#Cd's being entirely earnest too

[toyotacorolla2008]

bonus:

#brainstorm #chromedome #nautica #skids #simpatico #stormceptor #mtmte #tf #transformers #maccadam #idw #idw2005 #tw suicide mention #Cd's being entirely earnest too #cheese and burger #bonposting #bon.jpeg

[talesofsymphoniac]

There are a lot of Zelos feelings to be had but I think the one that's getting me right now is the """""love triangle""""" between him, Lloyd, and Sheena.

Cos Zelos genuinely likes Sheena! She's a good person and she tries hard even though she's been put through arguably just as much shit as he has due to circumstances outside their control, but the girl just keeps TRYING, and it's not that she's always earnest, but she's just so BAD at being anything but honest.

But between the false persona he feels he has to put up to convince people he's an idiot and preserve the power he has over his situation, and the genuine self-hatred, he's always just such an asshole to her, and Sheena obviously responds to his assholery as one would react to an asshole. Even then, it seems like they have this comfortable dynamic between them, and it's not FRIENDLY exactly but it's understood. Even though there are definitely times Zelos uses Sheena's outrage to misdirect her when she's hitting too close to something genuine, there's also just as many times when it seems like this is just a habit between them at this point.

And Sheena and Lloyd are SO much alike; both naive and idealistic, neither of them seeing that Zelos is putting up any kind of front. And Zelos also likes Lloyd! Lloyd inspired him to take a leap of faith and back the losing side! The guy changed the course of his entire life for the better! Lloyd is a good person and Zelos KNOWS it, and he knows he's a pretty damn shitty person too.

And Sheena has a big fat crush on Lloyd, which Zelos knows and Lloyd is completely oblivious to, and the fact that the game, the novelization, and the Rodeo Ride Tour drama CD all have moments where Zelos seems PAINFULLY aware of it... how much Sheena likes Lloyd, how much it's never going to happen because Lloyd is all in for Colette and totally oblivious to Sheena's feelings... the knowledge that Sheena's never going to get what she wants here, which is almost a comfort except for the fact that it just means that neither of them are going to get what they want; Zelos because he doesn't deserve it and KNOWS he doesn't deserve it and Sheena despite the fact that she DOES deserve someone better than Zelos, and that's the tragedy of the whole thing.

(Which, there's a simple solution here, which is Zelos could drop the idiot persona and let himself be a PERSON and be that way with Sheena, who only ever deals back the shit Zelos gives her, which is where it SEEMS like he's headed by the end of the first game and then DotNW comes and does Zelos DIRTY, so, you know, I guess the fuck NOT---)

#tales of symphonia #sheelos #sheena fujibayashi #zelos wilder #meta #mine #tell me rodeo ride tour fucked you up without telling me rodeo ride tour fucked you up #look sheelos is a BAD SHIP it just sucks but also fuck zelos just stop being a tool and it could WORK istg

[aliceslantern]

Breaking Good, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 6

Ienzo is a heroin addict. Already struggling to get by in his PhD program, a fire leaves him homeless and increasingly isolated from his family. A near death experience gives him a choice: try recovery again and deal with feelings that cut too deep, or give into the darkness entirely.

Zemyx, Ienzoku. Updates Mondays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo's treatment begins in earnest.

Read it on AO3

---

After the utter quiet of the medical ward, the music in Demyx’s office was a welcome distraction. Saying it was a small space was charitable, but given that he was the most junior of the psychiatrists on staff, it was to be expected. He’d warmed up the windowless space with a few low-light plants, a few posters, and a comfortable chair for his patients. He also had a collection of CDs and vinyl for them to choose to listen to.

Or for himself, when he needed a break.

Being on admitting duty was always emotionally exhausting. He’d seen everything from someone being dragged here in handcuffs to someone being tearfully given away by loved ones, complete with all the screaming and crying between. On particularly rough days he wondered why he kept doing this. But being able to help people, even the slightest bit, made it worth it.

He turned to the files on his desk. One thing never changed--writing reports was his least favorite bit of the day. He knew it was necessary. But all the paperwork, the bureaucracy, always got in the way of the people he was supposed to be healing.

It didn’t help that Demyx’s supervisor, Marluxia, was a major tool.

He exhaled. Well, Demyx didn’t have to deal with him now--he was on vacation. He could write his reports however he wanted, and his sub would pass them on without a complaint, as happened every time Marluxia was away.

He scribbled a few notes. One of his patients had made a major breakthrough today, and Demyx was fairly sure he was ready for the next phase of the program, the halfway house and outpatient treatment. This was the sort of thing he lived for--helping people make sense of things.

#breaking good #ienzo #demyx #ienzo/demyx #zemyx #cw: drug treatment

[monotonous-minutia]

what was your theater experience growing up like? I know you have mentioned it before, but I’d love to hear more!

answering this depends on if you want the long version or the short version. But because I feel like telling it, we're gonna go with the long version.

(also I should preface this by saying I was home schooled and so I did not have any access to theatrical things through school.)

It starts on what seems like an unrelated note.

When I was a little kid (like really little, like 5 or so) my parents would always play lullaby CDs for us (my three brothers and I) when we went to bed. I've had issues with sleep for as long as I can remember, so I continued to listen to music every night until I was maybe 12 or 13 to try and get to sleep.

When I was around 10 I think, my mom's parents sent us a CD for Christmas or someone's birthday that was a lullaby CD, but it was all classical music. I loved it so it became my every night CD. The problem was, I got so into the music, it wouldn't actually put me to sleep. I wanted to stay up and listen to the music and read the sleeve of the CD case to see what all the songs were and who wrote them, and to feel the stories that the music was telling me. It was more than just a series of moms singing essentially “go to sleep” over and over. The music in this CD was interspersed with bits of dialogue that went along with the feeling of the music, and that just fascinated me; how someone could be telling a story with music that didn’t have any words.

So I started getting classical music CDs from the library to listen to during the day, so I could get into it when I wasn’t trying to fall asleep. I was primarily obsessed with Mozart, Vivaldi, and Handel, though I had a lot of other favorites too. There was also this really cool series of CDs that took the music of various composers and used them as a soundtrack for stories about the actual composers (the Classical Kids series) and I just ate them all up. I couldn't get enough.

People started to figure out classical music was just becoming My Thing, so I got a bunch of CDs for my various birthdays/Christmas and from the library. And one day my mom grabbed a CD of Die Zauberflote.

I got obsessed with it and once finished it, I kept listening to it over and over again. Then I wanted to see if there was a video recording of a performance that we could watch, because I loved the story and wanted to see how it would be acted out. The one copy our entire library system had was the Drottingholm Court Theater (1989) one, which to this day remains my favorite.

So now I was on the opera train, and I wanted to hear more. We listened to Nozze (though our mom wouldn't let us watch a video of this one; she said it was inappropriate. Also she hated the idea of a woman dressing up as a boy, so anything Cherubino-related was out); we listened to Barbiere, Carmen, and La boheme (these three we were allowed to watch videos of). After that my brothers got bored, but I didn't. I'd found my new obsession.

I continued to listen to operas on my own (and did occasionally manage to get a video or two in the house to watch). Then, because I am A Nerd, I started reading about them--summaries of ones I couldn't find; researching source material; reading about various performers and opera houses...pretty much anything I could get my hands on. All of this continued up until I went to college, which then took up the majority of my life (although I was able to take advantage of the university’s extensive library which had, among other things, DVDs of the ROH Zauberflote with Diana Damrau and Simon Keenlyside and the Met Hansel and Gretel with Frederica von Stade).

Now there's another aspect of this that contributes. I wrote a lot when I was a kid. Like a LOT. If I wasn't doing school or playing outside or listening to music, I was writing stories. Pretty much all of my old stories are dead now for reasons I won't get into. But one thing that stuck around was the desire to write plays. First I wanted to write an opera; the past few years obsessing over them made me want to write my own. But I couldn’t (and still can’t) read music, or write music, or even play an instrument. In my research, though, I'd found a lot of operas were based on plays, so I figured I could write one, and maybe later on down the line I’d find someone who could put it to music.

The only problem was I'd never seen a play. Not even a recording of one. it’s hard to write a play if you’ve never seen one and don’t understand how theater works.

I tried to remedy this by just reading a lot of plays. Our library had an entire section dedicated to drama, about three shelves big. I spent a lot of time there. I tried to figure out what made a good play, but you know, you just can't get the same experience without seeing one.

Then, when I was around 15 I think, I got my first "babysitting" gig, which was just me watching my little brother play video games with a kid a little younger than him. While I watched them play, I talked to the kid's mom (who was there so it really wasn't a gig), and I found out she was an actress that worked and volunteered at some local theaters.

I'd found my way in.

When I encountered her again, I asked if she knew of any ways I could get involved in the theater scene in town (there were a surprising amount of theaters nearby). There were two in particular that needed volunteers, so she connected me to some people. I got to know the staff at the theaters, help out in the box office, do some backstage stuff, usher, and occasionally help the actors with their lines and blocking. But the best part was I got to see a ton of shows for free by virtue of being a volunteer. During the next two summers, I was seeing a show almost every week, sometimes multiple times a week. It was glorious.

I also got to be involved in some of their youth shows; I actually got a few acting parts despite the fact that I'm a pretty bad actor and horrible at memorizing lines. More fun than that, I got to help out as a sort of assistant director for some children's theater workshops put on by local actors. Every Saturday for a summer, I went to one of the theaters to help guide a group of kids (it changed every week) in theater activities and act out a Roald Dahl story that they then performed for their parents. I absolutely loved doing this; I loved working alongside professional performers; I loved being able to participate in theater on a level I was comfortable with; I loved that I could get out of my freaking house; and I loved working with the kids. (Incidentally this is also what got me interested in working with kids, which has been my profession for the past six years.) So that, plus the volunteering, was the biggest part of my theater experience growing up.

Side note, it was through the magic of theater (and one enormous crush on a fellow volunteer) that made me realize I was gay. Of course, because the managers of one of the theaters ALSO happened to be gay (and married), my parents figured I'd been Converted(tm), and that's where the positivity about theater in my house ended. But once I got to college, I had fewer restraints, so I was free to get involved in theater (though I quickly realized a theater major was not for me). I did a bit of acting (never in mainstage shows), but mostly I participated in playwright groups and events. This is where I began writing plays in earnest and actually became good at it. It helped me get over the whole not-being-able-to-act thing. Plus I got to see a lot of shows because they were either a) free or b) severely discounted for students.

I almost got to go to a Big City to participate in a regional college theater festival by virtue of participating in a classmate’s theater project, but for reasons I also don’t need to go into, I was literally the only one who ended up not being able to go.

Aside from that though (an the ill-fated class I mentioned to you a while back), most of my theater experiences have been really positive, and I’m really grateful for that because it helped me get through some tough times at home. Plus there’s nothing like the joy of being involved in live performance. Once COVID winds down and I’m done with school, I want to see if I can get involved in some of the local theater groups in my city. I do still have a connection with one theater group from my old hometown (the one that did the readings of my plays), but the pandemic really put a nix on that. They’re still doing some virtual stuff though.

So anyway that’s probably way more information than you wanted but yeah. That’s my story.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Birthday Snoot

Shinsou x reader

Warnings: swearing, angsty thoughts, fluff

A/N: I just whipped this up for a very special person who’s having a hard time. I’m not gonna add the Taglist because I’m too TIRET.

You dragged your feet up the stairs, dreading even the thought of raising your hands to unlock your condo doors. This week had beat you up. Hell, the past few months had basically latched itself to your back and was draining you of all of your energy; a sadistic twist of it all was that it seemed that the universe enjoyed watching you suffer slowly but surely. You were looking forward to crawling in your bed and allowing your dreams to take you up and out of existence for awhile but you still had so much shit to do.

Your place was empty, a sad thought, though if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t think you could spare an ounce enthusiasm— a fake smile, acting like everything was cool, or that you were even excited about today. It was just another day. It wasn’t like when you were a kid when you’d count the months, the days, the minutes until this day reared its head around. Often times, you’d be discussing plans with friends, maybe have a party or an outing, something, but your enthusiasm just wasn’t there. You wished it were, but it wasn’t. Will it always be like this? Just another day? If you were being honest, it wasn’t even worth dwelling on. You just had a handful of hours until it was over, and those hours were spent at your desk, working.

You brought a pen to paper and stared blankly at what was supposed to be an essay that was due Monday. What the fuck were you even supposed to be writing about? Your class syllabus was lost to a flurry of other papers jammed in your bag because you didn’t care enough to keep yourself organized or told yourself you’d do it later. If only the world stopped for you just as it seemed like it did in the past. You looked to your phone. Minutes were crawling and you had five missed calls. You felt tension rise up in your back. It was nice to know people cared, to know that people still knew you were alive, but even thinking about calling any one of them back just seemed like another chore.

Your head hit the desk. If only that were enough to knock you out, but that would suggest that you were capable of falling asleep at a decent fucking hour. You hit your head again, if only just to humor yourself and for a moment, it worked, only when you thought about having him see you like this, but of course, he had obligations. You couldn’t expect him to be here to witness your sorry parade. You didn’t even want to tell him that today was your birthday because that could just be a burden to him. He might’ve been a bigger stress ball than you.

It was funny. Thinking about his heavily lidded eyes staring at you actually did get you to be a bit drowsy and you found your eyes fluttering closed. Your lips almost formed a smile. Who needed sleeping pills or meditation when just the thought of your somniferous boyfriend could help aid you with your rest. But shit, fuck! You could not fall asleep. You had obligations.

Just as you were about to raise your head, warmth prickled at your back; large hands began rubbing circles around your shoulders. You hummed in response, easing your head on to your notebook pillow. A scoff followed.

“That doesn’t look very comfy,” he said, trimmed nails tickling you in that spot you liked.

“Hmmm,” you mustered. You weren’t agreeing nor objecting. You just didn’t have words.

His hands dragged down to your arms and he rested his head on yours, his musky aroma tickling your nose. He’d been sweating. On anyone else, that would’ve grossed you out, but you kinda liked it when he smelled like his day. He was always so hard at work, trying to better himself. He was what inspired you to do your best on most days, but today was your day and you allowed yourself the time to just… be down. How did the song go? ‘It’s my party and I can cry if I want to”?.

“Darlin’, if you stay like that, you’re gonna get a hunch in your back. I’ll still love you, but I don’t think you want to live the rest of your life as Quasimodo.”

You hummed again, this time in full agreement. You were already a garbage boi, stink man and you didn’t want to add a hunch on to that. You raised your head and Shinsou let off. You turned towards him and he cupped your face, smiling softly down at you.

“Hey there,” he said, dragging a thumb across your lips. “I missed you so much today.”

You pursed your lips. You should say something. You missed him too, you always did, but words were lost in your throat. You were tired.

“I don’t get a hello?”

You shook your head.

He dipped his head down, leveling his with yours. “Then, how ‘bout a kiss?”

Your eyes fell to his feet. You cursed yourself for being this way. You didn’t want to bring him down. Where were those fake smiles you were thinking about earlier? If you could put up a front in front of anyone, shouldn’t it be for him? He deserved your love and grace. Scratch that, he deserved so much more than you.

“I got you something.” A small square object appeared in front of you. It had wrapping paper adorned with little kittens bearing Christmas tidings all around it; similar to those pajamas you always wore. You furrowed your brows and looked up to him. “It’s a CD.”

Tears welled up in your eyes and you tried to blink them away, but it was a fruitless endeavor. He saw everything.

“Heyyy,” he cooed, kneeling down in front of you. Again, he brought his hand to your face and this time, you leaned into his warm touch. Indigo eyes searched your own. “What’s goin on, kitten? Did something happen?”

God, what was wrong with you? What were you supposed to say to him? Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens. Life was just this endless cycle of you getting up and working your ass off with little to no gratifying results and you were sick of it. And here you were with this fantastic human being who took care of you, who knew your birthday even when you didn’t tell him about it, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to say thank you?! You choked out a sob.

“Shhh shhh, it’s okay…” Shinsou wrapped his arms around you, petting your hair soothingly. With your face in his shirt, you were overwhelmed by his scent as tears rolled off onto it. He felt so nice. He felt like home. You arms creeped up to your back and you lost yourself in his embrace. This was what you needed.

“I know exactly what’s going on…”

One moment you were sitting in your chair, and the next, your legs were hoisted up, imprisoned by your boyfriend carrying you bridal style. For a moment, you felt just like a little kid, like when your parents would carry you from the living room to your bedroom when you’d fallen asleep playing a game. You parted your lips to object, looking towards your schoolwork on your desk but Shinsou wasn’t having it.

“I understand, but you have the entire weekend. You’re exhausted, babe. You need to take a breather.”

Shinsou carried you to your bed and gingerly laid you down across your sheets. Usually you’d find yourself in a similar position after wrestling around and he’d find a way to neutralize you, tossing you carelessly onto your mattress before he’d wrap you around in blankets while you cackled and squirmed underneath him, but right now, he was being sweet, gingerly kissing you on the forehead as he pulled your comforter over your chest. His nice attitude of course, didn’t stoo him from laying right on top of you, burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck.

“We were both busy today. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

You didn’t expect anything from him, so even just having him here with you was enough to lift your spirits slightly. You fingers weaved through his soft purple locks, a sign to tell him that you were fine.

“We don’t have to talk about anything that’s going on if you don’t want to. Just know that I’m here for you, darlin’. And I always will be.”

You tugged on his hair, a sign that was supposed to mean, ‘I get it.’

Shinsou leaned back, brow raised. “Easy there, Godzilla. If you keep that up, I might get the wrong idea.”

You snickered and pulled the covers over your mouth. He smirked down at you and kissed your lips through the covers. You hummed and pulled them down, sticking your tongue out at him, which he took as an opportunity to to smother your face in sporadic and goofy, little pecks. You laughed and scrunched your nose up, turning your head away to avoid any further attacks, but Shinsou merely placed a tender kiss on that sensitive part of your neck.

“I love you,” he said, settling down next to you, “and I’m gonna make sure that we celebrate your birthday properly this weekend, whether you want to go out, stay in, be surprised, I’ll be ready for anything my kitten’s little heart desires. Do you understand?”

His sleepy eyes bore earnest intensity. God, how did you get to be so lucky? You nodded bashfully, embarrassed at your inward fit he had witnessed.

“I’m ready to celebrate every day with you. Whether it be your birthday or any old Thursday. Even if we both have our own shit, we’ll get through it all together. Buckle up, ‘cause you're stuck with me.”

You grinned. Really, he was stuck with you, but hell, sometimes he could be just as big of a mess you were. And you appreciated his mess. You loved him, all of him: his charm, his anxieties, you even loved when he was being a gentle sap like he was right now.

“Hitoshi?”

“Hm?”

You smacked him in the head with a pillow.

“You, monster!” He jabbed you in the rib.

You laughed and wrapped your arms and legs around him, showing off your greatest koala impression, the one he made fun of you for but secretly loved. Shinsou dragged the pillow off of his face and revealed a soft grin. Ahhh he was so stupid!

“I love you, too,” you said into his armpit.

“You better.” Shinsou sunk down deeper into the bed with you, letting out a long yawn before pulling the covers better over the both of you.

“‘Cause I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

@unboundbnha

#bnha x reader #bnha #bnha imagine #bnha reader insert #reader insert #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou

[pervasivethrenody]

The Post We Didn’t Needed And Didn’t Deserved (Why God Why).

Ookay, I guess I wasn’t done with yesterday’s thing.  I had to question myself.

It has been a LONG time since I have watched this series from start to finish.  Am I remembering that Rodney actually did tell Carter circa season 4 that he hallucinated her and her fabulous ----?  Or am I mixing up canon with somebody’s fanfic?  You’d be surprised how often that happens.  Or maybe you wouldn’t.  Probably you wouldn’t.

BUT!  I did remember at the end of Grace Under Pressure, when he’s being rescued--do I have--yes!  I do have this one!

(These crappy old CDs are actually coming in handy.  I’m glad I saved them. Look at them, all low-tech and old-timey.  Like, three episodes fit on there, if I was lucky. Twenty-two-year-old me pirated and burned them in such earnest.  She’s a time-traveler from the past, here just to give a big ol’ middle finger to Disney-owned Hulu.  I’m...I love them now.  I’ll never abandon you, brave little CDs that almost could.)

ANYWAY...

“I need to decompress first.  Carter told me to increase the pressure.”

“Carter?”

“I did.  I did.  I told myself.”

(Look!  Marginally less shitty screencaps.  I can has learning.)

Then he says goodbye to whale friend.  Sam doesn’t get to eat him today.

Heh.

I’m twelve. 

No, twenty-two.  Twelve-year-old me was NEVER this corrupted.

So, assuming there was no further discussion about hallucinations...this is what John knows:

Whale leads them to Rodney.

Rodney’s dragged from the Jumper with a head wound and probably hypothermia.

(What’s that, you say?  You want to read a really damn good fic about warming up that hypothermia?  Glad I could help!)

Rodney mumbles something about Carter telling him what to do.  Corrects himself.

Rodney, here, announces he’s named his whale friend after Sam.  Has to be reminded other people helped save him too.

Rodney has a massive goddamn ---- for Carter.  John knows this.  The entire galaxy knows this.  I’d call it irrational, but...the man’s got good taste.

MOVING ON.

It’s entirely, adorably possible John pieced together all this information and came to the correct conclusion, or one very, very close to it, in the short time it took to make this face:

As hard as the doofuses in charge tried to walk back the Mensa thing later on (no, really, they did), they don’t fool me.  For fuck’s sake. 

I mean.

I mean.

He’s doing sciencey, engineery things.  This is like possibly the most enthusiastic he’s been, ever.  Why doesn’t he do them more often?

Simple answer:  The city would combust.

shivers

Look.  Just because I’m asexual doesn’t--

Just--just--

Smart people doing competent things.  Okay?

Okay.

Hey, look, now he’s threatening to order Radek to go on the rescue mission.

And by “threatening to order,” we mean “actually threatening.”

No, we really, really do.

Yeah.  He gets it.

“Allow my facial expression to make perfectly clear that I am agreeing to go because I do not want to die painfully by the hands of this very dangerous and foolhardy man.  Look at him.  Literally he will tear open my neck.  While smiling.  Do prdele.”

Bonus:

“You claim to be a creation of my mind, and yet you are in no way dressed provocatively!”

...

This look never not gets to me.

Ever.

I just can’t English it.

BACK to the whales, for my closing argument.

Uh.

I don’t really have one.

But here!

There’s a GIF of this floating around somewhere, but the blur of motion in these stills is too cute.  Take that, new-timey motion-capture nonsense!  Take that, Sam Carter!  John is hotter than you are.  Figuratively.  Hypothetically.  To people who aren’t me.  No offense and stuff.

Also, he’s made of Rodney-magnets:

McShep in motion.

Boys.

All of my everything is complete.

I must go.  My people need me.

#sga #McShep #Whales #It's Late Again Oh God Why

[mininky]

Nefarious Intentions

Summary: Life sometimes sucks. You’ve been stuck in that strange world that is adulting, questioning everything about life as you’ve gradually grown harder and harder to everything until one bland date brings you to a small record store and you meet him. Min Yoongi. In his very words, ‘not a good guy’ but he’s just too tempting to ignore. And safe, careful, planner you finds yourself wrapped up in the storm that is Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

Genre: Smut, possibly the longest sex scene I have ever written, with bits of introspective romance?? I guess?

Word Count: 15.2K

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (F giving and receiving), spanking, a hell of a lot of dirty talk, and as always from me, plenty of swearing.

A/N: This isn’t complete. You’ve been warned. It doesn’t leave off on like...a cliffhanger or anything, but I’ve had this bad boy sitting around for ages and I’m just too busy to finish any of my projects at the moment but a lovely friend of mine reminded me about this particular bad boy Yoongi fic and I felt that I owed all of y’all who’s stuck around my very long bouts of radio silence a holiday present. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

   You can still clearly remember the first time you fell in love. It wasn't anything amazing or special, it wasn't some wonderful whirlwind romance always portrayed in stories and movies. But you can remember the butterflies, the way your skin warmed uncomfortably any time you held hands, the way your breathing grew uneven just from the smallest of hugs or stolen glances. Soft kisses when others weren't looking would send your head into the clouds. You can also remember the heartache, the way it felt as though everything had come crashing down when he moved on and you were stuck trying to pick up the pieces of your life. But you would eventually, and if there's anything that you've learned as you've gotten older it's that love changes entirely. Not just with each partner but also with wisdom. Where you once could talk about the innocence of love now it was sex, marriage, children, careers, half-assed dates, trying to decide if you could see yourself living with that person or if the relationship wasn't going anywhere after just a few months.

   Love used to just be. It just came one day, crept into your heart like a thief in the night but instead of taking anything it just took up space. Ahhh, what a way to live. Youth holds far more innocence than people realize. Growing up is a pain, the world becomes crueler and you start analyzing everything instead of just living. When did that happen? When did love become a strategic game rather than just an effervescent thing swirling around in the depths of your soul? When did you start worrying so much about keeping up with others around you?

   You weren't always all this doom and gloom. In fact, most people will say that on the outside you seem to be a very positive, kind person. A bit of a pushover. Always there to help. Some might say otherwise, that sure you're nice enough but you seem to have a wall up. Is that such a bad thing? Is it bad to want to protect yourself from the inevitable pain of having to move on? If you were to answer honestly, wholeheartedly, you probably started feeling this way a few years ago. After you watched your best friend walk down the aisle. So beautiful. So happy. And you were so fucking alone. Miserably alone. And you felt like a complete bitch for watching such a beautiful moment happen all while thinking selfishly about none other than yourself. And then everyone else moved on. They got married or moved in with their partners. They had children. Your siblings all got married. And then there's you. The forever bachelorette. The workaholic.

   If we remain on the topic of honesty, you aren't even sure you know what love is anymore. You can vaguely recall the innocence of days past. The earnestness of loving simply because you couldn't control it. But you can't describe it. How does one describe love? If you had asked the you of yester-year...fine, yester-decade...you would have said, "It just is. It's there one day and it strings you along for a wild ride and you just try your best as the shotgun driver to help steer this whole thing along." But the older, hopefully, wiser you? Well, now you see love as something more akin to a good game of chess. It's a strategy. A battlefield, a place where good plans should hopefully get you across the way but where other plans can foil you. Fucking Pat Benatar had it right, who would've guessed?

   You glance back up at your date, drawn out of your internal ramblings as the waiter passes by. This guy isn't the worst. He certainly isn't the best. On paper he's got everything going for a good future. He's a doctor, he seems nice enough, he has his own home. For fuck's sake, he even works at a free clinic one weekend a month just to help people. And he's obnoxiously handsome. It's your third date with him. But why is it that you just don't feel a spark with him? Maybe you should sleep with him, see how that pans out. That's one thought. On the other hand whenever a waiter passes by you desperately want to grab the check and run back to your sanctum away from this boring hell.

   "(Y/N?)" You blink back up at Shownu, giving a small awkward smile.

