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radiowallet · 2 years

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Yours

Kinktober Day 5(?) - Breeding Kink

Main Masterlist II Kinktober Masterlist

Summary: You have some news for Marcus. Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader WC: 1.4K Warnings: Mature 18+ MDNI Breeding kink, pregnancy, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, vaginal fingering, cream pie, slight cock warming, slightly possessive behavior, dirty talk. Just Marcus being stupidly happy about putting a baby in you. A/N: I wasn't actually planning on doing this one, but it's been collecting dust in my WIP folder for a while, and I thought it would be a good time to set it free. Technically, this started as a PWC one-shot, but it definitely reads as a stand alone. Dedicated to the one and only @magpie-to-the-morning who uttered the phrase "Put many babies in me" in regards to Mr. Moreno and Emma-- when you're right, you are so very right.

Marcus hadn’t stopped touching you since you broke the news earlier that day. He seemed incapable of moving away from you, even for a second, as if stepping away would make you and everything you built together fall away.

All throughout the evening he looked on you with awe, eyes shining glassy wet, lips parted around thankful disbelief, hands always finding you. And beneath it all, under all of his love and adoration, was a hunger, fierce and protective and snapping in time with the beat of your heart.

A hand on your cheek, your waist, your stomach.

And you couldn’t help but wonder, curled in bed together at the end of the night, what other touches were still left to come.

“A baby?”

You shuffle closer to Marcus between the sheets of your bed, fingers reaching out to cup his jaw and pull him close enough to feel his breath along the seam of your lips. Immediately his hands are on your waist, twisting you until you’re beneath him, his nose nuding yours playful, his smile catching in the street light filtering between the curtains.

He’s just as surprised now as he had been when you told him — a hilarious, anxiety riddled misunderstanding that led to you sharing the blessed news in a rush to calm him down— that only had Marcus bursting into tears immediately.

“But…but we haven’t been trying. I wasn’t…do you…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mixing with your own tears. “I think your superhero sperm took my birth control as some sort of challenge.”

“But…do you want…?”

The question didn’t even have time to take up weight in the air, your lips on his answering his doubt.

Yes. You very much want.

“My baby?”

He says it reverently. Something like worship coloring in around his words. You know he doesn’t mean it in a possessive sort of way, but still there’s a thrill down your spine, a flare of heat sparking to life as his lips find your ear with one single word.

“Mine?”

“Yours,” you promise, and you feel his cock jolt at the word, half hard against your hip.

“Shit,” he groans, forehead falling forward against your own. “Our baby. My baby.”

He doesn’t stop whispering the chant. Not once. Not even as he slips down your body, kissing every inch of skin his path crosses, until finally his lips are hovering at the apex of your sex. The air changes, the room quiet, only Marcus’s breathing left to fill your ear, the need between your legs suddenly screaming for relief.

“Marcus,” you plead, hips arching up.

He doesn’t hesitate, reaching up and guiding your hands to the back of his head. You tug gently, a grunt of appreciation meeting the touch, and it’s the only encouragement you need to push him towards where you ache most for contact. Marcus goes comfortably, his tongue carving deeply between your folds, again and again, drinking down every drop of arousal that pours out of you.

His tongue swirls up and around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips before releasing it, only to lap at you again. His face is practically buried inside of you, nose bumping again and again into your clit, tongue and teeth scraping sweetly at the folds of your weeping cunt.

You can only pull him closer, legs wrapping around his head, heels digging just below his shoulder blades. His fingers find the meat of your ass, pulling and digging, his own groans of pleasure vibrating through the waves of your pleasure.

Heat coils deep in your gut and spreads out like syrup, up your spine and down your legs, leaving you trembling beneath Marcus. You clench hard around his tongue, body shifting and shaking as you crest up and over your release, ecstasy slamming into you as he continues to drink you down. Before you’ve even begun to recover, he pulls away, just barely but it’s enough for you to whine out a pathetic cry. He shushes you, fingertips finding your clit to ease the loss.

“Fuck, you taste sweeter, baby.”

You want to laugh, but you can’t catch your breath, his fingers still stroking softly at your clit, the last of your orgasm coursing through your system. You twist your head from side to side in protest, a frantic too soon falling from your lips. Your vision is bright white bursting black, legs shaking where they’re still wrapped around Marcus’s head. You feel him lean in, the whiskers of his beard rubbing at your overheated skin, and he hums as takes another lick between your folds, groaning audibly at the taste.

“You do. I promise.”

And then he’s climbing back up your body, kissing you long and slow and deep, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue as it slips between your lips. You moan into the kiss, something sweet settling on your tastebuds, heady enough to have your hips bucking, the need between your legs roaring back to life. Marcus is quick to comply, happy to give to you again and again, the hard length of his cock sinking inside you.

“A baby. I put a baby inside you. Inside my pretty little wife. Fuck.”

His mouth is a runaway train, lips pressed into the curve of your neck, his words grinding out in time with each thrust of his hips. You’re already sensitive, hormones and adrenaline screaming in your veins, and without warning you already feel another wave of pleasure unfurling inside your core. Marcus doesn’t miss a single beat, slamming into you harder and harder, fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs, pushing your legs as wide as they can go.

“Filled you with my cum. Filled you up full and you’re gonna have a baby. My baby. Gonna be so round. So beautiful.”

Again and again, his cock punches up inside you, and you do your best to muffle your cries into the meat of his chest, another orgasm already starting to crest inside you.

“M-Marcus…”

“Shhh, I know, baby. I feel you. Fuck, you feel so good. So wet. Soaked for me.” He thrusts a little hard, grinding his hips into your own, everything slicked in sweat and arousal where your bodies meet. And still, he can’t seem to stop himself, his words coming faster the closer you both get to the edge.

“I’m close too… I promise. Gonna fill you up again. Pump my cum inside you. Fuck you full of me. Keep my cock stuffed in you. Can’t waste any of it.”

His voice is ragged, every promise sending a fresh wave of slick out of you, your pussy clenching down hard around his cock. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know you can’t get pregnant again, but his words are like a drug, pulling you under the crashing waves, and suddenly you hear yourself begging.

“Yes, yes, please – fill me up. Fuck your cum into me. Make me keep it inside … please … Marcus-”

Your words choke off, his hips shifting, just enough to find that spot deep inside you. Everything is burning too hot too fast and you’re coming again, a sobbing gasp parting your lips. Marcus doesn’t stop, his voice growing more frantic as he chases down his own release.

