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laurfilijames · 3 years

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Wild Horses- Part 2 (Prequel to Slow Burn)

Pairing: Modern AU Fili x Female OC Prim

Words: 3682

Summary: Fili and Prim enjoy a night out with Kili and Tauriel playing pool and singing karaoke. Prim attempts to make Fili see how much she’s grown to care for and want him since they met a year ago, but something is holding Fili back.

Warnings: Rated M. Alcohol consumption, swearing. Mentions of intercourse. Discussions of masturbation. Unwanted advances. A punch and bloody nose/hand. Mentions of war/military/deployment. Slight dom/sub suggestion.

A/N: This was so enjoyable to write, I had so much fun building the dynamic between them and adding to that slow burn. But be warned, angst is ahead in the coming chapters!

The song that Prim sings is linked below if anyone wants to listen to really get a feel for the chapter. (The original song is by the Divinyls but I like this cover better).

Thank you again to @guardianofrivendell for editing, listening to my struggles and always giving wonderful advice and endless support!

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“It’s your round this time!” Prim whined.

“No, no, I got the last one remember? It’s definitely your round,” Fíli argued.

She did remember, she was just hoping he wouldn’t.

“Fine. I’ll make you a bet, whoever loses this game has to get the drinks,” Prim wagered.

“Deal!” Fíli moved around the pool table to line up his next shot. Before he did, he looked up at Prim and smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But the loser also has to go up there and sing a song.”

“You bastard! You’re only betting that much because you know I’ll lose and you won’t have to sing.”

He grinned at her, amused at upping the stakes.

“Exactly,” he said, sinking his shot as he did.

Prim was awful at pool, leaving her questioning exactly why she would make a bet with him, knowing it would result in her buying the drinks and now apparently also singing a song in front of the entire bar.

She focused as she lined up her shot, praying she was successful in landing the ball in the intended pocket but faltered when she felt Fíli’s body cover hers from behind just as she attempted her hit, missing her shot completely and losing the game.

“See, you should’ve aimed more over there-,” Fíli teased, laughing as she whipped around and smacked him hard on the chest.

“I would’ve got that in if it wasn’t for you!”

He looked at her doubtfully, and although she was pissed at him for making her lose the game, she enjoyed the proximity of his body to hers. His hand remained on her waist in an almost claiming way, probably making them look like lovers to people who didn’t know them.

Prim reluctantly stepped out of his grasp and gave him the most devilish look she could as she walked over to the stage where the karaoke machine was set up. There were large speakers surrounding it and a single microphone standing in the middle, waiting for its next performer.

Prim couldn’t help but grin despite the embarrassment she felt, watching Fíli clap and hoot loudly at her as he leaned against the pool table, Kili and Tauriel following suit from the table where they sat.

She knew exactly which song she was going to sing, something that would hopefully turn Fíli on while also letting him know how she felt about him.

After spending so much time getting to know each other over the last year, Prim knew without a doubt that he was the only one she could ever want. Their relationship so far was effortless, friends who could make each other laugh and were able to share anything with each other, the good and the bad, all traced with whispers of an eagerness for more.

She adored his family and they welcomed her without hesitation as a part of their own. Prim especially admired the relationship between the two brothers, as well as the one they shared with Thorin.

It made her wish she could say the same about her own family, but this found family was all she needed.

And Fíli… Fíli was incredible. He still treated her as sweetly and with as much care as he had the day they met.

He evened her out. His calm manner balanced her fiery ways. Nobody else’s personality had ever complimented hers more and he made her feel instantly happy just by being in the same room.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to Prim when the inevitable happened: she fell in love with him.

But it was almost as if an unsaid agreement to take things slow stood between them, both of them knowing at some point they would be more than just friends, but Prim was growing increasingly impatient. She had often tried to hint that she wanted more, that she was ready to take it to the next level, but Fíli wasn’t budging. Maybe Prim wasn’t as conspicuous as she thought she was.

It was about time she started to make things a little more clear for him.

The music started up after she selected the song and she readied herself before the mic, willing courage from her three glasses of wine to grace her.

“I love myself

I want you to love me,”

The crowd erupted in cheers, realizing what she had selected.

