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briamichellewrites · 3 months

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Ask Brad. Rob did. He had no idea, so he suggested he talk to their tour manager. I will do that. It likely wouldn’t be a problem. It was just better to get permission first. If the answer was no, she would likely just go to New York for a while. She talked about doing that, along with adopting a kitten. They practiced their set with the band. It was the same routine they always did. He had a bottle of water sitting by him on the floor to keep him hydrated.

He was in a good mood. His mind was clear for the first time in who knows how long. It was refreshing not to have anxiety or depression taking over. Those were two things he struggled with. His mental health beat him up for the tiniest things. It had been over ten years since he joined the band and he still was afraid they would kick him out and replace him with someone better.

He went to therapy and took medication, which helped. Being in love with Bria helped distract him from the thoughts in his head. The band thought they were adorable. He was trying to spend as much time with her as possible before they left. If she couldn’t come with them, he would be disappointed. It was a last-minute decision, so he prepared himself mentally. She was going to stop by sometime during their rehearsal to watch them.

When she did, her beautiful long hair was gone. She donated it before getting a 1970s-inspired mullet shag haircut. It would have looked horrible on anyone else, but she was able to pull it off. What did she think? She was so scared about cutting her hair. The stylist was so patient with her and together, they came up with a flattering but unique style.

She thought she looked like an indie artist. Joe joked that all she needed was a nose piercing. They laughed. Her new hair looked so cool! It would be a lot easier to take care of. When she got home, she was going to run her head under the faucet in the bathtub to get the little hairs off. When was the last time she cut her hair? She had never cut it before. The only thing she ever did was have it trimmed to keep it looking nice. Why did she keep it long?

Her father wanted her to keep it long. He thought only boys had short hair. When she turned eighteen, she could do whatever she wanted with it. That was his rule. He wouldn’t understand her hair but he would respect it was her decision.

“He would be happy I donated it to help others.”

After rinsing her hair, she towel-dried it and combed it before coming out of the bathroom. Rob laughed because she looked so happy! Never in a million years would he think that cutting her hair would be a big deal but it was. He couldn’t imagine having to keep long hair clean for years. They sat down on her bed. He was still waiting to hear back from their touring manager.

He emailed him during their break. They were all hoping she would be able to come with them. It would make it a lot less lonely for them. Brad, Joe, and Chester were leaving behind wives and children. Phoenix was a single father of three girls he adopted by himself. He tried dating but the men he was with didn’t want kids. They encouraged him to adopt because it was something he wanted to do for years. He finally decided to do it in 2011.

It was hard as a gay single father, but they were worth it. They would be staying with friends while he was gone. Mike was leaving behind his boyfriend. He would miss him. They were going to take a staycation when he got back. He would have to tell his kids he would be gone and why, just so they didn’t think he abandoned them.

Both he and Mike made sacrifices for their careers. His kids were his life. He would never walk away from them. They had access to him twenty-four-seven, in case of any emergency. Not a lot of boyfriends could handle him leaving during a date. Mike could. They talked about adopting or hiring a surrogate. It was something they both expressed interest in. Three was their limit. They could not handle more than that. Phoenix offered to let them have his girls for an afternoon.

He could go golfing. They would talk about it when he got home. Phoenix talked to his oldest daughter, Regan about where he was going and why. At seven years old, she was used to taking care of her little sisters, Brooklyn, six; and Cheyenne, three. He had to remind her to let him be the parent. She needed to be a kid.

Since Cheyenne and Brooklyn didn’t remember being in foster care, they only knew him as Daddy. They had been taken from their mother due to drug abuse. She was currently in prison for child neglect and drug-related crimes. They were all born healthy and without drugs in their systems. Phoenix found out she was addicted to heroin. It made him sad that she chose drugs over being a mother. The kids were goofy and they made him laugh every day.

Joe and his wife, Heidi had a one-year-old daughter, Lola. She had her daddy wrapped around her finger. He gave up video games to play with his little girl. Brad and his wife, Elisa had three kids. Jonah, six; Noa, four; and Evan, two. Chester had six kids from three different women. Jaime, eighteen; Isaiah, sixteen; Draven, twelve; Tyler, eight; and Lily and Lila, who were three.

It was a lot of kids but they were part of the Linkin Park family. Rob got a text message reply. He read through it before responding with a big thank you! What did it say? She was able to go with them! Everything was set up. She would be sharing a room with him and one other band member. They rotated who was sharing a room every time they got to a new city. She could handle that. They were both very excited!

She got her phone and texted Manuela in Spanish before texting Nicole to let them know. They both hoped she would have fun.

While out for dinner, they came across a very angry man who was in front of them in line. He knew the owner because he worked for the same company as Jean. Bria rolled her eyes and shook her head, as he looked behind him during his outburst. He noticed her and asked her who the hell she was. Bria Lavigne. It was nice to meet him. She never used her name to get anything. Rob was surprised and amused. She asked the man questions only an employee would know.

He demanded to talk to her father. What was his name? He gave it to her.

“Oh, I just remembered he died last year in a plane accident. If you’re done, you are going to apologize to the employee for your tantrum.”

He was shocked and embarrassed. She could easily cost him his job because of her father. He did work at the same company, but he was not as important as he wanted them to believe. I’m sorry. He looked back at her to see if that was good enough. She raised her eyebrows, so he turned back and gave a sincere apology. He then got out of line, so they could order.

Rob had to laugh when they sat down with their food. That was great! She laughed. The manager came over to thank her. That customer had been coming in daily to harass them into giving him free food. She was the only person who spoke up against him. They were very welcome. Was she who she said she was? Yes, she was. Jean had financed the business for the past five years. He saved them from going bankrupt due to poor management.

Jean always taught her to never look down on anyone. It didn’t matter if they were the janitor or the CEO. He would have never tolerated that customer’s tantrum. She was welcome at the restaurant any time. Whatever she wanted, it was on them for free. She thanked him and asked him to let his employees know they were doing an amazing job. He would do that for her. Thank you.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

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mortagesbycheryl · 10 months

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Freedom Isn’t Free, Home Ownership Isn’t Either

As we celebrate the 4th, let us remember the benefits associated with living in a democracy that it wasn’t and doesn’t continue to be without cost. There are many who have given their lives and sacrificed deeply so that we could become a democracy, many who fight for us daily so that we may now live freely and those who will in the future so that our children and their children will have the opportunity to know the meaning of freedom. It may seem obvious, but home ownership isn’t free either. Most people plan for the monthly payment which typically consists of: principal, interest, taxes and insurance. But there are many more costs as well. If the property is within a planned development or a condominium, there will be association dues. In addition, those entities can and often do charge fees as well as special assessment to pay for repairs, replacements and the improvements of shared components to the association. There are utility costs, obvious are public water and sewer, but even private wells and septic systems require maintenance, repairs and sometimes even complete replacement of the system. There are pest control costs, obvious is termite and wood destroying damage, but rodents and other critters can cause significant harm to property as well. Landscape maintenance has costs associated with it. If you do it yourself it costs your time and some money for equipment and materials. If you hire it out, it just costs money! The curb appeal of a home is a significant contributor to value, so this is an area worthy of attention. We have all seen houses that upon entering one is transported in a time warp. The 1950’s was famous for pink tile, sink and toilet in the bathroom; the 1960’s color scheme was teal; the 1970’s saw shag carpet and paneling; the 1980’s the predominant color scheme was mauve, and so it goes. Experienced Realtors® know that those homes that have been consistently updated over time sustain their value better than those “stuck” in another era. There is the exception where sometimes a look becomes “retro”, but that is the exception to the rule in my experience. I recommend that homeowners budget between 1-3% of the value of the property to contribute towards the annual maintenance and updating and renovation costs of a property. Bottom line, the purchase of a home is just the beginning. Just as freedom is not really “free”, but still worth the cost to maintain it; the costs to homeownership in my view are worthy of the investment. Shelter is a fundamental human need, and home is a place where one spends a good portion of time. One can view home ownership as a burden, or one can view it in light of the incredible opportunity it affords people to have a place one can call their own. Renting is temporary, but owning is real. That is why it is called real estate . . . because it is the only true estate that is real. Read the full article

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vedavan · 1 year

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Take Me Back Down (where cool water flows)

A 1970's Reylo rock star AU

1/1, 4.7k words

18+, NSFW, explicit sexual content. Mildly dubious consent, somnophilia.