“So pretty. Pretty wife fucked full of my cum. Gonna be so beautiful – fuck – I can’t wait…”

And then he’s crying out your name, face buried into your neck, tears and sweat and spit pooling on your skin, cum spilling out of him and into you. His thrusts are fast, desperate, and you feel yourself trembling as you ask for more, more and more, your fingers digging into the hard planes of his back.

Too soon Marcus slows to a stop, every movement more shallow than the last, his weight a comforting blanket on top of you. He doesn’t pull away, even as you feel him soften, as if he’s trying to trap all of himself deep inside. You think maybe you could sleep like this, content and sated and feeling so very full. Your husband seems to agree, his warm breath marking time on the curve of your neck, his hands soothing a gentle pattern along your hips.

Sleep is just about to find you, and him as well, you’re sure of it, but then his voice pulls you back, just enough, with one final question.

“A baby?”

“Yours.”

#Marcus Moreno #Marcus Moreno fic #radiowallet writes #marcus moreno x f!reader #pedro pascal characters

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breannasfluff · 9 months

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Merchant & Flock - P2

Wild rises early the next morning, carefully extracting himself from the nest. Ravio blinks slowly and burrows into his robe before yawning widely and climbing out as well. Bereft of heaters, Legend grunts, and rolls until he finds Hyrule. The merchant grins to see his flockmate burrowing under a loose wing.

The magpie is in the kitchen looking through cabinets when he comes in, stretching his wings. “Need help?”

The hero muffles a trill of surprise, whipping around. “Why are you so quiet? Farore’s breath, you’re going to give me a heart attack.” Then he turns back to the cabinets. “Figured I’d make everyone breakfast.”

“I can make it,” Ravio says.

The magpie just shrugs and goes back to opening doors. “I always do the cooking. The flock can be picky.”

Right, a lot of different diets to accommodate. At least the hylian side lets them eat almost anything, even with preferences. Still, he has a mission to get to know this new bird better. “Please let me help.”

“Okay, sure. Got some bowls for mixing?”

Ravio does and pulls them out, happy for the easy acceptance. He can’t help the little side glances he darts at the other’s shiny feathers, though.

Wild notices and extends a wing. “Ledge and Hyrule help me preen them. They were a mess at first.”

“They’re so pretty.” Ravio reaches out on instinct, then trills an apology when Wild yanks the wing back in.

His smile is strained. “I don’t like people touching my wings.”

“Sorry,” he whispers and turns back to the bowls. He can hear the magpie shifting uncertainly, but then he starts pulling things out to cook with.

“I thought we could make rice bowls? That way we can top them with meat or seafood depending on what someone prefers.”

“…right.”

Wild must catch the hesitation because he turns with a frown. “I can make something else—do you not like that idea?” Then he grabs the slate and starts scrolling. “I’ve got most ingredients if there’s a dietary restriction you have—do you eat the same things as Legend?”

Ravio stuffs the bitterness the question brings a little deeper and tries for a bright chirp. “No, rice bowls sound good! Let’s do those.”

The magpie stares, then starts measuring rice into a large pot. “How long have you known Legend?”

“Oh, I helped Mr. Hero on one of his adventures, you know. He let me stay here and sell things. When it was over I went home, but…I missed him, you know?” He catches himself reaching for the feathers and yanks his hand back down.

Wild just hums and heaves the pot into the sink to fill it with water. “You like blue, then? Legend is always going after anything red or shiny.”

If only his wings were red instead of blue. “Blue is the best shade,” he sniffs. “I guess red has its…place, sometimes.” He glances around the kitchen, which is still oozing blue. It probably wouldn’t hurt to switch some of it out for Legend’s preferred color. Or something more neutral. With that thought in mind, he gathers up the placemats and puts them in the closet, pulling out white and red checkered ones.

Actually, the table might look nicer with some flowers in a vase. Sure, the ones out front are blue, but there are still some red ones behind the house. He hums to himself as he goes out the back door, careful to select only the best for his little bouquet. A variety of colors; to make everyone feel comfortable.

Wild has the rice covered and cooking on the stove when he comes back in. The flowers are added to a vase of water and Ravio can’t help but adjust them a little to show off the colors best.

“Those for Legend?”

He puffs, because he lost himself in the motion and forgot he was being watched. “O-oh, no, they are for everyone.”

“Mmm,” Wild hums with a grin. He doesn’t seem to believe it.

“Mr. Hero is my valued friend and flockmate,” Ravio says piously because Legend hasn’t claimed them as more. Maybe. His fingers brush the feathers again.

“Sure, sure,” Wild waves.

Read the rest here!

#lu wing bois #lu wing au #lu wild #lu legend #lu ravio #lu hyrule #wb wild #wb legend #wb hyrule #wb ravio #breannasfluff #my writing #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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george-weasleys-girl · 10 months

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North Star Series

Chapter - 35 - Tea for Two

Summary: Molly and Y/N have a heart to heart

~•~

Start Here:

George's playful little magpie fluttered around Y/N's maine coon cat.

"Are you flirting with me?" She giggled.

"Of course. I'm never not flirting with you," he leaned down for a quick kiss, then turned to watch their two patronuses dissapate in the morning sunlight. "I think we should probably call it quits for now," he sighed. "Or we'll be late."

~•~

"How's your Patronus practice going, dear?" Molly asked Y/N over lunch.

"Quite good, actually."

"Her casting is much stronger," George chimed in. "I'm very proud of her." He smiled at his girlfriend, who beamed in response.

"Good, good," Molly replied. "But I still don't understand why they don't teach it more intensively at Ilvermorny."

George rolled his eyes. "Mum, we've been over this before. Dementors aren't native to the Americas. They focus their defense classes on things they're more likely to encounter."

"So I guess they don't expect any of their students to travel?" Molly huffed.

George and Y/N shared a look but let the matter drop.

Molly knew that look well. It was one she and Arthur shared when they thought someone was being obstinate or ridiculous. But she didn't care what they thought of her. Y/N was part of the family now and, as such, was officially under Mrs. Weasley's overprotective wing.

~•~

The two of them had come a long way since those early days when Y/N was still an exchange student. For a long time, Molly had kept her son's girlfriend at arms length, refusing to let herself get close to the girl, not expecting her to come back after graduation. But then much to Mrs. Weasley's surprise, she did return, and that's when Molly's affection for the girl blossomed. Over the past few months, their once tentative truce had evolved into a friendship.

It'd all started less than two weeks after Y/N's return when she received a note from Molly inviting her over for tea. The following afternoon, Y/N found herself sitting in the Burrow's kitchen while Molly filled their cups. "You surprise me," the Weasley matriarch commented.