   "Sorry, I guess I didn't get enough sleep last night. I'm a little tired."

   He nods kindly, grabbing a passing waiter and paying the check before he resumes speaking with you. "It's okay, you just looked a little bored. I'm sorry I'm sure that cardiovascular disease is probably a boring topic to most."

   "Oh no, it's fascinating." Lies. It felt like he was trying to read to you from a textbook. "I'm just a bit out of it. I have a new client who's been more than a bit difficult and I've had to work almost around the clock to try to figure out what'll make them happy."

   "What do you do again?" Looks like you aren't the only one snoozing off when the other person's speaking. That's not a good sign.

   "I'm a graphic designer. This client, in particular, is a local coffee shop, they're rebranding themselves but apparently, the two owners are having a hard time agreeing with what direction they want to go in. I'll get a green light from one and a red light from the other and it's been almost a week of this now." You ruffle your hair aggravatedly before stopping. "Sorry, I didn't mean to talk so much about work, I'm sure it's boring."

   "A bit." My god dick, take a hint. You were trying to be polite earlier and here he is just openly calling your work boring. "But that's okay. You've got a lot on your plate. You drove here right?"

   "Yup, I guess I'll talk to you later." Another lie. You have no intention of contacting him again. Even if he is hot and a doctor. Your friends would call you crazy to not be interested in him. But is it so wild to want to enjoy your time with the other partner? When did the world become about saving face and looking good? Was it always this way and you were just ignorant? No. Naive would be a better word for you. You needed to grow thicker skin.

   Shownu doesn't even walk you to your car, not that you're bothered by it. You wanted to escape just as much as he did. Looks like you'll have to keep looking. Or maybe you should give up. Be a spinster. Widdle your days away in your work and be the fun aunt who comes around to steal stop signs and do dumb shit with your nieces and nephews. Yeah, that sounds a lot more like you than some boring marriage. Maybe. Or maybe you're just giving up. You can't tell. Maybe it's just the last glass of wine you had talking.

   You look around before getting in your car, your eyes spotting a small record store across the street. You've lived in the city for ten years, yet you've never seen this tiny little gem before. It's tucked away, a small poorly lit sign simply saying 'records.' It looks so unusual here, in the posher side of town. But ten years ago this place hadn't been gentrified. It's like this one little building is holding out, refusing to conform. Unwilling to yield with the times, refusing to be aesthetically pleasing for some woman who owns a teacup poodle and drinks overpriced syrupy coffee who needs perfectly paved roads and has to speak to the manager. And before you can understand what you're doing you're jaywalking your ass right over to it.

   It's cramped, wall to wall, row after row it's filled with vinyls of all colors. There's a few teenagers looking around, clearly affluent based off of their clothing but rebelling. At least that's what you're assuming based off of the designer clothing mixed with cheap hair dye and piercings. Ah, you remember those days. Except your clothes were hand-me-downs and goodwill finds. Maybe vinyls are cool again. You can remember thinking you were hot shit to finally get a walkman at a garage sale. CD's were already mainstream then but they weren't cheap. The kids at school didn't have pity on you for that. Not that it mattered to you, it felt like you finally had the whole world of music available to you whenever you wanted.

   It feels nostalgic to go through the records. You can remember the way your oldest brother would begrudgingly take you with while he flirted with girls in a different record store. It was the spot, where only the raddest kids hung out. And now here you are almost three decades later in another record store late at night with just a bored employee and two rich kids who think they're hot shit for being in on something that others aren't. Ah, youth.

   One record, in particular, pulls at you. You stop for a moment, thumbing it before gently picking it up. Christ, does wine give you all the yearning for nostalgia or are you just getting old? You'll go with the wine, it's a much more comforting thought than confronting your age right now. You want to hang this up. Remind yourself of who you were. Who you are. You've been losing sight. Maybe. It's hard to tell, life moves too fast the older you get. Or maybe it's that pesky malbec. The fact that you only had two glasses isn't important. You need a scapegoat for tonight. A way to ease this growing uncomfortable feeling in your chest. Like the world is falling apart and moving on and you're stuck somewhere. You aren't sure where. But you do know that you need this. So you march up to the register, the two brats in the shop trailing behind shortly after.

   The boy, no that's definitely a fully grown man, lazily gazes up at you before taking the record and scanning it. You'd call him cute, but his eyes look a bit too hardened for that word. He looks like he's seen some shit and doesn't hide it from the world. Like he's ready for a fight at all times and probably sleeps with one eye open just in case. He'd be the type to survive a zombie apocalypse. "I didn't realize we even had any Atmosphere records. Wow, that takes me back."

   "Ant really was ahead of his time. I mean, don't get me wrong, Slug is a great rapper, but the real key to their music was how Ant produced everything. Their new records are great too, but this one? This one's just a real gem."

   "Hmmm, look at you, corporate hotshot getting her panties in a twist over some nineties backpack rappers." His words drawl lazily, a sardonic smile curling up and showing the gums of his teeth as he places the record in a bag. "The world is full of surprises." You aren't even sure what to say as he hands the bag over to you, standing there with your mouth agape before he nods his head. "You gonna move lady? I've got other people waiting." The teens behind you snicker, and you harden your eyes for just a moment before grabbing the bag and marching out. What a dick. A total dick. Tonight's not your night. Christ, what were you even doing there? You don't even have a record player.

   You don't realize it until you get home twenty minutes later, still fuming as you pull the record out, that he's left behind his phone number on the receipt. "Call me when you're bored, Ms. Corporate." When did the fucker even get the time to do this? The little shit's fast. He didn't even give you his name. Why does that bother you so much? He was a dick. You shouldn't want to know his name. You go to rip up the receipt but for some reason you find yourself tacking it up on the fridge. Maybe you'll save it for a lonely, no scratch that, angry night. Reem his ass out for fun and then you'll tear it up. Yeah sure, that's why you're keeping it.

---------------------------------

   A week's gone by and you still haven't taken down that stupid receipt from your fridge. You haven't gone back to the shop either. You've been too busy, surviving off of ramen and egg sandwiches while working painfully long hours until you want to tear your hair out. You finally reach some semblance of agreement between the two owners, and you've finally finished working on their project. You got it done faster than anticipated, you just wanted them out of your life. But now you have only small projects in the meanwhile. And that's dangerous. Because free time keeps allowing your brain to wander back to him. If you're Ms. Corporate then he's Mr. Dick. You kind of wonder what his dick looks like, if it's big enough to back up his ego or not. You'd rather die than admit that. Shit, what are you thinking? If you've got time to fuck around then you've got time to pick up some more clients.

---------------------

   You aren't sure how you wound back up here, but suddenly you're back in the same vinyl shop with Mr. Dick behind the counter again. You refuse to acknowledge the inner glee at seeing his face again. You barely even look in his direction, instead, you start rifling through the records before picking out a few more. Once you start digging through you find your brain focusing more on the artwork, on the way how everything comes together, nostalgia blossoming as you thumb through familiar covers. Radiohead, The Roots, Sade, Maxwell. Lord, you can remember your first boyfriend putting Maxwell on while making out with you in the car. You called him an old man, said it was probably what your parents put on to have sex. He was dejected, you thought it was funny but sweet. He didn't see it that way. So it goes.

   You quietly walk up to the counter, a soft smile playing on your face as you carefully place everything before the look on your face is wiped back to a careful blank slate when you see Mr. Dick cocking a half-grin at you. He looks like the type of guy that high school girls used to cream themselves over, they probably still do. The kind that always has a cigarette in hand, definitely used to be a skater, probably has a secret love child on the other side of the country, maybe did some minor time for a couple of DUIs. You almost want to laugh at the way you're trying so hard to picture his life. The poor dude's probably just totally normal, or maybe you hit the nail on the head. What does it matter, he's just some random dick.

   "Ms. Corporate, you're back I see."

   "I am."

   "Always a pleasure to see a pretty gal in here, but especially when it's you." You roll your eyes and he grins at this, you hate the way how your defenses almost momentarily break at just how cute he is when he smiles, really smiles. Here you were trying to figure out if he's done time or not and suddenly you're wanting to pinch his cheek. Christ, you need to get out more. And you don't mean back here either. "I'm a little sad though, you never did give me a call."

   "I never got bored. Besides, what was I even supposed to do? Call you up and go, hey the dick behind the counter at the record store, I'm bored?" He laughs at this, a full belly laugh before he cocks his head to the side.

   "You're an interesting one Ms. Corporate. Here I was trying to figure you out, and you've thrown me for another loop. I wasn't lying though, I was disappointed that I didn't hear from you."

   Your eyes narrow for a moment, trying hard to fight the heat that so desperately wants to rise to your cheeks. "Like I said, I wasn't bored. And I'm not interested in speaking to random nameless douchebags."

   He nods his head, sliding your credit card and humming for a moment before the machine chirps and he hands over your bag and receipt. Before you can turn around he's speaking again, "Yoongi. Min Yoongi." You stare at him for a moment before he continues, "Now I'm not a nameless douche."

   "A named douche doesn't fair any better in my books. I suppose I should've said that first."

   "Fair enough, but at least I don't buy old man sex music in the middle of the night." You can't help but laugh at that, Maxwell really is old man sex music so you can't blame him. In fact, some twisted part of you is elated that he thinks so too. Not that you'd admit that to even yourself.

   "Have a good night, Min Yoongi." He looks startled for a second, he's almost transfixed on the way you laugh. You can't feel his eyes trailing you as you walk out the door, you're far too focused on trying to calm the strangely warm fuzzy feeling trying to take over you to notice.

-------------------------

   Life is strange, no matter what age you are things will pop up that you can't explain how exactly it's happened, or why it's happened. The trick to being an adult is looking like you know what the fuck is going on, but the honest truth is no one does. Maybe they think they do, maybe they really do more often than not, but no one does one hundred percent of the time. That's the honest truth. The entirety of humanity is a mass of dumbasses pretending to look like they know what's going on. You are indeed one of those dumbasses, another fish in a large school trying not to be eaten but having no clue what lays beyond the school of fish ninety percent of the time. Your predator goes by the name of Min Yoongi. Perhaps he doesn't even see himself as a predator nor you as prey, but that's exactly how you see it. It's been over a month since you last stepped foot in his workplace. There should be no need to go. You now have five vinyls and still no record player. Most would call them poor financial choices and an odd way to splurge. You've thought about it more than you can count though, going back to see him that is. That stupid fucking receipt is still hanging up on your fridge, and it's taken everything in your willpower to not call him randomly.

   Min Yoongi. You wonder, far too often for your own good, who he is. What he likes, dislikes. What makes him tick. What gets him off. You blame him. It's the way he looks at you. Cold eyes, analyzing you to your very soul. Sneering at you one second, taunting you smugly, before switching to the sweetest smile you've ever seen. You've only seen him twice, no longer than a few minutes at a time. You don't know if you can even say that you've ever had a real conversation with him. He doesn't even know your name. And yet he runs through your thoughts on repeat. You would love to be able to settle on a normal human. A good guy, someone like Shownu. Safe, stable, traditionally handsome, a great career. But your stupid fucking brain feels nothing around a guy like him and then suddenly it sparks and rewires itself around a douche named Min Yoongi who you actually wondered if he did time or not. Life is strange. So it goes.

   It's thoughts like these that are your downfall. Late at night, all alone in bed. Pondering what he's doing, who he's doing. You're sure a deadbeat like him has a slew of girls at his beck and call. He certainly acts like it. But that shouldn't matter to you. After a month of wondering, going back and forth, staring longingly at the fridge, you're picking up your phone and slowly entering in the numbers. One digit takes you nearly thirty seconds, the last time it took you this long to call someone was when you were staying at your grandmother's house using her outdated rotary phone as a child. And here you are, a grown woman, terrified over some dick who works at a record store. Life is strange, you can't help but think as you delete the numbers and enter them back in. Should you, shouldn't you? What's to gain? What's to lose? Life is about strategy, isn't it? Does he offer you anything? Perhaps temporary release is all you need. But can he actually offer that? Maybe. Hopefully. Maybe not. Who knows. It's a risk. Not a calculated one either. In fact, odds are heavily stacked against him. And the adult in you says to not bother. That's what vibrators are for, if all you're looking for is a release. But there's another voice, something longing for this. There's something about him that plays on repeat in your head. Something that stirs up oddly sentimental feelings in you when you think of him. Which is strange, you don't know him. So how can sentimentality be tied to someone you just met? Maybe it's just part of his trade for soon to be old spinsters like you, you guess.

   You take another deep breath, staring at the screen as you sink down to the floor of the kitchen and finally hit the dial button. Shit. Fuck. What are you doing? This isn't like you. You haven't thought out every exit strategy yet. Christ. Oh god. "Hello?" His voice is deeper over the phone. You won't explain how that makes you feel, it's a bit embarrassing honestly.

   "Yoongi?"

   "Ms. Corporate?"

  "...Yes..." That's right, you never told him his name. There's garbled background noise for a minute, you hear him telling someone to shut the fuck up before it's eerily silent for a moment and then you hear a breathy chuckle. And oh god, you are so so so fucking screwed.

   "Holy shit. I didn't think you'd actually call. Just when I thought you forgot all about me you actually call."

   "I was bored." You bite back a smile, head resting on your fridge as you stare up at the ceiling. Jesus, you should dust more often, is that a spiderweb?

   He gives a sing-song laugh, and that strange tipsy feeling in your gut bubbles back up again. You feel oddly nervous, kind of giddy. When's the last time you felt this way? You don't know if you ever did. "Holy Christ. I'm sorry, give me a moment, this just...makes me weirdly happy. Fuck. Shit. -I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO HOME. Sorry, not you Ms. Corporate. Just uh, a friend. He's a dipshit. A bit drunk. Having girlfriend troubles I guess. Dunno why he came to me. I uh...I dunno why I'm telling you this either. Christ. Are you still there?"

   "I'm here." You don't know what to say. Fuck. Why did you call?? It's been nearly thirty seconds and you've already lost all confidence in saying anything. This is why you need a plan, a strategy. When you don't know how to proceed the only option is to deflect. So deflect you shall. "How did you know it was me?"

   "I've answered nearly every unknown number asking if it was you for about six weeks now if I was very honest. Not that you needed to know that." You swear you can hear him give an awkward chuckle. How unexpected. Perhaps staying behind the counter gives him an odd confidence boost. Or maybe he's been drinking just like his friend and is being a bit too honest. You're not sure why, but that doesn't feel like such a bad thing to you. The lack of snark is as startling as it is endearing.

   "Well, I've kept your stupid receipt pinned to my fridge for the last six weeks. Not that you need to know that." You smile at the way he laughs this time, mentally visualizing his gummy smile. Maybe you should have face timed him. But then he'd see you looking like a full damn mess in the middle of the night. You'll just have to imagine what he looks like.

   "You're really cute Ms. Corporate. Really obnoxiously cute for someone who has the strangest taste in music. I mean you went from Atmosphere to Radiohead to Maxwell. I'm sure it branches out even further than that and hopefully to a few other decades. I'm curious."

   "About what? My music tastes?"

   "Well yeah. And a lot of other things about you. Like I said, I've been trying to figure you out. You run around in my thoughts all day lately. That's not fair Ms. Corporate. Not fair at all. At least you can think of me as the douche with the name. But all I've got is Ms. Corporate with weird music tastes."

   "Hmm...."

   "What do you mean hmmm? Isn't this your cue to, oh I don't know, tell me your name?"

    "It's fun this way. Safe. Now I don't have to worry about you looking me up and finding my place and chopping me up into pieces."

   "Pretty sure I would've done that beforehand if that were the case, you know, cover my tracks and not leave my number behind or anything. Come on Ms. Corporate, you're killing me. I want to know if your name is as pretty as your face."

   You give it a moment, relishing silently in the exasperated sighs you hear over the phone, his feet shuffling loudly against pavement before finally, you speak up. "(Y/N). My name's (y/n)."

   "(Y/N)." The way he says your name slowly has tingles running up your spine, your cheeks heating up at the way it almost feels like he's savoring your name. Christ, what is it about this cheeky devil? One second he's captain douche and the next second he's adorable and then suddenly he has your toes curling just from the way he says your name. He has 'bad idea' written all over him in big bold letters and yet here you are, sitting on your kitchen floor grinning like a fool. When's the last time you smiled this much? Shit, that's a depressing thought, let's not think about that. "That's a pretty name. It fits you."

   "You sure do seem to be all compliments tonight. I'm wondering when sir asswipe will come out."

   "I save him for the store. Customer service will do that to you." That's...fair enough. But still. And why does that make you laugh? Why is it that everything just seems so easy with him? "(Y/N)." He pauses for a moment, you hear a lighter clicking in the background before he takes a drag. Well, it looks like you got one thing right, he's a smoker. Ashtray tongue, not that great. You bet he makes it look hot though. "I wanna see you."

   You don't respond, breathing halting for a moment before you hum. You want to see him too, that's the honest truth. You want to get to know him, explore him. Open him up and examine his thoughts, lay in bed and talk for hours, maybe throw on that Maxwell record and see what happens. Wait...what the fuck are you thinking? You can't help but burst out laughing, stopping when you realized that you probably sound absolutely insane and rude. Insanely rude. "Wait, no I wasn't laughing that you want to see me, it's just...I don't know why but that stupid Maxwell album popped into my head." You pause, terrified that he'll be angry or upset or realize that you're a bumbling idiot but instead, he gives a sing-song laugh. God, you want to see his face too.

   "Okay, real talk though, why did you buy old man porn music?"

   "I felt like I had to, I don't know, buy it to repent for my sins?" He's wheezing now, his laughter becoming infectious until you find yourself cracking up with him. Why is it so easy to talk to him?

   "What in the fuck does that even mean?"

   "I feel like at this point, it's better without explaining. But I will anyway. When I was in high school I was dating this dude who broke up with me because I made fun of him for putting on a Maxwell tape when we made out in his car. I told him it was old man sex music, and when you said it when I was checking out it confirmed that while I was right, I owed poor Maxwell my money I guess. I don't know. I'm not making any sense am I?"

   "Kind of? Not really? I get the feeling that I'll always still be wondering a bit with you though. Not that that's a bad thing. You're weird (Y/N), but good weird. I certainly didn't expect this from a corporate hotshot."

   "Why do you keep calling me that?"

   "Well, you look like you work in an office. You don't?"

   "Nope. I own my own business, I'm a graphic designer. But I was on a date the first time I popped in, oh and the second time I popped in I had just finalized some things with a client in person."

   "You...you wore a business suit on a...date? I don't mean to be rude but um...how old exactly are you (Y/N)? Like what era did you come from?"

   "Ah, Monsuire Jerkwad appears again. I'm 30 for your information. Which is an old biddy in my mother's eyes."

   "Whaaaat? I mean I figured from your music choices you were about my age, but wow. Look at that, I'm just one year older than you. I guess that makes me whatever the fuck the male version of an old biddy is. Say though, (Y/N), why for fuck's sake would you wear a business suit on a date? You didn't answer that earlier." Huh. So he's just a year older than you. You thought that he was younger actually. Man, asian really don't raisin. You briefly wonder what his skincare routine is. Or maybe he's one of those bastards that just uses Irish spring soap for everything and still magically looks great with no idea that there's a difference between moisturizer and lotion.

   "Ah...well, I went on the date after meeting with a client. But I mean, it was like a hot librarian suit right?" You can tell by the laughter that you were way off the mark. "Yeah...okay so it was just a normal suit. But whatever, I didn't feel a need to get dressed up for him."

   "What, is the guy a slob or something?"

   "Nah, in fact, it couldn't be further from that. But I dunno I just didn't really jive with him."

   "But you went on a date with him anyway?"

   "I told you Yoongi, I'm an old biddy. I'm drying up over here. Eggs ticking or whatever. At least according to every single family member, even the extended ones I rarely talk to."

   "Being a chick must be rough, I feel like they nag you guys extra hard. But I get it, my folks are always pestering me to get married. Settle down, find a career, have kids. Shit, at this point they don't even care what order it happens. If I came home with some random baby I think they wouldn't even be angry they'd just be like 'finally, little Mins.' It doesn't help that my brother and his wife don't want to try for kids for another couple of years so suddenly all the pressure's on me."  

   "God, I felt that in my soul. Why can't they just let us breathe? It's like my life revolves around finding someone to make my parents happy all of a sudden. I don't even know when that happened. Or how, or why. But it's like, I've gotta keep up with everyone else you know? I feel like somewhere along the line I got left behind."

   "Did you though?" He takes a long drag, and you swear you can practically smell the cigarette through the phone. You bet he's a clove kind of guy, he's too weird to go for menthols. "I mean, did you really get left behind? Life happens for everyone at different times. What's so wrong about that? Trust me, I get the pressure and the nagging and the bullshit. But at the end of the day, this is your life. Live it without regrets. Why settle just because other people tell you that you should? That seems boring as fucking hell."

   Life really is strange. Who would have guessed that some random dick in a random record store you'd never been to before a shitty date would suddenly be the one lifting the burden off your shoulder as if it had never been there? Everyone else was always telling you that it would happen, that the right guy would come along and soon enough you'd be married and having kids and all would be grand. But the honest truth is...that's not what you want. You don't even know if you want kids. And marriage? Man, that just seems like something you don't need in your life right now. When did you get so wrapped up in feeling like you'd been left in the dust that you felt you had to do the exact same things to keep up?

   Somewhere, in the core of your very being, you probably knew right then and there that you were getting into way too deep of territory for someone you had just met. But you had dropped your guard, refused to acknowledge any warning signs. How could you when someone finally was telling you that it was okay to just live? He told you the words that you needed the most without even knowing it. You can feel tears threating to rise but you gulp everything down and instead just give a quiet thanks. You just hear the drag of his cigarette again before he responds with an equally quiet no problem. It feels like the world could stop, right there and then. As if it was just the two of you, frozen in your own separate corners of earth while quietly listening to the static from the phone and all would be well. It felt safe. Dangerously safe.

   "Fuck, I need to charge my phone it's about to-" With that, the call drops and you stare at your phone for a moment. Maybe it was for the best that his phone died, who knows what you would have said to him if you stayed on the phone any longer. You just practically spilled your guts to a virtual stranger from your kitchen floor at one in the morning. And yet, for the first time in a long time, all you can do is stare happily at your phone before finally forcing yourself into bed.

   The next morning you may or may not have squealed like a complete buffoon upon reading the text you missed from him after falling asleep. "Sorry bout that. Next time tho, I wanna see you in person. That way there's no worries about my phone dying." Shit. It's too early for this kind of attack. You'll blame being half-awake for why you responded with just a simple "K." You only have your own neuroticism to blame for your internal freakouts that constantly reoccur over the next few days when you don't hear anything back. Maybe you were a bit too dry. Okay...you most certainly were too dry. Christ, if there's ever been a dead fish version of a text, that would be it. Maybe you should have expected to fumble this badly. Maybe it's a good thing. He didn't seem like the type to really be interested in anything other than playing around. Not that you were expecting anything. Right? Okay...well maybe you did kind of really want to make out with him. Which is strange, because honestly, you can't remember the last time you even thought of wanting to make out with someone. University years maybe? But now's not the time to be thinking about that! Nows the perfect time to throw yourself into work, it's the best scapegoat for avoiding emotions you'd rather not explore.

----------------

   "Wow, your boredom intervals are quickly decreasing. Do you not have a lot of work right now or?" Jesus what in the fuck are you even thinking, dragging your ass in this stupid fucking store in the middle of the night for a third time. And you still don't have a goddamn record player. God, you pray he never finds that out. He'd probably never stop making fun of you.

   You can't help but shoot a glare in his direction, but your nerves falter the moment you see the shit-eating grin on his face. You swear you can feel your breath hitch in the back of your throat and trap itself. It's suffocating. Blinding. It's not fair. He's so handsome. Dark disheveled hair partially obscuring his coffee-colored eyes, gummy grin, obnoxiously white teeth for a smoker, milky pale skin that's always at stark odds with his typical black t-shirt, veiny hands. This isn't good. This isn't fair. You really want to kiss him.

   "What, cat got your tongue or something Ms. Corporate?" He's leaning across the counter, head cocked as he openly ogles you. It's not fair. You've been a wreck for the last few days, waiting around for some sort of a response and this fucking shrimp is acting like you never spoke. Like nothing changed. Like he didn't tell you he wanted to see you in person. It's probably just your own stupidity or neuroticism peaking through, but when he called you Ms. Corporate it felt like that perfect paradise on the phone was all a mirage. As if it never happened. It's infuriating how he can act so calm. Before you can continue overthinking and turning around in circles you march up to the counter and grip his shirt in your hand, pulling him in for a kiss that he reciprocates unusually quickly. You can feel his tongue slide across your lower lip, asking for entrance when the sound of the door chimes pull you quickly away. Damn these stupid kids buying records in the middle of the night. Don't they have a curfew?? Fucking rich kids trying to be edgy when they should be at home, in bed, not fucking interrupting this not so Hallmark moment.

   "Stop fucking calling me Ms. Corporate, you colossal idiot." You can distantly hear him sending you off with a hoarse 'goodnight.' Everything in you wants to turn around and see what kind of a face he's making. Is he just making fun of you? Is he as hot and bothered as you from a kiss? It felt like electricity ran up your spine like everything was floating for a moment, the world just goes away when you're with him and all that's there is the two of you. Fuck. You like Sargeant fuckface from the record store. And even though you have a feeling that all of this is a terrible idea you can't help but grin to yourself the entire way home. Hey, at least this time you didn't waste more money on records you can't play.

   You aren't sure if it's the place, or Yoongi, or your increasing age that your mother likes to remind you of constantly (not that you'd ever admit that) that makes you feel so nostalgic, so sentimental. But whenever you're around him it hits you hard. When did love lose innocence, when did it stop simply being about selfishly, greedily wanting to learn everything about the other person and staying by their side? When did it grow to be a chore, a thing that you did because it was another step on the ladder of life? And why is it that when you're around him all you can feel is those same simple straightforward feelings? Fuck, you want to kiss him again. His lips were so soft, and you were right, he tasted like Djarum Blacks. You wonder how he got them, you're pretty sure that there's a ban on them now. Ashy, a bit of clove lingering on his lips. Lingering on yours. God, it's almost infuriating how happy that makes you. Almost. But right now, you're too wrapped up in glee to be annoyed. You hope that somehow, someday, you'll manage to wrap him around your finger the way he has you so effortlessly wrapped over his. Not that you're complaining. If you're going to be wrapped around anyone's fingers, you're okay with it being his. Not that you've been staring at them whenever he handed you your bags or anything. Nope. That definitely wasn't the case. Maybe.

   When you get back home you try your hardest to stay busy, but your thoughts keep wandering back. Jesus, you think it would be easier to control your brain. It isn't until your phone clatters off the counter that you realize Yoongi's calling you, and for a moment you squint at the phone before hastily picking it up and answering. Shit wait, act cool. "'Sup Colonel nitwit?" Fuck, wait that wasn't cool. Christ, why are you like this? What are you, a twelve-year-old boy? You should probably seek counseling for your stupidity. Or maybe not, because when you hear that sing-song laughter reverberating through your ears it suddenly makes everything feel okay again.