Read on AO3 here

Summary:The year is 1976.

It's the era of Free Love, and of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. And Ben Solo is at the top of his career, as the lead singer of "House of Ren".

And then he meets Rey: but is she a groupie? His number one fan?

Or will she be his salvation?

*****By clicking "Keep Reading" you are 18+ and agree to the tags listed above *****

Green Bay, Wisconsin

June 18th, 1976

"Fuck,” Ben mutters, watching the hotel key slip from his fingers and land on the mud-brown carpeting. He bends to pick it up and finally manages to wedge it into the lock, and swings the door open.

He blinks as his eyes adjust to the low, ambient lighting. It’s not the fanciest suite he’s ever had, but it’s better than he was expecting– spacious, with darkly paneled walls and a large window, covered by heavy gold fabric drapes. Rust-colored shag carpet with a dark brown upholstered couch and easy chair. A twenty-inch TV sits on a dark wood console in the corner, and a large painting of a fruit bowl in muted earth tones hangs on the wall. The room smells clean, like lemon, with only a trace of stale cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

It’s hotter than hell– he must have sweat a bucketful during the show tonight. Who knew Wisconsin in June could be so unbearably hot and humid? He walks over to the air conditioner installed into the wall and cranks it up to full blast, sighing with relief as frigid air immediately starts chugging out of the unit.

There’s an open doorway on the far wall that he knows leads to the bedroom and bathroom. He hopes when Hux booked the room he remembered to request a king bed.

Just the mere thought of his business manager makes Ben’s head start to pound. He flops heavily onto the sofa, stretching out his long frame and closes his eyes. They’re burning with fatigue, and he cracks them open just for a second to glance at the clock hanging on the wall. Three twenty-two. AM. Fuck. He knows he needs to go to bed, snatch at least a few hours of sleep before they head to the airport and fly out to the next leg of the tour. Ohio, he’s pretty certain. But after twelve weeks of non-stop touring, it’s getting harder to keep track of where they’ve been, and where they’re headed.

Where he’s headed, he muses. That’s the twenty-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it. The entire reason he’s still awake at three in the morning, when he should have been in bed hours ago. After the concert ended at ten thirty, instead of his post-show routine of a scalding hot shower and three fingers of Wild Turkey, Hux had insisted that he and the rest of the guys have a meeting to discuss the future of the band.

House of Ren needs to move in a new direction, Hux had said, and the rest of his bandmates agreed. Ben is the lone holdout. And as the lead singer and songwriter, it’s fucking impossible not to be offended. He’s the creative force behind the music. His own brand of rock, influenced by his Southern roots, originates from his very soul. He’s spent the last six years pouring his lifeblood into the band, into the music, catapulting them to fame. They’ve been on Johnny Carson and The Midnight Special a handful of times and have been featured on the cover of Rolling Stone twice. Three gold albums and a dozen of top-ten singles on the Billboard charts under their belts. But suddenly they need to move in a new direction.

We need to move into the future, Ben. The next decade, Hux had insisted. Evolve into something new, something he called arena rock. Like the mega rock band KISS, assigning each of them a distinct identity, with costumes and heavy makeup, making them appear larger than life. Adding sound effects and synthesizers to the music, writing rock anthems instead of ballads.

That’s what the kids want, Ben. Flash and spectacle. No more of this earthy, peace and love sentimental drivel.

The criticism still burns, and Ben tamps down a wave of anger. His music was good enough until now, making them a shit-ton of money and garnering them a level of fame beyond their wildest dreams. Hux has a mansion in LA and a garage full of sports cars because of his sentimental drivel.

Ben covers his face with his hands and sighs. He has to make a decision before the end of the tour. Either continue with the new House of Ren, where he’ll be forced to wear greasepaint and spandex and be re-named something undoubtedly ridiculous like Kylo – or quit. Hux has made it clear that the band will go on in their new incarnation, with or without him. Ben doesn’t own the rights to the name House of Ren, which is fine with him– Hux had renamed them years ago when he discovered them, playing small gigs in their hometown of Greenville, Kentucky. Back when they were known as Butterfly.

What the fuck kind of name is Butterfly? he remembers Hux sneering. Ben can smile at the memory now. It was 1969, and he and the guys had formed the band during college, as an outlet for the wildfire of emotions they were all feeling, the younger generation, triggered by the unending violence and social injustice. They were part of the counterculture, anti-establishment. Protests and rallies were the norm. Anything goes was the prevailing attitude on campus toward sex and sexuality, and Ben fully embraced it: eschewing traditional masculine traits by growing out his hair and wearing leather pants, faux fur vests and beaded necklaces. Emulating his musical idols like Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison.

Besides, he’s secure enough to admit, he's always liked butterflies. Blue ones, especially.

He’s twenty-nine now, and while he’s swapped the fur vests and leather pants for mostly plain t-shirts and faded jeans, he’s retained his long hair and rebellious nature.

He’s not going to go along with something that doesn’t feel right, and House of Ren no longer feels like the place for him. Not where Hux wants to take them, anyway.

So what else is there? He has plenty of money. He supposes he could just do nothing for a while, until he figures out his next move. He’s always liked New York. The fast-paced energy, the city that never sleeps. When he starts feeling low, a few days spent in New York usually does the trick, providing enough distraction to almost convince him he’s not totally alone in the world.

His folks are still in Kentucky, living out their golden years in a sprawling, renovated farmhouse he bought them several years ago, so he has to admit he’s not totally alone. But he's only ever had two relationships in his whole life that lasted more than three months, which is causing him to worry it might be indicative of some fatal personality flaw on his part. It’s something he finds himself dwelling on more and more lately. Thinking about the one, that one special person who will turn his life upside down. That one woman he’ll scorch the earth for, be willing to risk it all just to be with her.

His mother is that woman to his dad. Ben had asked him once, when he was about thirteen, how he knew mom was the one. His dad had smiled, and ruffled his hair with one of his huge, calloused hands.

"The moment I looked into those big, brown eyes I knew I was a goner. I know it sounds crazy, but I knew right then I never wanted to be with anyone else. And even after all these years, and even though we sometimes fight like cats and dogs, at the end of the day there isn’t anyone else I’d rather come home to.

All I can tell you, son, is that when you meet her, you’ll know.”

Ben scrubs his hands down his face, and glances up at the clock again. Three forty. Shit. He really needs to get some sleep. This couch isn’t doing his back any favors, so he gets up and heads to the bedroom. He decides to skip the shower until later and just crash for now.

He flicks on a switch and a table lamp next to the bed illuminates the room in a soft, warm glow.

What the fuck.

There’s a woman on his bed.

An almost naked woman, fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with each slow, steady breath.

His eyes quickly scan the room. Was he given the wrong key by mistake?

But no, he sees his luggage on the floor, placed next to the closet. And a bottle of Wild Turkey as well as a gift basket with local offerings, as is usually customary whenever he and the band check into a hotel.

He approaches the bed slowly, not sure if she’s just pretending to be asleep and is going to pull a knife or a gun on him at the last second.

It’s never happened before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

He gets right up next to the bed, on high alert, his eyes sweeping over her.

She’s beautiful, he realizes immediately. She’s lying on her back, her long, straight chestnut hair spread out on the burnt orange coverlet underneath her. Thick black lashes flutter against the tops of her cheekbones, her eyelids twitching as if she’s dreaming. A light smattering of freckles dusts her dainty nose, and a soft sigh escapes her full, pale pink lips.