“When I feel down

I want you above me

I search myself

I want you to find me

I forget myself

I want you to remind me,”

The look on Fíli’s face was priceless, full of surprise and curiosity and maybe even a hint of lust as he pushed his tongue in his bottom lip, so Prim continued, her eyes locked on his as she began to run her hands down her sides and over her breasts,

“I don’t want anybody else

When I think about you

I touch myself

Oh, I don’t want anybody else

Oh no, oh no, oh no,”

Encouragement from the crowd kept her going, but not as much as the expression on Fíli’s face did. Prim continued her seductive dance as she sang, carding her hands through her hair and down her neck to her chest, still managing to sing despite the huge grin on her face,

“I close my eyes

And see you before me

Think I would die

If you were to ignore me

A fool could see

Just how much I adore you

I’d get down on my knees

I’d do anything for you,”

When the song ended, Prim bowed to the standing ovation given to her by the entire bar. She hopped off the stage and walked back over to Fíli who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Wow,” was all he managed to say, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“I don’t think after that performance I should still shout the drinks,” she suggested.

“Um, no, that wasn’t the deal,” he corrected her, standing close enough she could see his pulse thumping in his neck. He stared at her like he was trying to figure out what she was up to, and also like he could kiss her. His eyes lingered on her lips as though he was about to consume them and Prim thought how she would sell her soul to have him do it.

Did he still not know how badly she wanted him?

With the adrenaline from her performance still coursing through her body, Prim was about to confess her feelings to Fíli. She wanted to tell him that the song was indeed dedicated to him, and that the lyrics applied to her when she thought about him, but was interrupted by Kili and Tauriel coming over to congratulate her.

“Prim you never cease to amaze me!” Kili said, gripping his hands on her shoulders from behind.

“I think you have every man in here worked up!” Tauriel added.

As appreciative as she was for their compliments, the only opinion she really cared about was Fíli’s.

“Yeah, you are incredible,” Fíli praised her, still regarding her peculiarly.

Her stomach flipped. He thought she was incredible, not just her karaoke skills.

“Oh, I had some inspiration,” Prim admitted, staring into Fíli’s eyes and willing him to figure out just how much she longed for him, but not able to say it with Kili and Tauriel standing beside them.

“Well, the drinks are on me!” she declared, walking over to the bar to complete her end of the bargain. Kili followed her, wanting to order food, or so he said. Kili had a tendency to get involved in things that weren’t necessarily his business, and whatever was happening between Fíli and Prim was no exception.

“I can’t help but feel like there were some underlying messages in your performance,” he inquired without looking at her.

“It was just a song, Kili,” she denied.

“Yeah, one about masturbating to thoughts of my brother!”

She looked at him fiercely. Was it so obvious to everyone but Fíli?

“See, you can’t even deny it!” he laughed.

“I’m not trying to deny anything,” she told him while peeling the label off of an empty beer bottle, beginning to get annoyed by his interrogation.

“Well, I bet he thinks of you whenever he touches himself,” Kili said point-blank, popping a chip in his mouth.

“Kili!” Prim said with alarm, smacking his shoulder. Although part of her did hope it was true.

Once Kili stopped laughing, Prim sighed and continued her thoughts out loud.

“It’s just so frustrating! I feel like I do everything but literally throw myself at him and nothing happens.” She placed money on the bar as the bartender handed her their drinks, “I just really care about him,” she admitted.

“I know you do. He knows you do- knows you love him even. He’s going to kill me for telling you but he does feel the same, he told me himself,” Kili explained.

Prim shot her head up to look at him, “You better not be joking right now, Kili,” being fully aware of the pranks he was capable of.

“I’m not, I swear!” he raised his hands in defence, and threw a quick look over his shoulder towards his brother before he continued, “He fancies you, he always has. That’s why he’s still single, and you are too, I reckon. You’re both just too stupid to do anything about it,”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Prim glared at him and took a chip from his plate, making Kili slide it closer to him protectively so she couldn’t steal any more of them.

“I’m not saying you’re stupid, Prim, but one of you needs to admit it or someone else is going to come along and ruin it. You see how women look at him,” he pointed out, and Prim’s heart sank at the thought.

Of course she saw how other women looked at him, and she couldn’t blame them. He was perfect.

Prim didn’t want anyone else and she hoped what Kili had said about Fíli’s feelings towards her were true. She grabbed the drinks and walked back to the table, her head reeling from the information.

Fíli beamed at her as she approached, his dimples revealing themselves beneath his facial hair, making her melt for him once again and forget the threat of anyone coming between them.

Fíli could hardly believe the act he’d just witnessed. He had run his hand over his face a few times to try and disguise his flush, beads of sweat appearing on his temples as he watched Prim’s risqué dance on stage, making him throb for her all over again.

He wondered if she truly felt what she’d sung in those lyrics, that she wanted him and only him, that she imagined him when she pleasured herself.