   "You're something (y/n). A real piece of work. I mean you called me an idiot earlier, no wait, a colossal idiot and now I'm Colonel nitwit?" He laughs again, and once again you find yourself sliding down the fridge onto the floor, blushing as you blink up at the ceiling. Dejavu. "Ah, this is bad. I should have texted you. Hearing your voice makes me want to see you in person."

   "Foul. Out of bounds. That's not fair play. You aren't allowed to say things that cute."

   "You fouled first, who just marches up to someone and kisses them at their place of work?"

   "It's not like anyone else was there." You're glad he isn't here to see your face, you're already grinning like a fool and you have a feeling that he'd tease you mercilessly if he could see you right now.

   "Until those damn brats showed up." Ah, it makes you painfully happy that he was just as annoyed as you were. "I don't know what it is about you, but you just run around my thoughts all damn day."

   "So why didn't you ever text me back?"

   "AH! About that, I realized after I hung up that you said you were out on a date that first time and I suddenly started feeling like a homewrecker. I mean, I know you said that you didn't seem interested in him or maybe that was me just hoping I heard that I dunno everything feels kind of fuzzy now. My memories are hazy I just-"

   "It was just a date, not a boyfriend. I'm not the type to talk to others when I'm sincerely dating. Although I'm also not the type to call up guys who leave me their numbers on receipts. I guess the world is full of surprises."

   "God, this is really bad, I really wanna see your face. And you can't tell me that this isn't fair play when you basically just called me special."

   "I'm sorry, but what language were you thinking I was speaking that that's what you came up with? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't come close to saying that."

   "No no, it was totally there. In the subtext. It's all about the subtext you know. I mean you said that you aren't the type to call guys who give you their number on a receipt and yet you still called me. That makes me special."

   "Bwa-what's with that. You dork. Shit, now I wanna see your face."

   "Where are you? I'll come over to you."

   "I'm at my home. Scary. Maybe you are a serial killer and that's really your goal. You know, to chop me up in little pieces or some weird shit."

   "Wanna take the risk?"

   "Kind of."

   "Only kind of??? What's with that lukewarm response? I'm clearly not a serial killer. But I won't act like I don't have nefarious intentions." You can hear the clicking of the lighter, and you can't help but take a deep inhale at the same time as him. God, you bet he looks hot smoking. Wait no, smoking is bad. Very very bad. "Where'd your thoughts go right now, (y/n)?" It's not fair. He has you wrapped around his finger. You want to see him, you want to inhale his scent, run your fingers through his hair, taste him, touch him, fuck him. Fuck. When's the last time a guy got you this hot and bothered from merely existing? Has this ever actually happened? You aren't sure.

   "I'm curious, describe these nefarious intentions please."

   There's a pause, another drag of his cigarette. "Alright, I'll start with the less deviant things. I can't get the feeling of your lips outta my head. I want to kiss you, hold you, touch you. It's weird, I'm not normally the type for soft fluffy things. But the world is strange, as you said. You do weird things to my brain (y/n). You run around my thoughts night and day. When the door chimes at work I turn into Pavlov's dog and hope it's you." There's another long pause, for a moment all you hear is the thudding of your heart rushing into your eardrums and the soft staccato of static coming from your phone.

   "Those don't seem very nefarious to me."

   "Interesting, so you DO want to hear my deviant thoughts."

   "Well, calling your intentions nefarious is a rather interesting way of putting it. It makes it sound more sinister and less...I dunno...sexual? And then when you explained it all seemed rather, I don't know...innocent I guess."

   "That's because I don't wanna scare you off, Ms. Corporate."

   "Again with that stupid name?"

   "I wanna fuck you." Shit, you weren't expecting him to be that straightforward, especially after he seemed to be beating around the bush earlier. And why are you now a mix of happy and horny? That's a new mix for you. "I want to see what kind of faces you make when you cum. I want to taste you. I want to see you under me, on top of me, I want to hear you beg, I want to hear you scream my name. I want to ruin you until all you can think of is me. Until all that satisfies you is me, because right now all I can think of is you. All I want is you. And it doesn't feel fair to not see you in that same boat. So what do you say, (y/n)? Do you still want to see me tonight?"

   You want to tell him that you're also in the same boat, that really the two of you have been going in circles with the same thoughts for probably just as long. Both of you are so greedy, wanting and thinking of nothing but ruining the other. But ruin seems an unfair word, it seems to scratch only the surface. The honest truth is that you just wholeheartedly want the other person, you want them under your thumb to declare them yours. Maybe. It's strange. You were always the kind of girl to take things slow. You never did one night stands, you never had fuck buddies or booty calls or anything even close to resembling that. Sex was always something that came far later in a relationship. But this? You aren't even sure what it is. You can't exactly say he's a friend, you don't really know him. You can't say that you aren't on the way to becoming lovers, but then again he might be thinking of things from a strictly physical standpoint. You aren't sure. Maybe you should ask. Someday perhaps. If you were frank though all of this excites you. Fascinates you. Terrifies you ever so slightly. But all you can think of at this moment is that it elates you to no end that he wants you just as much as you want him. How absolutely greedy. "I do. I probably shouldn't, but I do."

   "Yeah," the dark chuckle on the other line brings heat up to your face, your breath catching in your throat. He suffocates you even with the simplest of things, even with a laugh. "Yeah, you probably shouldn't. You strike me as a good girl. The type to always please others before pleasing herself. The type to not rebel. I don't know why, but I feel I should at least tell you this. I'm not a good guy, I'm not the guy you take home to your parents or the kind of dude you can gush about to all of your friends. But I am at least confident that I can give you a reprieve. It's gotta be stressful, being good all the time constantly working for others, constantly pleasing others. But who tries to please you, understand you, allows you to just be selfish every once in a while? I can be that for you. I want to be that for you. Which is really weird because I usually hate when chicks want that from me. And here I am offering myself up on a silver platter to you. Man, the guys would think I've gone crazy if I told them this. I don't even get it, but there's just something about you that makes me feel...I dunno something."

   It's strange, how little he knows you and yet he says the things you need to hear the most. When is the last time you did something simply because you wanted to before he stumbled into your life? Did you ever? Here you were hot and bothered before and now you want to cry big fat ugly happy tears. Yoongi gives you emotional whiplash with just a few words. It's not fair. "I want to see you. Tonight."

   "Okay." Another drag, another chuckle. "Okay, then send me your address."

   You fumble with the phone, texting the address over to him quickly, your heart jumping out of your throat the entire time. The anticipation has your heart soaring and nerves dropping deep into your belly, you're a mess of a multitude of emotions all at the same time.

   "Wow, would you look at that. You're only about ten minutes away from me. I'll be over soon." Before you can respond he hangs up, and you're left staring at the ceiling wondering momentarily what you've just gotten yourself into before you're scrambling off the kitchen floor and into your bedroom. Shit, shit. You don't have much time. The house is presentable, barely. Whatever. It'll have to do. You brush your teeth, comb out your hair quickly, and do a quick once over. He'll have to just deal with your bare face, but hey at least you shaved in the bath earlier. The doorbell chimes right as you throw an oversized sweater over one of your nicer lace bras you quickly changed into. You nearly knock into every door and corner on your way to the front door, slipping slightly at the entrance before taking a deep breath and opening it.

   He's painfully good looking, but his trademark blase pokerface has you ever so slightly annoyed. Here you were rushing about, a bundle of nerves and energy, and he looks remarkably indifferent to everything. As if he didn't just tell you that he has, and you quote, nefarious intentions. But that thought runs right out the door the moment he narrows his eyes on you and gives you one of his award-winning gummy grins. You're so fucked. You're such a sucker for him already. "You okay?"

   "What, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" You open the door wider, motioning him to come in before shutting the door gently behind him.

   "Because you look nervous. Relax, I'm not here to eat you. Eat you out, maybe. If that's what you want. I'm only here to give you whatever you want." He narrows his eyes on you again, his gaze sweeping over you before looking directly at you. It feels like he can see right through you, right down to your very soul. It's comforting, terrifying, it's like everything that comes with him is a euphoric blend of polar opposites leaving you to drown somewhere in the in-between. He makes you feel like you're in the eye of the storm but precariously close to being tossed into the chaos raging all around you.

   "I hate to say this, but that sounds almost too good to be true. What's in it for you?" You tilt your head, analyzing him as you lean back against the door while trying to feign nonchalance.

   "You. And oddly enough, for once that's enough for me." He shrugs at this comment, although his eyes narrow a bit as if even he can't even believe that he just admitted this.

   "What if I said I didn't want more? Or what if I said that I wanted no strings attached if there is more? Or if I said-"

   "-I want strings attached. No, I need strings attached." You can't help but blink owlishly back at him as you try to digest this information. You pegged him for a wham-bam-thank you ma'am but I'm never calling you again type of man. "Call me crazy, I mean this is totally out of my typical wheelhouse but I realized that I was jealous when you said you were on a date right before you first came into the shop. If we're going to do this I want strings attached. Call it whatever you want, but whatever this is it's just me and you babe. No one else."

   "No one else on either side?" Greedy, selfish, but fair. You're over the moon that for whatever reason he's just the same as you. At least, when it comes to this situation. God, you want him. All of him. You want to sink deeper into this, drown yourself in him, lose yourself in all that he has to offer you. That's dangerous. But you don't care, you're already too far gone. You can feel your stomach tighten, mind halting as he stalks closer to you, his breath hot on your ear as one hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

   "No one else on either side." His eyes travel down from your eyes to your lips before slowly wandering back up. God, you just want him to kiss you already.

   "Deal." Why do you feel like you might have just made a pact with the devil? And why is it that you still really don't care, as long as it means you get to finally taste him again. Fucking hell, you're pretty sure all of your sanity flies right out the window when he's involved. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, just a few centimeters away from your own. So close, so close. It's like time has stilled. As if the world has fallen away and yet again all that's left is the two of you. Falling, falling. Sinking. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Into a chasm of euphoric insanity of pleasure.

   Slowly, painfully slowly, you move your hand to his cheek the other hand winding up the firm planes of his chest. That surprises you, you thought he'd be more delicate. He certainly seems delicately built at first glance, but looks can be deceiving. His eyes never leave your own, his sights set squarely on you. Refusing to look away. Refusing to run. A deal has been made with the devil, and the devil is letting you know you aren't about to leave his crosshairs. "Kiss me, Yoongi." That signature lazy half-smile of his appears for just a fraction before his lips are on yours. He's spicy, ashy. That damn clove has your toes curling, sighing, melting into his touch. Fucking hell. You're already wet, thighs trembling, hands curling his shirt into a ball, as he licks into your mouth.

   The beat of your heart sounds painfully loud in your eardrums. Every sound is fuzzy, staticky as if you're still on the phone. Your own groans almost sound distant, his sighs sound so soft. So content. It feels like the two of you have been dunked in molasses. Time has slowed down for both of you. Moving so slowly, tenderly. Almost as if you're starstruck lovers who have just one night to cherish each other. As if you've known each other's bodies forever but have never been allowed to explore them. It feels like a fragile spell, moving too quickly might break the magic and the devil will run home with his nefarious intentions long forgotten. His hand grips tighter for a moment before wandering down, palming and massaging your ass before picking up your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He takes the small change in stature to detach from your lips, both of you watching with glossy eyes as a thing string of saliva breaks. "You're beautiful (y/n)." A hoarse whisper, kind words from a man with a crass mouth. It makes you want to be feral, it makes you want to slow down. It makes you want everything. Nothing but him. He drives you to the brink of insanity with all these diametrically opposing wants and needs.

   A long low moan tumbles out of your lips at the feeling of his tongue gliding across the prominent vein of your neck before sinking his lips down. Soft petals of pinks and red appear in his wake, a trail of cherry blossoms in spring-time painted on your skin leading up to your ear before his teeth gently press down on your lobe. Shit. That feels way too good. Toes curling, fingers wrapping into his hair and his tongue tangles skillfully around your ear until suddenly he's off, his eyes boring back into your own as your breathing tries to slow back down. "Tell me what you want, (y/n). What do you want from me?"

   If any other man would have asked you that, with such a knife-sharp gaze, you surely would have clammed up. You've never been the vocal type. But you're too far lost in his eyes to care. There's a part of you that desperately hopes your own wants will please him, that he'll sink deeper with you into this chasm of pleasure with you. "I want to suck you off."

   The admission seems to catch him off guard for a moment, there's almost an innocence to the way he blinks back at you but that's gone quickly enough that you almost imagine if you really saw it or not. Replaced by a wolfish grin, desire bubbling across his features, infecting your skin, your core. As if the madness is catching. "Well well well. Who knew little Ms. Corporate had that in her? I can't say the idea of you on your knees hasn't been in my mind before. I also can't lie and say that it isn't one of the most exquisite things I've ever thought of. But I thought I told you that this was about you? About your pleasure? Are you sure that's what you want?" Your brain processes his words slowly, you're far too focused on his growing erection pressing against your inner thigh to think clearly and quickly.

   "I told you, Yoongi. I want you. I want you to lose yourself just as much as me." That's right, you want to watch him fall into pleasure just as you have. You want this madness, this desire, this sin to grip him tightly just as it has gripped you. You're greedy that way. And right now the greatest satisfaction you could receive is seeing him out of control, and you in it. You might be on your knees for him, but he'll be under your spell.

   You unlatch your legs slowly, trembling slightly as you lace your fingers through his and pull him along to your bedroom silently. All you can hear is the hum of the A/C and the sound of your shallow breathing when you push through the bedroom door and lead him to the edge of the bed. Before you can move, his hands are quickly pulling off your sweater and tugging down your leggings until you're left in just your underwear. "I'm not about to have you finally blow me and you're still dressed." His fingers gracefully move around your back, unlatching your bra and tossing it behind you. It's feverish, the look he sends you. All you can think of is that you want more. You want to see him look at you like that all day. As if you're the only woman he wants. As if he needs you. You can't even respond, too lost in the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you whole. So instead you move forward a step, tugging his t-shirt over his head and staring for a second at his bare skin.

   He has those skinny boy abs, the kind that you always felt weren't fair because it comes naturally from stupid fast metabolisms and not hard work. But you aren't going to complain right now, not when he looks so good and he's yours. All yours. Whatever this is, he made a deal, no one else. You can be as greedy as you want because he's just the same. You sink down onto your knees, your eyes locking onto his as you unbuckle his belt and toss it off to the side. You aren't sure if it's just your hopeful imagination or if you really do hear his breath catch in his throat as you slowly unzip his jeans before letting them fall to the floor. He's a briefs kind of guy, thank god. You've always hated how boxers look on men. He takes a moment to shuffle out of his pants completely before prying off his tight black briefs, and your mouth instinctively waters at the sight.

   He's thick, veiny, and you're happy to report that he keeps everything well-groomed. Thank god, no pubes will be stuck in your teeth tonight. Heat rises up to your cheeks at the way he looks at you with carnal anticipation. Suddenly you aren't so sure about all your earlier internal bravado about being the one to make him sink deeper into pleasure with you. He's looking at you like a predator stalking his prey. As if a meal has just presented itself to him on a silver platter. But you'll change that, you want nothing more than to watch that mask fall off. You want him to break. To fall. To tremble underneath your touch the way you shake with anticipation and euphoria under his watchful gaze.

   It's with an unwavering determination that you finally grasp his dick in your hand, staring up at him as you pepper soft kisses around his tip. He's salty, tangy, drooling with precum. Delicious. Sinful. Perfect. You refuse to move your gaze off of his eyes, you want to watch him. You want to see how he falls apart. It only takes one long lick from the base to the tip to start seeing the signs, the way his Adam's apple bobs and his gaze clouds over ever so slightly. It's minute, but it's there. God, you want him. More than you've ever wanted another person. Greedily, in hopes of breaking him, you pull him into your mouth. Inch by inch, until your nose is pressed firmly against his dark patch of hair and his hand is fast to wrap around your hair and grips you tightly until a slight sting can be felt in your scalp. You didn't know you were into that, but the sensation leaves your core throbbing. Aching. Shit. You pull back up, licking around the tip with one hand jerking in slow steady motions as the other one holds his balls in your palm. Rolling them gently until you finally dive back down. There's a dull ache in your jaw already, and you have to steady your breathing to take him whole. He's just long enough to reach past your uvula and activate your gag reflex if you aren't careful. But the way his thighs flex and the guttural groans you hear are enough to have you wanting more. It's beautiful, the way he unravels. Just for you. Only you. You made a deal with the devil after all.

   "Holy fuck, you're good at this." His head is tilted back, the veins on free arm popping as it curls into a fist. You can see a thin veil of sweat covering his chest and his breathing sounds uneven, small groans and grunts breaking the rhythm. It spurs you on, moaning slightly at the way his dick pulses and throbs in your mouth. "God, (y/n). You're too fucking hot. It's not fair, shit, how someone can look that good. You look like you were made to be on your knees, fuck. God, you don't even know how much I've thought about this. I've been like a goddamn high school kid, jerking off to the thought of you every night." You finally close your eyes, concentrating harder on his words and his dick. Shit, have you ever had a guy be this vocal before? It's such a turnon. God, you want him. You want him so badly you feel like you could burst. It's not fair, how even when he starts falling apart, his composure finally going out the window, you're just a bigger mess. Both mentally and physically. You feel like you could wring a gallon out of your panties, your thighs are already drenched. You can't remember the last time you were this wet. Have you ever been this wet? Fuck, what is Yoongi doing to you?

    His thighs tremble and flex in spasms, his groans increasing and you open your eyes back up to see his sight's back on you. He looks so fucked out, hair a mess and cheeks flushed. You wish you could take a picture of this. No man should be this pretty, it almost isn't fair. You can't help but moan as his hand yanks your head further down before his grip relaxes. "Shit, shit, sorry, but I'm going to, fuck, cum. So if you don't want it-" You manage to silence him by putting his hand back on your head and slacking your jaw. A silent permission to use it as he wants. He understands your nonverbal command instantly. He gives a dark chuckle as he shakes his head. "Fuck. You really are too good to me, (y/n)." He doesn't waste time, nor is he gentle. You aren't sure if he's too far gone to think about your gag reflex or if he doesn't care, but it would be a lie to say that it doesn't turn you on. The way he uses you, the way he loses himself in thoughts of nothing but the pleasure your mouth can bring him. It isn't long before he's unraveling, groans turn into the most beautiful moans you've ever heard. Husky, deep, feral. And then you finally taste it, thick sticky white ropes of his salty, tangy cum. He stills for a moment, groaning as he softens inside of you before pulling out slowly, watching intently as he smears cum across your lips. "Be a good girl and swallow for me."

   You blink up at him, pausing for a moment before pursing your lips and swallowing everything back as his thumb swipes the remnants from your lips before forcing it inside. This time you really can hear the hitch in his breath as your tongue swirls around the pad of his thumb before swallowing back again and opening your mouth up as if to show that all is clean. There's a dark chuckle from him, but the look in his eyes doesn't reflect that sentiment. He's looking at you fondly, warmly. As if you didn't just perform one of the lewdest acts of your life for him simply because it made you melt when he called you a good girl. "Well would you look at that, you really cleaned up, didn't you?" His words give you a thought, and you reach out impulsively to follow through with it. Your lips latch onto his now softening cock, licking gently, slowly so as to not overstimulate what's now very sensitive skin as you clean off every last drop. You can feel Yoongi squirm, his hands are quick to grab your hair again and pull you up to your feet with a force that has you moaning. He's certainly stronger than he looks. "Jesus Christ, you're going to be the fucking death of me."

   Before you can even think of responding his lips are on yours. Distantly, somewhere in your sex addled thoughts, you can feel some sick sense of euphoria at the thought of him tasting his own release on your tongue. He's so different from any other man you've ever had. When had sex stopped being fun and became a chore to keep your partner satisfied? You can't remember the last time you felt this much pleasure, this much satisfaction. And you haven't even been touched yet. Shit. You're in for a wild ride with Min Yoongi. "You know, for normally being a mouthy little thing you haven't said very much." You blink up at him, confused at the loss of contact with his mouth, instinctually seeking the warmth of his skin as you curl up closer to him for a moment. Truth be told you've never been very vocal. You aren't sure what to say, where to start. But you don't want to say that and get laughed at by him, or worse yet, called a prude. But then he shoots you that look, the one that feels like he can see straight to your soul and suddenly you're talking.

   "I've never been very vocal. It's embarrassing." You look away as you speak, your cheeks heating up at your admission. You wait for the laughter, for the teasing, but instead, all you feel is his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look at him.

   "What's so embarrassing about having your partner know what you want? What you like? I want to please you, I want to watch you fall apart. I mean for christ's sake you just licked my cum off my dick without a second thought. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for you. It was the hottest goddamn thing I've ever seen. I want to make sure that you feel just as much pleasure. So tell me, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to eat you out? Finger you? Fuck you? How do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to ride me, do you want me to take you from behind, do you want me to take your ass, or fuck you raw? What exactly do you want?" His free hand ghosts over your body as he holds your face firmly in place. You can't look away, even if you wanted to. It's like he's put you under a spell. Fuck. God, you want him. More than you want anything else. If you were locked in a room with this man for an entire day you'd use every single second to explore his body, to have him explore yours.

   "I want you to eat me out." You're rewarded with a Cheshire cat grin, he looks like a villain who's just been handed the world. And suddenly your thoughts are running back to what he said on the phone. *'I'm not a good guy.'* God, why does that have you so hot and bothered all of sudden? It's like he was put on this earth just to wreck you.

   "Good girl, was that so hard?" Before you can respond he's pushing you onto the bed and prying your underwear off. "Jesus Christ, I don't think I've ever seen panties that wrecked before. Seems little Ms. Corporate enjoys being on her knees. Not that I'm complaining, I consider it an honor to see you enjoy something so filthy with me." You pull yourself up a bit on your arms to see him better, and you tighten at the sight of him prying your legs apart. He's looking at you like you're a delicacy, the finest meal that's ever been presented and he's a starving man. "Do you like that, do you like when I talk to you like this?"

   God, more than you ever thought you would. "Yeah." He chuckles, blinking up at you and shaking his head before hooking your legs over his shoulders and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

   "Another lukewarm response. Maybe I should just stop." He's teasing you, at least you're hoping he is. Because he's so close now, you can feel the warmth of his breath on your clit. But he isn't moving, he's just staying there. His eyes locked on yours as if waiting for more. Christ. He's waiting for you to respond. And you can tell by the amused look on his face that he could wait all night if need be.

   "I..." You pause, take a deep breath and close your eyes. It's too hard to say it while he's looking at you like that. "It turns me on when you tell me things like that."

   "Things like what?" Son of a motherfucker, he's really not going to let you off the hook. He's enjoying this way too much. Fucking sadistic little shit. But the annoyance has you riled up enough to be defiant, to say it.

   "I like it when you call me a good girl. I like it when you call me filthy. I like it when you praise me. I like it when you tell me what you want to do to me. It makes me feel wanted." You almost want to cry, it makes you feel so vulnerable to admit this to him. It's strange, how just moments ago you were so confident and now you suddenly feel so unsure. But when you finally open your eyes back up the look he's giving you makes everything feel alright. Like it's safe. It's safe to be honest with him. To be vulnerable. As if he'll protect you, hold you. You don't know if he actually will, but when he looks at you so tenderly, so lovingly, it's impossible to think that he won't. But it's the smile he gives you, all gums and pearly whites, that make it worth it. Christ, you're flying a million miles an hour on this emotional rollercoaster.

   "What a good girl. You are wanted, so wanted it's terrifying." Before you can even think about the meaning behind his words, the subtext in the empty spaces, his mouth is latched onto your clit. The sensation brings a jolt of electricity up your spine, your legs latching around his face as a long garbled moan drags out of your mouth. Shit, when's the last time you were touched like this?

   "Holy fuck." You can feel him smile, and the low chuckle he gives you reverberates through your body. You aren't sure what to focus on, the tantalizing image of his face buried in your wet heat or the sensation of his tongue as it moves in hungry circles around your clit. Just as you grow used to the dizzying, tingling feeling of his mouth you feel one finger slowly ease its way inside of you. It's odd, how frenzied his mouth is, but how gentle his fingers are. It's easy to sink into this feeling, to relax under his touch. God, he's good. Just as he works in a second finger you can feel yourself unraveling. "Oh my god, don't stop. Please, please don't stop." You've never cum this fast before, but the release is imminent. So close. Maybe it's because you've been so aroused for so long that even the slightest of touches turn you into a mess. You're just over the horizon, legs trembling around him and toes curling as needy whines leave your lips. His tongue moves faster, fingers scissoring into you until all you can see is blinding white. It's almost an out of body experience, everything feels too intense to process. Your body writhing under Yoongi, trying to fight his hold around your legs as your hips lift up and your moans tumble out one after another. It's blinding. Brilliant. It makes you feel whole again. As if all is right with the world when you're here underneath him. But maybe that's just your delirious post-orgasm brain talking.

   Somewhere, it almost feels like it's on another planet, you can hear Yoongi cooing, smiling as he looks down at you with your essence still smeared across his face and fingers still lodged deep inside your pussy. "What a good girl. Do you want to taste yourself?"

   You blink back up, still slightly out of sorts as you nod slowly before finally managing to say, "Yes, please." If you were more coherent you would have probably lost consciousness at the look Yoongi gives, drenched in desire. His nefarious intentions are written on his face. The epitome of deviancy. Sin incarnate. It feels so empty when his fingers pull out with a pop, and both of you watch with rapt attention as he pulls his fingers apart and watches the strings of your release break. God, you always thought he had beautiful fingers but it should be illegal for them to look that good while covered in your essence. You lean up on your forearms, opening your mouth and watching as his fingers slowly enter your mouth. You'd do this a thousand times if it meant getting to see that look on Yoongi's face, the way he watches you with complete and utter satisfaction. As if the only thing in the world he wants to see is you at your lewdest. The guttural groan that leaves his mouth sends waves of pleasure through you as his fingers leave your mouth with a pop.

   "Jesus, you really are going to be the death of me. Or that pretty little mouth of yours will be."

   "At least you'll die happy." You shrug, laughing at the glare he shoots you before giving you a gummy smile. It's odd how comfortable it is to be around him. As if everything is right with the world and the two of you aren't in the middle of outright debauchery that involves you consuming a hell of a lot of cum. It shouldn't be legal for him to give you such a warm and fuzzy smile.

   "Nah, I won't die happy until I've fucked you." He really is the king at giving you emotional whiplash. At this admission you look down to see that he's hard again, leaking precum once more. You've never thought a dick was pretty before, but his is. A dusty shade of pink, thick, twitching in the air with need. You can feel your own core pulse with need as you look at him. Fuck, you want him. More than you've ever wanted anything. Who knew you'd still be this greedy, this needy, after already achieving what was arguably the best orgasm of your life.