Her body is long and slender, all smooth, tanned skin and toned limbs. Ben notices the supple bend of her knees, the way her toes brush the floor at the end of the bed, as if she had been sitting there and grew tired of waiting and decided to lie back and rest at some point.

She’s removed all her clothes, with the exception of a pair of tiny pale yellow bikini briefs and a matching lace bra. The bra is sheer and unlined, making it impossible for him not to notice the outline of her dusky nipples, and his dick twitches in his jeans.

Most people would be shocked to find a half-naked stranger on their bed, but Ben isn't. Fans and groupies have tried breaking into his hotel rooms before, or backstage, or onto tour buses, but security never fails to catch them first. He always shakes his head at hearing their disappointed wails as they’re dragged away, or sometimes their cries of Fuck me, Ben!… but never has one been so stealth and so brazen as to not only successfully break in, but then decide to take off her clothes on top of it and wait for him.

He scans the room again and doesn’t see any evidence of a broken window; she must have schemed her way in somehow and entered right through the hotel room door. He begrudgingly admires her tenacity at pulling it off.

But more than anything he wonders why she did it, as his gaze sweeps over her again. She doesn’t have the look of a starfucker, or even a groupie. She’s got a natural, almost wholesome look about her– he’s met enough fans across the country to know she’s a local, definitely a small-town girl. Probably lives right here in Green Bay, or some other nearby town. He’d hazard to guess she’s never even left Wisconsin; has probably never known anything but cornfields and green grass and lazy rivers, where the summers are blazing hot, and winters are so frigid the air in your lungs freezes the second you step outside and take your first breath.

They’d played a show in Milwaukee in February a few years back– he knows exactly how miserable it is.

Ben thinks her life is probably similar to the simple, country life he’d have if he’d never left Kentucky, if he’d never become famous, and his chest pangs with a strange feeling of kinship.

So, the question of why she’s gone to all this trouble still remains.

He suddenly notices the acoustic guitar leaned up against the far side of the bed. He makes his way over and sees its old, a little beat up but still in good shape– it’s obviously been well loved and cared for. He also finds a composition notebook on the bedside table next to it, and a colorful beaded handbag. Picking up the notebook he quickly flips through it, finding pages and pages of poetry– or maybe song lyrics? – with doodles in the margins. He rifles through the handbag, his conscience twinging with only a fleeting second of guilt– would be pretty hard for her to complain about invading her privacy when she was the one who broke into his hotel room– and finds a small brown leather wallet with a driver’s license.

Rey Janssen

DOB 1/20/1956

He exhales a sigh of relief. She’s not underage. Although he asks himself in the same moment why he’s even concerned about that– it’s not like anything is going to happen. He’s not even going to consider having a one-night stand with a local, no matter how beautiful and intriguing she might be.

And she is quite beautiful, he concedes as he puts the bag down and moves back over to the end of the bed.

While she sleeps on, he scratches his goatee, pondering why she felt the need to remove her clothes. She didn’t have to go that far; she could have easily seduced him wearing a ski suit. Or did she think she had to do that in order to convince him to listen to her, to let her play him a few songs? He frowns at the idea of this girl– Rey – thinking he’s the type of man who would only be moved to give her a chance if she offered up her body first. He knows rock stars are stereotyped as being promiscuous, and maybe a bit decadent, but he’d never use sex as a bargaining chip.

Ben decides he needs to wake her up and end this farce now.

But just as he begins to lean down, she begins to stir. He notices her breathing starts to quicken, and her back arches up off the bed. She tips her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. Her eyes are still closed, but they’re fluttering wildly– she must be in the throes of some kind of nightmare. He’s just about to shake her shoulder to wake her when her mouth opens, and she lets out a soft cry.

"Ben,” she gasps.

That’s when he notices her hips are lifting off the mattress in a slow rhythm, her hands clawing tightly at the coverlet.

She’s not having a nightmare.

She’s having a sex dream.

About him, apparently.

The realization makes his head spin, and blood rush to his cock.

He watches her in fascination, her gorgeous features contorting in pleasure. It’s too much for him to resist. Hovering over her, he hooks his thumb in her mouth, and her lips immediately close around it. The inside of her mouth is plush and wet, and she begins sucking him insistently.

Fuck.

He sits back and rakes his hands through his hair, groaning in frustration. This girl is too tempting, too beautiful, and it’s ripping his self-control to shreds. He wants nothing more than to help her out, but how unethical is it to do that when she’s unaware of what’s going on? Even if she did seem to come here with those very intentions.

Her chest is still heaving, her skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat, and she continues writhing on the bed beneath him.

"Ben,” she groans again, louder.

That does it. Apparently, he’s not as morally upright as he thought he was, because he stands up and immediately begins stripping off his clothes, down to his briefs.

She’s still asleep when he curls over her on the bed, pulling her up gently so her head rests near the pillows. So small, so oblivious to his huge, looming presence over her. It feels almost voyeuristic, and some deep, dark, primitive corner of his mind is howling at the forbidden nature of it all. Her hips are still moving and he reaches down, his hand trembling, and drags his fingers along her center, over her underwear.

She’s fucking drenched.

Her mouth opens again, and she lets out a breathy cry, her delicate brows knit together, a look of ecstasy sweeping over her features. She’s either already coming, or on the very edge of it.

Jesus. He can’t fucking stand it any longer.

Ben pulls the scrap of fabric down from her hips and off her body, flinging it aside. He reaches down again and runs his fingers through her slit, through her wet heat. His thumb finds her clit and he circles it, feeling it pulse under his ministrations, as his fingers curl into a loose fist, one thick knuckle nudging at her entrance.

His heart pounds and his cock throbs heavily as he drops his head down, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and throat. She moans again and he lifts his head to watch her face, and finds her eyes are open, blinking at him in confusion.

His pulse spikes even higher as a wave of panic washes over him, and he pulls his hand away.

"Is this ok?” he murmurs softly.

Rey’s eyes scan over his face, recognition flickering in the hazel irises. He's immediately entranced by them, the most incredible eyes he’s ever seen, a heady mix of greens and browns with golden flecks– it reminds him of looking up in a forest at midday, when the sun is shining down through the canopy of leaves.

"Yes,” she nods quickly. “Fuck, yes, Ben.”

He smiles, liking her filthy mouth. Liking the way his name sounds on her lips. Likes this resourceful, determined, beautiful girl a lot, without quite understanding why.

Moving down her body, he hovers over her center. He looks up to make sure she’s watching, and she is, propped up on her elbows, her eyes heavy-lidded and filled with wonder. He leans down and opens his mouth over her, dragging his broad tongue slowly through her cunt, licking a stripe from her entrance to her swollen, pulsing clit. Her head drops back and she moans, making his already stiff cock throb with aching desire against his stomach. He resolves right then to make her come, again and again, as many times as he can, wanting to wrench those pretty sobs from her throat, and make her body tremble and squirm beneath him.

He’s not sure why he’s so fixated, what it is about this girl that’s making him feel this way, so possessive– but as he draws her clit into his mouth and sucks, she makes the most exquisite, erotic sound he’s ever heard, and his mind whites out, no longer capable of reasonable thought.

She tastes like saltwater and sunshine, and he relishes the task set before him. He wants to make this good for her, make this an experience she’ll never forget.

So she'll never forget him.

The thought makes him inexplicably sad, so he shoves it from his mind, and doubles down on his efforts.

He’s barely got two fingers pushed inside her when he already feels her beginning to come apart, her walls fluttering and tightening around him, her clit pulsating on his tongue. Her thighs bracket his head, and her hands desperately pull at his hair as she grinds her pussy against his mouth.