The thought alone drove him mad.

Her eyes had been locked on him the entire time she was up there, there was no disputing that.

Fíli enjoyed making her feel as frenzied and desperate as she made him, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep resisting her. She knew how to play him as well.

And even though he really didn’t want to resist her anymore and simply give in to the yearning want, he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Thorin and Kili were leading a special ops mission and although Fíli as a trainer was now exempt from having to deploy, he refused to sit at home while his uncle and brother went head first into danger.

He was going too.

Fíli had been deployed countless times since he was in his early twenties. He had seen battle and horrific things that people could never even begin to fathom. The thought of going to war again filled him with dread, but he needed to protect his family.

If he pursued things with Prim, he wouldn’t be able to stand being with her for such a short period of time and making her anxiously wait for him to get back. It would break both of them. It wouldn’t be fair to her, so they would just have to wait until this mission was over before they could give each other everything of themselves.

He watched her now as she leaned against the bar, talking and laughing with Tauriel, finding himself automatically mimicking every upturn of her mouth.

But her expression quickly changed when a man came up to her who was obviously a fan and hoping her words were directed at him. Prim politely shrugged him off, turning back to face Tauriel.

Fíli remained in his chair, carefully watching the interaction. He wouldn’t step in unless he needed to, and he prayed the idiot wouldn’t do anything stupid.

“That song was about me, wasn’t it doll,” the man slurred, stepping closer to her.

Prim laughed and said over her shoulder, “Don’t you wish,” and Fíli could tell the man was starting to get on her nerves.

It was difficult for Fíli to hear all that was being said, but the man seemed persistent in getting her attention. Prim said the odd thing to get him to leave her alone but tried her best to remain focused on Tauriel and ignore the pleas from the drunk.

Kili sat beside him and could see the fury rising up through his body. He patted Fíli on the back, “Easy brother,” he said, trying to assure him that she would be fine, knowing what damage Fíli could do to the other man if provoked.

It wasn’t until the man grabbed her ass and she flew around to punch him that Fíli stood from where he was seated and quickly made his way over. He knew Prim could hold her own, and judging by the way the guy was holding his bloody nose, she had done the job. Regardless, he needed to give this asshole a piece of his mind.

Fíli took hold of the man’s collar and held him upright after being folded over from Prim’s punch, his feet now barely touching the ground.

“Touch her or go near her again and you’ll regret ever laying eyes on her, mate,” Fíli spat in his face, his rage ready to erupt at any second.

The man nodded in a terrified manner, and scrambled away as soon as Fíli released him from his grip.

Fíli brushed his hair back out of his face and turned to Prim, who was shaking her hand out and looking slightly unsettled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his anger now turned to worry, never wanting any harm to come to her.

“Yes, I’m fine. He’s just a prick.” She didn’t meet his eyes, her gaze cast down to observe the damage to her hand. Her knuckles were red and split from colliding with the man’s face and blood was beginning to creep up slowly.

Fíli took her hand in his and brushed his thumb lightly over her wounds before bringing his lips to kiss them gently.

The way she looked at him made his heart clench, almost like she was surprised at his affection towards her. He wanted to tell her he would do anything for her, would give her the world, and that it made him feel terrible that he allowed that guy to touch her like he did. But he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve stepped in sooner,” his voice full of regret at how he handled the situation.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Fi, you’re my hero,” she said with a mischievous look in her eye, her fire back and immediately replacing his anger and regret with desire for her.

“I can usually handle my own, but I don’t mind you protecting me,” she said playfully.

Her eyes were filled with lust as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he was reminded once again of what he wanted to do to her.

Before he acted on pressing his lips against hers, Fíli called to the bartender for some ice for her hand, as well as a shot of whisky for them both.

They all managed to enjoy the rest of the night, no one harassing Prim other than with lustful glances from multiple men, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was having too much fun and a good buzz was keeping the pain in her hand at bay.

She stuck close to Fíli, often touching him playfully on his arm or chest, and even occasionally on his thigh. Her hand landed there now, causing him to stop talking mid-sentence to look at her delicate fingers resting on his jeans.

Fuck, she was going to be the death of him.

His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth so much, a habit to keep his increasing thirst for her at bay.

The bar announced the last call, and they all were quite drunk aside from Fíli. He typically managed to stay sober whenever they went out, wanting to ensure they all got home safely and didn’t have to pay and wait for cabs to take them all to different places.