   "Then fuck me." The words come out of your mouth in a low timbre, each syllable dripping with want. Yoongi doesn't verbally respond for once, instead, he just repositions you, gently leaning your head against the pillow as he shuffles your thighs over his hips. You can feel the velvety soft tip of his cock tap against your clit, and the soft sensation has you sighing underneath him.

   "Are you sure that's what you really want babe?"

   "I want you to fuck me, Min Yoongi. Please, fuck me." For a moment he pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing. You swear that for a half-second he almost looks like he's contemplating everything as if he's questioning the validity of the situation before he's spitting into his palm and wetting his dick.

   "I won't be gentle. That's not in my vocabulary."

   "I don't want you to be gentle. I want you to fuck me, make me see stars." You reach out to touch his cheek, your hand wandering down his chest for a moment before gripping his dick in your own hand and guiding it to your greedy entrance. He watches for a second before taking over, snapping his hips into yours and sliding in all the way in one go. The burn is tantalizing, the stretch leaves you feeling utterly full and before you can even think of relaxing fully into it he's snapping his hips again.

   "Well Ms. Corporate, you can't say I didn't warn you. I want to see you beg, cry, scream my name. I want to see you fall apart on my cock, over and over again tonight." He emphasizes by picking up pace, his hips smacking against your skin with loud thwacks. It's disorienting, tantalizing, the way he fucks into you. Each time he's fully inside you you can almost touch the stars. You swear his dick is made of magic, the way it takes you out of your own overgrown thoughts and into the present. All you can think of is him, of the pleasure he brings you. It's like your nerves are on fire, it's almost pathetic how quickly you melt underneath him. Teeth clacking, his name spilling out in a broken mantra of whines and moans. Thank god he said he wanted strings attached because all you can think of is that once won't be enough with him. Shit, you're pretty sure you could fuck him every day and you'd still want more. So greedy, so needy. Just for him. Only for him. The devil has you in his crosshairs, but you don't want to leave. "Look at you, already falling apart." Such crass praise. You can feel yourself pulse around him at his words, and the moan that leaves him has your back arching. You wish you could turn his moans into a song, you'd play it on repeat. Such a beautifully filthy sound.

   You can feel another release looming over you when he picks your hips up and fucks into you harder. Christ, how does he have the stamina for this? Not that you're complaining. "Yoongi I'm going to, fuuuuck, right there, keep going, right, fuck!" Somehow he seems to understand your garbled incoherent rambling, because he grins down as he fucks into you harder, pulling you into a heated kiss that you try hard to reciprocate in between broken moans. It's electric. It burns you up from the inside out. It raises goosebumps across your flesh and has your eyes rolling the back of your head as you writhe around him. If Yoongi wanted to ruin you then he's already won. You're positive that sex will never feel this good with anyone else. He slows down for just a moment, fucking into you shallowly as you try to get your breathing back to normal. It's hard to do anything though, you feel like you're floating on a cloud. As if your consciousness is only barely connected to your physical body.

   "You still with me, babe?" You can't even look up at him, it takes a painful amount of effort to just nod. You can hear his own groans and grunts better with your eyes closed. What a sinful symphony, skin against skin, mewls of pleasure from two lovers, or at the very least strings attached deal makers, lost in the throes of passion. He twists you underneath him until you're on all fours, shakey legs barely keeping you up and arms failing as your face plants into the pillow and your ass hangs in the air. He gives one test swat to your ass, and your scream of satisfaction and clenching pussy must be the answer to his unsaid question because his hand comes down harder this time. Surely leaving a pink park in its wake, and before you can process a third loud smack rings through the air. Jesus christ mother mary, you could drown a man right now with how wet he has you. Before you can even say anything he's fucking into you again, taking you from behind as his hands twist into your hair and pull you up until your back is flush to his chest. The sting in your scalp has you clenching around him, you're a mewling drooling mess at this point. And you're too far gone to care, euphoria is the only thought on your mind.

   "You've been such a good girl for me. Do you think  you can cum again, do you want to cum all over my cock for me?" A stuttered yes hangs in the air for just a moment before his mouth latches onto your neck and his hand leaves your hair to tug at one taught nipple while the other dives lower until it's rubbing circles around your clit. Yoongi isn't the only one who would die happy after this, but you can't seem to get the words out. Shit, you can't seem to get any words out. It's taking everything in you to just breathe at this point. Every sensation is too much for you to handle, you're far too sensitive after your last orgasm but you're greedy. You want more. You want to please, you want nothing more than to be good for him. Especially if that means that you'll find only the greatest of pleasures in the process. This third and final orgasm has you spasming, bucking against his chest as broken cries wail out in unison with his own sweet groans of pleasure. God, you wish you weren't in this position, you wish you could keep your eyes open. You wanted to see his face when he came, but then again, there'll be a next time. Won't there? All yours after all. Greedy. You never thought you'd be this greedy.

   You can still feel him bucking into you shallowly before finally moving you back onto a pillow and pulling out carefully. You can feel exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. It takes more effort than you want to admit just to roll over and look up at Yoongi, but it's worth the exertion to see his face. His pale skin is flushed to a pretty petal pink and shining with a thin sheen of perspiration, damp hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes are glazed over in a state of numb content. Handsome doesn't really fit him, he's more pretty you would say. Beautiful really. But you won't say that. You figure most dudes wouldn't take too kindly to being called something so feminine.  So instead you just watch him quietly, drink in the sight of him as he ruffles his hair and shuffles over to your bathroom to clean up. He has a surprisingly nice ass. Christ, you really do like everything about him.

   "Do you have any baby wipes?" His voice sounds hoarse, and a part of you wants to get up and grab a cup of water for him but you're too tired to move.

   "Yeah, in the cupboard closest to the toilet I think I should have some." You hear him rummaging around before he comes out with one wipe and silently cleans you up. It feels oddly domestic, and somehow that makes you feel more awkward than when you were having sex. Christ, you've never been good at these kinds of things. But when you look at Yoongi, the way he just hums to himself as he wipes away any last remnants that have trickled onto your thighs, it's hard to not have your heart melt. He's like the human form of catnip for you, everything feels upside down and yet strangely addictive with him around. "Thanks. Are you going to spend the night?"

   He pauses for a moment, his movements halting and his eyes not meeting your own. That's okay, you're used to this. You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. "If you're okay with that, that would be nice. But I tend to sleep late, I don't want to bother you if you have to get up early."

   Well, that certainly wasn't what you were expecting. You can't help but blink up at him, words failing before manic uncontrollable giggles come tumbling out of you. You finally manage to stop long enough to wipe some stray tears out of the corner of your eyes before finally responding. "Nah, I set my own hours, we're good."

   You watched him take you in curiously, a small flicker of a smile ghosting his lips before he turned around to rummage through his jeans and grab a lighter and cigarette, about to light up before he turns around and raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

   "Go ahead, but I don't have any ashtrays so you can use a cup or something." You point to the empty water cup by your bed before slipping under the covers, watching him take a deep drag and shut his eyes. The silence would probably feel unbearable with anyone else, but for some reason, it's soothing with him. You have absolutely no clue what you've gotten yourself into with him. Strings firmly attached to whatever the fuck this is, as per his rules. And yours too. You did agree. You want to break this all down, pick it apart and analyze this entire rendezvous piece by piece to make sense of it. You've never been this type of girl before. Impulsive, brash, hedonistic, quick. That's the only way you can describe this. No you were always slow to act, but quick to think until Min Yoongi snarked his way into your heart. And yet it feels so right. Shit. What does that mean? You wish you could think about this more, but the moment you feel his long fingers brushing your hair soothingly you're lulled into sleep.

   That night you dream of his lips on yours, sweaty skin sticking to sheets and the orchestral sound of his groans mixing with slick skin hitting skin. Christ, you're so screwed. Having sex with him isn't enough, not even in your dreams. You aren't sure why he's so all-consuming, but one thing is for certain: he isn't the only one with nefarious intentions.

#yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #suga smut #suga fanfic #suga fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts reader insert

[cblikeslainey]

The Distance

Read on AO3

“Oh!” CB leaned forward with excitement. No one knew how he could move so abruptly and not spill coffee on his beloved ties. “Lainey, you should do Cake with your students! The trumpet parts are really cool and challenging!”

“Cake? Like the food?” Glasscott inquired from across the teacher’s lounge.

“No, it’s this nerdy band CB likes,” Lainey explained.

“Hey!”

“Dude, they belong to a genre that’s literally called geek rock,” Lainey said, turning her attention back on CB.

“Just listen to them. They’re awesome; you’ll love it,” CB insisted. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, I’m expecting a call from Barry later,” Lainey chewed her lip, considering. “but in the meantime I’m free.” 

God, what did she just get herself into?

“Great,” CB smiled triumphantly. “We can listen today after school. I have the CD’s.”

“How do you afford so many CD’s on a teachers salary? Those things are expensive.” 

“You buy at least twice as many as me. How do you afford it?”

Lainey didn’t seem to appreciate the question. Her eyes flicked to Glascott on the other side of the lounge, implying that her methods were less than legal.

“I may have an in at the record store,” Lainey said softly. She gave CB a look that said she did not care to elaborate.

Glasscott glanced over at them.

“Hi, John,” Lainey’s voice was aggressively friendly. “Anything we can help you with?”

“Well, this is getting weird. I’m going to class.” CB turned to leave.

Lainey picked up her mug and hurried after him. 

“I’ll walk with you.”

CB picked up a bottle of wine on his way home. He and Lainey both had a late Friday. He was after school with the poetry club; she had afterschool band practice. They’d both eaten earlier. CB thought they both deserved a treat after a long week.

So he set up the music in the CD player and poured two glasses of wine, leaving the bottle between them. He lowered the lights to give them a relaxed listening ambiance. Too romantic. He turned the lights back on. He and Lainey were just friends. She was expecting a call from Barry, her boyfriend, later. At which point she’d spend the entire remainder of the evening with Barry. Their tentative plans would be forgotten. It’s not as though she hadn’t told him that beforehand. They were just friends.

He couldn’t believe he’d beaten Lainey home. He sat  awkwardly on the couch on which he’d been crashing for the time being. 

Lainey rushed in quickly, taking off her shoes and coat. She set her trumpet case down by the door.

“Sorry it took me so long to get home. Had to coordinate rides home for my band kids. Is it set up?”

“Yeah, come sit.” CB patted the spot next to him.

Lainey walked in and sat down next to him.

“Wine, nice!” Lainey took half a sip and stood up again. “Wait, I have something that will make this even better.”

She darted off in the direction of her bedroom before CB could say another word. What could she possibly be talking about? It was too complicated and exciting to even contemplate.

A few seconds later Lainey ran down the stars. In her hands was a vintage She-Ra: Princess of Power lunchbox. She set it on the table.

“Are we finally going to have a dialogue about the She-Ra/He-Man universe?” CB voice was rising with excitement. 

“What? No.” Lainey shot him a confused glance.

“Then when?”

Lainey waved a hand at him.

“Different day.”

It wasn’t a never. One day he would get Lainey to geek out with him.

She carefully opened the box, revealing, amongst other paraphernalia, a perfectly rolled joint, not that CB would know the difference.

CB leapt back, horrified.

“What the fuck, Lainey?” His voice was a lot louder than she’d have liked considering they were not in a situation she wanted to draw attention to by getting a noise complaint from her neighbors.

“Chill out, man,” she hissed. 

“It’s illegal,” CB then whispered back at her. “I can’t believe you have that!”

“Did you really think the cool music teacher with a bad girl past had never smoked before?”

CB didn’t have much to say to that. He hadn’t considered it. Now that he did, it really wasn’t surprising, but he’d never known that about Lainey. And he didn’t know he was currently living with illegal drugs in the house. This could be some kind of drug den for all he knew. Okay, maybe that was a bit over the top.

“I can’t smoke that.” He couldn’t believe the were having this discussion. “How can I warn kids about the dangers of marijuana while being a hypocritical pothead?”

“It’s easy. I can show you,” Lainey half-joked. “But, really, it’s less dangerous than your wine.”

“I doubt that.”

“You can’t kill yourself by overdosing on weed. Alcohol poisoning, however...”

She had a point there. Even CB couldn’t deny it.

“I’m still not smoking it,” CB declared firmly. He was a man of principle.

“Fine.” Lainey sighed and rolled her eyes. “More for me.”

She lit it there on the couch.

“You’re doing that in here?!” CB couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Well, I can’t very well do it outside where the neighbors could see.”

CB couldn’t argue that point either. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

“You could get arrested.”

“You need to calm down,” she replied, unperturbed. “This would really help with that.” She held the joint out to him.

“I’m... going to go turn the music on now.”

He crossed the room to turn on the CD player. 

“It would sound better if you smoked first,” Lainey chimed in.

“I know better to succumb to peer pressure.” CB’s resolve was crumbling, and Lainey knew it. She just had to wait it out. Its didn’t take long. When he sat back down next to her, as the room filled with smoke, the fight had gone out of him. He hadn’t even turned on the music yet.

“Fine...” 

Lainey eagerly handed him the joint.

“Now we’re talking.” 

CB looked down at it with incredulity. He never thought the day would take him here.

“So... how does it work?”

Lainey stared at him, mouth agape.

“You smoke it like a cigarette,” she explained. She couldn’t believe that she had to spell it out for him.

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

“Oh my god, CB, you’ve never seen someone smoke a cigarette?” Even a few hits in Lainey was growing agitated. “Just put your mouth on it and suck.”

CB sputtered nervously at her choice of words. He hadn’t even inhaled any smoke yet. Lainey continued staring him like he was stupid.

“Do it before it burns out,” she warned.

Hesitantly, he put his mouth over the joint and took a hit. He let the smoke out abruptly, unable to stop himself from entering a fit of coughing. Pain hit him deep him his chest. He’d never had heartburn like this before. And he couldn’t stop coughing. Lainey held his wine out to him. He looked at her like she was insane. 

Lainey sighed and walked to the kitchen to pour CB a glass of water. 

Finally he regained his ability to speak.

“Did you know that would happen?” He called to her from the couch.

“It happens to most people the first time they try it.” So yes.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Would you have still done it?”

Damn, he couldn’t win with her tonight.

He passed the joint back to Lainey who handed him a glass of water in return. Lainey ashed into a jar from the She-Ra lunch box. CB didn’t know if he could ever look at the Princess of Power the same again.

Lainey took a big hit and went to hit play on the CD player. She then took her seat next to CB; they were finally listening to Cake. Lainey grabbed her glass and held it out.

“Cheers?”

CB took his wine glass and clinked it to hers.

“Cheers.”

Lainey gave CB an earnest smile that warmed his heart. They both took drinks from their glasses. Lainey offered CB the joint again.

“What the hell?” CB asked, this time in acceptance. “It does make the music more enjoyable.”

“I told you,” Lainey said, swatting his arm.

CB was still wracked with fits of coughing, but this time they didn’t last so long. And he had his water to sip. And his wine.

Then the second track on the album started: The Distance.

“It’s about a race, but it’s really a metaphor for a relationship,” CB explained gesturing emphatically. “It’s genius.”

“Okay, you were right. This is fucking awesome,” Lainey agreed. She even sped over to restart the track when it ended.

“It reminds me of Barry,” she confessed.

“You’re worried about his call?” 

“Yeah, he hasn’t been keeping in touch very well lately.” Lainey laughed bitterly. “Staying in waiting for my boyfriend to call. What a way to spend a Friday night.”

She drained her glass and began pouring herself another, topping off CB’s glass in the process.

“I’d frame it as...” CB paused, searching for the words through a marijuana induced haze. “spending a Friday night with your best friend listening to new music.”

Lainey rested a hand on his forearm.

“You always know how to cheer me up.”

Did she know the effect her words had on him? He all but melted at the sentiment. 

“...even if you’re a huge lightweight,” Lainey said. Lightening the emotionally weighted moment.

CB took the hint and raised his wine glass to his lips. Lainey took a final hit on the joint, which was getting really harsh, and dropped it into the jar.

“Heeyyy, I know this one!” Lainey slurred excitedly when they got to track 7: I Will Survive. “This is a Gloria Gaynor song!”

CB couldn’t repress a smile at her excitement. Like, he literally couldn’t his facial muscles were operating of their own accord now apparently.

“I will surviiiiiive,” Lainey sang along. “As long as I know how to love I know I’ll be alright.”

“Who’s the nerd now?”

Lainey tossed a pillow at him.

“Still you, dummy.”

“Lainey, dance with me.”

He moved around the coffee table to stand on the other side of the living room. His hand was held out to her in invitation. Lainey accepted, her movements a bit wobbly as she moved around the table. She was a little ahead of CB where drinks were concerned.

CB took Lainey’s hand and yanked her to him. She gasped a little at the unexpected motion.

CB placed his other hand on the small of her back.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” her voice was breathier than she’d have liked. “yeah, this is good.”

CB began swaying them with the trumpet intro to the ninth track on the album. For all of his usual awkward, dad-like dance moves, it was easy to forget what a skilled dancer CB was. The movements were sloppy and drunken, but he was leading them in what was unmistakably a tango.

With their bodies pressed flush against each other, Lainey was finding it increasingly hard to draw a full breath. Their proximity was affecting her more than being under the influence. She hoped CB attributed the blush spreading across her cheeks to the booze. It intensified as he began to serenade her with the lyrics.

“If you don’t make your mind up, we’ll never get started. And I don’t want to wind up being parted, broken-hearted.”

As for CB, he couldn’t believe he was holding her like this. He had his Lainey in his arms. He never wanted it to end. But the moment was bittersweet, he had her, but she wasn’t his. The contact was intoxicating, and on top of his inebriated state, he was afraid he’d blurt out that he loved her and ruin the moment. Instead, he clung to the lyrics. They were fitting enough anyway.

“So if you really love me, say yes. But if you don’t, dear, confess. And please don’t tell me, ‘perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.’”

Lainey couldn’t help but feel the weight behind the words. She didn’t trust her self to look into CB’s eyes, afraid of what she might do, so she nestled her head in his shoulder.

Lainey resting her head on his shoulder tugged at CB’s heartstrings. The action was so intimate and trusting. 

When they finished the dance and made their way back to the couch, both were a little lightheaded and out of breath.

“Are you as hungry as I am?” CB couldn’t believe how starved he felt after a full dinner just a few hours prior.

“Someone’s got the munchies,” Lainey teased. “...and yes.”  She started for the kitchen.  “Hold on, I think I’ve got some snacks somewhere.”

Lainey riffled through her cabinets before finally-

“YES!”

She couldn’t hide her stoned elation. She’d found it: a box of Twinkies from the back of her pantry cabinet.

Lainey ran back out to the living room. Without hesitation, she flung a Twinkie package at CB.

“CB, catch!” 

He didn’t. The Twinkie hit a startled CB square in the face.

“Why’d you think that would be a good idea?” He asked, retrieving his snack cake from the floor.

“’Cause it was,” Lainey laughed. “You should’ve seen your face” 

She scrunched up her own in an attempt to mimic it. CB couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Lainey took a seat next to CB and popped open her package, and for an instant CB was paralyzed: how was he going to handle Lainey eating such a potentially suggestive dessert in front of him? And they were both drunk. And high.

CB needn’t have worried. His fears were abated when Lainey frantically shoved the entire Twinkie in her mouth and struggled to chew it all at once.

“I though’ you sai’ you’re hungry,” she managed through a mouthful.

CB remembered with intensity just how hungry he was. He fumbled to removed the packaging and took a bite.

“Oh my god,” CB drew out the words. “These are so much better than I remembered.”

“The weed’ll do that,” Lainey explained. 

She offered him another Twinkie.

CB chuckled to himself.

“Cake and cake,” he mused aloud.

It shouldn’t have been so funny, but both of them dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Eventually the CD player began to loop through the disc a second time. Soon enough they were back to The Distance.

Barry still hadn’t called.

Disheartened, Lainey walked over to the CD player.

“I’m going to change the disk.” 

She laughed when she picked up the case. 

“This album is actually called Fashion Nugget?” She looked at CB teasingly.

“Awesome, right?”

Lainey laughed and shook her head.

She replaced the disk and pulled out the other album CB brought.

“Prolonging the Magic, huh? Well, the title is a little better, and I like the cute little pig on the front.” 

She put in the disk.

By the end of the second song, CB had fallen into a drunken sadness, whispering the lyrics under his breath. 

I was bright, But she was much brighter, I was high, But she was the sky, Oh, Baby, I was bound, For Mexico, Oh, Baby, I was bound, To let you go

Lainey wondered if CB was upset about someone. She wondered if he was singing  it to her.

By the time the third track, a plea to a long distance lover who was “never there,” ended without a call from Barry, Lainey had had it.

“That’s it. I’m rolling another joint.” 

She opened her She-Ra lunch box and set to work as CB looked on. Lainey could already tell this one wouldn’t be perfect like the last one, her fingers just couldn’t work with such dexterous precision after all the alcohol she’d consumed that evening, but that didn’t matter.

“When’d you learn to do that?” CB asked as Lainey began grinding the flower.

“High school.”

CB raised his eyebrows.

“Did you smoke with Barry?”

“Oh, god, no,” Lainey scoffed. “Barry doesn’t smoke, and he doesn’t know that I do. You’re a member of the JTP; why do you think he rags on Matt Bradley so much?”

“Because he’s jealous of Matt Bradley’s effortless good looks and cool laid back personality?”

They shared a laugh at that.

“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” Lainey looked over at CB, grateful not to have to wait up for Barry alone, driving her self mad.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” CB replied genuinely.

The moment became charged, and Lainey snapped her head away, refocusing on rolling the joint.

Soon the third track was playing again. They finished the joint, and another bottle of wine with it.

Barry still hadn’t called. 

It was after midnight. 

Lainey had migrated from her spot on the couch next to CB to a spot on the floor next to the CD player.

She hit replay. Again. And Again. And Again.

And then she stood.

“I’ve got the best idea!” Lainey slurred. 

She staggered across the house and returned with her trumpet. 

Pulling out her mobile phone, she dialed Barry’s number. She turned up the volume, making sure she was at the beginning of the track when she called. Voicemail: just as she suspected. She set her phone down to better play her trumpet.

By the time the message tone beeped, the song was a few verses in.

“On the phone, Long long distance, Always through such, Strong resistance, When first you say, You're too busy, I wonder if you, Even miss me,”

Lainey sang into the phone, her voice cracking. CB would’ve sang along, but this wasn’t really any of his business, so he, with some difficulty, restrained himself. Even as messed up as he was, he felt like he was intruding. But mostly he felt concerned for Lainey.

“You tell me that you love me so, you tell me that you care, but when I need you, BARRY,” She substituted his name for “baby,” yelling over the speakers. “YOU’RE NEVER THERE!”

At this point in the song, Lainey was clearly having fun. CB could tell this was cathartic for her, not that he could articulate that at the moment. He got up to dance. After all, Barry wouldn’t be able to see him through the phone.

And then, after she’d run through all the lyrics, Lainey began to attempt the trumpet part, one which would’ve been difficult to play even if she were sober. Drunk, it was impossible, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

At the end of the song Lainey ended the call and turned down the CD player. She set her trumpet aside where she hoped neither of them would trip on it.

CB suddenly looked at her, horrified, as if he’d had some revelation.

“Wait...” he said. “The neighbors!”

“At this point I don’t care,” Lainey replied.

They looked at each other a moment longer before collapsing on the floor in a heap of giggles. 

Lainey woke up the next morning on the couch, cuddled with CB, who was still asleep. Her answering machine showed one new message. 

Lainey got up and played it.

“LAINEY, IT’S BARRY,” his voice rang through the living room. Lainey was surprised it didn’t wake CB.

“Anyway, I was just calling to thank you for the sweet serenade, my Lainey-love. Love you. Big Tasty OUT!”

He had completely missed the point.

Lainey looked over at CB. At least last night had turned out to be pretty fun after all.

#lainey x cb #cb x lainey

[anythingsaidproductions]

My song “Riot Grrrl Zine” is a long time coming from the way I grew up. Being a child in the 90’s put me in an odd spot with finding what it was to be empowered as a girl. Flooded with pop culture, I became immersed in a certain idea of “GIRL POWER” that would later drown me. I saw women who performed music in an entirely different way than I saw men. Therefore, as I grew into a young woman who, herself, wanted to be a singer, my idea of what I had to look like became my main focus.

I appreciated the large landscape of possibilities with music from a young age. I loved how it made me feel, without having to be touched. As I grew up, insecurities would set in, and self doubt would pave the way to self sabotage. The desire inside to sing and perform music has never been questioned. I simply didn’t see in the mirror what I saw on TV, or in magazines. The reality of being a pop singer felt like less of a possibility as time went on.

By the time I was 15, I had dealt with “normal” issues like parents divorcing, moving towns, and gaining emotional-eating weight. The end result left me unhappy with my body and unhappy with myself ultimately. At that age, I had made attempts at self-harm and being bulimic, but I wasn’t able to push past the physical pain of it. When a friend of mine gave me a burned CD of The Used’s self-titled album, I was reminded of how music numbed my emotional pain. I couldn’t get enough of this beautiful, angry and very sad music. Anything in this genre, I became obsessed with. Linkin Park, Taking Back Sunday, My Chemical Romance became my remedy to life.

By the time I was 18, I was figuring out music was my only answer. I remembered how badly I wanted to be a pop star when I was younger, but I didn’t look like Britney or Christina. I started desperately seeking a woman to look to for guidance. Paramore became my rock. They embodied the music that got me through my years, but had a woman singer who I could relate to. I no longer wanted to be a popstar, I wanted to be able to sing. Sing my heart out with every bit of pain I was drowning in.

The problem was that every time I opened my mouth to sing, my childhood insecurities resurfaced. I was comparing myself to the level of talent and skill of experience Hayley Williams had herself. I just wanted to make music that felt good and sounded good, but I had no real understanding of what it took to become that level of singer.

I did what I knew I could, and I found a voice teacher who specialized in live-performance singing and rock music based training. I trained and I practiced and I visualized and I believed this was happening for me. I believed that my dreams were around the corner, and I was going to be on stage with Paramore themselves, singing a duet. I worked hard, and started writing a lot of music. I was able to write and record a 6 song EP entirely on my own.

As quickly as I believed it was happening, I just as quickly lost hope in my dream. The EP I put out didn’t get me signed, it didn’t blow up on soundcloud, and my youtube videos of song covers weren’t going viral. I blamed everything on not being “good enough.” Finally, the glorious day came when I watched the documentary called Miss Representation. I took the red pill, and I woke up from “the matrix” of the patriarchy. I had no idea how my mind was manipulated into seeing myself as a participant in this world.

Flashbacks to being 10 years old, in the locker room of the tennis club, as my grandmother stands me in front of a mirror. She pinches my tummy, which is exposed from my two piece bathing suit, and tells me “This is fat. You don’t want this.” She was a Hollywood starlet, and I know honestly it wasn’t her fault she believed this was the base of a woman’s value. She was looking out for me, the best way she knew how. In her industry, to be skinny, was to be liked. This is what fed my doubt for the next decade of my life.