"Oh my god Ben, yes,” she whines, her voice high and reedy. He keeps up the momentum, keeps curling and sliding his fingers inside her hot, slippery channel even when her clenching muscles make it almost impossible. He's hellbent on wringing out every last bit of pleasure he can from this sweet little cunt, and continues sucking at her hard little pearl until delectable juices dribble down his chin.

He only stops when she furiously tugs at his hair, sobbing and begging, “Please, it’s too much, I can’t take anymore.”

He surges up over her, stopping to mouth at her breasts before kissing her deeply. He wants her to taste herself, to know how fucking good she tastes, to realize how much she’s affecting him. His tongue plunders and ravages her mouth with the same fervor he lavished upon her pussy, and she gives as good as she gets, matching him eagerly, stroke for stroke, and something primitive rumbles low and deep in his chest.

She keeps running her fingers through his hair; she seems to be fascinated by it, twisting and tugging at it while scratching her nails lightly against his scalp, which is more than fine with him. It feels good, and as long as it makes her happy, that’s all that matters to him.

But she shocks the hell out of him when she suddenly grabs his shoulders and pushes him over to the side, on to his back, with an alarming amount of strength. He never would have guessed her to be that strong, but as she smirks down at him triumphantly, Ben realizes he should probably keep expecting this girl, as wild and unpredictable as a summer storm, to be full of surprises.

After tugging his underwear off she straddles him, and he’s graced with an unparalleled view of her body: of her long, lithe torso and the stunning oval of her face. Her skin is flushed, her long silky hair mussed with sweat-damp tendrils curling around her face, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. She tosses it behind her with an unconscious shake of her head, and reaches behind her back to release her bra, pulling it off and tossing it carelessly across the room. Her breasts are small, but perfect– he imagines sucking those pretty pink nipples, making them shine with his saliva, and his mouth waters while his cock swells to a punishing degree.

Her eyes are luminous as she gazes down at him, full of heat and desire and something, and a mysterious warmth curls in his gut. Ben wonders idly if she’s bewitched him, cast a spell over him, and realizes in the same instant he wouldn’t give a flying fuck if she had.

She’s ruining him, maybe forever, and he couldn't care less.

But then she slides back, running her dripping hot seam over his dick which now presses painfully hard against his stomach, almost reaching his navel, and he thinks he might explode on the spot.

She braces one small hand on his ribcage and lifts up, the other guiding his throbbing length to notch the fat, leaking tip at her entrance, sheathing herself over him ever so slowly.

Ben watches in fascination, watches as his cock disappears into her glistening wet heat and groans, his head dropping back against the pillows.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, he can hardly see straight.

Once she’s taken him all in, she gives an experimental roll of her hips, adjusting herself to his girth, finding an angle that feels good. He grits his teeth, resisting the impulse to start rutting up into her and instead settles for stroking his hands up and down her smooth thighs, allowing her to be the one to begin setting the pace.

She sits upright and starts rocking on him slowly at first, just getting used to the stretch, making room for him inside her tight, warm cunt. It's the most delicious form of torture, and his breathing becomes more rapid and shallow, each swirl of her body more sublime than the last. He's wholly captivated, unable to tear his eyes from her face, as he watches her expression change from a frown of concentration to a look of wide-eyed wonder.

But then she leans forward over him, her palms pressing on his chest before she reaches for the headboard and begins riding him– faster, more confidently, and his heart thunders in his chest. Fuck. His cock pulses as the waves of pleasure intensify, balls tightening as she rides him, her soft thighs gripping him like a vise.

Ben can’t hold back any longer; he's too worked up and can’t stop from chasing the orgasm he already feels starting to build, coiling at the base of his spine, so he grabs her hips roughly and begins pulling her faster, harder against him. He bends his knees for better leverage, lifting his hips and starts thrusting upward, their bodies slapping together in a carnal symphony of skin against skin.

After only a dozen or so of hard, rapid thrusts her walls begin to clench around him, and she's so fucking tight, the room filling with the sound of her short, breathy cries... so he moves her hips even faster, thrusts up into her even deeper.

"That's it, that's my gorgeous girl," he rasps, because she's right there and he needs to feel it, needs to know the peak of her pleasure begins and ends with him, "come all over my cock."

His fingers dig deeper into her hips and she nods limply, clutching his wrists, her eyes fluttering shut. “Oh god, keep fucking me Ben, just like that, please,” she babbles, along with a stream of high-pitched moans and obscenities. Above her bouncing tits her lovely face is screwed up tightly, her mouth hanging open, when suddenly her skin blooms pink as a rose, her walls fluttering and pulsing all around him, sucking him deeper inside.

She comes like a fucking dream is the sole thought running feverishly through his mind, and even though it damn near kills him not to let go, he resists; determined to draw this out, needing to stay buried in her lush folds as long as he can, forever if possible.

Finally, Rey sighs blissfully, looking down at him with glassy, unfocused eyes. His thrusts are becoming more stuttered and desperate, and Ben knows he can't stave off his climax for much longer.

"I’m on the pill, you can come inside me,” she breathes, and her low husky voice telling him he can come is what seals his fate.

He closes his eyes and hears a guttural, primal moan, only realizing a few seconds later it came from him. He empties into her, filling her up with his hot juices spurting once, twice, three times.

The release is mind-blowing, better than any substance he's ever tried, and he loses track of how long he lies there, just drifting in calm, sated bliss.

The delicate touch of a cool hand smoothing across his sweaty brow brings him back to the present, and he blinks open his eyes. Rey is still there, kneeling on the bed naked next to him, pushing his damp hair back from his face and looking down at him tenderly, her eyes shining with reverence and awe.

She averts her gaze and bites her plump lower lip somewhat shyly, which he finds both incredibly charming and absurd, considering he was just inside her not more than a few minutes ago.

But then she looks at him again, those extraordinary hazel eyes finding his, and suddenly Ben knows, with a bone-deep flash of clarity, that this is it– his future is Rey, no doubt about it. As much as he hates to admit it, his dad was right. He knows it like he knows his times tables, like he knows how to play chords on his guitar, like he knows he loves strawberries. It’s as if there's something that’s been lying dormant inside him since the day he was born, just waiting for this moment to be unlocked.

He reaches up with one hand and cups her face tenderly, and she leans her cheek into his palm, wrapping both hands around his forearm, and smiles. Her grin is like the sunrise, blinding and miraculous.

"Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Rey.”

Ben grins back, moving his hand behind her neck and pulling her back down to him, so her cheek rests against his heart, her long hair spilling across his chest, and she giggles softly.

They’ve already been dating for almost five months, and yet Rey never fails to keep him on his toes. This roleplaying stuff began as entirely her idea, but he's the one who can't get enough of it.

"You’re getting much too good at this, sweetheart,” he murmurs lowly as he strokes her hair. “Mind telling me how you were able to get in this time?”

Rey lifts her head and gives him her wide, Cheshire-cat grin he knows so well, the one that sends his pulse racing and his heart stuttering in his chest.

"Babe, you know I’ll never tell.”

*****

#reylo #reylo fic #reylo au #my writing

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annarellix · 1 year

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END OF STORY by Kylie Scott (Excerpt)

Fans of bestsellers like In Five Years will fall for this unexpected love story about a woman and her contractor who discover a divorce decree with their names on it … dated ten years in the future. When Susie inherits a charming fixer-upper from her aunt, she’s excited to start living her best HGTV-life. But when she opens the door to find that her contractor is none other than her ex’s (very good looking) best friend Lars—the same man who witnessed their humiliating public break-up 6 months ago—she isn’t exactly eager to have him around. But, beggars can't be choosers and the sooner the repairs are done, the sooner she can get back to grudgingly accepting the single life.

Things go from awkward to unbelievable when Lars knocks down a bedroom wall and finds a divorce certificate dated ten years from now…with both their names on it. It couldn’t possibly be real...could it? As Susie and Lars try to unravel the document’s origins, the impossibility of a spark between them suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched. But is any kind of relationship between them doomed before it’s ever begun?