"Because I came back?"

Mrs. Weasley gave a single nod. "I didn't expect you to."

"I know."

"You should also know that Arthur's been insufferable since your return," Molly continued. "He's said all along that you'd be back. Though, to be completely honest, I'm not sure if he's happier that you came back or that he was right and I was wrong."

"Umm... sorry," Y/N apologized, lifting her teacup to her lips in an attempt to hide her grin.

Molly waved it off. "I don't mind. It's good for him to have these little victories from time to time. Good for the spirit." It was such a Molly Weasley thing to say, and Y/N wasn't sure how to respond, so she played it safe and sipped her tea instead. "This is lovely," she complemented.

Molly smiled, taking her own sip before speaking again, "I'm glad you came back."

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. This was an unexpected development.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "I'm not so blind that I don't notice how well the two of you fit together. You two remind me very much of Arthur and I. Not to mention, George is so much more confident and settled with you. I don't worry about him so much now."

"Wow, umm... thank you, Molly. That means a lot." The teacup wobbled in Y/N's hand, and she put it down for fear of it slipping from her grasp. She'd had no idea what to expect today, but this certainly wasn't it.

Molly patted her hand. "I say it because it's true. And because I want you to understand that George's world is changing. Whether he realizes it or not, he and Fred are... how shall I put this? Diverging?"

"Diverging?" Y/N's eyebrows drew together.

Molly took a deep breath, weighing her words. "I'm certain you've noticed how he and Fred are wearing different colors now?"

Y/N nodded. She had noticed but simply wrote it off as their way of setting themselves apart from one another. Though truthfully, she'd been so wrapped up in the joy of being back with George that it never occurred to her to analyze the matter in depth.

Molly, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of response, plowed on. "I think that's only the beginning."

"They're coming into their own. And carving out their own individual paths in the process. How can that be a bad thing?" Y/N asked.

"It isn't. At least not in the long term. No matter how they change, they'll always be close. Of that, I'm certain. But in the short term, there could be a... period of adjustment. For George, in particular. Especially once Fred's focus shifts."

"Shifts? How so?"

"Meeting someone, of course," Molly said as if it were obvious.

"But, George didn't have any problems when Fred and Angie were dating," Y/N countered.

"That's because he had you, my dear. Otherwise, I think he might've felt a little lost. Cut adrift, as it were. Though he'd never show it..."

Molly's words faded into the background as Y/N's mind drifted back to a long ago conversation in the Gryffindor common room.

"...it's being left behind that scares me," George had confessed. "Everyone I care about leaving me or just forgetting about me."

Y/N tilted her head, leaning closer to him. "How could--what makes you think you're so easily forgettable? I don't think Fred would ever leave you behind."

"Well, no. But, eventually, he'll get married and have a family, and they'll be more important. That's the way it should be. And I'll - " George paused and glanced toward the boy's dormitory. "Of the two of us, Fred's the more popular one, the charismatic one. He's the one that draws the crowds. I love my brother, and I love being one-half of the notorious Weasley twins, but we're notorious only because of him. I just ride around on his coat-tails." George let out a long sigh. "Sometimes I feel like the only reason people hang out with me or like me is because I'm Fred's twin. No one likes me for myself.

...I'm the third wheel. Nothing more than an afterthought. How long before I'm cast off completely?" George mumbled, his chin trembling. "I'm afraid I'll end up alone, and I don't want to be alone. I need someone, but nobody needs me."

"...I trust in you, Y/N, to take care of him." Molly's words shook her out of her thoughts. "You're such a gentle, stablizing force. He's a better and happier person with you in his life."

Y/N's mouth worked, and for a few seconds, no words came out. "I - I really don't know what to say," she fumbled. "I have to admit I didn't anticipate any of this..." Her words trailed off as she tried to wrap her brain around the last few minutes.

Molly smiled and replenished her tea. "Just promise me that you'll stand by him, no matter what the future brings."

@milivanili99 @slytherclaw1978 @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @fancy-pantaloons @samberriejams @totalwitch2 @aslanvez @mrsgweasley @morally-grey-obsessed @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @planetkt @thankyouforanonymity @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @smallsweetvanillabean

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Molly," Y/N returned her smile. "I'm not just here for the good times. I'm here for it all."

~•~

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x you #hp fandom #hp universe #harry potter fandom #harry potter universe

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harvestheart · 2 months

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Some Magpie Folklore

In order to ward off bad luck, greet the sight of a lone Pica pica with the words: ‘Good morning, Mr Magpie, how are Mrs Magpie and all the other little magpies?’

The magpie was the only bird that refused to enter Noah’s Ark, perching instead on the the top of the roof.

In the days of cock-fighting, fowl eggs were sometimes placed in a magpie’s nest in the belief that the young would absorb their foster-parents’ agression.

Arguably, no other form of ancient bird lore is recited on such a regular basis as the old rhyme relating to seeing lots of magpies together which many believe goes:

One for sorrow Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver Six for gold Seven for a secret left untold.

#birds #folklore #culture #Magpie #ryhme

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belovedindierock · 1 year

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Rolling Stone #1155, April 26th 2012

Radiohead Reconnect

How the most experimental band in music learned to rock again

by David Fricke

Thom Yorke walks into the catering room backstage at the American Airlines Arena in Miami wearing a dark T-shirt, tight red jeans and a crooked smile. "I'm feeling quietly excited – and quietly nervous," Radiohead's frontman says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Yorke flew in from Britain late yesterday – his eyelids are still heavy with jet lag – and he is due onstage shortly for Radiohead's final rehearsal before the launch of their most extensive tour since 2008: 58 shows over 10 months in North America, Europe, Asia and Australia. They open here tomorrow night.

"Everything – the production, the new lights, the set list – is still a work in progress," Yorke says. "But it's finally getting started." Soon he can be heard warming up his voice behind a closed door, practicing scales in a high, precise warble, holding notes in long, clean aaaahs.

Radiohead are not only beginning a tour; they are unveiling a rebirth. The band is ending one of the most challenging and confounding eras in its career: nearly three years of public silence and private chaos during which Radiohead struggled with reinvention and their future. They made some of their most beautiful music on their least popular album, last year's The King of Limbs, but didn't promote it and stayed off the road, uncertain how or if they could be a performing band again.

"We're still flailing around," Yorke admits, sitting in one of the band's dressing rooms. He recalls the early practice sessions for this tour. "I was freaking out, going, 'Oh, no, it's not enough time. I want to do all these new things.'"

