogged up space. He followed her into the room, his eyes settling on her back. In better lighting he could finally see the long gashes marring her skin and they looked like anything but accidents. His hand shot up to trace one, but a baggy shirt was covering her before he could. She picked up the first aid again and sat on the edge of the bed, one leg underneath her. The burn-mark on her leg ran all the way from her the middle of her upper thigh to her waist line where he'd felt it.

"Sit." She patted the spot besides her, the tone of her voice sparking a little defiance in him. No one told him what to do! But he sat down nevertheless, towel wrapped around his waist. She was only helping him after all. She'd done nothing but help, taking his mind off of his father, off the aches in his beaten up body. He stared at her concentrated expression as she applied some cream on his shoulder, delicate fingers massaging it into his skin. When she moved to bandage his hand, he snapped at her a little, eyes averting from her when he thought she hadn't deserved it.

"Are you not even going to ask?!"

"Are you going to be honest if I do?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"Well, that is refreshingly sincere." She continued her little ministrations unaffected by the exchange, while Billy was having a small breakdown on the inside, thoughts forming in his head only halfway through before another idea took their place, all mixed with images of his mother donning identical bandages and bruises to his own. Sandy's voice silenced the madness, cutting through it like a beam of light in the dead of night. "It's not hard to guess though. You already established your father is an ass, I just didn't realize how much of one."

Sandy let her hand fall on his chest and trail all the way down to where she knew the ribs were injured. She read his cuts and bruises like braille, each ache on his body mapped in her head and telling a story. Her powers allowed her to see the big picture better, distinguish between what was new and old. Her voice came out a little shaky as her eyes finally shot back to find his blues. "It happens often, too."

"It was my fault."

"I sincerely hope you don't mean that." When he gave no response, she caught his face between both her hands, thumbs pushing away some of the wet strands of hair. "There is nothing you could have done to deserve this from your dad. Any of it." He would have looked almost cute, a lost little puppy, if his eyes weren't so tired and sad. She could see in them that he didn't believe a single word she had uttered.

Billy stared back at the young woman, a range of emotions washing through him. It started with a seeping anger: who did this girl think she was? She knew nothing about him. It went on to a polar opposite calm curiosity: what had she been through? She looked like she'd seen some shit. It did a back-flip to annoyance: she was acting all high and mighty, but she was running away from her problems just as much as he was, she admitted it that night at the quarry.

Finally, Billy decided he wasn't up to reliving the 'fight' with his father, the memory still just a few hours old. There was no need for her to know how he disrespected Susan, reminding her that she'd never compare to his mom, and the unfortunate matter of Neil hearing him say it. In truth, he had no quarrel with Susan. She was the one who convinced his father to eventually let him buy the Camaro and not just take his hard earned money, arguing it would be useful to have another car. He just- he couldn't think clearly when she was trying so hard to replace her. There was also nothing heroic or dignifying about his torn knuckles, the wall he'd punched repeatedly in frustration the clear winner of the altercation.

Sandy's hands finally slipped away from his cheeks, accepting that he was not going to open up, and rested on her lap. He found his eyes drawn again to that little scar in the corner of her upper lip.

"What about you? Done anything to deserve that?" He gestured to his own lip, resisting the instinct to feel it with thumb. He was expecting some kind of sob story, but her face lit up with laughter.

"Never run around with scissors, that shit is real." He lifted an eyebrow, her words making close to no sense. Had she injured herself? Was she that big of a klutz? She just shrugged in turn. "What can I say, I was a bit of a mess a few years back. A walking danger zone." He wanted to ask more about that particular time of her life, but she shook her head dismissively before he ever got the chance. So he moved on to the next scar.

"And that?" He traced his fingers this time along a long gash peeking out of her short sleeve. It wasn't too obvious, barely a faint line a few shades lighter than her skin.

"Hmmm, got it in a bar fight."

"Bar fight?"

"Yeah. Believe it or not, some men are offended by my personality." There was an implied 'unlike you' at the end of her sentence, her eyes burning into his. Or so he liked to believe. "You should have seen the other guy though." The corners of his lips curled into a proud smirk. He could almost picture her, spunky and wild, breaking a bottle over some douchebag's head, taking no shit from anybody. He reached for her thigh, brushing his fingertips from the normal, soft skin to the rougher, scorched patch. It was almost three of his hands spawns wide, red and angry. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel, the flesh sizzling and shriveling up.

"Must have hurt like a bitch." She shrugged again and he couldn't quite make it if it was bravado or she genuinely was over it.

"I don't really remember. Feels like it was a lifetime ago." She touched the mark herself, her eyes following his to it but not really looking. Her fingers brushed against his and he caught her hand without thinking. Which brought him in an odd stance, caught between wanting to pull her in and realizing he should push her away. The latter won by a landslide.

"I should go." It was getting late and there was no more reason to stay, she had served her purpose. He'd already spent more time with the chick than he usually did after a round of sex and he didn't want her to get any ideas. He went straight to the bathroom to gather his clothes, still damp from the steam and water they splashed around. It mattered little, the need to bolt out the door rising by the second.

Sandy didn't know what she'd done to offend him so, but it was not like she had been expecting him to stay over. From her experience with people in general, limited as it was, she thought she had a pretty clear picture of Billy's type. It was, in retrospect, not so different from her own. They both had walls put up, thick and high and mighty impenetrable. She was proud to be getting better at opening up and accepting her past as a lesson learned, but she had the advantage of breaking free of her torment. Billy stilled seemed to live it on a daily basis.

She was rummaging through some leftover pizza boxes when he came out of the bathroom looking confident and stone cold, ever the charming devil, but he wasn't fooling her. He went straight to the door to get his leather boots and Sandy took the opportunity to feel his sore points again, making sure she could keep the pain levels lower for him even from a distance. It was going to be a bit of a struggle to keep that up long term, but it was something she could at least try. When he nodded at her and opened the door, she crossed her arms.

"Billy!" He turned towards her, one foot already out the door, eyes wild with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She worded her next sentence carefully, not wanting to sound neither needy nor indifferent. "My offer still stands, you know? Come over anytime."

"Already miss me, doll?"

"You read me like an open book. Can I hide nothing from you?" She couldn't resist rolling her eyes. He was such a duffus. A drop dead gorgeous one, completed with the emotional fucked up baggage. He chuckled at her deadpan expression, the sound pure and honest. She'd succeed in not scaring him off. Probably.

"See you around, Sandy."

"See ya, Billy."

She watched him go from the doorway, followed him while he crossed the parking lot and started his car, her eyes narrowing when he drove off into the setting sun. He was still on the back of her mind when she was arranging the files on the lab and ever present in her thoughts as she brushed her teeth before bed. She was convinced she had Billy all figured out, but he was not the problem. She wasn't sure what her next move was with the whole Upside Down situation, or where to start looking for El and the other MKUltra kids. She didn't even know for how long she'd be in Hawkins. Only one thing was beginning to be certain though, the idea forming and cementing itself deep into her brain.

She had to pay Neil a visit before she skipped town.

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