Buy Links: BookShop.org Harlequin Barnes & Noble Books A Million Amazon

The Author: Kylie Scott is the New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal and international bestselling author of 19 novels including the Stage Dive series, the Dive Bar series, the Larsen Brothers series, and West Hollywood series. Her most recent release, Pause, debuted on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into fourteen languages, and she has sold over 2 million copies worldwide.

Social Links: Author Website Twitter Facebook Instagram Goodreads

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE “This is awkward.” The big blond man standing on my doorstep blinked. “How are you, Lars?” I gave him my very best fake smile. “Nice to see you.” “Susie. It’s been what…five, six months?” Setting down his toolbox, he gave me an uneasy smile. It was more of a wince, really. Because the last time we saw each other was not a good night. Not for me, at least. “Something like that,” I said. “This your new place?” He nodded at the battered arts and crafts cottage. “The office said you had some water damage you wanted to start with?” “Yeah, about that. I was told Mateo would be doing the work.” “Family emergency.” “Oh.” He gazed down at me with dismay. The man was your basic urban Viking marauder, as his name suggested. Longish blonde hair, white skin, blue eyes, short beard, tall and built. I was average height and he managed to loom over me just fine. In his mid-thirties and more than a little rough around the edges. Nothing like his sleek and slick bestie. An asshole whose continued existence I’d prefer to be reminded of never. But we don’t always get what we want. I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll show you…” “Okay.” “Don’t worry about taking your boots off. The shag carpet isn’t staying.” Heavy footsteps followed me through the living room and into the dining room where we turned left to enter the small hallway. From this point we had two options, the bathroom or the back bedroom. We headed for the latter. “The water was getting in through a crack in the window for who knows how long,” I explained. “I only inherited the place recently. There were all these boxes piled up in here. No one could even see it was an issue.” He grunted. “I spent the first month just sorting through things and clearing the place out.” Beneath the window frame, a large stain spread across the golden-flecked wallpaper. As if it weren’t ugly enough to begin with. That was the thing about my aunt Susan; she wasn’t a big fan of change. The two-bedroom cottage had belonged to her parents and everything had pretty much been left untouched after they passed. Apart from the addition of Susan’s junk. Which meant that while the wallpaper and carpet were from the 1970’s, the bathroom was from the 1940’s, and the kitchen cabinets from the 1930’s. At least, that’s what I’d been told. The place was like an ode to 20th century interior design. The good, and the bad. He got down on one knee, inspecting the damage. “The bottom of this window frame is warped and needs replacing.” “Can you do that?” “Yeah,” he said. “I need to have a look behind here. You attached to the wallpaper?” “Heck no.” He almost smiled. “The sooner I can repaint and get new flooring down, the better.” Nothing from him. A knife appeared from the tool box, sharp-pointed with jagged teeth. He punched the blade through the drywall with ease and started cutting into the wall. “How is he?” I asked the dreaded question. Curiosity was the worst. “Enjoying London?” “Yeah,” was all he said. “And how’s Jane?” “We’re not together anymore.” Not a surprise. Lars went through various girlfriends during the year I’d been with what’s-his-face. Neither he nor his friend were down with commitment. Which was fine if you just wanted to have fun. But Jane was a keeper, smart with a wicked sense of humor. Lars definitely had a type. All of his girlfriends were petite, perfect dolls who behaved in a ladylike manner. The opposite of buxom, loudmouthed me. He pried a square of drywall loose. “You thinking of living here permanently or flipping and selling the place, or what?” “Haven’t decided.” “Great location. A bit of work and it’d probably be worth a lot of money,” he said, keeping the conversation on the business at hand. As was good and right. Using the flashlight on his phone, he inspected the cavity. The man was all handyman chic. Big ass boots, jeans, and a faded black tee. All of it well-worn. And the way his blue jeans conformed to his thick thighs and the curves of his ass was something. Something I hadn’t meant to notice, but oh well, these things happened. Maybe it was the way his tool belt framed that particular part of his anatomy. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. I was butt struck. Which was both wrong and bad. It would not be smart for me to notice this man in the sexual sense. Though it was nice to know my thirst meter wasn’t broken. I don’t know if Lars and I were ever really friends. We had, however, been friendly. Though that was romantic relationships for you. One moment you had all of these awesome extra people in your life and the next moment they’re gone. I tugged on the end of my dark ponytail. An old nervous habit. “At this stage, it looks like the damage is only superficial,” Lars said. “These two sections of drywall have to go. Once I’ve done that, I’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” “Okay.” “But it wouldn’t surprise me if some or all of that one needs replacing too.” He pointed to the wall the bedroom shared with the bathroom. “See how there’s bubbling along the joins of the wallpaper there?” “Right.” “Do I have your approval to get started?” I nodded. None of this was exactly unexpected. Old buildings might have soul, but they could also have heavy upkeep. Renovations cost big bucks. While my savings were meagre, lucky for this hundred year old house, my aunt left me some money. Which was a point of contention for a few of my family members. Like any of them had time for Aunt Susan when she was alive. Besides being my namesake, she was also the black sheep of the family. A little too weird for some, I guess. But weird has always been a trait that I admired. “I’m going to make myself coffee,” I said. “Would you like some?” “Yeah. Thanks.” “How do you take it?” “White. No sugar.” “You’re sweet enough, huh?” And the moment those words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Talk about awkward. He snorted, then said, “Something like that.” * Lars didn’t mess around. By the time I returned, he’d removed the first two panels of drywall. Hands on hips, he stood staring at the interior of the wall with the problematic window. Mostly it looked like a lot of dust and a couple of cobwebs. But then, I’m not a builder. When I handed over his mug, he gave me a brief smile before taking a sip. “How is it looking?” I asked. “Your house has good bones.” “Great.” “As long as the damage on that wall is due to the moisture spreading from the window and not a leaky bathroom pipe, this should be pretty straightforward,” he said. I’d taken over the main bedroom, but this room still held a lot of sentimental value for me. Whenever Mom and Dad were busy or needed a break from us kids, my brother would stay at a friend’s house and I’d be packed off to Aunt Susan’s—to this bedroom in particular. Which was fine with me. Andrew was an outgoing jock while I’d been kind of awkward. In this house, I was accepted for who I was. A nice change. With my parents divorced, growing up between three households and living mostly out of a school bag sucked. But Aunt Susan gave me the security that was lacking elsewhere. “Is the floor okay?” “Let’s pull up some carpet and see.” He set his coffee on the windowsill. Then, knife back in hand, he got busy with the shag. It was impressive how the tool became a part of him. An extension of his body. “You’ve got good solid hardwood under here.” “Ooh, let me see.” He tugged the tattered underlay back further. “Oak, by the look of it.” “Wow. Imagine covering that beauty up with butt ugly brown carpet.” “No sign of water damage. You were lucky.” I smiled. “That is excellent news.” “Now let’s see what’s behind this.” I took a step back so he could start removing the next section of drywall. He had such big capable hands. Watching him work was pure competence porn. . As a mature and well-adjusted thirty year old woman, I definitely knew better than to have sexy times thoughts again. The best friend of my ex is not my friend. Confucius probably said that. “Looks like there’s something back here,” he said, setting a panel of drywall aside. “Something good or something bad?” I winced as a big hairy spider scurried out of the cavity. “Ew.” “It’s just a wolf spider. Nothing dangerous.” “But there might be more.” Without further comment, he reached down and picked up a piece of paper. It looked old. Which made sense. Lord only knew how long it had been in the wall. It was kind of like opening a time capsule. “What is it?” I asked, more than a little curious. His gaze narrowed as he read, his forehead furrowing. Next his brows rose and his lips thinned. His expression quickly changed from disbelief to fury as he shoved the piece of paper at me. The open hostility in his eyes was a lot coming from a man of his size. “Susie, what the fuck?” “Huh?” “Is this your idea of a joke?” “No. I…” The paper was soft with age and the writing was faded but legible. Mostly. Superior Court of Washington, County of King was written at the top. There was also a date stamp. This was followed by a bunch of numbers and the words Final Divorce Order. “Wait. Is this a divorce certificate?” “Yeah,” he said. “For you and me. Dated a decade from now.” I scrunched up my nose and ever so slightly shrieked, “What? Hold on. You think I put this in there?” “No,” he said, getting all up in my face. “I know you put it in there, Susie.” “Take a step back, please,” I said, pushing a hand against his hard chest. He did as I asked, some of the anger leaching from his face. Then he grumbled, “Sorry.” “Thank you.” “Why would you do that? Actually, it doesn’t matter. Find someone else for the job,” he said, gathering up his tools. “I’m out of here.” “Can you just wait a second?” Apparently the answer was no. Because the man started moving even faster. “I don’t know what game you’re playing. But I’m not interested in finding out.