But onstage, a little while later, he and the rest of Radiohead – bassist Colin Greenwood; guitarists Ed O'Brien and Colin's younger brother Jonny; drummer Phil Selway and new second drummer Clive Deamer, who has played with the group for the past year – sound exuberant and confident as they push through "Bloom," from The King of Limbs. What sounded on that record like a glassy enigma of loops and ghostly incantation is now rushing water, arranged by the new six-man lineup as a fury of rhythms and murky-treble guitars. "Morning Mr. Magpie" is also harder and faster than the version on Limbs, while "Meeting in the Aisle" – an instrumental from the sessions for 1997's OK Computer – is played with fresh pepper, like Turkish surf music with a trip-hop step.

Radiohead have worked up more than 75 songs for the 2012 shows, including material written during rehearsals this winter at their studio in Oxford. The band will run through a pair of newborns tonight, "Identikit" and "Cut a Hole." Yorke, 43, describes the former as "joyful, slow but with a wonky hip-hop beat." He beams. "That one wormed its way to the head of the class." Colin, who is 42, is excited about another new one, "Full Stop," particularly the part "where Thorn's voice jacks up into this amazing falsetto. The song just takes off."

20 Songs You Can't Believe Are 20 Years Old

In an interview before practice, Yorke credits the addition of Deamer, who came from the British band Portishead, with Radiohead's live renewal. "Having another musician to go back over old stuff was as important as coming up with new songs," says Yorke. He's slumped on a couch, but his voice crackles with restless energy. "Along the way," he says, "you discard songs, because you can only do them in a certain way. To breathe new life into them is a good feeling. You don't have to ask, 'Oh, how does it go again?' It's 'How can we do this properly now?'"

The best example at this rehearsal is the title song from 2000's Kid A. Recorded at the height of Yorke's loathing of guitar-band convention, "Kid A" was barely a song at all – a cloud of whoosh with Yorke singing through a vocoder like a child robot. Tonight, it sounds huge and metallic, a bolt of argumentative double drumming with a striking, classical temper in the piano chords, played by Jonny.

"It was an anti-song," says O'Brien the next day, in an ocean-view lounge at Radiohead's hotel. "Now it's something warmer, particularly the end. Suddenly, it has this sunrise." For a long time, in a lot of the band's music, he admits, "nothing was allowed to be genuinely beautiful. Jonny was always so brilliant about throwing that slashing guitar through things.

"This is very much where we are – and Clive has brought this," says O'Brien, who turns 44 this month. "Didn't they say when the Beatles got Billy Preston everybody was on best behavior?" He laughs. "Having someone break up the energy – that's good. It got people out of old habits.

"You hear it all the time," says O'Brien. "These bands say, 'We're in the best phase of our lives,' and they don't make very good music. I'm reluctant to say that. It's not our best phase. It's another one – and it's a good one. It doesn't feel like a new band. It feels like a band that knows itself."

Yorke isn't so sure – yet. "It's weird not to have any definitive versions recorded," he says of the new songs, "because that's where you make the final decisions. To be rehearsing new stuff, not have it recorded, with a sixth member in the band . . ." He rolls his eyes in mock terror. "It's all very fluid. I'm not really sure what it is."

Jonny, 40, sitting on the sofa next to Yorke, remembers the singer arriving for the first day of practice in Oxford: "He came in and said, 'I had a dream that we had an extra month for rehearsing.' I thought, 'Wouldn't that be great?'"

"We haven't played in front of people yet, so we don't know if it's any good," says Yorke. "We might not even find out tomorrow." He flashes that crooked smile. "Maybe it will take a while."

Radiohead have been a recording band for two decades. This year marks the 20th anniversary of their debut EP, Drill, and the initial release of their seething Top 40 hit "Creep." Since then, Radiohead have enjoyed the weirdest forward motion of any major rock band. Their hit albums, including two American Number Ones, Kid A and 2007's In Rainbows, are slippery and jarring: blends and collisions of violent guitar dynamics, cryptic dance-floor electronics and barbed, elliptical balladry. Radiohead's last "conventional" album, according to their longtime co-producer Nigel Godrich, was their art-rock classic OK Computer. "Essentially, that was a guitar record dabbling in other dimensions," Godrich says. Radiohead have begun every subsequent album the same way. "We start," O'Brien says, "with what we don't want to do next."

There has been substantial outside work in recent years. Selway's first solo effort, Familial, came out in 2010. Yorke is almost done with the first studio album by his band Atoms for Peace. Jonny, a prolific writer for soundtracks and orchestras, just issued an album with Polish composer Krzystof Penderecki. An independent act since the end of their EMI contract in 2003, Radiohead also explore alternative ways of releasing music. In Rainbows was first available as a pay-what-you-choose download. A gorgeous 2009 track, "These Are My Twisted Words," was free.

The King of Limbs arrived as a complete shock: a download with a week's notice and no publicity by the band. A CD followed a month later. But the surprise attack, combined with the music's vexing restraint, backfired. "There were clearly people who were interested in the band's music, but they didn't know Radiohead had released a record," says Bryce Edge, one of the group's managers. To date, The King of Limbs has sold 307,000 copies in the U.S. – Radiohead's first album to fail to go gold here.

But that tally, Edge points out, "doesn't include all of the digital stuff we sold" – an estimated 300,000 to 400,000 copies purchased via Radiohead's website. "The majority of the sales were band-to-fan," says co-manager Chris Hufford. "Financially, it was probably the most successful record they've ever made, or pretty close. In a traditional deal, the record company takes the majority of the money."

Radiohead played only three concerts in 2011, after recruiting Deamer to help re-create the overdubbed tangle of drum loops on The King of Limbs: a surprise set at Britain's Glastonbury Festival and two hot-ticket gigs at New York's Roseland Ballroom. So now the band is going overboard: Its long U.S. itinerary includes festival dates, two at Coachella and one at Bonnaroo. O'Brien says the group has already "talked about the way the gigs might evolve, maybe doing them in three sections – three movements, if you like." Colin is excited about the prospect of studio time along the way. "Maybe we'll do some hit-and-runs," he says, "go in over a weekend somewhere and play."

The band is touring mostly in three-week legs with substantial breaks, in part for family matters. All the group members still reside in the Oxford area except for O'Brien, who lives in London, and all are married except for Yorke, who has been with his partner, Rachel Owen, since they were students at the University of Exeter. The five are busy fathers. Colin, Jonny and Selway have three children each; Yorke and O'Brien have two apiece. "My kids are changing schools in September," Selway, 44, notes. "I wanted to be around for that."