At 25, I watched the documentary The Punk Singer, about Kathleen Hanna and her part in the Riot Grrrl movement. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had the green light to go after my dreams. I wanted to sing my pain, and these women knew how. The honesty of their experiences, being screamed through a microphone was a whole new world for me. Up until this point, I thought only men could do this, and definitely the only ones who were taken seriously. I finally saw that I could make my music, and not have to look or sound a certain way.

I desperately sought anyone who would want to join me in my crusade to make loud music. I struggled to find bandmates, and so I looked to my partner of 5 years. She had originally introduced me to Riot Grrrl music, so I asked if she’d be willing to learn the bass guitar. A short amount of time went by before our band, I Dream of Darlene, was created. We wanted the name to combine our passion for strong females in good sitcom television, and our “punk rock” attitude. Naming our band after Darlene Connor from the show Roseanne, we felt like we had plenty of inspiration to get us going. We wrote songs surprisingly well together, and made a set list we were both proud of.

I was too eager. I was too earnest. I wanted to be on stage creating an experience. I booked us shows, and before I knew it, we were on stage. Simple rhythms and easy chord progressions were trying to carry the meaningful message I felt like I was singing. When the show I had put the most time and thought into finally came, we played to a nearly empty venue. Drive and passion are important, but I was reluctant to do the work before putting it on display.

Hiend sight truly is the clear vision of our actions, and most definitely the mistakes. The self doubt was obviously still eating me from the inside, because I practiced music the same way I looked in the mirror, with blinders. I never really allowed myself to examine my body too closely, for fear of how badly I would tear myself apart. I never allowed myself to participate in my own music, for fear of hating what I was working on. I don’t think I ever truly gained the calluses on my fingers that would have led to proper guitar playing.

Like every other project up until this point in my life, I put it up on the shelf to be finished at another point. This was in 2016, and since then I stopped performing live. I went to my voice lessons, but still hiding away from the world. Until I got an invitation to audition for t.v. show The Voice. I thought to myself, this is it! Immediately, I began my training like I was going to the Olympics. I pushed myself farther than I ever had before, my own dedication actually inspired me. I sang so much, that come the audition, my throat and voice was shot. Regardless of not getting it, leaving the audition I was elated. I was actually doing what I had always wanted to do. Sing.

A lot of events happened in my life between 2016 to 2019 that molded me and helped me grow. For a year, my wife and I took care of our niece when she was just 10 months old. I grew patience, I grew understanding, but most of all I gained the faith in my capabilities to go after any dream of mine if I took the right steps.

My voice teacher set me up with his best friend’s son to produce a song together. For years, he had told me that he loved my song “Riot Grrrl Zine,” and promoted it more than I ever did. It needed some finishing touches before being sent off to be produced, so I sat down with my wife and asked her how she first discovered the music of the riot grrrl movement. I wanted the song to have these answers for people hearing it for the first time, and who don’t know about this movement. Filling in some new lyrics, and finding a bridge to complete the song, finally it was finished and sent off to the producer. Now I waited... Finally the day came to go to the studio. Things were finally moving forward and I was going to a real music studio to record my own song!

The hardest lesson to learn is that I needed to experience life to grow. No book or movie can give the full understanding it takes to make things happen. I sat back in my comfort zone for many years, hoping that enough wishing on stars was going to make things happen. Action has to take place, and the more times that action occurs, the stronger that dream becomes a reality.

“Riot Grrrl Zine” is my story of how I may not have grown up with riot grrrl music, but it eventually reached me and made its imprint on me. I may not embody the punk rock spirit entirely, but the music is a piece of me and I am excited to share this with the world.

#riotgrrrl #riotgrrrlzine #spice girls #millenial #music #lgbtq #selfhelp #selfesteem #selfimage #body dismorphia #90’s music #essays

[kensboytoy]

Your Own Private Idaho - Ch. 1

Title: Your Own Private Idaho Fandom: Undertale Pairings: Mettaton/Reader (Gender Neutral) Ratings: General (Explicit in coming chapters) Chapter: 1/? Summary: You're an inky monster getting ready to meet your idol. You've worked up the nerve to go to one of his book signings but you just might get more than you bargained for. 

Continue Reading or Read on AO3!

Down below, hidden away in Mt. Ebbot, held the world of monsters in the Underground. Away from the hustle and bustle of human city life was instead a peaceful world that existed without all the chatter of day to day life. Things were calm. From Snowdin to the Waterfall, things were relaxed

But that wasn’t to say that it was boring! Oh no, far from it. While humans drove around in cars and other nonsense machines, monsters strolled through the Underground and even caught the ferry if they were in a hurry. The only chatter was among themselves with bubbling excitement. Especially when it was about the only TV star showing his face on all of their television screens.

Mettaton.

The name radiated with a glow throughout the Underground. Everyone was enraptured with his charm - his charisma! There weren’t any monsters that didn’t know of him. His shows were the talk of the Underground!

Especially to an excited, inky monster that was glued to your TV every night to watch the best show: Cooking with Mettaton. You were a terrible chef and had found Mettaton’s cooking show to be quite informative for your novice skill set. He was very direct with instructions that made it easy to follow and it helped that you found yourself blushing and smiling while he was talking. Somehow, to you, that made it easier to process all the instructions.

Sure, you could admit to having a crush. You wouldn’t deny it. But those feelings were to be hidden away when you embarked on decidedly the craziest feat to get you out of your comfort zone: a book signing. Mettaton was touring! And you could meet him! Maybe. If you weren’t so scared.

This was your chance to meet the Underground’s first and only actual star! It was almost too much for a little fan like you to handle.

So, you stood in the humongous line that wrapped around the building three times over, Mettaton’s cookbook that was not so pristine anymore (the pages were falling apart from how often you used it) in your hands. You nervously looked around at all the pretty monsters that were also lined up with brand new books ready to be signed. They looked eager to just see to Mettaton. You had heard rumors that the staff that he would be far too busy to actually talk to anyone. Stars didn’t have time to talk to normal folk, you thought.

But they had to be wrong! Mettaton seemed so kind, so loving… would this whole thing ruin this for you? You didn’t want to skip out, but now had second doubts even as you approached the front of the line. Eagerly, you tried to peek when the next person went down the lined corridor into the room covered by a thick curtain. If he had been put in the middle of the store, there would have been chaos. However, the suspense of not seeing or hearing anything made it all the worse on your nerves.

When they finally ushered you into the room, you froze in place, eyes widened at the sight of the boxy robot. You were starstruck.

And while it was true that Mettaton was a bit of a diva, to be honest, it didn’t mean he didn’t care for his fans. Oh, no. That was the furthest thing from the truth. Mettaton knew he was nothing without fans to cheer him on! He was making sure to take his sweet time with every monster that came to his signing, despite the earlier rumors.

So, when the dear little monster scurried into the room, looking for all the world like you were about to keel over on the spot, he let the lights on the front of his current body shine a bit brighter. Show you that he was happy. It was the closest thing in this rectangle he currently had to giving you a wide, friendly smile.

“Hello, darling,” he called out, voice as pleasant and unexpectedly melodic from such a rigid shape as always. “Please, don’t be shy. Let me see your beautiful self, dear viewer!”

One gloved hand reached out, and he beckoned you forward, voice all warmth and earnest pleasure to see someone.

“Let me see what you’ve brought to be si- oh, my!”

His optical sensors fell to the ragged book, but where you had thought he would be disgusted, the robot was instead delighted! You clearly enjoyed his writing and instructions enough to read the book to the point of making the book lovingly used.

“Oh, darling, I’m so glad to see that my writing has been so well loved!”

Your hands trembled as you stepped forward but all the fear melted away with the voice you loved. It was loud and robotic- (a human would have called it the stereotypical movie robot voice) - and to you it felt like music. Mettaton, in all his boxy glory, was everything you dreamt of.

So, you found the courage to speak up finally.

“Your cookbook really helped me! I-I use it pretty much every night when there’s a re-run on TV.” You smiled at him, your hands fidgeting nervously. “I was a really terrible cook before your show. All I ate was instant noodles!”

The pages were lined with notes and doodles that you had made while cooking. Things like ‘added more cheese - yummy!!!’ and ‘stove needed longer to cook this’ on various recipes. And the doodles? Well… There were lots of hearts. Lots of hearts.

While you extended it out for him to sign, you were careful not to let the loose papers slip of all the drawings you had made specifically of him with even more hearts around. It was as bad as a school yard crush. Though, most every monster had a crush on him so it wasn’t unusual.

“I just wanted to say thank you - your program… it made me feel like when, even if I get frustrated with myself about cooking, that it’s okay. Just like with lotsa stuff in life! Mettaton… you really give me hope.” Your ink started to drip as you blushed. “Even extroverted monsters need the reminder that it’s okay to mess up. A-and that… that there’s someone out there who’s always proud of us, even if he’s on the other side of the screen.”

You noticed that Mettaton’s handlers were starting to get impatient. Oh no, you had taken too long talking! Suddenly filled with embarrassment, your body sagged down as you looked at one of the nearby handlers start to approach, a stern look on his face. Oh, you were gonna get kicked out! You shouldn’t have wasted his time…

With a stern-sounding cough from the powerful monster, the handlers paused where they were and shuffled awkwardly away. Technically, yes, there was supposed to be a time limit. Had Mettaton been paying attention, he would’ve known that the time limit was only about thirty seconds long. And you had far exceeded it.

But.

Mettaton was the star here, and, if the star wanted to spend a little bit more time with a particular fan? Well, they wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop that. He was, after all, a very strong monster. And the handlers were more there just because it was something that a lot of human stars had. Truthfully, Mettaton would have been more than capable of handling himself.

His attention shifted back to you, taking the book gently out of your hands before holding both of them in his own. He had no eyes to gaze into but there was a distinct feeling that he was gazing at you still.

“Beautiful, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that. Truthfully, I wasn't exactly the best at cooking before I started putting one hundred and ten percent of my effort into it! I could… well, I could make snail sandwiches and that was about it.”

He chuckled, patting your hands kindly.

“I'm so glad I could help someone else find that special spark that you only get when you cook something delicious and get to feel proud of yourself. I'm proud of you, darling.”

The ink on your cheeks dripped onto the floor as you beamed from ear to ear. He was everything you had hoped he would be. Not the egotistical robot people said he was. No, his heart was true.

As he held your hands, you squeezed him gently. Sure, he was metal and you were a dense ink, but you wanted him to know how much you adored him.

“You truly are the star we need down here, Mettaton,” you softly spoke. “You give us all courage, even when some of us are worried about being trapped in the Underground.”

Tears welled up in your eyes even as you continued to smile at him. You were so happy.

"You distract us from everything scary. Just by being so positive.” You bashfully looked away as soon as you realized tears were spilling out from the corners of your eyes. “Heh… I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d get all choked up. I just…” You squeezed his hands again. “I’m happy I got to meet you. You… you’re my hero, Mettaton.”

Wiping the tears from your eyes, Mettaton stood up and did what he hadn’t really done for any fan that entire day. He got out from around the table he sat behind, piled high with posters and CDs and books and-

And body pillows. Square body pillows, exactly in the shape of Mettaton.

He got up, wheeled himself around, and wrapped both of his noodly robot arms right around you. Mettaton pulled you close, softly rubbing your back and letting you cry against him. Letting you get it all out, so you would be beaming when he pulled back.

"You’re the one who makes it possible to do this, darling. I should be thanking you. I wouldn't be where I am without everyone supporting me.”

That truly floored you. Your heart was beating loudly in your chest as the robot hugged you tight. He was so huge compared to other monsters but being held by him was so… comforting.

After the last of the tears fell, you hugged him back. You hugged him and laughed. A happy, proud laugh.

"You’re really something else, Mettaton. You’re not just a star - you’re the whole universe!” Indeed, when you pulled back, you were smiling again. “Shining bright. Always there for us sappy monsters.”

You took one of Mettaton’s hands in both of yours and just let the feeling of touching him linger for a moment. It was as if you were gaining some of his energy just by being so close.

“I’m so glad for this moment. I… I never really thought I’d be here talking to you like this.”

Something was slipped into the palm of your hand as you held both of his cartoony, gloved hands. Something that felt entirely like a slip of paper.

Mettaton could have easily just written it into the book that he then pulled away to sign, insisting the entire time that he also send you back with a second copy just because of how well-loved the one you had brought was. He could have even just not given you his private phone number. It wasn’t something he wanted to be leaked, after all.

But Mettaton was impulsive.

And he knew that you wouldn’t hurt him, not after you spilled your heart out. Mettaton was, among several other things, one of the best judges of character in the whole of the Underground.

“Keep a hold of that, darling,” he ‘whispered’ as he gave you the book back. “And make sure to reach out soon.”

You looked at the paper and then to the two books now in your hands. There were stars in your eyes. Hell, you couldn’t stop smiling. Excitedly, you hugged Mettaton once more before you thanked him profusely.

“I-I promise! I…” You, too, were impulsive. Enough so to have the audacity to kiss the edge of his rectangular form. “Thank you. Thank you!”

The line moved once again with the final monsters trickling in. You left, waving goodbye to Mettaton. Then you went straight to the alleyway behind the hotel. Your body was buzzing with energy as you finally caught your breath and looked at the phone number again.

Oh, you should have given your number back to him! When would you know if he wasn’t too busy? He was always busy! He was a star! But he… he was so sweet.

Your heart still pounded as you took a seat on the ground, shakily saving the number into your phone so you wouldn’t forget to. You added a lot of heart emojis before you stared at the blank message screen.

No.

You’d wait. That was what you would do!

But you wanted to see him again soon. So soon…

And even at that moment, Mettaton was waiting to hear back from you. You had been so adorable. He had found himself so taken in with the smaller monster that he couldn’t wait for you to try to get in contact with him. Truthfully, the robot didn’t know what had happened, but at the gentle press of your inky lips against his hull, he had felt a spark.

One he hadn’t felt since seeing the prototype body that Alphys had made for him. Not since he had been a ghost, looking at the new form that was waiting for him to slip in like a glove that would fit perfectly.

So he waited for your call after the signing was done, eagerly staring at the phone screen inside his mechanical body. Wondering if you would do it that same day and wondering if he should have gotten your number as well. After all, he, well, he wanted to hear your voice again. That sweet little voice that made him feel important.

Like he had always wanted to be.

After a pep talk from Bratty and Catty about what you should do, you finally gathered up the courage as you were laying in your cozy little bed. You could hear the downstairs noise of the bar below - Grillby had been kind enough to let you stay in the small attic if you promised to catch any cats that came into the bar. The dogs hated them.

So, you lay in your bed and finally sent the message.

Hi, Mettaton! This is the ink monster from your signing earlier. I just wanted to thank you again for everything. I hope that you’re managing to get some rest after meeting all those people. You’re so awesome!!

You sent a little sticker emoji of a human holding up a sign with a heart, thinking it looked more casual than the silly message you wrote.

Nervously, you locked your phone and placed it on your stomach, your heart racing again.

You wished that he could feel what he did to you. Just the thought of him made your body tingle with anticipation. It was euphoric. He was so amazing…

There was a buzz of a reply almost immediately after you placed the device down. Mettaton was more than a double texter; if it was more dramatically appropriate to do so, he would text upwards of ten times in a row.

Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those times.

i was so happy to see you too, my dear! i do hope i didn't scare you too much by giving you my personal number ;P i would love to see you again one of these days! how would a get-together at my hotel sound? the restaurant there is wonderful!

Metal fingers didn’t need to tap a reply, as Mettaton was… well, being a robot as he was he was already part phone. He could do it just as himself. The emoji made him laugh, looking into the mirror and momentarily seeing his new body in his mind, beaming back at him and shaking with a laugh.

Maybe…

Maybe he’d debut it to you.

You didn’t scare me! I just didn’t know when would be the right time to reach out. You’re always so busy filming, I’m sure! I’m so glad you replied. I’m free most days, my job is very flexible. I’d love to finally eat at your restaurant! It’s always so booked far in advance that I’ve never gotten to go.

You squirmed in your bed, absolutely delighted. Your heart pounded louder.

I know it’ll be just as amazing as your hotel is! ...which has the comfiest beds ever, by the way!! I miss that place already! I heard you put in a new fountain - I’d love to see it when we’re there!

You couldn’t help but be excited as you typed your reply up quickly.

well, darling, i’d be more than happy to escort you myself! after all, you seemed so sweet when we spoke.

Oh, yeah, he was going to show you first. This sweet, shy monster would be the first to see his new body. Beaming internally, Mettaton added a few more sparkly hearts to his text before sending it off into the electronic cyberspace. He’d been waiting so long to finally get to show it off to someone and so the thought of someone who would absolutely be excited to see anything getting to see it first and praising him was…

It was a lot. He could barely contain himself.

I hope I can see you soon. I already miss you :(

You blushed. Was that too desperate? Maybe. But he was naturally flirty so maybe he would find it cute.

You paused.

I should go to sleep soon… It was a very long big line today! I hope to hear from you soon? Let me know when you wanna hang out!!

Then you took a quick snap under the glow of the fairy lights you had. It was a sweet picture of you tossing up a peace sign. You captioned it ‘Can’t stop smiling!!’

well, darling, i was wondering…

He paused, laying down in his own chassis and letting his ghost body float up and outwards with a phone to continue the text conversation. Now Mettaton could tap his chin in contemplation on what to say next.

After all, he didn’t want to come off too strong. But he had sincerely enjoyed spending time with you. Hell, he didn’t want to wait to see you again, he wasn’t exactly the most patient monster. Part of the consequences of being famous was that he was now accustomed to having things available whenever he wanted, but he realized that it wouldn’t be possible for it to always be that way with his new little friend.

Still, best to ask and be sure.

would tomorrow at dinner be alright?

Yes! If I wake up early and walk over there, I can be there by five. Is that okay?

You were hugging the phone to your chest, so happy that Mettaton wanted to see you so soon! You bit your lip and also the bullet. Time to get a bit cheesy.

There’s a Mettaton shaped hole in my heart that I gotta wait that long to see your wonderful face again, so you better see me in my dreams, ok?

You sent another emoji, this time of a sleeping creature with a heart next to it.

Oh - is there a dress code? I’ll try and pack something fancy that I can change into!

oh, nothing too fancy. i'm going to put on a bowtie, but that’s about it. and it’s a stick-on bowtie, so it doesn’t count as fancy. it’s basically just a sticker to make me look fancy.

Then he reread your texts and frowned slightly, pushing the fringe of hair out of his face as he wondered why you were thinking that you would have to walk all the way there. How you thought he wasn’t going to completely spoil you.

walk? oh, no.

Shaking his head fondly, the ghost tapped out a reply.

you’re not going to walk. I'll arrange transportation.

Pausing, he grinned privately and snickered at the followup text he sent, knowing that it would likely fluster you.

what sorts of drinks do you like, so i can know what they need to stock the limo with?

It did indeed fluster you. He was making a fuss so you didn’t have to walk? But you were used to it!

But the concern and the spoiling…You were kind of enjoying it.

Oh! Um. Seltzer water…? I’m not very picky!

You looked out your small window. The stars that somehow trickled in from above were shining.

Maybe after dinner tomorrow we could see these stars together? If you have more time, of course. The stars in Waterfall remind me so much of you. Almost like you fell from the cosmos and landed here with us. Maybe that’s your secret?

And something else happened that hadn’t in a long time. Something that physically couldn’t happen while Mettaton was in his boxy body. His ghost form and the new body? Those both could do it, but it was still rare.

He blushed.

flattery will get you everywhere, darling,

He teased, sending a winky emoji and adding a kissy-face one as well.

At the mention of looking at the stars, Mettaton could barely keep from jumping with joy. He loved gazing up at the heavens above! Well, heavens was a bit much. The glittering stones.

of course! if you’d like, we can even bring a few of the drinks i’ll have prepared for you with us to sip while we gaze up!

Sounds wonderful! I’ll see you in my dreams, Mettaton~!

You blushed once more before you sent her final text for the night:

Text me when the car’s almost here - I’m at Grillby’s in Snowdin! I can’t wait!!! Goodnight, Mettaton! Sweet dreams!

You sent a kissy face emoji and then promptly fell into dreamland.

#Works of Oz #Writing #Undertail #Undertale #Mettaton #Reader Insert

[kimonobeat]

aiko bon “Profile Interview” Chapter 6 (1/3)

My DJ days to my debut: In order to sing professionally

aiko opened the doors to a professional career as an artist, all while living a full life as a DJ. Though she still felt very passionate about singing, multiple challenges awaited her.

(Thank you parasmichael for the commission!)

ーDid you start up your music activities in earnest once you graduated from junior college with the hopes of becoming a professional?

aiko: Yeah, I wrote songs and did concerts.

ーWere you solo then? Or were you in a band?

aiko: I was never in any bands after graduating. I did everything solo. My friends helped out when I held concerts, though.

ーDid you have any part-time jobs?

aiko: Yes. I had a part-time job as a DJ that I’d had since I was in music school. I kept working there even after I graduated.

ーWhat got you started as a radio DJ?

aiko: There was this producer from FM OSAKA who came to see me every now and then when I was in the “Teens Music Festival”. He gave me his business card back  then. I got a phone call from him about half a year later where he invited me to go get a coffee with him. I went; I was totally stoked. “We’re doing an audition for our radio program,” he told me when I got there. “Why don’t you try out?” I panicked at that but then we got to talking, and he was like, “Go on, just try and chit-chat.” There was an actual DJ thereーthey were doing an audition to find someone to pair him up with. That DJ was this super professional, amazing guy named Yaguchi Kiyoharu. For my audition, I put on “Primal” by ORIGINAL LOVE and did a track-by-track introduction. Every time I talked, the studio standing outside the window would chuckle.

ーDid you say something funny?

aiko: Nah, I don’t remember saying anything funny at all. I was a total amateurーso I guess that must’ve been kinda funny. (laughs) I had zero clue what a radio DJ was supposed to be like and it was my very first radio audition. Not to mention, I never went to school for that. I was just talking as myself. The next day, I got a phone call saying they decided to put me on the program. The only thing I managed to say was, “WHAT!?”

ーYou’ve loved and listened to the radio since you were a little kid though. Maybe you were an ‘amateur’, but I’m sure you must’ve picked up on some key points.

aiko: Maybe you’re right… I really did listen to the radio a lot. As a kid, it didn’t matter if I was super duper playful and bubbly at school. When I got home I’d hole myself up in my room and listen to the radio. Sometimes I thought about the things I’d do if I were a DJ while I listened along. I also used to leave these really long messages on my friends’ answering machines of me talking like I was a DJ. I even added commercials in the middleーI’d go, “Chara Cha-chara, Cha-cha-cha!” like a commercial jingle. (laughs)

ーSo what kind of radio show did you do for your celebration-worthy first job as a DJ?

aiko: It was a music program called “Count Down Kansai TOP40” that ran on Mondays from 3 to 5 AM. I introduced top 40 songs on that week’s charts, and between songs I’d read postcards from my listeners or talk about artist information. Basically, an abbreviated version of another show that played on different weekday from 12 to 8 PM about the top 100. I had originally auditioned to be the assistant for the super long 12-8 PM program, but since I did such a great job chatting them up, they thought I’d be a better fit for the late-night sister program.

ーBut I’m sure you must’ve felt like there was a lot of pressure on you having to talk all by yourself as a brand new DJ, didn’t you?

aiko: It was really tough at first. We recorded ahead of time during the very beginning, but that was hard too. They’d get mad but I had no idea what they were mad at me for, although I do now. I’d just talk in circles, and sometimes I’d do that one thing no DJ is ever supposed to do: say, “Uhh… Uhh…” (laughs wryly) So at the beginning, I would cry because I was upset the entire time, and then I’d go home.

ーDid you ever have guests on the show?

aiko: Yes I did. The show just kept changing and changing, so before long we started having guests on the show. We recorded the guest segments every week in the afternoon because our show aired so late at night, so quite a few different people joined us. My very first guests were Kato Hisashi and Rolly from 21st Century Stars. I was super nervous because I used to really love THE COLLECTORS, though. Oh, and Eguchi Yosuke, and Chii (Moritaka Chisato). But separately because this was before they got married, of course. (laughs) We also had Nakatani Miki right after she’d debuted, GLAY, and Bonnie Pink. Oh, and Yuzuーthey really gave our conversation an honest effort. I thought Yagucchan (Yaguchi Mari) from Momusu was cute in the purest sense of the word, too.

ーDid you also go by “aiko” when you were a DJ?

aiko: Yeah, written in English letters like it is now. I can’t remember if it was all uppercase or lowercase though. I’ve never tried to come up with another name, I just thought I’d keep using ‘aiko’ forever. When I was on the radio I’d always say, “This is your DJ aiko. Thanks for tuning in.” I carried personal business cards for the radio station that said “FM OSAKA aiko Count Down Kansai TOP40” with me pretty much all the time, which I was constantly trading with promoters. (laughs)

ーDid you find it interesting to listen to your guests talk as the interviewer?

aiko: I did sometimes, but… well… Most of the time I found myself thinking, “Wow, they’re a nice person” whenever I met somebody instead of, “That’s interesting.” There were also a lot other things that I found difficult about it. Like, I would accidentally end up talking about myself. The people coming on the show are artists, right? I wanted to be a singer too, so I’d start talking about the things I did because I wanted to be a singer. Oftentimes there’d be these sobering moments where they’d say, “Enough talking about yourself, get your guest to talk.” Some people talked about things that had a lasting impact on me though, like right around the time I’d written an indies release and said, “Recording is always a blast!” Hamazaki Takashi (formerly of Flying Kids) said, “It gets to be tough after your 3rd release, so you’d better prepare yourself. It’s tough. This is the only time it’ll be fun for you.” I was like, “What, seriously!?” I was so dismayed when he said that. I still enjoy recording to this day. If I ever see him again, I’d like to tell him that I still have fun recording. (laughs) So yeah, I had all kinds of people on the show. I learned a lot.

ーI’m sure it wasn’t all fun and games, though. Was it ever just a big pain?

aiko: Oh, pleeeenty of times. (laughs) It got to be pretty exhausting when everyone was in the middle of promoting something. My schedule would get so crazy; some people didn’t even talk. (laughs) That was pretty rough. I thought I’d just be talking about singles and albums. I think you get your point across with magazines because only so much of it makes it into print. There’s like… room to breathe, you know? You can talk about dumb stuff, but there’s also space to talk about music. And you can re-read it as needed.

ーYou can’t really do that with radio though, can you?

aiko: Right. If you’ve got 10 minutes on air, then you either do or don’t leave an impression on the people listening during those 10 minutes. “Wow, there’s this one phrase in the chorus of the 3rd song that’s really great!” You can say that, but it’s hard for the people listening to the radio to understand. If I had to describe it, I’d say the concept was for the guests to have a little bit of fun, forget all about promoting for a moment and talk about something dumb, and play a good amount of music.