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I did not put this in the wall, Lars. Think about it. You’re a builder. Had any of the wallpaper or drywall been disturbed in the last forty or fifty years?” “You could have accessed it from the other side. I don’t know.” “I didn’t even know you were coming here today.” He grunted. “Only got your word for that.” “And I’ve only got your word that you didn’t put this in in the wall for some stupid reason,” I said, thinking it over. How did that not occur to me? “Of course you put it there. I wasn’t the first one to have access to that space. You were. A quick sleight of hand is all it would have taken. This is so unprofessional.” “Very nice. I’m sure you prepared that speech at the same time you planted it, knowing I’d inevitably be the one who first touched it.” “And I’m sure you prepared that speech at the same time you planted it, knowing I’d suspect you.” He glared at me. “Why the hell would I, Susie?” “Why the hell would I, Lars?” I bellowed. “This is ridiculous. I just want my house fixed. That’s all. And I specifically asked who would be doing the job because I didn’t feel the need to see you again.” With his back to me, he paused. “No offense. But I knew it would be wildly uncomfortable.” “Why’d you use the company I work for then?” “Because I know they’re reputable and do good work. You yourself said that’s one of the main reasons why you’ve stuck with them. Because they don’t encourage you to cut corners or use shoddy materials and they treat their staff well. Also, they pretty much do everything. These things matter.” I raised a finger. (No. Not that one.) “Take car repairs for instance. Because I know little to nothing about cars, I get ripped off by repair shops—I’m sure of it. I didn’t want that to happen here.” Another grunt. What an animal. “I wish neither to marry nor divorce you, Lars. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. So this piece of paper I’m holding in no way benefits me. Look at me. Am I laughing? No, I’m not. Nor am I enjoying all this drama. Confrontation stresses me the fuck out,” I said, my shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what else to say. This is ridiculous.” “You already said that.” “It’s worth repeating.” He gave me a look over his shoulder. “If you’re messing with me…” “I’m not. Are you messing with me?” “No.” “Then what the hell is going on?” I asked the universe. Without another word, he got to his feet and strode out of the room, heading straight into the bathroom next door. There he made quick work of checking everything. The tiling and paintwork, around the white pedestal basin, inside the mirrored cabinet set into the wall, and the end of the claw foot bath tub. Then he turned around, face set to cranky. “Access point for the attic?” “Hallway.” In no time flat, he had the ceiling hatch open and the ladder down. Then up into the darkness he went. His cell phone doubled as a flash light again. “Lot of stuff up here,” he commented. “That does not surprise me. My aunt was kind of a hoarder. Not as bad as the people on those TV shows, but…yeah.” He sneezed. “A lot of dust, too.” “Bless you. I haven’t even been up there yet,” I said. “Cleaning and clearing space out down here has taken all of my time.” His big boots disappeared up the last rungs of the ladder while I waited below. After all, I’d only be in the way. It had absolutely nothing to do with my fear of creepy crawlies. Someone had to wait below with the weird ass document. The sounds of him stomping about and things being shifted came next. Something heavy was pushed aside. Something else fell and glass broke. “Sorry,” Lars called. “I’m sure it was nothing valuable. Hopefully.” Then his face appeared in the dark hole overhead. “Looks like they built the attic to use as another bedroom or office at some stage. The floorboards and everything are tight. No real access into the walls below.” “Mm.” “Plus there’s about an inch of dust on the ground and no sign of any footprints other than mine.” “Good work, Nancy Drew,” I said. “Is the basement next?” He gave me a flat, unfriendly look. “Yes.” Maybe I’d be better off finding another builder. In fact, I knew I would be. Though it would only be trading one peace of mind for another. While Lars would no longer be in my face, I wouldn’t be able to trust the new builder’s work to the same degree. Which would be anxiety-inducing and possibly costly. Talk about a no-win situation. Back into the dining room then through to the kitchen at the back of the house, we went on our not-so-merry adventure. I opened the door to the dingy staircase. “I like to call this the murder room. Dark, dank, dangerous. It’s got it all.” No response from him as we made our way down. Tough crowd. It was just a basic concrete room with a boiler, laundry area, and more assorted crap. But the old boiler, the one before this one, used to make creepy noises. Hence my childhood fears of the basement. Helping with the laundry was always an ordeal. I usually avoided it by offering to do the dishes instead. Lars began examining the ceiling. “When did you find out you had this job?” “Around eight this morning. The office called,” he said. “Mateo’s boyfriend got hit by a car riding to work.” “Is he okay?” “A few bumps and bruises and a sprained wrist.” “Phew.” “Yeah,” he said. “The job I was on was close to finishing and they could spare me, so they asked me to come here.” “What gets me is that the paper looks old. I mean, the way the text is faded and everything.” I carefully turned the certificate over in my hands. “I wonder if we could get it tested, somehow.” He scoffed. “You don’t actually think it’s real?” “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “What I do know is, if you didn’t put the certificate there to mess with me—and I guess I believe you when you say you didn’t—then I can think of no rational explanation for how it got there.” He frowned harder and kept right on inspecting the ceiling. Even he had to admit that it was highly unlikely I’d put the decree of dissolution in the wall. Surely. “Does your middle name start with A?” “Alexander. Yes.” “So the details are right, at least. No money judgement ordered. No real property judgement ordered. This marriage is dissolved. The petitioner and respondent are divorced. Not much information there to go on.” I chose my next words with care. “You know, my aunt, she was kind of eccentric. She was always burning candles and buying crystals.” Looking back over his shoulder at me, he raised a questioning brow. “The thing is, she used to talk to the house sometimes,” I finally said. “Like it was an actual living breathing entity. And yes, maybe she was lonely or a little strange. Please don’t say anything mean or dismissive about her.” “I’m not going to say anything about your aunt.” “Thank you.” He didn’t even blink. “But it’s not supernatural, Susie. This was no ghost or spirit or whatever you’re suggesting.” “Okay. Fine. I just thought I’d put that out there,” I said. “Did you find anything down here?” “No.” “So now what?” Face set, he walked over, staring into my eyes as if he could read my soul. “Susie.” “Lars.” “I want to believe you when you say you had nothing to do with it. You always seemed like a pretty honest person to me,” he said. “A bit too honest, sometimes.” “How so?” I asked, only mildly annoyed—although I was exercising great restraint. “Some of the stuff you come out with sometimes is…unnecessary.” “Let’s agree to disagree,” I said. He shook his head. “I would point out, however, that I’m not brutal. Ever notice how people who say they’re just being honest usually are?” His nostrils flared on a deep breath. How that was in any way attractive I had no idea. Something must be wrong with me. Guess my vibrator was getting a little boring. Maybe it was time for me to get out there and meet some men. Then again, not dating for the rest of my life would also be great. “For the last time,” he said, speaking nice and slow, “did you put that piece of paper in the wall?” “No. I swear.” “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck,” I agreed. He sighed. “Someone’s messing with us.”