But there is a strong sense in the interviews conducted for this story over the past year – in Oxford, London, New York and finally Miami – of a band anxious to engage the world again after spending too much time too close to home. The first night at Roseland last September was, O'Brien claims, "a great lesson. The sound-check was a fucking nightmare. The monitors were rubbish – we couldn't hear ourselves. We felt underprepared. But you know what? It was all good. Our managers were like, 'Top-five gig!'"

"It was a fucking trip – the best adrenaline buzz I've had in absolutely years," Yorke crows. "It didn't feel like we were treading the old ground, walking over our graves. We were still wandering around in the darkness, stumbling. That was nice."

"It made us feel like a rock band again," Colin says, more thoughtfully, backstage in Miami. "It's fine to be in a band in a nine-to-five way: Get up with the kids, take them to school, do some work, come home. But I see my friends in Oxford who have jobs they work hard at that they don't enjoy, and it frustrates me. We have a job that is a passion. Roseland made us remember how great it could and should be."

Radiohead speak about The King of Limbs like it is unfinished business, an album with a future and an audience still waiting for it. The group is not touring this year "specifically to push that record," Selway says. But, he adds, "people hopefully will connect with it through that."

"It was amazing to just put the record out like that," Yorke says. "But then it didn't feel like it really existed." He mentions a chat he had about the album, a few months after its release, with Phil Costello, a friend of the band and a former executive at their old label, Capitol. "He was like, 'It's gone, just gone.' Really? Fuck.

"But that was the consequence of what we chose to do," Yorke concedes. "You can either get upset about it, or say, 'Well, that's not good enough.'"

It is a warm afternoon in New York, the day before the first Roseland concert, and Yorke – between sips of tea in a downtown hotel lobby – is recalling his Friday nights in college, working as a DJ while he was going for his bachelor's degree in art at Exeter. Radiohead were a part-time operation, writing songs and making demos under their original name, On a Friday, during the members' school breaks.

"I wasn't particularly good," Yorke says of his spinning, "because people were buying me drinks to get me to play what they wanted to hear. At the end of the night, I couldn't see the records." Yorke remembers mixing electro-dance tracks by a Belgian duo, Cubic 22, and the English trio 808 State with early Seattle grunge. He was especially keen on the way Manchester bands such as Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses were fusing Sixties psychedelia and British rave culture. "Which then stopped," Yorke complains. "Suddenly, guitars were the authentic way to go. We were a part of that."

Since OK Computer, Yorke has persistently fought to increase the distance between his band and customary rock instrumentation and record-making. "I talked about it endlessly while we were doing In Rainbows," he says. "It was a constant frustration that we were actually going the opposite way."

The King of Limbs is Yorke's student-DJ dream come true: rock fundamentals wholly transformed by electronics. The drum, bass and guitar parts are all samples, individually played by the members of Radiohead, then manipulated, looped and layered into tracks shaped by Yorke's reverie-like melodies and haiku-style lyrics. "Lotus Flower," "Codex" and "Give Up the Ghost" hover and throb more like suggestions than songs, exotic murmurs in no hurry to become declarative statements. "I can see why it's alienated people," Yorke says now of the album. "I didn't realize it was its own planet."

"We didn't want to pick up guitars and write chord sequences," Jonny says, sitting in a London cafe near Abbey Road Studios, where Radiohead made part of their second album, 1995's The Bends. "We didn't want to sit in front of a computer either. We wanted a third thing, which involved playing and programming." It was a long hunt: Radiohead worked on The King of Limbs in bursts from May 2009 to January 2011.

Readers' Poll: The 10 Best Radiohead Songs

Tall and shy, constantly sweeping a long curtain of black hair from his face, Jonny is the only member of Radiohead without a college degree; he left his studies in psychology and music at Oxford Polytechnic College when the group got its record deal in 1991. But he is arguably Radiohead's most gifted musician: a classically trained violist who also plays violin, cello and keyboards. Jonny also created the software program used to sample the instruments on The King of Limbs. "I was never happier," he says, "than when I was in my bedroom as a kid, working on rubbishy computer games.

"The brick walls we tended to hit," he adds, going back to the album, "were when we knew something was great, like 'Bloom,' but not finished. We knew the song was nearly something. Then Colin had that bass line, and Thom started singing. Those things suddenly made it a hundred times better. The other stuff was just waiting for the right thing."

"They are unlike any other band in the studio," says Godrich, who has worked on every album since OK Computer. "They could not record 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' because they don't have the attention span. If it's not happening straightaway, Thom gets confused. That's not his way."

Godrich cites one classic Radiohead song that was never finished in the studio, "True Love Waits," a popular concert ballad: "We tried to record it countless times, but it never worked. The irony is you have that shitty live version [on the 2001 mini-album, I Might Be Wrong]. To Thom's credit, he needs to feel a song has validation, that it has a reason to exist as a recording. We could do 'True Love Waits' and make it sound like John Mayer. Nobody wants to do that."

Radiohead did not support Limbs with an extensive tour last year for two reasons. One: "We thought it might not be playable," Jonny says. The other "was partly my fault," Yorke acknowledges. The album "released such a load of weird possibilities." He wanted to go right back into the studio, then decided against "carrying on in the same vein. We couldn't do that, we couldn't play live: 'Aw, shit, now what?'"

Deamer, 51, a veteran jazz and dance-music drummer who has also worked with Robert Plant, was the answer. "I've loved his drumming for ages," Selway says. "He seemed like the natural person to go to." In early 2011, the two started dissecting the new songs and deciding which of the many drum parts they could feasibly perform live. A year later, Selway is on the phone from Oxford after Radiohead's final day of tour rehearsals there: "Everything is wide open," the drummer declares in an ecstatic version of his soft, gentlemanly voice. "Seeing that dynamic between the six of us bearing fruit – we have started something. A lot of bands at this stage don't get that opportunity. Or they miss it when it's there."

But, Yorke says, "There is no way in hell we could have come up with what we're doing now, live, if we hadn't been sitting in front of turntables and samplers, piecing the record together in this method. There is no way it would have turned into this dynamic thing."

Asked which songs on The King of Limbs have changed most in performance, Yorke mentions "Lotus Flower." "With the two drummers it suddenly got nasty," he says. "I quite like it." And he agrees that "Give Up the Ghost" – a spare, repetitive ballad on the record – became something else at Roseland: a booming, circular prayer as Jonny sampled and manipulated Yorke's live vocal.

"You're sampling what the mic is taking from the room too," the singer explains. "It's getting the room back, again and again and again. What it's going to sound like in an arena. . ." Yorke's eyes go wide with delight. "I'd forgotten about that. It could be something."