With Kili and Tauriel dropped off at Tauriel’s place, Fíli was now on his way to take Prim to her own apartment. She was definitely drunk, but not sloppy, in more of her usual flirtatious state that had tried to lure him into her bed on more than one occasion. Tonight was no exception.

She laughed as she fumbled with her keys in the door, dropping them onto the mat. Fíli stooped to pick them up and when he straightened himself Prim was leaning playfully against her door frame.

“You want me and it’s killing you,” she boldly stated, revealing a part of him that he wasn’t ready to divulge to her yet.

He shook his head and chuckled while he unlocked the door, not wanting to have this conversation with her now.

She waltzed in ahead of him, her body language full of confidence from the drinks she had consumed.

“Do you want a nightcap?” Prim asked, trying her best to get him to stay.

“No, thanks. I’m going to head out so you can get some sleep.” He had to fight to get the words out, wanting so badly to stay.

Prim squinted her eyes at him, annoyed at being rejected.

“Are you ever going to give me what I want, Fíli?” she asked, her voice laced with bitterness.

He couldn’t help but grin, desperately wanting to tell her just how badly he wanted her. How he wanted the same things as her. How easy it would be for him to roughly pull her pants down and slide into her, fucking her until she screamed his name over and over.

Especially when she acted like this.

He took a step toward her so he was hovering slightly above her body, and he saw the fearlessness in her eyes change to a softness, like she would submit to him in a second if given the chance.

“The problem is, Prim,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared into her, “If I kiss you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

She faltered for only a moment before lifting her chin up in an act to reinstate her poise.

“Then don’t stop,” she challenged him.

It took every fibre in his being to pull away from her, not wanting to do anything while she was under the influence of alcohol.

“No,” he shook his head and laughed when she threw her head back and growled in frustration.

“Why?” she snapped, her distaste at being rejected clear.

He never wanted to make her feel this way. She had to know she was his greatest desire, his biggest temptation.

Fíli remained in place, not daring to go close to her again.

“Because I want you to be fully aware when I do the things that I have planned for you.”

He watched her shift, his words sinking in and probably helping to sober her up. It was a promise of things to come. A hint at his intentions to explore her body.

“Are you good?” Fíli asked in a normal tone, needing to change the subject and wanting to make sure she was okay before he left.

“I’ll be good when you’re putting your hands all over me,” she countered, her voice raspy and still persistent in trying to get her way with him.

He chuckled at her determination, making his way to the door despite her wishes. She was relentless.

“Goodnight, Prim,” he called over his shoulder, not able to look at her knowing if he did she would draw him back inside.

He sat in his truck for a moment before driving away, his thoughts solely on how much he wished to tell her he wanted to be with her.

Fíli toyed with the idea of establishing the relationship with Prim anyway, being selfish for once in his life and indulging in her for whatever amount of time he could before he left, but quickly decided against it.

He loved Prim. And he only wanted to love her in the way she deserved, and loving her and then leaving her was not it.

He smiled at how easy it was for her to tempt him into almost doing things that were so out of his character. But once he was back home he would give in to anything and everything she offered, because fuck did he want to.

Fíli knew without a doubt that they would end up together someday, so what was waiting a couple of more months in the grand scheme of things? As far as he was concerned they had all the time in the world.

But right now all Fíli could think about was how Prim was probably getting into bed and fantasizing about him while she extinguished her fire, her hands exploring her own body in search of a high that one day would include him. He palmed at the growing tension in his pants, knowing that he was going home to do exactly the same.

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#fili imagine #fili durin #fili the hobbit #fili #fili x oc #wild horses #series #slow burn #fili fanfic #fili smut #smut #oc #modern fili #modern au

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i8jisoo · 4 years

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 ⇉ not true

felix x idol!reader | imagine

↬ genre; pure angst

↬ warnings; talk of alcohol, suicide, and depression

↬ notes; horribly written but i’ll keep it sorry in advance that i didn’t put any warnings at first i’m just skimming these

felix watched before his eyes, your last performance. he was your friend, maybe even more than that he hoped you knew that, he watched you sing. it was all you ever knew, what you loved to do. felix understood that some idols struggled through these patches, some idols gradually developed anxiety or depression due to the pressure put on them. god, you slipped through the cracks. everybody was thinking the same thing, “what did we do to miss this? how could we have missed this?”

felix woke up in the morning, he was doing well. he had gotten back a little bit late from the studio the night before, his legs a little sore and a little tired but other than that he was doing great. felix had actually been learning one of your choreography as he was assigned for a solo stage soon. you were the one to teach it to him, you had taught him step by step and it was gorgeous. the choreography was perfect and suited his style perfectly as it did you.