ーA balance between moderately laid-back, and moderately musical.

aiko: Yeah, yeah. It depends on the artist, but there were definitely people who wanted to make sure we talked. Some people looked at the cue sheets I made and say, “Mind if we change this? Do you mind asking me about the concept behind my album here?” That’s fine for all the die-hard fans, but it doesn’t hold much weight for all the new people tuning in, you  know? They wanna hear you talk about normal and familiar stuff. That’s why I think it’s important to go from talking about that to, “Why don’t we listen to your CD?”

ーThat’s true. You have no idea exactly who’s listening.

aiko: That’s why I’m pretty no-nonsense and honest when I give my thoughts on an album I’ve heard. Let’s say I had someone who played music on the show. I’d say, “You know, I really get the feeling you were pretty violent and rowdy making this album compared to your previous ones.” Thenーcome to find outーthey think that’s a good thing! “That’s interesting. You nailed it,” they tell me. Our talk ends up turning into something totally different from the usual, something even their fans didn’t expect. Occasionally that would get people talking even though they wouldn’t normally talk much. Of course, some people won’t talk either way. That used to made me cry. (laughs) Every now and then you get funny people who ignore everything during the talk segment and just talk your ear off, though.

ーDid you ever get really nervous because you had an artist you really liked on the show as a guest?

aiko: Oh yes. I was when I had Kato from The Collectors as a guest. And most definitely with KAN. I felt something end inside of me when KAN came on the show as a guest. I thought for a moment there, “Oh man, my life is over.” I turned into such a wuss.

ーYou liked him so much that it got in the way of being a DJ?

aiko: I just couldn’t do it. Honestly, at first it didn’t matter who it wasーpart of me felt like it was really presumptuous of me to interject with my opinion about someone’s music. Things that are good aren’t  just ‘good’, you know? Radio is one of those things where you’ve gotta have something you wanna say, though, so I try to say something. I’m the kind of person who gets more and more long-winded the more I try to get something across. I was so incredibly nervous that I kind of wanted them to send me home. In fact, I was so nervous that I still remember the clothes I was wearingーI was wearing a flared gingham check skirt, a MILK blouse, and some Vivian boots… My nervousness was through the roof. I thought I was gonna die. (laughs)

ーWere you able to talk to KAN like you did with all your other guests?

aiko: Yeah, I was. I couldn’t handle it though. KAN is one of those people who could talk about anything you throw his way. The whole time I was thinking to myself, “What was I thinking about just now? Oh god, what do I do?” I’d be fine doing it now, though. ...No wait, I’m just saying that because he’s not here. I bet I’d still probably be totally hopeless if I were to meet him again now. (laughs)

ーDid KAN ever come back as a guest after that?

aiko: He was a guest on the show about 4 times. I was also introduced to him in his dressing room when I went to his concert once. We talked a little bit then. He had me on his television show once as well. I’ve met him about 10 times now but I still act exactly the same as when I met him for the first time. I can’t bring myself to say hi, I can’t tell jokes. I’m just like, “Oh, excuse me, excuse me, yes, yes.” I think KAN already knows just how fundamentally lame I can be sometimes, though. I think he sort of forgives me for being so flustered and silent the first time we met.

ーI bet you listened to all kinds of music while you were DJ-ing!

aiko: I did! Up until that point I only listened to what I liked. But then I started listening to the “TOP40” every week and also made sure to listen to my guests’ new releases.

ーHow long did you end up doing the radio show before your debut?

aiko: I started doing “Count Down Kansai TOP 40” and “Poppin' Tengoku MUSIC Stadium” when I was in junior college. “Young Young MUSIC MAX” started just a little bit before I released my indies album “astral box”. It was the sister show to a radio program that had both musicians and comedians on it called “Young Town”. I introduced music on that program too, but I also had a guest segment, a jokes segment, and a segment called “aiko’s Path to OSJ Hall!”.

ーWas it like an “I’ve got my eyes on Osakajo Hall!” kind of thing, or?

aiko: Yeah, exactly. “What should aiko do to sing at Osakajo Hall? I’m gonna work hard until I get there!” I was just sort of a running joke at first. Then they actually said I could sing in this event called the “Young Town Festival”. When I sang “DO YOU THINK ABOUT ME?” at Osakajo Hall, the faces of all the staff members from when I did the “Path to OSJ Hall!” segment came to mind. And I remembered what people wrote on the postcards they sent in. I remember thinking, “Wow, I actually stood on stage at Osakajo Hall!!!” I was in a huge hurry right before the event started thoughーI was like, “Oh my god, I’m gonna be late!”

ーYou were late to your big moment?

aiko: Yeah. I was so nervous I accidentally overslept. So then I called my dad in tears: “Dad, what do I do now!?” He decided to pick me up in his car but we were in SUCH a hurry and I was feeling so hopeless, I just wailed in the car. “Don’t cry! This is all your fault!” my dad said. And I was like, “...Okay.” Even though I ended up being an hour late, they were still just rehearsing so everything was fine in the end. I honestly had no idea what I would’ve done, though. That’s the absolute only time I’ve ever been late before or after. The other blessing in disguise was that I’d made sure to prepare the clothes I was gonna wear at the event the night beforeーan orange T-shirt and navy blue sweatpants. That orange T-shirt was the same one I wore in the music video for “Naki Mushi”. (laughs) I didn’t have a stylist back then, so I wore clothes over and over again.

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#aiko #aiko yanai #yanai aiko #aiko bon #translation

[patternsintraffic]

My 100 Favorite Albums of the 2000s: #100-#91

Hi all. As you can tell from the title of this blog post, I am about to take you off on quite a tangent. Music is in the works (both the completion of Lights & Reflections and the first full-length Harsh Lights album), but currently I find myself sitting up into the early morning hours with a newborn while my wife tries to get some uninterrupted sleep. So I am taking the opportunity to finally post this ridiculously long-winded writing project that I embarked on last year. The actual list-making and blurb-penning has been done for many months now, but I never took the time to format and post it. So here I am with some free time, getting around to finishing this undertaking!

As you may have seen, I decided to join in the fun at the turn of the decade and make a list of my favorite albums from 2010-2019. I wrote about my top 20 albums of the decade, and had a blast revisiting those records and sharing a little bit about why they are special to me. However, the most surprising part of the process for me was that choosing 20 albums to represent that ten-year period was...pretty easy? I started my career in late 2009, so the entire past decade I've been working full-time, pursuing my own music in my spare time, and more or less adulting. I've definitely listened to a ton of great albums, but it's hard to find music that truly excites you as an adult the way that it did in your formative years. The whole time I was crafting my list, I was thinking about how much more difficult (and rewarding) a task it would have been to compile a list for the previous decade, spanning 2000-2009.

So of course, not long after posting my 2010-2019 list I got to work compiling my favorite albums of the aughts. That 10-year period starts when I was 12 years old and wraps up as I was starting my post-college career. Pretty much my entire journey of musical discovery and growth occurred during those years. I had little in the way of responsibilities, and for most of the decade I ravenously consumed an absolutely enormous amount of music. Multiple hours worth on an average day. I was still buying physical CDs all throughout those years, so I really focused on each album I purchased, giving them many repeat listens and learning them intimately. And so much of what I heard was new and fresh to my ears. At 12 years old, there were so many sounds and styles of music that I had yet to encounter, and all of those first experiences and coming of age moments left lasting impressions.

Suffice to say, putting together a top 20 list of albums to represent that 10-year period was nearly impossible. I knew I would have to make a larger list to feel like I was doing justice to even a fraction of the albums that impacted me in that decade. What I eventually arrived upon after making an initial list of albums and then cutting it down quite a bit...was 100. Yes, I'm going to write about my favorite 100 albums from 2000-2009. And I'm going to have a damn good time doing it. Most of my favorite albums ever will be contained in this list, and most of them are wildly underappreciated, in my opinion. For the sake of keeping each post to a manageable length, I will be posting 10 albums at a time, starting with numbers 100-91 below. Walk with me down memory lane in countdown form, and I hope you can enjoy me waxing poetic about 100 albums that were staples of my young life. Let's get nostalgic.

100. Paris Texas - Like You Like an Arsonist (2004)

There are hundreds of albums that I could have picked to round out my list here in the final spot, but I wanted to shine a light on this poppy punk rock record from 2004. It doesn't do anything particularly groundbreaking, but it's a really fun take on the genre and it didn't get the recognition that it deserved. "Bombs Away" and the title track are absolute barnburners. What a shame that the band broke up shortly after this album was released. I remember reading a review of Like You Like an Arsonist around the time of its release that criticized it for sounding like a collection of songs that could blend seamlessly into the soundtrack of a blockbuster action movie. Looking back, I agree with the reviewer's assessment, but I see it as high praise.

99. Greenwheel - Soma Holiday (2002)

In 2002, you could throw a shoe and hit a band that sounded much like Greenwheel, a radio-ready alternative rock outfit with some heavy riffs and a throaty lead singer. But these guys stood above many of their contemporaries on Soma Holiday, their only major label release. (Their independent EP Bridges for Burning and never-released second full-length Electric Blanket both hinted at a sustainable career that didn't come to fruition.) This album had enough muscle for the rock kids ("Shelter" and "Strong") and enough sweetness for the emo kids ("Dim Halo" and "Breathe," which was later recorded and popularized by Melissa Etheridge). What could have been.

98. Sleeping at Last - Ghosts (2003)

It's been almost 10 years since Sleeping at Last became a solo project for Ryan O'Neal, releasing themed singles that make up overarching concept albums and EPs. Though the output from the current incarnation of the band is beautiful and soothing, the minimalist and orchestral style is a far cry from Ghosts, Sleeping at Last's one major label album. At the time they were a three-piece featuring guitars, bass, and drums alongside O'Neal's piano and distinct vocals. Ghosts features an uncommon blend of cinematic, ethereal, and earnest indie rock that just seemed to go deeper than its peers in 2003.

97. Taking Back Sunday - Where You Want to Be (2004)

I've never been a huge fan of Taking Back Sunday, though of course I rocked the singles from Tell All Your Friends like any self-respecting high-schooler in 2002. It was the follow-up, 2004's Where You Want to Be, that really got its claws in me after I picked it up on release week. With a killer opening trio of "Set Phasers to Stun," "Bonus Mosh Pt. II," and "A Decade Under the Influence" giving way to ballads like "New American Classic" and "...Slowdance on the Inside," this is just a great rock record.

96. Sherwood - A Different Light (2007)

A Different Light is a bright, summery, buoyant pop album full of smooth vocal harmonies, glistening guitars, and shimmering synths. Sure, the lyrical content isn't all rainbows and butterflies, but if you could capture the sound of pure positivity and optimism, it would sound a lot like this record. Between the singalong melodies, handclaps, and "whoa-oh"s, if you don't have a good time listening to A Different Light then music might not be the right medium for you.

95. Young Love - Too Young to Fight It (2007)

I'm fairly certain that Young Love, the dance-rock side project of beloved post-hardcore band Recover's frontman Dan Keyes, was not at all well-received. But for someone with no preconceived notions or attachments to Keyes' previous work, I thought this album was a hell of a lot of fun. In a world where Young Love made a mainstream impact, alternate-universe Kyle can be seen storming the dancefloor to the title track or "Discotech." Too Young to Fight It also gives us the smooth R&B of "Tell Me," the indie rock of "Take It or Leave It," and the experimental and apocalyptic "Tragedy." This is so much more than a dance album, and if it hadn't been released by a musician with strong ties to the hardcore scene it would have had a fighting chance of being recognized as such.

94. Vendetta Red - Sisters of the Red Death (2005)

Vendetta Red frontman Zach Davidson has one of the most dynamic hard rock voices I've ever heard, and Sisters of the Red Death is one of the catchiest rock records I've ever heard. Despite those facts, I have a complicated relationship with this album because of its often-horrifying lyrical content, which details acts of sexual violence and gore. That's usually a dealbreaker for me, but I won't completely write off this record since it is a concept album set in a post-apocalyptic fantasy world. Apparently female empowerment is at the core of the message, so it's not like Vendetta Red are condoning the acts that they're singing about. It's still a bit unnerving when you get the urge to sing along to one of the plethora of earworm melodies throughout this album and then realize exactly what you're singing. While I may not have the stomach for Sisters of the Red Death in 2021, I can still wholeheartedly recommend "Silhouette Serenade," which contains all of the awesomeness with none of the gross-out lyrics.

93. Ours - Distorted Lullabies (2001)

Now 20 years into his career, Ours frontman Jimmy Gnecco is surely tired of being compared to Jeff Buckley. But damn, he really does sound like Jeff Buckley. And when you're being compared to one of the all-time great voices in rock music, that's not such a bad thing. Distorted Lullabies is the first proper Ours album, and it's filled with melodic rock songs that highlight Gnecco's incredible range. As the saying goes, I could listen to Gnecco sing the phonebook (those were still around in 2001!), but put his powerful and emotive voice on dynamic rock songs like "Sometimes" and "Meet Me in the Tower"? Yes, please.

92. Armor for Sleep - What to Do When You Are Dead (2005)

This here is an emo concept album about a boy who commits suicide and his experience in the afterlife. Despite the overwrought subject matter, the songs on What to Do When You Are Dead are carefully crafted and interesting. "Car Underwater" is a scene classic, and my favorite track might be the keyboard-centric interlude "A Quick Little Flight." Armor for Sleep seemed a bit more thoughtful in their songwriting and arrangements than many of their contemporaries.

91. Cauterize - Paper Wings (2005)

The single "Something Beautiful" led me to Cauterize's 2003 major label debut So Far from Real, but upon purchasing the album I found that the rest of the tracks didn't live up to that song's high bar. Not so with the independently-released follow-up Paper Wings, which was just full of emo rock songs that I absolutely devoured in 2005. This was actually the first album that I had to order online because it wasn't sold in stores. I remember the surreal feeling of the CD showing up in the mailbox, and that first experience attached some additional meaning to Paper Wings. It doesn't hurt that it features propulsive songs like "Wake to the Sun," "Closer," and "Tremble." Cauterize later signed to another label and re-recorded most of these songs for Disguises, which rejiggered the tracklist and added a few new tunes. Even though the production might be a little better on Disguises, I always preferred the Paper Wings versions and the flow of the original tracklist. There's nothing like the first time.

#albums of the decade #best of the 2000s #top100 #countdown #nostalgia trip

[lifeonashelf]

CLASH, THE

As anyone who self-identifies as a “serious” music fan  is indubitably aware (goddammit, this essay is already pretentious and I haven’t even finished the first sentence), there are certain bands which other self-identified “serious” music fans have long-ago designated as “important” artists that all “serious” music fans are supposed to love. There isn’t any set-in-stone mandate for this, no handy reference guide which lists all of these acts for the benefit of those seeking to become “serious” music fans—actually, there very well might be, but I don’t feel like looking it up and I wouldn’t want to read such a pompous list anyway. The artists in this elite pantheon are mostly identified through accumulated cognizance, via extensive reading of material scribed by writers who self-identify as “serious” music fans and/or extensive conversations with people who self-identify as the same. Unfortunately, uncovering those exalted names is an often-insufferable process, since most self-identifying “serious” music fans are themselves often-insufferable. And doing so is also an exercise in sheer inanity, since requiring someone else to tell you whether or not a band is good defeats the entire fucking purpose of being a music fan.

I am “not” a “serious” music fan. Yes, I have written over 200,000 words about that specific subject for this project, and my every waking moment is spent either listening to records or wishing I was listening to records instead of doing whatever it is I’m doing instead of listening to records. Yet there are two notable discrepancies in my psyche which disqualify me from thriving among the insufferable: 1) My favorite album of all time is by fucking Queensryche, so I harbor absolutely zero delusions about possessing any sophisticated expertise in this field; and 2) I honestly couldn’t give a shit whether or not anybody else likes the bands I like.

That second distinction is rather important for our purposes here, since one notable attribute of “serious” music fans is a deportment of haughtiness towards people who aren’t “serious” music fans, which is usually accompanied by a reflexive disdain for anyone who does not subscribe to the putative preeminence of the “important” bands on the afore-mentioned possibly-nonexistent list. This isn’t something the aficionados I’m speaking of will necessarily acknowledge—to be fair, most of them probably aren’t even aware they’re dicks—but rest assured, if you ever tell a “serious” music fan that you think Radiohead has been awful for the entirety of this century, they will indeed think less of you.

On the contrary, I don’t think less of people who don’t exalt Operation: Mindcrime as highly as I do, nor would I bother expending energy trying to convince anyone they should share my ardor for the second-best-selling album by a band most people barely remember even existed. If you love Operation: Mindcrime, that’s totally cool—we can certainly geek out on how Chris DeGarmo’s precise shredding throughout “Speak” reveals him to be the most underrated guitar player of all time, and we can rhapsodize about how the interlocked suite of “Breaking the Silence”/ “I Don’t Believe In Love”/ “Waiting for 22”/ ”My Empty Room” and “Eyes of a Stranger” is the most exhilarating 18-minutes of music ever recorded (and it’s entirely possible I will ask you to marry me at the conclusion of our discussion). However, if you don’t love Operation: Mindcrime, that’s totally cool, too—maybe you simply prefer the band’s subsequent record, Empire, and I certainly won’t begrudge your attempt to make a case for its superiority based on the incontrovertible strength of “Silent Lucidity”, “Jet City Woman”, and “Another Rainy Night (Without You)”, because all of those tracks are also fucking marvelous. Or maybe you think Queensryche totally sucked and you’d rather chat about Animal Collective instead—seriously, that’s also perfectly acceptable (although our conversation will have to be fairly brief since I’ve still never heard that band and don’t really care that I’ve never heard them).

Needless to say, Queensryche probably isn’t on the shortlist of many music fans, serious or otherwise. They aren’t even on mine—despite the apex they reached with Operation: Mindcrime, the records they made before that are merely decent and I think pretty much everything they released after Empire is terrible. “Serious” music fans wouldn’t even mention such frivolous and undistinguished fare in passing. Though they will eagerly plunk down $200 for a Bob Dylan box set featuring 14 discs laden with endless alternate versions of the songs from Slow Train Coming, and they will subsequently embark on a thorough scholarly analysis of each increasingly redundant track until they reach a decisive verdict that Take 6 of “Man Gave Names to All the Animals” is slightly superior to the version that was used on the album, after which they will inevitably engage in spirited discussions about their findings with other “serious” music fans, who are liable to counter that Take 4 with the alternate bridge lyrics is the true superlative rendering of that number. Such things are deeply significant to “serious” music fans, which is one of the many reasons they’re insufferable. And if you were to inform these ardent votaries that you think the vast majority of Dylan’s recorded output is boring as shit and you’d much rather listen to anything in the Queensryche catalog than anything Bobby D released after 1975, they would readily conclude that you know absolutely nothing about music.

And perhaps I don’t. Because despite what every “serious” music fan has to say about the matter, Queensryche is infinitely more important to me than Bob Dylan. Operation: Mindcrime was the album that led me to pick up a guitar for the first time. Operation: Mindcrime was the album that led me to start writing songs and begin exploring my creative talents in earnest. Which means that, ultimately, Queensryche is the reason I’m sitting here at my laptop thirty years later, typing an essay about The Clash that has yet to actually say anything about The Clash. In a tangible and legitimate sense, Queensryche changed the course of my entire life. Out in the “serious” world, Dylan may be a Pulitzer Prize-winning lyricist and the most acclaimed musician of the 20th Century. But in my world, he’s just a dude who made three albums in my collection that I never listen to. So, clearly, importance is a subjective characterization.

Here’s where that applies to the topic at hand: The Clash are one of those lionized bands whose work everyone who professes to love music is supposed to love. They are undoubtedly “important.” Their records are “seminal.” I am acutely aware of this. Yet this awareness only reinforces my recognition that I must not be a “serious” music fan, because I don’t fucking care.

My valuation of The Clash tallies out to a half-dozen-or-so kickass tunes, twenty-or-so pretty good tunes, and “Rock the Casbah”, which is one of the most comprehensively annoying songs ever excreted—a ratio that doesn’t chart them anywhere on my personal best-list. A recent documentary about the group was outfitted with the ludicrously hyperbolic title The Only Band That Matters, a designation which suggests I have evidently squandered my entire life by seeking out the literal thousands of bands that matter a lot more to me than The Clash does. As with Dylan, The Clash only factors into my musical paradigm by virtue of other artists they influenced—in other words, I like most of the bands who like The Clash a lot more than I like the band they like. Since they’re “important,” this roster is extensive and encompasses a wide range of artists responsible for some of my favorite records ever. Nonetheless, even limiting my scope strictly to the track listing of Burning London—a 1999 tribute CD which features 12 Clash tunes covered by a decidedly anemic assortment of 12 bands who are not The Clash—I still enjoy listening to half of those bands more than I enjoy listening to the Clash. Which is, I think, a good indication of how little their music matters to me, since the only bands on Burning London I actually do prefer The Clash to include bottom-scraping pedestrians like The Urge, Indigo Girls, and goddamn No Doubt, whose very existence aggravates me so much that hearing their music makes me physically nauseous.

Afghan Whigs supplied a track to Burning London, and I love Greg Dulli’s work with parts of my soul that Joe Strummer’s songs have never strummed anywhere near. 311 also has a cut on there, and my fondness for them is far more long-standing and sincere than the casual appreciation I have accumulated for The Clash. So does Third Eye Blind, whose self-titled debut I’ve spun WAY more times than I’ve played my copy of The Clash, by a factor of at least 20. Even the presence of a more peripheral outfit like Cracker serves to remind me that I think “Low” rocks harder than “I’m So Bored with the U.S.A.” Sure, I like the Clash more than I like The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, but if I’m being honest, I probably prefer fellow Burning London contributors Silverchair to both of them, and Silverchair is kind of lousy by any standard.

So, does this confession reveal that I know fuck-all about music? Or does it perhaps reveal that the connections each of us forge to the artform we’re exploring here are so exclusive and individualized that any sort of flighty designation of what bands “matter” completely undermines the sacred and inimitable power of music? I propose the latter—mostly because I have to make this piece about something, and I don’t feel like writing about how awesome The Clash is because I don’t think they’re nearly as awesome as I’m apparently supposed to.

I have a friend named Celine (save it—she’s heard all the jokes) who would probably tell you that Fall Out Boy changed her life. She’s not a “serious” music fan—if she’s ever listened to The Clash at all, it likely occurred by happenstance while she was watching Stranger Things—but she is one of the most committed music fans I’ve ever met. She goes to a lot of shows, she buys hoodies from peripheral squads like Sleeping With Sirens, and she could probably sing you multiple Panic At The Disco records from start to finish. The kind of love she has for the bands that are important to her is of the purest and most zealous grade—a passionate embrace that pulls their music out of the background of her life and into the foreground of her heart, a fandom based not on what’s hip this minute but on what moves her always. Precisely the kind of love that music is fucking meant to inspire, as far as I’m concerned. And, frankly, I don’t think it matters if the band who opened that door for her is Fall Out Boy, because the open door itself is far more important that any capricious critical assessment of how “important” their work is.

The Clash have been sanctified as one of punk’s most imperative progenitors, but that doesn’t mean I feel obligated to love them simply because I love punk rock. The Clash had absolutely nothing to do with my submersion into the genre—a girl named Alison who used to play NOFX cassettes in her car when she gave me rides home from Bonita High School had a greater influence on that corollary than Mick Jones did. Alison had several tapes in the caddy she kept in her center console—Pennywise, Guttermouth, and the like—and we listened to all those, too. But it was NOFX’s masterwork Punk in Drublic that stole my heart, cuts like “Linoleum” and “Lori Meyers” and “Dying Degree” that energized my eardrums and unveiled a whole new biosphere of sonic possibilities. Punk in Drublic is the record that made me a fan of punk rock, which sort of makes NOFX the most important punk rock band of all time to me. And neither the lasting impact of that introduction nor the multitude of memories which augment my experience every time I listen to Punk in Drublic are tempered by the feeble insistence of self-appointed music scholars that The Clash and Sex Pistols represent proper punk essentiality, because in my universe The Clash is predominantly meh and the Sex Pistols are predominantly shit-awful.

But perhaps the problem here isn’t me. Maybe it’s just time to reassess the derisible notion that there have only been a handful of significant bands formed since the 1970’s. And maybe it’s also time to reassess how such designations are tabulated, and how often we revisit those tabulations. Because The Clash haven’t done anything especially noteworthy in my lifetime, and I’ve been around for 40 fucking years now. The last “important” record they made—1982’s Combat Rock—came out when I was 4. And despite the group’s repute as one of the wellsprings from which all things punk were born, the most enduring tracks off Combat Rock are the bare bones Kinks-esque rocker “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” (which, granted, is an unimpeachably rad song) and the utterly dreadful “Rock the Casbah”, which—near as my ears can tell—didn’t influence any of the songs in the NOFX catalog, but definitely influenced a lot of the songs in the decidedly un-punk Fine Young Cannibals catalog. The band was remarkable in their own epoch because of their anti-aristocracy philosophy and their then-novel fusing of punk and reggae, yet the lasting effects of those oft-cited dogmatic components are negligible today. Sure, The Clash lit a protest rock fuse that later motivated Rage Against The Machine to make some of the coolest music of the ‘90s, but they also accidentally invented Slightly Stoopid, so those two contributions probably cancel each other out. And, yes, they embraced vital social causes and pledged undying support to anti-Nazi groups, but the Dead Kennedys managed to issue a condemnation more blistering than The Clash’s entire combined catalog in just sixty-four seconds when they recorded “Nazi Punks Fuck Off”.

The fact that “Casbah” remains the band’s most lasting and highest-charting hit suggests that a whole lot of The Clash’s non-“serious” fans don’t ultimately give a shit about any of the reasons their “serious” aficionados have deemed them indispensable. Which sort of speaks to the point I’ve been making here. Cougars who scurry to the dance floor to shake their asses with their Solo cups held high whenever “Rock the Casbah” comes on at the club are just as welcome to the track as the Art & Activism professors who play it for an auditorium full of bored freshmen to preface their lectures on Iranian despots banning Western music. The song serves extremely different functions for both extremes of its audience, which is ultimately a point in its favor. The reason the omnipresence of “Casbah” irritates me, besides the song itself being irritating, is because its tedious one-riff groove showcases none of the band’s stronger attributes and the general goofiness of the presentation makes the whole affair resonate as nothing more than a frivolous novelty number—adopting “Rock the Casbah” as the anthem that defines The Clash is a lot like picking “Batdance” as the best Prince song.  