On a cool midsummer evening in Oxford, Colin is strolling briskly to a pub in the old center of the city, noting historic sites along the way. He gestures at a narrow door leading into Modern Art Oxford, a prominent gallery. When they weren't playing together or in school, the young members of Radiohead hung out in the basement lounge, "talking forever, each of us over a single cup of coffee for five hours," Colin says.

Around the corner, he points to a store – part of Cult, a clothing chain – and notes with a bemused smile that Yorke worked in another local branch as a salesman. It is an improbable image: Yorke, a compact man of impatient energy and lethal irony, closing a deal on designer jeans.

Passing a phone booth, Colin remembers Radiohead's first, stumbling attempts to make records, before they got their EMI deal. "There was no e-mail or cellphones," the bassist says. "We'd find a call box, put money in it and call a studio." Once, when they asked how much a session cost, "the guy said, 'Nine hundred pounds.' We said, 'Thank you!' and hung up." Radiohead ultimately cut most of their first album, 1993's Pablo Honey, at a studio co-run by a producer who had worked with the Sixties-blues version of Fleetwood Mac.

Then there is the Bear Inn, a truly ancient pub (established 1242) with perilously low ceilings. Colin, an Oxford native, and Yorke – born in a small East Midlands town, Wellingborough, and raised for a time in Scotland – first met in their preteens. They were both taking classical-guitar lessons at Abingdon School, outside Oxford. At the Bear, the two managed to buy drinks even though they were underage and talked about their role models for the band they planned to form: New Order, Talking Heads and Yorke's favorite, R.E.M.

Over a pint of ale at a picnic table outside the Bear, Colin fondly recalls "that excitement of noise" at Radiohead's first local gigs, "when you play in a pub, borrowing some older guy's Fender bass cabinet and you've had four cans of lager to get your courage up. We did that for the first show we ever did. It was a 20-minute walk that way." He points down the street running behind the Bear, toward the Jericho Tavern. Radiohead made their concert debut there in 1986 under the name On a Friday, after their usual rehearsal day, when the members were all at Abingdon School. Selway, the oldest member, was 19; Jonny was not yet 15.

Later, standing outside a restaurant in a residential neighborhood, Colin notes another Radiohead shrine: the house near the corner of Magdalen Road and Ridgefield Road that Colin, Selway and O'Brien rented in the summer of 1991. The band stored its equipment there, and all five members lived there, in varying combinations, for about a year. "Good times," Colin says with a sigh, "although Jonny never did any of the washing up."

Selway characterizes that period as "good training for tour buses. There were piles of pizza boxes in the corner. It would get so unbearable that someone would have to do the cleaning. I was coming and going for most of the year. I seem to remember Colin moving into my room after I'd decorated it quite nicely."

Yorke arrived after he graduated from Exeter. "We would come back from gigs," he says, "and listen to the answering machine. There would be messages from 10 A&R men."

The Ridgefield Road house was the end of Radiohead's adolescence – the point at which they became a full-time band obsessed with their work and progression. Jonny describes one Christmas when he was still in high school and the others were home from college: "We rehearsed in some hall in town every day, including Christmas Eve. It was insane. There was no concept. We were working on songs for some nebulous future reason we had not clearly thought through.

"That's the kind of intense time we spend together," he says. "That's how it's always been. Our gang principally revolved around playing musical instruments, songs to talk about."

"I think that was when we wrote 'Creep,'" Yorke says when asked about that Christmas. "There are these periods when you get energized. You can't force yourself to hang out. But when we're working, when it's happening and it's all good, all that shit just occurs."

Yorke's aversion to the road surfaced early. So did his distaste for the play-the-game decorum expected of a major-label band. Manager Edge recounts "a famous gig" in Las Vegas "when we'd done some ridiculous routing because of the seeming lack of knowledge American promotion guys have of geography. We were doing a radio show, supporting Tears for Fears, and everyone was grumpy." During the show, "in a fit of pique," Yorke smashed half of the stage lights. Edge maintains that "the idea of him doing anything like that now is long gone."

But Yorke looks back on his not-much-younger self – particularly the tormented anti-star preserved in Meeting People Is Easy, the 1999 documentary of the OK Computer tour – without excuses. "I was bored," he states flatly, backstage in Miami, of his aggro-zombie aura in that film. "I loved that record. But the idea of being stuck with those songs for a year and a half, in the same form, no change, no nothing – I struggled with it. We'd finish a song, and I'd stand there, frozen.

"I understand now why we did all of those shows," Yorke confesses. "If we hadn't, we wouldn't be where we are. But I lost my nerve. We've been through different stages – that was a bad one."

"What's different about us," Jonny chimes in, "was that right from the beginning, our obsession was songs. As a byproduct, we tour now."

"It wasn't a bunch of mates" on Ridgefield Road, O'Brien observes, "more like a bunch of co-conspirators. We had this common goal. That's what it was all about, dreaming it up. All this stuff we have now – there was never any doubt it was going to happen. And it did, because the material world caught up.

"But I would say this – they are my brothers. Some of the others don't realize that. But we'll be at one another's funerals. We've been through this. We're family."

That is "a strength we don't really acknowledge to ourselves," Colin says. "We're far too English."

There is a physical side to it that I find interesting – the breath," Yorke says. He is trying to explain where he goes in his head and what he feels when he sings. "It's a meditative state, like standing in the tube station when the train is coming through. Things go past you – trains, people.

"It took me a few years to learn how to do it," he says of performing, during a breakfast interview in London last July. "Seeing people like Michael Stipe and Jeff Buckley – I realized it's a good place to go. It's OK to shut your eyes."

Later that day, Radiohead convene with Edge and Hufford to discuss touring in 2012. Afterward, O'Brien describes the meeting as "fraught." Yorke already sounds uneasy over his egg-white omelet: "The level of machinery freaks me out sometimes. You walk backstage, and there's people and stuff everywhere.

"We never wanted to be big," he says. "I don't want to be loved in that way. You can say it is selfish. You can also say this is someone who gets a kick out of what they do: trying to fuck with your head." Yorke enunciates the last phrase with relish.

"Because that's what it's all about," he continues, "casting the net wide, creating chaos and trusting something will come of it – not panicking, just going with the blind faith and all of these moving parts. This idea – where will the band be in five years? Fuck that. I'm just looking for little diamonds in the dust."

"Thom has the most acute bullshit detector in the band," O'Brien says, with awe, in Miami. "It's that balance – an intensely critical life, with an ability to feel, to have great intuition. We're not necessarily making the smartest business decisions. But we are following our intuition. It's about the art."