you were a bubbly person, sure sometimes you stared off blankly and didn’t always hear others when talking, but nobody paid much attention to those little details. you were an idol, you were bound to get bored of talking or listening, bored of practicing so it didn’t mean much. god, he wished he could have gone back to weekly idol with you and talked to you more thoroughly after. he wished he could have asked you how you were feeling or if you wanted to go out sometime.

your mind was poisoned, your heart was tainted, and your eyes were so full but empty. the first sign that something was wrong was when you started becoming a bit more absent as the anxiety started, it was almost crippling. you managed to head out to fan signings and performances still, making what mattered the most to you, your fans, happy.

your last album, it was so heartbreaking. it was vile to even hear the first note of the song, it was hard. your album soon made sense when news had broke. your performance made sense, your eyes were helpless. your eyes, they were begging and nobody noticed. your hands slightly trembled against the microphone and its’ stand, going to wipe against the bottom of your dress that fit you perfectly. you looked perfect, or so they thought.

that was when he was called, jeongin was on the phone, calling about being outside of his door. he sounded nervous, he sounded afraid. the door was knocked on, jeongin there with his cellphone and immediately wrapped his arms around felix. felix was confused but felt his heart warm at the action, his arms were snug around him and jeongin coddled him like a baby. “i can’t believe she’s gone, lix.” jeongin murmured, felix pulling apart from him. his brows were furrowed and he looked the younger one in the eyes, “what? who?” he asked, starting to grow anxious.

“y/n, she just— they said they found her in her house. lix, i don’t understand. sh-she was fine? she wasn’t sick and she wasn’t sad, how could she just— just leave us? her friends?” jeongin asked, not even seeing felix sitting on the ground. some part of felix died when he heard those words, a part of him shriveled up and died. a part of him was taken.

“no, that’s— that’s not true. she was fine, she was happy. she was okay jeongin. no, she’s alive okay? no. she’s fine. that’s not true! she’s okay, okay? she’s happy and alive.” felix insisted, his voice frail and letting tears fall freely while he stuttered on.

felix was offered support from his band members who knew he needed it, practically mothering him. they brought him food, sometimes cooked for him, helped him with laundry and washing dishes, sometimes— just sometimes— they had to help him find the will to wake up in the morning. when they did, he was silent. he couldn’t eat or drink, all he could do was concentrate on getting through the day.

he was last spotted at the funeral, spending time afterwards and promising you that he would go out every few weeks to come eat with you or write lyrics with you. felix was a mess, it wasn’t the kind of mess that some could fix with alcohol or drugs, no amount of therapy, no band-aids or creams could heal. this was something that they weren’t sure would ever heal. the way he thought he was healing was by continuing doing things with you included, he felt like you were there. he swore he could smell your rose perfume, he swore that he could hear your voice.

felix never came to terms with your death, he was convinced you were still there. he found himself often calling you and then getting upset when you didn’t pick up, even after your phone was disabled and sent him to the invalid automated message. of course he would apologize to you though for getting upset, he wanted you two to be happy together.

you had died awhile before your death occurred, you had died. it sent chills down your spine when you realized you were ready, when you could stare at someone and not care if you didn’t get to look at that. unfortunately felix lee was the thing that held you back from death. his big smile, his perfect hair, and his jokes. he never failed to make you feel a bit alive, though when you became numb. when you were at wits end, when you just couldn’t continue. you wanted to put it in to words, into song. you loved music, you loved singing. your fans meant the world to you, each album and single were from your heart. your last album was a drastic change, it was dark, it was twisted, you loved it. it truly killed you to perform it in person, you meant to finish every promotional performance, but you couldn’t. every scream, every tear, every person you looked at, you couldn’t handle it.

a video had been released, capturing your final moments. you sat in the bathtub, unknowingly intoxicated and your hair was wet, the video most likely cropped to keep everybody from seeing your naked body since it seemed to felix that the view traveled farther. the bathtub was on, your camera on. “today is, july eighteenth. i got home right now, it’s four in the morning. made a new song.” the video went on with incoherent mumbling, your hands fumbling with the camera. the singing started, it was delicate. the water softly running behind it, nothing else but the sound of running water. you hummed during part of the song before continuing onto the final part, your voice nearly inaudible, down to a whisper. the video played, only a few more seconds left on the video before it slowly faded to black. there it was, the same photo they had used for your funeral. your name and age, beloved idol. there was the silence, there was the ugly truth. the truth that sometimes the things that you love the most destroy you, things you love can kill you, things you love can take you over. you told your truth, start to finish. you just had to make felix lee, the one who was heartbroken, the one who was shattered, you had to make him believe the truth. he’d believe it soon, he’d believe you were better off. he’d know it’s true.

the words rang forever it seemed like, it’s not true, it’s not true. it’s not true if you say it isn’t. but eventually, it’s not true until it is.