#women's fiction #Rom-com #Graydon House #Excerpt #blogtour

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gameraboy2 · 2 years

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Shag Bath Carpet Sears Catalog, Fall/Winter 1971

#shag carpet #bathroom #1971 #1970s #vintage #ad #vintage ad #advertisement #vintage advertisement #advertising #vintage advertising

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thegikitiki · 5 years

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Bathroom Design and Decor, 1972

#1972 #'72 #'70s #70s #seventies #1970s #bathroom design #bathroom decor #70s bathrooms #wood paneling #bathroom carpet #70s shag carpet #70s lighting #70s home

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poeticpains · 2 years

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Thank goodness it’s Friday! Why is it so special that it’s Friday? Because that means I get to talk about another great fic I’ve read! If you’re wondering what my Fic Rec Friday series is, the information post is here. The fic we’ll talk about this week is Untitled (Escape the Month Prompt Fill: Day 25/1970s) by @hajimehinata on Tumblr!

Title: Untitled (Escape the Month Prompt Fill: Day 25/1970s) Author: @hajimehinata Hosted on: Tumblr Rating: Mature (Recommender’s Rating) Warnings: No Warnings Listed Ships: No Ships Listed Characters: The Detective | Matthew Patrick Author’s Tags: No Canonical Tags Listed Author’s Summary: No summary given.

Why do I like it? Why should you read it? The aftermath can sometimes be the hardest part. There’s certainly a sort of sadness that comes with the thought that though our beloved survivors of Season 3 escaped, most of their friends did not. How does someone’s life go on after they watched those things happen, unable to help them? It wouldn’t be so odd at all to believe that someone might take the chance to go back to that night, even with all the pain and death, just to see a beloved friend again.

That’s exactly what Matt goes through in this short drabble by Pan. After a seemingly-innocuous thing triggers a sudden, public panic attack, Matt finds himself on the bathroom floor of a mall, wondering if he even really wants to go back to his modern life when everything he cared about got left in the 1970s. Featuring the ever-present survivor’s guilt that’s so clearly a problem for the people who escaped, this story is a great character study for post-Season 3 Matt. He misses Manny, and he misses Ro, but most of all, he misses the person that he was during those hours when his friends were still with him.

There are few stories such as this one that capture, without even mentioning it, the sheer exhaustion of recovery. Matt, as a character in this, even in so few words, just feels tired. Which is understandable, because he’s having to learn to live again in the 21st century when one of the defining nights of his life was spent with orange shag carpets and disco balls. He doesn’t feel like he ever left that night, really, and maybe he didn’t.

I’ll stop this before it gets too long. Suffice to say that I personally don’t think I’d call this a hopeful story, not on its own, but that doesn’t mean it’s not one of the best interpretations of post-Season 3 Matt that I’ve seen. (Yes, I mean that!) It’s short, and yet, I think it captures his character in a way few other people do. Overall, read it if you want to feel sad about the living, as well as the dead.

#escape the night #escape the night season three #etn s3 #escape the night s3 #etn season 3 #the detective #other's writing #fic rec friday

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howaminotinthestrokesyet · 3 years

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Behind The Album: OK Computer

The third studio album from Radiohead was released in May 1997 by Parlophone Records. This would mark the first album that Nigel Godrich worked on as their producer. The band would self produce the entire album themselves, which they have done on every record since. In 1995, Brian Eno asked the band to contribute a song to a charity compilation for War Child entitled Help. They were scheduled to do the recording in only a day, which led to the track, “Lucky.” Godrich would say of the recording. “Those things are the most inspiring, when you do stuff really fast and there's nothing to lose. We left feeling fairly euphoric. So after establishing a bit of a rapport work-wise, I was sort of hoping I would be involved with the next album." This track would form the foundation of what would become OK Computer. In early 1996, the group took a break from touring because they found it a bit too stressful. Thoughts now turned to a new record with the mindset of distancing themselves from anything similar to The Bends. Drummer Phillip Selway would say, “There was an awful lot of soul-searching [on The Bends]. To do that again on another album would be excruciatingly boring.” The label gave the band a rather good sized budget for recording equipment for the new release. A number of producers were considered for the album, but they kept coming back to Godrich as an advisor on equipment. Eventually, the band hired him as the producer. Ed O’Brien said of the album, “Everyone said, 'You'll sell six or seven million if you bring out The Bends Pt 2,' and we're like, 'We'll kick against that and do the opposite'."

In early 1996, Radiohead began proper recording of the LP at Canned Applause Studios in Oxfordshire, England. Issues immediately came up as the band had difficulty staying focused on one song all the way to completion. Selway would talk about this later, “We're jumping from song to song, and when we started to run out of ideas, we'd move on to a new song ... The stupid thing was that we were nearly finished when we'd move on, because so much work had gone into them." Although the members of the group were considered equals, the voice of Thom Yorke always represented the loudest one in terms of musical direction. Godrich would talk about his role within the group in an interview. They “need to have another person outside their unit, especially when they're all playing together, to say when the take goes well ... I take up slack when people aren't taking responsibility—the term producing a record means taking responsibility for the record ... It's my job to ensure that they get the ideas across." His permanent role on each Radiohead album would lead to the producer being called the sixth member of Radiohead. After only recording four songs, the band left the Canned Applause Studio for a variety of reasons Including the fact that the studio had no bathrooms or dining rooms. They decided to take a break from recording in order to support Alanis Morissette on tour, which gave them a chance to try some of their new tracks live. Around the same time, Director Baz Luhrmann asked the band to contribute a song to his film, Romeo and Juliet. “Exit Music for a Film” would be played as the credits rolled during the movie, but they did not give Luhrmann permission to place the track on the movie soundtrack. Yorke would later observe that this song became very important to the album. It “was the first performance we'd ever recorded where every note of it made my head spin—something I was proud of, something I could turn up really, really loud and not wince at any moment."

In September 1996, the band began recording again at a mansion in Bath, England owned by actress Jane Seymour. Jonny Greenwood would say the environment represented a much more pleasant change for the group. It “was less like a laboratory experiment, which is what being in a studio is usually like, and more about a group of people making their first record together." One quality that the band enjoyed during the sessions came in the fact that they took full advantage of the natural environment of the mansion. “Exit Music for a Film” utilized some natural reverb courtesy of a stone stairwell. They recorded Let Down” in an empty ballroom at 3 o’clock in the morning. The group worked at its own pace as Ed O’Brien observed later. “The biggest pressure was actually completing [the recording]. We weren't given any deadlines and we had complete freedom to do what we wanted. We were delaying it because we were a bit frightened of actually finishing stuff." A majority of the album would be recorded live with no overdubs because Yorke hated them. The band completed the rest of the album at the studio in Saint Catherine’s towards the end of 1996. In January 1997, the strings for the album were recorded, then they spent the next two months mastering and mixing the album. Actually, the mixing of the album only took a couple of days. Nigel Godrich would later comment, “I feel like I get too into it. I start fiddling with things and I fuck it up ... I generally take about half a day to do a mix. If it's any longer than that, you lose it. The hardest thing is trying to stay fresh, to stay objective."

Several artists would influence what would become the finished product of OK Computer. First and foremost came the 1970 album Bitches Brew by jazz great, Miles Davis. Thom Yorke would tell Q what he saw in that recording that made up his vision for this album. “It was building something up and watching it fall apart, that's the beauty of it. It was at the core of what we were trying to do with OK Computer." Other artists that helped to inspire the record included Elvis Costello, REM, PJ Harvey, the Beatles, Can, and composer Ennio Morricone. Jonny Greenwood would describe OK Computer as an attempt to recreate the sound on all these great records, but they missed the mark. The band would expand their instrumentation for this album to include electric piano, Mellotron, cello and other strings, glockenspiel and electronic effects. Spin would say this about the release, “A DIY electronica album made with guitars." The lyrics to the album focused on themes much more conceptual when contrasted with The Bends. Yorke would sing about a wide variety of topics including transportation, technology, insanity, death, globalism, capitalism, and more. The singer would say, “On this album, the outside world became all there was ... I'm just taking Polaroids of things around me moving too fast." He also took inspiration for some of the lyrics from a selection of books including Noam Chomsky, Eric Hobsbawm's The Age of Extremes, Will Hutton's The State We're In, Jonathan Coe's What a Carve Up! and Philip K. Dick's VALIS. Despite the abstract nature of the lyrics on the record, many critics have looked upon OK Computer as a concept album. They argue that there exists a singular theme running throughout the record, but the band has consistently denied any attempt at making such a release. Jonny Greenwood commented, “I think one album title and one computer voice do not make a concept album. That's a bit of a red herring." They did pay particularly close attention to the order of the tracklist taking almost two weeks to complete it.