"This is a work in progress – that's the bit I like," Yorke confirms, just before that last practice. Then he says something else. "I was thinking, when I was on holiday recently – I've been doing this more than half my life." He pauses. "That's bonkers!" Yorke proclaims with an astonished laugh. "And it's cool. It's a job – and a good job.

"We actually need to get on a stage now and see where we're at," he declares, ready to play. "It's a large stage, and there will be a lot of people." There's more laughter. "But I've been told that's OK."

#radiohead #fitter hapier #rolling stone #2012 #1155 #how the most experimental band in music learned to rock again #david fricke #rolling stone magazine #magazine #april 26 2012 #april 26

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heavymetalmachinery · 11 months

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also if you do add which variant of "good morning mr magpie how's your wife" you say :))

#for context seeing a lone magpie is a bad omen #england #polls #red text

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speedypandaweasel · 2 years

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A Change of Plans - A Yancy and Reader Story

~ Chapter 4 ~

Good Morning to You too

Where we ended:

"Yancy let out a small chuckle at the sight of your dishevelled hair and like a Magpie on a silver spoon, he picked it up. It was a little damp though, so he quickly wiped off the excess on his trouser before strutting back down the dim prisoner corridor. All the while, he was thinking about what excuse to tell the gang why he was back in his cell so late."

BEEP BEEP BEEP

So much for a lie in. You slowly rose from the cocoon of warmth you had made for yourself and you felt your toasty toes wriggle up the bed. Dragging yourself out of subconsciousness, your eyes finally decided to greet the grey interior and the black-barred window that perched just out of your arm's reach. Why would they put such a tiny window if they didn't want anyone to look out of it? Pretty pathetic actually. The Penitentiary really needed to repaint the bars, some of the black paint had flaked onto your pillow whilst you were sleeping.

You sat up, a little too quickly, and a cold, hard sensation hit the top of your body. Well good morning to you too World.

The unbearable ringing continued as you brought your arm down onto the squawking alarm clock. The room fell into a comfortable silence once more. 7:30am, not too bad, yet it could have been a little longer. Yet it was as if someone decided to balance a massive book on "how to not have a headache" on your already sore head. You'd ask Boggs for some paracetamol, or maybe some Ibuprofen as you tried to ponder on what did you do to deserve this.

You trudged over to your mirror and a gruesome sight taunted right back, morphing your reflection into something that couldn't be described with words. Your nose looked like a purple balloon and your eyes had designer bags beneath them. And you didn't want to get started on the toddler boutique hairstyle, it was such an honour to be the tester for their new lineup.

"Man you look awful," Bam Bam asked, pouring some orange juice from the carton. "You doing ok?"

Yancy glanced up from his cereal and sighed "Yeah, just tired das all"

That was a complete lie, well to an extent. Yancy hadn't stopped thinking about last night and what that key meant. He scanned the Cafeteria, the lingering smell of Lemons brushed on the inmates' clothes as he breathed in another huge sigh. They still weren't here. It was nearly time for morning activities and no sign of them at all.

"Oh yeah, I didn't see you come in last night boss?" Jimmy questioned, concern written on his forehead. But his question changed direction. "Who you searching for?"

"Oh nothin's, just seeing if everyone's doing swell, how are youse lot anyway? Any news on visitation?"

"Ah no no no" Hank interrupted, "The only person you should be checking up on is yourself, remember? Youse is the only person youse can rely on" Badly imitating his leader's accent.

"Yeah, yeah I knows. By the way, has anyone seen de newbie, dey's ain't here for breakfast." Yancy said, still gazing around the room, hoping to catch their eye.

"Nope, hadn't seen them anywhere. Why? Has someone got a thing for them?" Tiny chuckled, satisfied that they got at least one cheeky remark in this morning.

The rest of the gang followed suit, bellowing and teasing the poor gang leader until they were red themselves. More and more prisoners were turning around to see who was receiving the heckles and Yancy just laughed and played along with them as if it was the normal conversation. Guards were standing at their usual spots, secretly laughing at the commotion that was going on aswell, but all smiles soon dropped when the Big Man himself came through the doors.

Mr Murder Slaughter had always obliged a quiet and sensible entrance when he entered any room and seemed to relish in the fact that he got it every time. He stood there, the clipboard gripped in his big strong hands and his green eyes pierced through the thick-rimmed glasses that sat on top of his nose.

"Mornin' everyone. Hope y'all had a wonderful night's sleep." He boomed.

The room remained silent. All eyes must have been fixed at all times on the warden as he sauntered around the room, his strong cologne blocking out any other smell that dared get in his way. He passed several inmates as they quietly looked down, scared to meet their superior in the eyes. "A few notices this morning before you all go off to your morning activities. Firstly, the prison is now offering disabled toilet keys for anyone who feels that they cannot use either the ladies or the gents. If you wish to use one, please ask guard Crank or Smile for a key. However, they must be handed back afterwards, we don't y'all sneakin' of where you're not supposed to be." He finished with a forced chuckle.

"Secondly, a reminder that Visitation is coming up and that means a potential parole offering, so y'all be on your best and brightest behaviour."

The warden flipped through his clipboard, eyeing up his notes "Well, that's it from me, I will be in my office if anyone needs me." and striding backing through the cafeteria doors once more.

The room breathed once more as people began to relax once more as noises of cutlery and chattering broke the silence.

"Oh sorry, didn't see you there."

"It-it's fine Mr Murder Slaughter"

"Das nice of 'em" Yancy picked up the conversation again. "Do youse feel better now Bam?"

"Hell yeah! I get a bigger toilet than all of you" He smiled. "But, honestly, it will feel much better for my frog army."

"Uh Boss, you still looking for that inmate" Jimmy whispered in Yancy's ear "They just came in."

The muttering continued as the broad whipped his head around and watched intently as they walked in, their hand covering their face. Man, dey's need to go the medical office. "I's be right back"

Yancy heaved his leg over the bench and stood up, smoothing his shirt down as he approached them, trying to block out the oo's and ahh's of his mates behind him. He turned and shot them a middle finger before continuing his walk towards the corner of the cafeteria.

He stopped at your tiny table, brushed back his gelled hair and let out a small cough, alerting his presence. "Good mornin'"

A smell of mint and fresh linin made you aware that someone was standing over you but you daren't look up. You managed to make yourself at least presentable as you walked in late to breakfast. Your mind tried its very best to fixate on the poetry book that you bookmarked the other day, but it was no use.