All of this reads like I hate The Clash, which is definitely not the case (although, I am listening to Combat Rock from start to finish for the first time in ages right now, and most of the record is actually pretty terrible). What I do hate is the sort of stuffy snobbery which has come to predominate cultural discourse on any music that intellectuals have chosen to elevate into the category of high art, whether the subject is revolution-minded ‘70s proto-punk or contemporary socially-conscious hip-hop (which has become the genre du jour of all modern pop music critics striving to prove how woke they are). And maybe my aversion doesn’t apply exclusively to the deification of bands; maybe it stems from my tenure in grad school, where I was continually reminded by English professors that authors like Stephen King and Elmore Leonard—i.e. writers whose work people without PhDs enjoy reading—somehow belong in a lesser tier than the likes of William Faulkner and James Joyce, who are deemed superior by the literary elite simply because they have been elected into canonization by that same literary elite. Maybe I’ve grown to believe that making distinctions between so-called “high” and “low” art is inherently an act of arrogance, because no matter how much activity a piece of prose or music may inspire in the minds of the cognoscente, it is the impact art has on our hearts and souls that should govern how its importance is measured. Some of us find the same rich tapestry of storytelling in back issues of Amazing Spider-Man as “serious” readers find in The Dubliners. And some of us find the same door-opening revelations in Operation: Mindcrime as “serious” music fans find in London Calling. Highbrow culture’s continued insistence that there is somehow a marked disparity between the two is false and exclusionary—and both of those sins are egregious because all art is most powerful when it serves a mirror that reflects truths within ourselves, and that kind of existential revelation is wide open to anybody who cares enough to seek it out. Any band whose music accomplishes a feat that outstanding doesn’t need to have a graduate thesis or a documentary devoted to them to be important.

If The Clash changed your life, I’m very happy for you. But Fall Out Boy changed Celine’s life, and Queensryche changed mine, and The Clash never did shit for either one of us. So, while I’m sure someone gave themselves a huge boner when they came up with the title The Only Band That Matters, an allegation like that only serves to deepen the divide between the insufferable and us lower-echelon fans who cultivate our love of music based on what it makes us feel instead of whether smart people think it matters or not. Because when you strip away politics and history and erudite mammon, there’s only one way to gauge the eminence of any band: fucking put on one of their records and see if it kicks your ass.

The Clash’s albums offer me sporadic moments of excitement, but they do not kick my ass. So if that means I’m not a “serious” music fan, I guess I’ll just have to learn to live with that. And I’ll take the $200 I’m not spending on some otiose Bob Dylan box set and buy 14 discs I’ll actually listen to instead. I may never find out whether Take 11 of “God Gave Names to All the Animals” is superior to Take 8, but I do know every word Geoff Tate wails on “Breaking the Silence”—and, goddammit, that should count for something.

 March 11, 2019

[vandnana]

Loving You Is Easy

Part Four

We decided against getting more plushies, happy with Little Yeol and Little Junie. I looked around the park to find something else to do. We walked through the park slowly, absorbing every possibility. I noticed the many people that were still hanging out at the park, even though it was getting later by the minute. A group of kids walking in the opposite direction of us, appeared to have just arrived. Chanyeol took quick notice of the kids, the roll of quarters sitting heavily in his pocket. He motioned them over and gave it to them, pointing at the still fully-loaded claw machine we abandoned. The kids hugged him in gratitude, then raced toward the machine. 

We continued walking on, unsure of our next move until the rumble of our stomachs decided for us. Chanyeol urged that it would be a sin if we didn’t try to eat everything we could find, so we pigged out on every single delicacy we laid our eyes on. We accumulated a large bag of a nutritionist’s nightmare then, by Chanyeol’s suggestion, we walked along the boardwalk to find a place to eat.

The fullness of the park left the boardwalk scarce with people, rows of empty benches calling out to us. Chanyeol picked a bench that overlooked the ocean, the moonlight cascading its beams onto the midnight blue water. I sat down, placing Little Yeol to my left. Chanyeol sat closely on my right, placing little Junie next to him, and the bag of food (that he insisted on carrying), on his lap. The awning above us shined a yellow-casted light over us, poorly illuminating the food. 

“Okay what do you want to try first?” Chanyeol asked, the usual wideness in his eyes relaying his joy.

“Anything with cheese in it.” I answered, licking my lips. 

I couldn’t remember the names of the things we ordered, but Chanyeol seemed to know exactly what to hand me, carefully giving me a tall cup with balls of breaded dough. The aroma coming out of the cup made my mouth water, and I was eager to eat it. Chanyeol looked at me in eagerness as well, excited to see my reaction, but instead of eating it, I held one up to him.

“Let’s eat it together.” I smiled. It took him a second to process, blinking at the ball, then nodding at me in thanks.

He grabbed the dough with both hands, and made sure to watch me so we would eat at the same time. There was an audible crunch as we sank our teeth into it, the gooeyness of the cheese spilling out to grace our tastebuds. My eyes enlarged once the decadence of the cheese filled my mouth, but Chanyeol’s were even bigger than usual as he mirrored my reaction. 

“Mmmmm” We both let out in unison, laughing at our conjuncted reaction.

“What is this?” I asked, sticking another one in my mouth.

“They’re garlic mozzarella balls. Since you really like cheese, I think you’ll like this too.” Chanyeol suggested, reaching into the bag.

I leaned forward as he took out a CD-sized waffle wrapped in wax paper. Chanyeol took the cup from my hands, replacing it with the waffle. I observed it, seeing only waffle and no cheese. I glanced back up at him skeptically.

“There’s a surprise inside!” He exclaimed, motioning for me to take a bite. 

I kept my eyes raised in skepticism as I took a huge bite out of the waffle. I could have taken a smaller bite, but I wanted him to see that I trusted him, despite the contrasting message my eyebrows sent.

The elevation of my eyebrows shifted from skepticism to pleasant surprise. As I bit into the crunchy powder sugar-covered waffle, the smoothness of a sweet strawberry cream cheese filling found a home on my tastebuds. I smiled brightly as I chewed, thoroughly enjoying the sugariness.

“See! It’s exquisite isn’t it?” Chanyeol’s eyes were like a little kid’s, full of life.

I nodded blissfully at him, ready to finish the rest of the waffle, but deciding against it. Just like I did with the garlic mozzarella balls, I held the waffle up for him to eat too. 

“You can finish it June. I can tell you like it a lot!” Chanyeol chuckled, pushing my hand down.

I protested, holding it back up to him. “Just eat it Chanyeol.”

My earnestness seemed to be enough for him to engulf the entire thing in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out as he chewed, the powdered sugar littered around his mouth. 

I looked into the bag for napkins, but only found the rest of the artery-clogging food we bought. I sighed at our oversight to get napkins, glancing back up at Chanyeol who finally finished the waffle.

“Thanks for letting me finish it.” He said sweetly, the smile he gave making his eyes turn into crescents. 

“Yeah of course Chanyeol. Hey, I was trying to look for napkins in the bag, but we don’t have any.” I looked back into the bag to see if I missed them, but they didn’t magically appear like I expected them to.

“Oh really? Sorry. I should have grabbed some. I’ll go get them right now.” Chanyeol’s eyes slightly frantic as he got up. 

I pulled his sleeve, making him sit down again. “It’s okay. I wasn’t asking for myself. You have powdered sugar all over your mouth.” 

Chanyeol’s face suddenly flushed underneath the yellow light above us. He quickly brought his coat sleeve to his mouth to wipe off the powdered sugar, his eyes darted back to me for reassurance that he got all of it off. I shook my head, still seeing remnants of it on the corners of his mouth. He brought his sleeve back up to wipe everything off, but I put my hand on his arm to stop him.

“There’s only a little left. I’ll just brush it off for you. If you wipe your mouth again, your lips will feel all dry and weird.” I resolved. 

I leaned toward him to hold the sides of his face and used both of my thumbs to lightly brush the rest of the sugar off of his mouth. Chanyeol held his breath once I touched his face, his eyes making a muse out of all of my features, then stopping at my lips that were slightly parted in focus. He helplessly gulped as he naturally found himself wondering what they felt like. I smiled once I finished, shifting my gaze on his lips back to his eyes. He felt my gaze shift, finding my eyes again. They twinkled.

“Thanks.” It was all he could bring himself to say as he felt himself melt again.

“You would have done the same for me.” I kindly beamed, feeling myself become more and more comfortable around him. 

Chanyeol and I were perfectly content as we ate the rest of the food we bought, stuffing ourselves until the effects of an impending food coma started to inflict us. We leaned back on the bench, our eyes threatening to close. We would have easily fallen asleep right there hadn’t it been for the howling wind shooting ice at us and the lights along the boardwalk. We let our stomachs settle as we sat there. We were idle for a long time before I forced myself to get up and stretch, taking little Yeol into my hands. Chanyeol was a little bit more stubborn to get up. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk anymore. I’m paralyzed. You’re going to have to carry me home.” Chanyeol whined dramatically, fake wincing. 

“Chanyeol. You are six feet tall. I genuinely cannot carry you. Now please please please, get up. I kind of want to see the beach.” I pouted, purposely making my eyes look as sad as possible.

“June. I can’t. I think I’m slowly being morphed into the bench. It thinks I’m a part of it now. Come on bench! You have to let me go!” He slapped the bench in an agony that almost looked real. 

“Fine. You can just stay there and become the bench. I’ll just walk around the beach with little Yeol.” I proclaimed, running toward the beach entrance. Chanyeol sat upright once I started running, his languid feeling dissipated.

“June! No I was just kidding. Wait for me!” He grabbed little Junie, sprinting after me. 

My tiredness quickly faded and the feeling of him chasing after me made me run faster. I finally got to the beach entrance, and stopped to take my shoes off. I took them off quickly, still wanting to get away from Chanyeol, but not wanting the discomfort of sand swishing in my shoes. Once I got them off, Chanyeol was only ten feet away from me, so I sprinted onto the sand toward the shore. I couldn’t help but laugh as he shouted things at me that were muted by the wind. I reached the shore, and looked back at him. I stopped so he could finally catch up, watching his tall frame trudge through the sand. He was breathing heavily and visibly uncomfortable from running in the sand with his shoes on. We were finally face to face and I was still laughing.

He breathed in between his words with a slightly threatening tone, “I’m-going-to-take-my-shoes-off-and-then-you’re-really-gonna-have-to-run-for-your-life.” 

I put my shoes and plushie on the sand, laughing even harder at his seriousness. Chanyeol dramatically plopped onto the sand, untying his converse then shaking out all of the sand that accumulated inside of it. He threw them to his side and got up, a mischievous grin on his face. I halted my laughter as I saw him getting ready to run. I sprinted away from him as hard as I could, the sand imperiling my every movement. Chanyeol gained on me quickly, my sly attempt at dodging his grasp failing as he pulled my sleeve toward him. He lost his balance as I fell into him, his arms wrapped instinctively around me as we were sent down to the unforgiving sand. My head pressed against his chest as his back hit the sand, provoking painful groans from the both of us. Our lungs were both grasping for air as we laid down on the sand. I felt his heart beat erratically and his chest fill and sink as he breathed heavily. I lifted my head up to meet his eyes and make sure he was alright.

“Chanyeol-are-you-okay?” I let out, still trying to catch my breath.

He took a second to respond, feeling himself blush as I laid on top of him. My indifference to the romantic nature of the situation made him feel better, but as he caught his breaths, his heart thumped even more rapidly. 

Somewhere in between he found his confidence again, propping himself up on his elbows to face me properly. He gave me a lopsided grin. “Yeah-I’m more than okay- ‘cause I won.” 

I couldn’t help but smile at his cockiness. “Congratulations, but your legs are longer than mine. If you were shorter, I would have left you in the dust.”

I got off of him, standing up to brush off all of the sand that invaded my body. Chanyeol’s heart and mind relaxed once I got off of him. He shook the sand out of his hair, then stood up as well to get the rest of the sand off. He shook his butt all funny, twirled around, and flapped his long arms like a bird, launching the sand back to the ground. 

“Is that your favorite way to get sand off or is there another way?” I asked playfully.

“No. This is the only way. You should try it.” Chanyeol shook his butt one more time before he felt satisfied.

I shook my head, laughing. “I’m okay. I’m pretty sure I got it all off.” 

He nodded, laughing along with me. “Come on, let’s go back to the shore.” 

I agreed, seeing our shoes and plushies in the distance. We walked to the edge of the saturated sand, pressing my foot into it. I lifted my pants up just in case the water wanted to creep up on me, then grabbed Chanyeol’s hand. He jumped at the sudden touch, but kept his hand firmly in mine.

“Let’s walk along the shore.” I urged. The sweet, sweet magic between us returned, intoxicating the air, and I embraced it, misinterpreting the romantic potential as platonic comfort. 

“O-okay. Whatever you want June.” Chanyeol uttered, the butterflies in his stomach alert and animated. 

We walked along the shore slowly, the sound of the tides becoming our music. I breathed the air in deeply, looking out across the water, and thinking about the unknown beneath it. That was how life always felt for me, unknown. There was never a sense of security, only the implant of doubt, an implant of doubt in myself and in the rest of the world. I never thought about where I would want to end up in life, just that I wanted to run away from the life I had always known. I didn’t think that I needed a sense of belonging because I felt that I would never belong anywhere. I knew that even if I cried and screamed because of the pain they caused, they would only look at me with the same, cold eyes. I knew that even if I did everything they said, they would never be satisfied. There was nothing warm before today, and as I walked with Chanyeol underneath the moonlight, holding his hand, knowing that we would both be going home to Mrs. Park’s apartment, I realized that my idea of belonging was warped. 

“Thank you Chanyeol.” I hummed, breaking the silence between us. 

“For what?” He looked at me earnestly with his twinkling eyes.

“For saying that I didn’t have to do anything to deserve your guys’ kindness. I couldn’t find the words earlier, but I know what to say now. I just- I’ve just always had to earn everything, and if what I did wasn’t good enough, then I just let myself think that I wasn’t good enough. So, when Mrs. Park just let me live with her, it didn’t feel real. And you being so nice to me and so thoughtful, it didn’t feel real. But you made it feel real when you said that. I’ve never had people in my life like you guys, so it’s hard for me to process it. But I’m trying to, and I’ve never had a friend like you. We are friends now right?” 

Chanyeol chuckled as if my question was the most ridiculous question in the world. “Of course! We’re more than friends now. We’re best friends.” 

It didn’t pain him to say that to me. There was no protest in his body to confess his feelings, and no sudden urge of frustration at my cluelessness. He understood me on a level that even he couldn’t fully comprehend. Somehow he knew that it wouldn’t have worked out for us if he had told the truth right there on the beach. He knew that what I needed was the security I never had. He knew that I didn’t know my own feelings back then, that I didn’t know how to confront them. And because he knew all of this, Chanyeol would have waited forever if he had to. 

I smiled an uncontrollably huge smile and let out a sudden squeal that surprised the both of us. I covered my mouth fast, embarrassed by my own excitement, but Chanyeol didn’t laugh at all. He let out an even bigger, louder squeal, my happiness erupting in the form of another unruly laugh. 

Chanyeol and I continued walking along the beach as I worked up the courage to dip my feet into the sub-zero water. Chanyeol was braver than me, taking many opportunities to interrupt the approaching water with the stomp of his foot. The water splashed around his feet, engulfing them in an icy prison that Chanyeol didn’t seem confined to. If he was cold, he hid it well behind his child-like expression shimmering underneath the moon’s glow. 

I hyped myself up to meet the water, huffing and puffing the cold air that wanted to bury itself in my chest. Once I found my courage, I crossed Chanyeol to stomp into the water, its embrace quickly finding my feet, electrifying them into a numbness. I instantly regretted my boldness, latching onto Chanyeol’s other arm as I retreated back to the dry sand. 

“Well, I am never doing that again.” The numbness in my feet and the frantic wind making my teeth chatter.

Chanyeol pulled me into a hug that calmed the cold shock I was experiencing, and I hugged him back, wanting to return the warmth. 

“I don’t know how you just kept putting your feet in the water. I couldn’t even last a second. It was freezing Chanyeol. No. Beyond freezing.” I buried my face in his chest, my voice muffled. 

Chanyeol had his head rested on top of mine, relieved that I couldn’t see the blush forming on his cheeks. “I’m just pure fire that’s why. I didn’t even feel cold.” 

I kept my head rested on his chest, the palpitations of his heart abnormally fast. “Yeah that explains why your heart is beating so fast. You’re practically bursting with thermal energy.” 

Chanyeol looked up, holding back an amused chuckle because of my obliviousness. “Yeah, that’s definitely the reason.” 

I felt warm enough to let go of Chanyeol, but he let his arms linger, not wanting the embrace to end. I peered up at the moon, realizing how late it was. Time became an illusion for the both of us that night because when we finally checked the time, it was past midnight. Looking back, our night was simple, but the elation we naturally built up made it feel like the world was turning just a little slower. Chanyeol and I picked up our shoes and plushies, then headed toward the boardwalk. Chanyeol urged that he had one last thing to show me before we headed home, and in his determination, he forget to put his shoes back on. I stopped him, pointing at the converse in his hands, and he laughed at himself for forgetting. 

I sat on the ground as I brushed off as much sand as I could off of my feet before putting my shoes back on. Chanyeol swiftly did the same, then helped me get off of the ground. For the remainder of our walk back to the train station, he had his hands intertwined in mine, just as they were when we first stepped foot in Coney Island. 

We stepped onto the Q train, instantly finding seats. We sunk into them, our legs feeling a sense of comfort after all the running and walking. Chanyeol and I took the last car because he insisted that it was closest to the exit. I expected that the train would be filled with people still, but the subway car we were in was occupied by Chanyeol, me, and two tiny Asian men (they weren’t associated with each other). 

“So, where are we going this time?” I urged, hopeful that he would give me the answer right away.

“It’s a surprise June. I can’t give it away.” His tone was matter-of-fact like the details of our destination was something to be serious about.

“You and your surprises...have you always been this secretive?” I peered up at him like I disapproved. 

“Yes, but just for surprises, and my surprises are always fun.” He replied confidently, his tone cool. 

“I mean, I can’t disagree since Coney Island was really fun. Thanks by the way, for taking me there.” My eyes showed my gratefulness and the way that I held on tightly to little Yeol, Chanyeol could see how much it meant to me.

“Hey. You don’t have to thank me. Even if you don’t say thank you at all, I’ll know you’re saying thanks.” He reassured. My eyes crinkled as he patted my head affectionately, then draped his arm over my shoulder.

“Hey Chanyeol what’s your phone number?” I pulled my phone out for the first time that day. I saw all of the unanswered messaged and calls, but dismissed them as I went to my contacts. I handed Chanyeol my phone, and he typed his number in. I went to grab it but he insisted on taking a picture of himself for the contact picture. 

“Here, just let me take a picture of you.” I held my hand up for him to give it to me.

“Okay it’s definitely better if you take the picture because I have a pose in mind.” Chanyeol marveled, leaning back to face me. I held the camera up, focusing on his face. Plastered on his face was an ecstatic smile, his eyes widened in their natural happiness, and his hands formed into a heart. I snapped the picture then playfully rolled my eyes at him. I confirmed the picture and reviewed the contact. He set his name as Chanyeol, but next to his name he wrote a word in Hangul. 

“Chanyeol oppa?” I questioned, eyeing the contact name and then meeting his gaze.

“What? I am your oppa.” He replied plainly, crossing his arms.

“Okay fine. Give me your phone so I can put my contact in.”

He obliged, taking his phone out. “Okay, but let me take your picture first. And you have to do the same pose so we match.” 

“Fine, fine Chanyeol.” I replied with a fake annoyance. I put my hands in a heart and looked at the camera. Chanyeol made a weird face behind the camera, making me genuinely grin. 

“OH that was perfect. Look.” He gave me his phone, and I studied my picture. I couldn’t deny that it was a cute picture, and I smiled in approval. 

I put my number in and thought about what I wanted to set my contact name as. I laughed to myself as I thought of the perfect name, typing it in then handing it back to him.

He looked over the screen and let out a thunder-cracking laugh that startled the Asian men on the other side of the subway car. I attempted to quiet him down, holding back my own rumble of laughter. 

“June oppa? That’s not how it works. Firstly, I’m older than you. Second, you’re not a guy.” He replied once his laughter died down.

“I know but it’s funny. Maybe I should just call you Chanyeol noona.” I joked, waiting for his reaction.

“Nooooo. I want to be oppa. Let’s just both be oppa.” Chanyeol resolved, peering back at his phone, affectionately gazing at my contact name.

“Glad you see things my way.” I beamed, putting my phone away. I turned back toward Chanyeol who was texting someone. He lifted his head up with an expression someone would have when they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.

“Sorry. I just had to text halmeoni. I let her know we were going to be out really late before we left, but I didn’t expect we would be out this late.”

A feeling of guilt and shame started to spiral inside of me, as I evaluated the situation. A visible worry was painted on my face as my mind naturally entertained the bubbling doubt and apprehension underneath my feet. Chanyeol took notice, rubbing my shoulder in assurance, floating me back up out of my own head.

“Don’t worry June. She’s just worried for us, that’s all. Well, she’s actually more worried for you than me. She thinks I’m tiring you out with all this adventuring. Halmeoni knows I can get carried away. But, if you are tired, we can just go home.” Chanyeol consoled, his eyes were soft. He held no expectation, no wish for me to go along with his plans. 

“I’m still really wide awake actually. I think I’m still in shock from the cold water. So, let’s go where you wanted to go, unless...you’re tired?” 

“Not even a little bit. I’m kind of a night owl. The only time I really felt tired was after we ate all that food, but then it went away when we were on the beach.”

“Yeah you were being so dramatic on that bench for no reason Chanyeol.” 

“Okay hear me out. I swear I was turning into the bench. We were sitting there for so long. The bench was starting to take a liking to me. I genuinely couldn’t move.”

“Dramatic.” I kept my face as straight as possible, contrasting his riled one. 

There was no doubt that Chanyeol was self-assured, but that self-assurance always revealed itself during conversations like this. His need to defend himself over something so silly intensely amused me. Chanyeol’s confidence in every action made him feel as if he had unlimited justification, which was ridiculous, but I enjoyed it.

“Okay, June listen, I haven’t eaten this much fried food since the last time I came, so the food hit me a little differently. Is that such a crime?” 

“No-” I stopped, a rupture of laughter escaped my mouth because I knew what I was about to say next would provoke Chanyeol even more, “but I guess throwing up or turning into a bench are your only reactions to carnival food.” 

Chanyeol threw his hand up and looked away from me, his mouth hung open in utter hurt. “You are so ruthless about this. Those are perfectly acceptable reactions. As I said before, there was no line at the Cyclone. And-” 

He paused his explanation when I leaned into him, another clamorous giggle erupting out of my mouth. 

“Sorry-it’s just-even when you know I’m joking, you’re still defensive. It’s really funny.” 

Chanyeol would have continued on, but the defense that he had lined up became mush in his brain as he felt the vibrations of my laughter in his chest. 

My laughter dissipated and I took in a final breath before it faded completely. I expected Chanyeol to have a sour look on his face from my comments, but he only had his familiar child-like expression, his lips blissfully pressed together. The train halted, making another stop, and I looked up to read the name of the street: Parkside Avenue.

“We’re gonna get off at the next one.” Chanyeol relayed to me, hopping off of the seat, then holding his hand out for me. I took it, then got up, shaking my legs awake.

In a matter of minutes, the train stopped again and the doors opened promptly. Chanyeol led me out of the train before I could even read the name of the street we were on. He purposefully walked in front of me so that I wouldn’t see anything. As we ascended the stairs, I fully expected to see bustling streets, towering buildings, and bright imposing street lights. The smell of the air was the first indication that my expectations were completely wrong, the trace of freshness overtaking my nose. We reached the apex of the stairs, and Chanyeol finally moved his tall body out of the way so I could marvel at our destination.

The towering buildings that I originally formed in my mind didn’t appear in front of me, in their place were gigantic, poised trees voluminous with bouquets of red, orange, and yellow leaves. The tall street lights I expected showed themselves as short tulip-styled posts illuminating an amber glow on the leave-laden concrete. The bustling streets were nowhere to be found, a calmness settled over the area’s entirety, the short grass gently waving from the swirling wind. Chanyeol led me further into the park, our feet crunching the disarray of leaves. My head was fixed on the trees that greeted me from above, and I wondered if they would have this effect on me had it been spring and not autumn. Chanyeol halted, following my gaze, greeting the trees too. 

“This is why I couldn’t wait to take you here. The trees still have most of their color and they haven’t all fallen off yet. Prospect Park is usually filled with people during the day, but at night...not so much. So, you like it?” Chanyeol explained, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Chanyeol,” I began, turning my head to face him, “these are the prettiest trees I’ve seen in my life. I love it here. And the lamp posts are so cute too.”

He turned around to observe the lamp posts, chuckling at my admiration of them. “They are really cute. If you want I can take a picture of you next to it, or in the middle of the aisle.” 

I walked over to a nearby bench and sat little Yeol there, then took little Junie from Chanyeol so the two plushies could sit together. I took my phone out and handed it to him. Given the simplicity that he put into taking my contact picture, I thought that he would just take a few pictures and be done with it. But, he made me do different poses and urged me to do both serious and happy faces. He didn’t hesitate to get the right angles, even laying on the floor at one point. After a whole fifteen minutes, he handed me back my phone, telling me to look over the pictures for approval. 

“I’ll take more pictures if you don’t like them, but I doubt you will.” His tone was without hesitation or comicality.

I swiped through my phone with a deadpan expression to leave Chanyeol on edge. He was overly confident in his abilities, and rightfully so. As I swiped through the millions of pictures he took, there were only a few I didn’t like, but, it was becoming a habit of mine to mess with him. 

“Yeah they’re fine.” I concluded plainly as I put my phone in my pocket, maintaining my stoniness in my face. 

I sensed Chanyeol’s ego rising, a sudden huff coming out of his mouth.

“What do you mean by fine? They’re fine? I’ll take your picture again, if you don’t like them. Give me your phone.” He was trying hard to sound more understanding than offended.

“No it’s okay you don’t have to. They’re good.” I shrugged, making him blink in disbelief. 

“Just good? Good is a terrible adjective. Pick another one.” 

“Okay. Chanyeol, the pictures you took are-,”

I stopped, his eyes enlarging in anticipation and his hands motioning for me to keep going, so I continued, 

“Great.”

Upon hearing my words, Chanyeol flinched, closing his eyes tightly then holding onto his heart. He let out a loud, fictitious wail as he tragically fell to the ground. With his back flat on the ground and his long legs haphazardly spread across the concrete, he spoke in Korean like we were living out our own K-Drama.

“Apa! Apa!” He groaned painfully, but I just laughed watching him and his dramatics. 

In my fit of laughter, I somehow got him to stand back up, and he cracked his neck in mock anger at me.

“June. I swear if you don’t tell me what you really thought of those pictures I’ll-I’ll- I don’t know what i’ll do to you, but you’ll regret it.” 

I held my hands up in surrender, still intoxicated from the show Chanyeol put on. “There were only a few I didn’t like, and those few were not my favorites because of your lack in photography skills. They were all really, really, really good. They were amazing, okay? I mean it.” 

Chanyeol whooped loudly clapping his hands, then spinning around with his arms out. The joyfulness he usually had finally returned as he faced me again. 