The album opens with “Airbag,” which highlights the drumming of Phillip Selway. The track had been inspired by the work of DJ Shadow. The band would later admit that they represented novices in this attempt to base a song on DJ Shadow due to their lack of time with programming. Yorke had actually read an article in a magazine entitled “An Airbag Saved My Life.” Another book that helped to create the basis for the song lyrics emerged in the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Yorke had always been obsessed with the idea that any time you get into a car you could possibly die at any second. The second track “Paranoid Android” stands out as one of the longest tracks in the band's entire catalog. Two songs inspired it from classic rock, “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” by the Beatles and “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. The lyrics are meant to reference the alien from Douglas Adams’s A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Yorke got the idea after watching a woman lose her mind after a drink spilled on her at a bar in Los Angeles. “Subterranean Homesick Alien” referenced “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan. The lyrics are meant to refer a person who is abducted by aliens, then returns home to realize his life is in no way any different. The beginnings of the theme for this track actually began for the singer in private school when he had an assignment to recreate a British literary movement called Martian poetry. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare inspired the lyrics to “Exit Music for a Film.” This should come as no surprise as the band had specifically created the song for a remake film. Yorke would use it as a chance to simply recap the entire narrative in the song because Zeffirelli’s version of the film greatly affected him at the age of 13. “I cried my eyes out, because I couldn't understand why, the morning after they shagged, they didn't just run away. It's a song for two people who should run away before all the bad stuff starts.” The singer had tried to replicate Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom Prison as he sang along to his acoustic guitar. “Let Down” represented an attempt by the band to recreate the sound made famous by Phil Spector and his wall of sound. Yorke would later comment that the lyrics are “about that feeling that you get when you're in transit but you're not in control of it—you just go past thousands of places and thousands of people and you're completely removed from it.” The singer would look upon such lyrics as perfect symbolism for Generation X, which had strongly influenced the direction of it. “Karma Police” contains two major sections that alternate between piano and guitar, which originally came from “Sexy Sadie” by the Beatles. The title of the song was an inside joke between the band during the previous tour. If something bad happened to someone, they would say that the karma police were going to get them. The short Interlude “Fitter, Happier” became something that the Radiohead frontman wrote in 10 minutes while on a break. The voice came from the Macintosh Simpletext software application. He would later describe the words as a “checklist for slogans from the 1990s.”

“Electioneering” turned out to be one of the band’s heaviest rock oriented songs probably ever with lyrics that were inspired by the Poll Tax Riots. Another source of inspiration came in the book Manufacturing Consent by Noah Chomsky. “Climbing Up the Walls” has been described by Melody Maker as “monumental chaos.” The track was arranged by Johnny Greenwood for 16 instruments based on composer Krzysztof Penderecki's “Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima.” No Surprises” would be initially inspired by “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by the Beach Boys, but they really wanted to replicate the mood of “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong or the soul music of Marvin Gaye. Yorke would say the song’s narrator is “someone who's trying hard to keep it together but can't.” The track that started it all “Lucky” was actually inspired by the Bosnian War. Yorke wanted to illustrate the actual terror of that conflict on the charity album, Help. Another theme that he drew upon emerged in his own anxiety about transportation. Critics have likened the guitar on the song to 1970’s Pink Floyd. The final track on the album “The Tourist” was specifically arranged by Jonny Greenwood to create a bit of space on the LP. The lyrics originated from Yorke witnessing tourists in France trying to see as many sites as possible. The title of the album came from the 1978 radio series based on The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when character Zaphod Beeblebrox says, “Okay, computer, I want full manual control now." They had first heard the line while listening to the series on the bus for their tour in 1996. Yorke would say this about the title later. It “refers to embracing the future, it refers to being terrified of the future, of our future, of everyone else's. It's to do with standing in a room where all these appliances are going off and all these machines and computers and so on ... and the sound it makes." The artwork would be created by both Yorke and Stanley Donwood using a computer. The Radiohead singer would observe this about the art, “It's quite sad, and quite funny as well. All the artwork and so on ... It was all the things that I hadn't said in the songs."

Leading up to the release of the album, the band got very little support from Capitol Records because they did not have too much faith in the commercial potential of it. Much of the pessimism came in the fact that the record did not have any singles to put on the radio. Ed O’Brien would call it the “lack of a Van Halen factor.” The singles that were released from OK Computer included “Paranoid Android,” “Karma Police,” and “Lucky.” All of the singles charted in the top 10 in the UK, while they also did very well making the top 20 on the US charts. Their official website was created in order to promote the record, as well as some non-traditional promotional techniques by the record label. One such idea came in their decision to take out full-page ads in popular British newspapers and magazines with only the lyrics to “Fitter, Happier.” Another promotion sent out floppy disks to people in the press, which included many Radiohead screensavers. Upon its official release, OK Computer would debut at number one on the UK charts, while in the US the record made it to number 21. Please note that this was the highest American debut for the band. By September 2000, the release had sold 4.5 million copies worldwide.

Critics loved the album across the board. Writer Tim Footman would comment, “Not since 1967, with the release of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, had so many major critics agreed immediately, not only on an album's merits, but on its long-term significance, and its ability to encapsulate a particular point in history." Many critics saw it as a very important album. Mojo wrote in their review, “Others may end up selling more, but in 20 years' time I'm betting OK Computer will be seen as the key record of 1997, the one to take rock forward instead of artfully revamping images and song-structures from an earlier era.” The New Yorker would congratulate the band on taking many more risks artistically then their contemporaries like Oasis. “Throughout the album, contrasts of mood and style are extreme ... This band has pulled off one of the great art-pop balancing acts in the history of rock." Most of the reviews that were slightly mixed seemed to focus on the fact that when compared with The Bends, this record did not contain as many catchy songs. The release would go on to win the Grammy for Best Alternative Album, but did not win Album of the Year. The praise for the album seemed to inundate the band a little too much. Also, Radiohead did not agree with the universal assessment that they had made the greatest progressive or art rock record since Dark Side of the Moon. Thom Yorke would say, “We write pop songs ... there was no intention of it being 'art'. It's a reflection of all the disparate things we were listening to when we recorded it."

The legacy of the album came to be represented in a variety of ways. First, the release of OK Computer coincided with the election of Tony Blair. Some writers have pointed to the pessimism on the record as a sign of things to come. Stephen Hayden would write, “Radiohead appeared to be ahead of the curve, forecasting the paranoia, media-driven insanity, and omnipresent sense of impending doom that's subsequently come to characterise everyday life in the 21st century." Second, the arrival of this album directly coincided with the decline of Britpop. The Oasis album Be Here Now did not attain the commercial or critical success that What’s the Story Morning Glory had received in 1995. Third, OK Computer directly influenced a new generation of artists including bands like Bloc Party and TV on the Radio. The album has landed on many lists over the subsequent years as one of the best releases of the decade and all time. Yet, not all retrospective reviews have been kind to OK Computer as it has also landed on some lists as one of the most overrated records of all time. A New Musical Express column criticized the release as the exact point when Radiohead stopped being good, but instead started to become important.

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