"Good morning," You nasily replied. Not even two words and you were already feeling the blood rush into your cheeks. You slowly closed the book, still not meeting his gaze as the book lands on the table with a tiny thump.

"Is youse nose's alright? I remember de other nights youse had a pretty nasty thunk on it." He laughed, trying to make light of this, another awkward encounter.

"Oh yeah, it's alright" You lied, smiling through the pain. "It just aches a little." You finally push aside the embarrassment to look at the shadow, face to face in broad daylight. His trimmed and rather dashing jawline was the first thing you saw as your eyes continued to wander up past his killer smirk and to his swimming brown eyes, which were currently looking directly at yours. Man, no wonder so many people came to visit him, he was even more of a something up close.

Hold on, what were you saying!? This man murdered both of his parents, possibly even more, and you're finding this attractive?!

"Youse ok?" He snapped you out of your gaze. "Youse didn't blink for a while, heh"

"Oh! I-I-I am so sorry, I was just-"

"Ah, youse worry too much. Breathe, relax, it's just me."

It's just him. Yep. Totally normal. Breathe.

"Which reminds me, with ya nose- never mind." He chuckled, showing his pearly whites again. "Youse dropped summin' last night. I was gonna give it back to you earlier but youse didn't arrive until later. I understand why though, that bump gots ta be tended to."

He delved into his pocket and brought out... Boggs' Key!?

"Uh, thanks. I didn't know I dropped it last night."

The First Lie.

But thanks for giving it back. To be honest, I thought you would've kept it."

He gave a puzzled look. "Now why's would I do that? I may be a criminal, but I's not dat bad" He grinned.

You smiled back, feeling your heart rate relax more and more. "But yeah, thanks again."

"Well youse is welcome... I's searchin' for a name here. No! Wait! Don't tell me? Bob? Karen? I got it! Their Royal Highness of Keysalot!"

You let out a well-awaited chuckle and played on. "Oh so close! It's Their Royal Highness, Y/N of Keysalot! and what shall I call you my loyal subject?"

"Call me Sir Yancy of... I's get back to you on dat one." He played back.

Yancy, that's what his name was. The tension that was present last night had dissolved and a nicer silence rested once more on top of you two.

"Well I's gotta head back to my table but glad youse doin' better than last night. Oh, Page 19."

He flashed you a grin and walked back to his table. You let out a small laugh as you watch him struggle to get back into his seat. he looked back one more time and performed a tiny bow.

"Sir Yancy? What was that all about?" Hank said as Yancy joined the group again. The Gang all stopped to listen to what their leader had been up to with the quiet inmate. He actually had a conversation with them, unlike the others who couldn't get one word out of them.

"I just needed to talk about summin', is that so wrong and so interesting? I do have people outside of this group ya know."

"That doesn't sound conspicuous at all" Tiny smirked, "Someone's hiding something."

"Hey come on, if Boss wants to say it, he will, but for now we got to get going, Officer Rogers is waiting for us outside." Jimmy interjected.

Yancy thanked his taller mate whilst the rest of the Gang groaned as they started to pile their dirty dishes and carry them through to the kitchen.

Yancy brought the rest of the cutlery through and wandered through to the outside door. But he hovered in the doorway and turned around to see Keysalot's head buried in the poetry book.

He smiled to himself and exited.

"Now who wants ta challenge me to a race?!"

Love is Like a Dagger.

It's a weapon to be wielded

far away or up close.

You can see yourself in it.

It's beautiful - Until it makes you bleed.

But Ultimately, when you reach for it.

It isn't real.

Love is an imaginary Dagger.

- Loki Laufeyson

Staring at the tattered book, you started to wonder why Yancy had specifically mentioned this poem. But whoever Mr Laufeyson was, he sure wanted to challenge the reader.

You looked up to see where Yancy had gone but realised not only he had gone but the rest of the Cafeteria too. Tucking the book back on the dusty window cill, you grabbed the key and headed into the direction of the staff room where hopefully Officer Boggs resided.

You push open the meeting room door, muttering apologies as you squeeze past the occupied chairs, each pair of eyes glaring at you.

"Late again I see Mx. L/N" Johnson barks, ticking you off the checklist. You sheepishly smile and squat down at the back of the cramped room, balancing the many paper files on your lap.

"Now as I was saying, the rates of cases coming in this year against last years reports have been slim to none, and if it continues like this, then I can see you all being in my good books until the end of the year. Note, this does take into consideration of attendance and commitment to the craft so if you do care about being here, then I suggest putting more work into being here on time." His bulging eyes shoot daggers at yours.

"Reminder that October break is coming up so cases may spike, so everyone please keep your phones on and not on silent. We all know what happened last year"

A short murmur and chuckle fill the conference room before dying down.

"Right, come on focus. That isn't the only reason why I called this meeting. A more serious note, there have been short staff in the Investigation department so if anyone is interested in transferring to them please speak to me after everyone has gone. They are requesting a couple people and have left some information on my desk. Any Questions?"

You shoot your hand up and Johnson sighs, of course, it would be you.

"Yes L/N?"

"What would the job entail exactly? I understand that there are some brochures but some people might not get there in time before they all disappear."

"Fine." Johnson huffs, "It says that you would be working in filing and sorting evidence for Police investigators, so they can work on more than one case at a time. It includes regular lunch breaks and a chance to climb up the" He groans "Ladder of Justice. Satisfied?"

"Yes thankyou, do you mind saving-"

"Meeting adjourned!" Johnson claims, stuffing paper back into his sleek briefcase.

Suits and ties begin to stand up and dance their way out of the room single file, the strong smell of coffee and cigarettes wafted behind them.

"Johnson" You splutter through the assembly, " Can I take a brochure?"

"Wow, it's as if you never wanted one" He sarcastically replies, thrusting the paper into your already full hands. "L/N I really think you should go for this. I mean, you're not really on time for our meetings and your always rambling on about the latest report. Plus I think this crowd isn't really your forte, don't you think?"

Even though you agree with everything this uptight arsehole says, you try your best to resist saying the unthinkable to this mid-life crisis of a man. "I perfectly understand Johnson. But there is a big difference between "Should" and "Want", make sure you choose the right one next time. Oh and I do know what you and the rest of the team say when I'm not around. If you want to talk about me, say it to my face."

And with that, you pick up with whatever dignity you have left and storm out the door. Johnson follows suit but the door swiftly comes in between the two of you.

#yancy the prisoner #yancy x reader #ahwm #ahwm yancy #a heist with markiplier #yancy #markiplier egos #markiplier #x reader #loki laufeyson

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