“I can’t believe it took me falling on the ground like that for you to fess up. We both know those pictures were easily god-tier.” He looked at me disapprovingly with his hands on his hips. 

“Well, if you already knew they were so amazing, why were you so offended?” I asked, taking one last jab at him. 

Chanyeol lifted his head up in the air, closing his eyes to hold back another dramatic reaction. “You’re so lucky that you’re you and not anyone else.” 

I looked up at him quizzically, my eyes slitted in confusion. “What are you even talking about?” 

“You’re June. Everyone else is just everyone else. I’m usually ready to fight, but I’m not going to fight you.” 

I nodded, understanding what he meant. “Ahh I see. You probably wouldn’t be able to handle a fight with me anyway. ‘Cause I’d win. Every time.” I challenged, crossing my arms confidently. 

“My goodness June. Please don’t fight me. I’m begging you.” Chanyeol pleaded. At first, I thought he was being playful again, but his tone was genuinely serious. 

“Relax Chanyeol. We’re not gonna fight ever. I know that for a fact.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows at my certainty. “How do you know that?” 

My expression was simple, no complexity in my features to misinterpret. I smiled sweetly at him before going on.

“Because it’s too easy being around you.”

[writeforsoreeyes]

BL LookBack - Shout Out Loud!

Welcome to BL LookBack, where I’m rereading some of the oldest BL series still on my shelves to see how well they hold up for me today!

[image description: the covers of Shout Out Loud! volumes 1 through 5. Each cover features three vertical manga panels highlighting the series’ main characters.]

story & art by Satosumi Takaguchi originally serialized 1996 - 2000 (Kadokawa Shoten) English edition: 2006 - 2007 (Tokyopop)

CW: sexual harassment/assault, age gap

Y’all, Shout Out Loud! is turning 23 this year. It is old enough to have $28,500 dollars in student debt and an underpaid office job. The series is mature in another sense too: while so much of BL revolves around students or young professionals, Shout Out Loud! is about a 30-something voice actor, his family drama with his teenaged son, and his rocky relationship with a colleague.  

Shout Out Loud! was favorably reviewed by manga bloggers when it was released, which is likely how I wound up discovering it and reading it originally. While I remembered the basic setup, my memories of what actually occurred in the story were super hazy. However, I recalled it being overall sweet and fluffy.

Boy, was I wrong!

The story begins when Nakaya, a high schooler and hockey player, gets sick of living with his domineering, traditional grandmother. He shows up at his father’s apartment, asking if he can live with him from now on. Shino, a 33-year old voice actor is surprised to see Nakaya; while he knew he had a son, they’d never met. Still, being a kind-hearted and earnest person, he lets Nakaya move in and tries to bond with him.

Why exactly Shino has never met his son isn’t addressed. Shino and Nakaya’s mother (who is dead when the story begins) parted on amicable terms and they lived nearby, so it doesn’t really make sense except to increase the dramatics.

[image description: Nakaya examines Shino while he sleeps on the couch, thinking, “Man, he’s completely different from the dad I’d imagined. Look at that baby-face, for cryin’ out loud.”]

Since he has a son to care for now, Shino thinks that he better step up his career. He tells his manager that from now on he’ll take any job. That is how he winds up doing a lot of voice work for BL CDs -- and how he comes into extended contact with Tenryu, a slightly older and more popular voice actor.

Bear in mind that this story takes place in the 90s. BL, while popular, is still considered seedy, deviant even. (And a lot of the BL stories he’s recording ARE super seedy.) At first, Shino is hesitant about doing such roles. But he prides himself on being a professional, so he gives it his all -- even though he can’t really relate to the roles.

Tenryu is all too happy to help Shino relate.

[image description: While recording lines, Tenryu leans over and blows into Shini’s ear, startling a cry out of him. The staff comment that Shino’s cry fit into the recording perfectly, but Shino is flustered.]

Here’s my main issue with Shout Out Loud!: the story wants so badly for me to buy into Tenryu as a love interest. But he checks off a lot of boxes in the “yikes!” column of BL love interests. Emotionally pushy? Check. Physically domineering? Check. Condescending? Check. Zero regard for boundaries and the words “no” and “stop”? Check. Positive qualities? I have no idea. He’s good at his job? (Aside from when he’s harassing Shino at work.)

We’re supposed to believe that Tenryu knows what Shino wants better than Shino does. As readers though, with the benefit of direct insight into Shino’s thought, we know he doesn’t want Shino kissing him and touching him. He is simply too intimidated and acquiescent to stand up for himself. His feelings towards Shino inevitably begin to warm up as the story goes on, which honestly frustrated me because Tenryu hadn’t done anything really to merit Shino’s affection beyond being a broody stereotype.

Don’t get me wrong: I love brooding (fictional) men. But they’ve got to prove that they are something beyond assholes. I couldn’t help but think back to reading Gerard & Jacques last month while reading Shout Out Loud! Fumi Yoshinaga put in the work to show that Gerard had honest-to-God positive qualities; by the end of volume 2, you could understand why Jacques liked him, even if you didn’t agree with their relationship.

Satosumi Takaguchi had 5 volumes to convince me that Tenryu was at least somewhat likeable, but she never got me there. I guess I’m supposed to feel bad for him because he recently got divorced and won’t be seeing his kid much anymore? All I could think about that was, “Good for her, I’d divorce him too.”

[image description: Tenryu leans into Shino’s space and says, “I wasn’t joking [on the radio show.] I really did kiss you. I said as much, didn’t I? But you were pretty out of it. I... I got a good thirty seconds of a kiss.” Shino is taken aback.]

But enough about those guys. Let’s talk more about Nakaya.

Of the entire cast, Nakaya is the character who develops the most. He begins the story immature, thinking only of himself as teenagers tend to do. When he first discovers his father is voicing BL CDs, he’s disgusted. But he keeps listening and eventually comes to appreciate his father as a professional.

In addition to suddenly moving in with his previously-absent father, Nakaya has a lot of other drama going on in his life. From a pregnancy scare with his girlfriend Souko to his changing feelings about hockey, he navigates through a lot of teenage troubles. The biggest storyline, however, is that he finds himself unexpectedly attracted to one of the assistant hockey coaches at his club.

Akihi is a talented, 20-something player who had to give up competitive hockey due to an injury. Nakaya finds him incredibly cool but he soon comes to suspect that his admiration of Akihi might actually be attraction.

When Shino finds out about this, he freaks a bit, thinking that listening to BL CDs might’ve somehow turned Nakaya gay. Nakaya denies this, though he concedes the CDs opened his mind to the possibility. Shino’s misinformed and homophobic reaction is pretty typical for the time this manga was created, but still tiresome to read. (Not to mention kind of hypocritical since Shino has also been questioning his sexuality.)

[image description: Shino sits in seiza as Nakaya tells him, “But even if [listening to the CDs] was what made me a little curious... don’t you think it’d be normal to want to give it a try myself.” He thinks of Akihi skating and continues, “Akihi is amazing at ice hockey. And he’s really cool.”]

Akihi is well aware that Nakaya is attracted to him, but wary. As he explains to Shino, Nakaya is young and has never been interested in a guy before -- his feelings could be fickle. Akihi, on the other hand, is older and actually states aloud that he is gay (pretty uncommon for BL manga of the time.) He doesn’t want to get emotionally invested only for Nakaya to change his mind. Of course, he ends up getting invested anyway.

The age gap between Nakaya and Akihi is handled somewhat well. While Akihi is a coach, he’s not in charge of Nakaya’s team, so the power imbalance isn’t as bad as it could be. It also helps that Nakaya does more of the pursuing and that Akihi isn’t his first sexual partner. But the age gap will still undoubtedly be an issue for some readers.

Ultimately, I didn’t find myself rooting for either the Shino/Tenryu relationship or the Nakaya/Akihi relationship. They both fell prey to the same sort of “Once we get started, I won’t be able to stop” nonsense and other such emotionally manipulative, rape-y bullshit. Nakaya/Akihi wasn’t as bad about it as Shino/Tenryu, but I wasn’t invested enough with Akihi as a character to care much of their relationship.

The relationship that’s at the heart of Shout Out Loud! -- and the strongest aspect of the story -- is the odd bond between Shino and Nakaya. They are father and son and both of them would like to be close. But Shino has no idea how to be a father to Nakaya and Nakaya has no idea how to be a son to Shino. As a result, they both mean well, but they also both mess up a lot. It’s awkward and sometimes painful and the most “real” part of the series.

[image description: Shino checks out Nakaya’s baby photos in an album, commenting on what a cute baby he was. Nakaya is contemplative and tells him, “I totally forgot all this while... you know, how maybe... having your son show up out of the blue must’ve been a real nuisance. I just thought that and... I’m sorry.”]

To give credit where it’s due, it’s nice to read a BL with fleshed out relationships besides the romantic ones. Likewise, it’s also nice to read a BL with a heavy focus on the characters’ careers. Some of the most interesting parts were when Shino and the other voice actors were recording. (And the mash-up of Legend of the Galactic Heroes and Romance of the Three Kingdoms that they were working on was funny.) However, those elements weren’t enough to keep the series afloat for me.

In short, Shout Out Loud! doesn’t hold up for me at all anymore. I’m honestly confused about what I liked about it in the first place.

*final verdict: I’d only recommend this if you are interested in checking out older BL titles that are somewhat lengthy.

#shout out loud #satosumi takaguchi #bl lookback #shout out loud!

[stormyrecords-blog]

new arrivals 8-9-17

this week's tunes at noon is pretty special - Michael Malis trio with Jaribu Shahid from the legendary Griot Galaxy on bass - and it's free!! free music in the park in downtown dearborn. music starts at noon on thursday - don't be late!!! you don't want to miss this one!! items in stock thursday aug 9th,  2017

please pardon our rush on this promotion - the mogwai promotion does not start until aug 22nd. we will have these cool seven inches with coupons available on that date. thank you for your patience.  MOGWAI Party in the Dark seven inch $2.00this is a special coupon to get $2 off the full length new MOGWAI lp that comes out in early September. limit one per customer, you can buy this record, hear som eof the new lp, and then use the coupon inside for $2 off the full length when it is released on september 9th 2017. what a fun promotion!!  we will have the full length lp and box set for the release date in early sept. LOCKWOOD, ANNEATiger Balm / Amazonia Dreaming / Immersion  LP  $31.99Black Truffle presents a new issue of Annea Lockwood's classic 1970 tape piece "Tiger Balm", unavailable on vinyl for over thirty years, accompanied by two exquisite unreleased works for percussion and voice. "Created while Lockwood was living in the UK, the side-long 'Tiger Balm' is a singular work within the cannon of tape music. Inspired by research into the ritual function of music, the piece explores the possibility of evoking ancient communal memories through sound. Breaking entirely with the dynamic language of the musique concrète tradition, Lockwood uses a select palette of mainly unprocessed sonic elements chosen for their mysterious and erotic characteristics (a purring cat, a heartbeat, gongs, slowed down jaw harp, a tiger, a woman's breath, a plane passing overhead), presenting at most two sounds at once. As one sound flows organically into the next, their shared characteristics are highlighted, opening a space of dream logic and mysterious associations between nature and culture, the ancient and the modern. The B side presents two pieces for percussion recorded here for the first time. 'Amazonia Dreaming' (1987), performed by Dominic Donato, uses unaccompanied snare drum and voice to evoke the nocturnal soundscape of the Amazon rainforest. Unorthodox techniques and materials (marbles, chopsticks, a plastic jar lid) transform the snare into a resonant field of sensual textures. 'Immersion' (1998), performed by Donato and Frank Cassara, is a slow-moving exploration of gentle beating tones, performed on marimba, tam tams, and gong. Like the other two works presented on this LP, it provides captivating proof of Lockwood's belief in the complexity that deep listening can reveal within seemingly simple sounds" --Francis Plagne. Comes in a deluxe gatefold sleeve with archival pictures and liner notes by Annea Lockwood; Includes the score to "Amazonia Dreaming"; LP design by Stephen O'Malley; Mastered and cut by Rashad Becker at Dubplates & Mastering. MCPHEE & ANDRE JAUME, JOENuclear Family  CD  $16.992016 release. Multi-instrumental master Joe McPhee and his longtime colleague, French saxophonist and clarinetist André Jaume, joined forces for this studio recording in 1979 that was prepared but never released. It is primarily structured around pairs of tunes by Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, and Duke Ellington (or Billy Strayhorn), adding Ornette Coleman's "Lonely Woman" for good measure. The results are stunningly intimate and show the twosome's capacity for creative interplay at a fairly early stage in its unfolding. Mingus's "Pithecanthropus Erectus", which was performed by a larger group on Topology (1981), gets pared down to its essential walking-bass-ness, while Monk's "Evidence" is taken apart, and solo spots by both men are as riveting as one would expect. Part of Corbett vs. Dempsey's ongoing historical effort to unearth and reissue McPhee's important discography, this previously unknown recording will delight existing fans and make new ones. NURSE WITH WOUNDDark Fat  3LP BOX  $59.99Triple LP box set of Nurse With Wound's 2016 release Dark Fat. Dark Fat is a celebration and documentation of ten years of NWW shows, but to call Dark Fat a live album is far too simplistic. It is an entirely new recording constructed by combining the most interesting moments of the past decade into unique tracks. M.S. Waldron is to thank as he is archival commandant of the NWW oeuvre, and since 2006 he has recorded every single thing. He has recorded all the live shows, sound-checks, rehearsals, off-stage events, and even covertly recorded the private conversations of the band. These recordings have been studiously and lovingly crafted into a unique sonic tapestry by Waldron and Steven Stapleton with delicate embroidery and filigree added by Andrew Liles and Colin Potter. This is now spread over six sides of luxurious vinyl and encased in a box with a gatefold insert, all featuring the art of Steven Stapleton aka Babs Santini. Listen in the Dark and soak up the Fat. SUN RA & HIS ARKESTRAMy Way Is The Spaceways  LP  $18.992017 repress. "Fourth volume of spoken word wisdom -- direct from Saturn! The Music Is Like A Mirror / My Way Is The Spaceways / The Music Is A Sound Image / Music Is A Vibration" GALACTIC EXPLORERSEpitaph For Venus  CD  $17.99Mental Experience present a reissue of Galactic Explorers' Epitaph For Venus. Another album from the Pyramid label shrouded in mystery and produced by Toby Robinson in Cologne, circa 1974. Kosmische and head sounds with plenty of Minimoog, analog synths/keyboards, effects, loops, tape manipulation, treated percussions, etc., courtesy of Galactic Explorers, an electronic, minimal, ambient krautrock trio featuring Reinhard Karwatky (Dzyan). Take a trip to the inner regions of your mind, see ancient solar systems forming, and listen to cosmic winds and vibrations while sine waves of pure bliss will give you total peace of mind. RIYL: Terry Riley, Popol Vuh, Sand, Peter Michael Hamel, Tangerine Dream, Baba Yaga, Cluster, Cozmic Corridors, Brainticket. 24-bit domain remaster from the original tapes; Insert with liner notes by Alan Freeman, head boss at Ultima Thule and author of The Crack In The Cosmic Egg (1996). AREL, BULENTElectronic Music 1960-1973   LP  $24.992017 repress; LP version. Bülent Arel's (1919-1990) work occupies a special place in the history of electronic music, with one thing being certain: Arel's work is still fresh, groundbreaking, and it always look outs for the next adventure in sound. Sub Rosa present a collection of his works here as part of their Early Electronic series. Bülent Arel was a Turkish-born American composer of electronic and contemporary classical music. He was also a devoted teacher, a sculptor, and a painter. From 1940 to 1947, Arel studied composition, piano, and 20th century classical music at the Ankara Conservatory. In 1959, Arel came to the US on a grant by the Rockefeller Foundation to work at the Columbia-Princeton Electronic Music Center. By that time the center had just started out under its director Vladimir Ussachevsky. During Arel's work in Princeton he also met Edgard Varèse, with whom in 1962 he worked on the electronic sections of Varèse's Déserts. Frank Zappa lists Arel as a key influence. Today's electronic music - whether it is Autechre's Confield (2001), Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works Vol. II (1999), or Squarepusher's Do You Know Squarepusher (2001) - builds upon a solid foundation which Bülent Arel helped to pave. Wire #403: Sept. 2017 MAG   $10.50"Lichens, 21st century polymath Robert Aubrey Lowe talks patching up modular synths, vocalising doom metal, and acting the part. Meanwhile, inside the issue... Peter King, New Zealand lathe cutter to the likes of The Dead C, Lee Ranaldo, Acid Mothers Temple, and No-Neck Blues Band. A report on composers who require musicians to throw their bodies as well as their souls into their performances, including Michael Baldwin, Celeste Oram, Louis d'Heudieres, Alwynne Pritchard and others. Plus: Invisible Jukebox: Sparks; Epiphanies: Maggi Payne; Inner Sleeve: Ryoko Akama; Global Ear: Algarve; Unofficial Channels: Pop Not Slop." HIRO KONELove Is The Capital  LP  $18.99"Love Is The Capital the debut LP by Hiro Kone, the recording alias of Nicky Mao. The album is a follow-up to the incredibly well received Fallen Angels cassette, bringing with it some of Mao's most emotionally and politically driven work yet. It is Hiro Kone's long coming opus, examining a number of all-too-relevant themes: capital, the state, egoism, anxiety, and steadfast optimism. The eight songs on Love Is The Capital highlight Mao's austere, politicized techno battling for the greater good. Songs are visceral meditations of rhythm, noise, and melody in the vein of Pan Sonic, Chris & Cosey, Muslimgauze, and Kangding Ray. The sounds were often recorded in scenes of isolation, whether physically or emotionally. 'Infinite Regress' was during a trek with RLoveoxy Farman (Wetware) up to the sleepy, upstate NY town of Palenville. There, frozen in a cabin with the most DIY of recording booths, Mao recorded Roxy's vocals and what would be the track that would put into motion the entire album. 'Less Than Two Seconds' was written in a single afternoon in late December 2015 when it was revealed that the grand jury had declined to indict the police officer who shot to death 12-year old Tamir Rice. The taut techno, industrial minimalism, and aural upheaval is embedded in tracks 'Rukhsana' (featuring Drew McDowall, formerly of Coil & Psychic TV, on modular synthesizer), 'The Place Where Spirits Get Eaten,' and 'Less Than Two Seconds,' an emotionally wrought blitz of serrated Monomachine tones flanked by timeless recordings of essayist, poet, and social writer James Baldwin. Mao ventures deep into heady, prismatic runs of hypnotic techno, on 'Don't Drink the Water' and 'The Declared Enemy.' On opener 'Being Earnest' and 'Love is the Capital,' foreboding motifs brood their way back into the narrative. Still, the album maintains a sense transformation, burdened with an alien tension- the awareness of an impending and necessary collapse. And what may come next." MOON DIAGRAMSLifetime Of Love  2LP  $29.99"Lifetime Of Love is the debut album by Moon Diagrams, the solo recording project of Deerhunter co-founder and drummer Moses John Archuleta. Recorded in Georgia (Atlanta and Athens) and Manhattan (East Village) over a 10-year period, Lifetime Of Love finds Archuleta processing various stages of love, loss, and regeneration via forlorn pop, minimal techno, and weightless experimentation. Throughout each of the 8 songs, Archuleta follows fits of inspiration or moments of chance. By lifting samples from thrift store-sourced LPs, removed from their sleeves and chosen at random to find loops and textures, Archuleta lets the unknown happen naturally, but still confined to a specific set of boundaries. 'Bodymaker' and 'Nightmoves' feature Archuleta's earliest solo recordings, captured between the release of Deerhunter's 2007 breakout LP Cryptograms and 2008 LP Microcastle. The two songs also show Archuleta's willingness to venture outside of the taut, mesmerizing drone rock of his main band. The chilling, ambient techno of 'Nightmoves' perfectly foils and compliments the broodingly sullen but sincerely beautiful shuffle into the dark. In 2012, Archuleta decided to pick up his recording activity, challenging himself to make a solo album. Locking himself in his practice space and using only the spare instruments laying around, Archuleta would enter fugue states in recordings. This period yielded a disparate mix of sonic sketches, from eerily bucolic choir recordings ('Playground'), dusty art-pop ('Moon Diagrams'), and infectiously jubilant dance pop ('End of Heartache'). For the final period, Archuleta found inspiration after an extended stint in Berlin, estranged from his friends and family. But Archuleta used the relative isolation to take in the city's dark energy, eventually returning home to finish the album with a newfound sense of resolve. Subtly grandiose and quietly epic, the album explores a nascent beginning, a morose middle, and a bittersweet, optimistic end." ADI GELBARTPreemptive Musical Offerings To Satisfy Our Future Masters  LP  $30.99For his next release on Felix Kubin's Gagarin Records, multi-instrumentalist Adi Gelbart delivers twelve Preemptive Musical Offerings To Satisfy Our Future Masters. With a spiraling musical complexity reminiscent of film scores, BBC Radiophonic Workshop, library music, criminal swing, Russian vitamins, tinnitus' twist, abstract jazz and musique concrète, Gelbart surpasses himself this time by augmenting his palette of instruments to the extent where he becomes a small orchestra. "The Source" of his musical identity plays "The Message" of synths, broken organs, harpsichord (!), double bass, horns, cymbals and crispy drum machines. It's a "Spacetime Reverie," where "Tsuburaya" blows "Leaves For Gamera" while "He Who Speaks Through Pyramids" walks through "Echoville" with "Dust" on his shoes, contemplating the "Birth Of Alpha" after "The Big Sleep." While humming to songs of the second moon, the "Harpsichord Automata" leads "The March Of The Thinking Machines" to a blissful silver big bang. The LP comes in a beautifully designed sleeve with cover artwork by Berlin-based German illustration star Benedikt Rugar, who has contributed to newspapers such as The New York Times and Spiegel, as well as numerous animation film festivals. A download card is included with the purchase of the record. KING BUCKNOR JR. & AFRODISK BEAT 79African Woman LP  $26.99Hot Casa present a reissue of King Bucknor Jr. & Afrodisk Beat 79's African Woman, originally released in 1979. African Woman is a fantastic Afro-beat album from the Fela Anikulapo Kuti disciple and Kalakuta Republic member. A sublime spiritual and political session recorded in 1979 at the EMI studio in Lagos, Nigeria. Arranged and self-produced, Kingsley Bucknor's second album, hopelessly obscure and impossible to find, ranks alongside the best Afro-beat albums in history. At the age of 19, King Bucknor Jr., also known as the Black Isaiah of Africa, released his second album backed by a 16-piece band called The Afrodisk, and ten background singers. Two long and hypnotic grooves with all the Afro-beat ingredients: fluid and complex drums patterns, strong horns, female voices on chorus, strong lyrics, beautiful keys, and horns solos. Essential for all Afro collectors and music lovers. Vinyl replica; Remastered by Carvery (UK); Includes inner sleeve with an interview. RAINFOREST SPIRITUAL ENSLAVEMENTFallen Leaves Camouflaged Behind Tropical Flowers  LP  $24.99Marking six years of Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement's cultish, elemental output, Dominick Fernow (Prurient) gives the project's first ever release a vinyl pressing for the first time, coiling up two extended tracts of impure, unnatural gloom ranking amongst his most cherished works. Fallen Leaves Camouflaged Behind Tropical Flowers was originally released on tape in 2011 in an edition of 59. When RSE was first conceived with Fallen Leaves Camouflaged Behind Tropical Flowers in 2011, the project was shrouded in a veil of mystery which left many fiends guessing to its provenance -- it seemed too far reduced to be identified as Fernow's work, but also didn't easily resonate with anyone of Hospital Productions' usual suspects, instead holding a unique line of stygian slow techno that sounded like some our bleakest, febrile fantasies come to life. Soon enough RSE's creator and navigator was indeed revealed to be Fernow, and the project became regarded among his most prized golems by those in the know, not least because it was starkly defined in contrast to his myriad other pseudonyms -- Vatican Shadow, Prurient, Christian Cosmos, Force Publique Congo, and so on -- by dint of its perceived restraint and glowering minimalism. Perhaps because of that stringent, meditative asceticism, the hypnotic grip of RSE has remained undiminished and perhaps as strong as ever on this new vinyl edition, where the predator heartbeat and keening tonal groans of "Life Would Transform" sound more pensive and narcotically effective than ever, and the borderland industrial chug and clag of "Skull Covered In Moss" seems to be seated deeper into its dank gloom, emulating a location recording of a burial-by-mud in some godforsaken no-man's-land, with lurking parakeets and mechanical birds awaiting their turn on your soon-to-be carrion. RIYL: Coil, Demdike Stare, Prurient, Brian Eno / Jon Hassell's Fourth World (1980). Remastered by Paul Corley; Cut at Dubplates & Mastering, Berlin. Edition of 500. OMAR KHORSHID AND HIS GROUPLive in Australia 1981  LP  $25.99This is the first live concert recording ever issued of legendary Egyptian guitarist Omar Khorshid and his group. It features tracks recorded during his 1981 tour of Australia, including live versions of songs that grace his various LPs recorded for Lebanese and Egyptian labels during the 1970s with one phenomenal tune, "Al Rabieh," being exclusive here as never before issued in any form. The sound is surprisingly great for a live cassette recording and the band is as sharp and monumental as ever, with stunning instrumental performances throughout, including an extended improvisational rhythmic exchange between percussionist Ibrahim Tawfiek and Omar's electric guitar on the epic track "Sidi Mansour." This record is loaded with Khorshid's signature microtonal Arabesque surf guitar elegance darting atop the backing band's brilliant accompaniment, and the tones of organist Fouad Rohaiem sound raw and abrasive, as though it were still 1973. The album has even more nostalgic (and tragic) significance as these shows would be his last; a car accident claiming Omar's life within 72 hours of flying back to Cairo from Australia. Mohamed Amine, Khorshid's lifelong friend and member of his group from 1975-1981, recorded these tracks and provided the photographs that embellish the beautiful gatefold jacket that accompanies this LP. Collected and researched by Khorshid historian Hany Zaki in Cairo, this unbelievable treasure is now available for the world to behold. Limited edition LP release in a full-color gatefold jacket with exquisite photos from Mohamed Amine's personal archive and informative liner notes by Hany Zaki. TUNES AT NOONevery thursday at 12 noon in dearborn city hall park at the corner of michigan ave and schaeferone hour of free music - bring your lunch and enjoy some fun in the sun!! 8/10 Michael Malis TrioMichael Malis is a pianist and composer based in Detroit, MI. Malis bridges the gap between original composed, complex material and the spontaneity of improvisation. His trio (piano, bass, drums),   featured on his latest album, has toured in the United States and Canada, and in September 2016, they performed at the Detroit International Jazz Festival. 8/17 Viands "Viands is a spontaneous collaboration between two auteurs of Detroit's underground music scene: Joel Peterson and David Shettler. The music they create is a deep, reflective and fearless alternate-reality keyboard meditation that draws on the pair's broad musical vision to explore new vistas.