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the-last-cuddlebender · 4 years

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I’m Here (pt.2): Are You There?

But the correct post because I left out the whole first half of the fic last time because I am a ~dumbass~

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The airbenders had a secret, beautiful-sounding, wordless-word language, and Aang was a lonely lil bird after he became the last airbender.

But then the Gaang improvised. And, now, Aang could sing the secrets of the winds with his family again...

...but Azula always lies.

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A/N: A lil Gaang-love hurt/comfort/angst/fluff sortof-continuation (that reads a bit different) to “I’m Here”, because Aang needs yet another hug and the Gaang will break kneecaps while Appa breaks femurs in order to give him one. (Part 1/2)

Rating: T (B for Backhand Azula with the might of Zues please)

Words: 3,531

ArchiveOfOurOwn

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When Aang was a child in the Western Air Temple, he talked to his best friend in whistle-speak all the time.

He asked him how his day was. He asked him if he liked the temple. He asked him if his siblings were as nice as the older boys who Aang had to share his room with.

Appa never heard him. Skybison didn’t understand whistle-speak. Appa just licked him sometimes and hugged him with two or four of his legs if he liked the tune his sky-rider was singing.

And while he wasn’t alone when he was with his buddy, Aang had never felt more lonely.

/Are you there? You’re right there. I’m here. I’m right here./

His buddy’s silence made Aang’s chest ring hollow and ache in the worst ways. His shoulders curled to his ears. His songs bounced off Appa like he had a shield.

After his first un-returned /I love you/, Aang crawled onto Appa’s head and refused to let go. He clung to his tiny horns and buried his tears in Appa’s fur. He only moved to a different spot when Appa whined and wanted to lick him. He even stayed on when he stole Appa extra treats—Gyatso said he was very skilled and that he might even earn his master’s marks in a few years—by hugging his neck with his legs and bending the whole bushel of apples to him.

Appa would lick him happily, but his happiness felt superficial and just out of reach.

/I love you, Still./

Appa still didn’t hear him.

Aang didn’t understand it. Appa was a baby, but even the other children in the nursery talked in whistle-speak before normal speech. They could understand it even sooner. Whistle-speak was their winds. It was instinct. Every airbender was born with it. Every airbender was born into it. And it was their most precious part of themselves.

Whistle-speak was an emotion. A fleeting moment. A part of a person trapped in time and turbulence to deliver feelings so deeply that it could hug around someone’s soul and warm them from head to toe.

But Aang couldn’t give Appa his words without words. It made Aang sadder than he liked to think about. He couldn’t let his buddy feel how much he loved him.

Aang promised to find a way. He could give him his words without words without whistle-speak. He was sure that he could. He just had to try not to cry as much in the meantime. Appa didn’t like it when he cried. Appa trotted him to Gyatso before his first sob broke, and his master patted his back and calmed him before Aang’s heart could start to really hurt.

Gyatso couldn’t convince him to come off, though. Nor could the nuns who watched him as a baby. Even the newly-blued masters couldn’t tug or airbend them apart.

Aang softly hiccuped when the meaner boys taunted him for it. He clung tighter, trembling a little, and wished he could hide in Appa’s fur. Their words hit hard, but their whistle-speak hit him even harder. Their winds couldn’t be ignored or told to go away. The wind never listened. It only spoke.

Appa smacked his tail at them, and his wind couldn’t be ignored, either.

Aang stuck his tongue out at every single one of them and the dust clouds they left behind. He even stuck his tongue out at Appa’s mama when she growled at Aang to get off. Appa bared his teeth and tried to growl, too, but he was too small. They both held their heads high, though, as he trotted away.

Aang smiled and rubbed his wet cheeks. Appa was his best friend.

His best friend.

His.

Aang’s.

Nobody else’s.

He was never letting him go.

He just wished that he could tell him. He just wished that Appa would break his silence.

/Are you there?/

He wished that Appa could hear him.

He held Appa’s fur tighter. Appa licked him and walked him to food and brought him to water before Aang even realized that he was hungry or thirsty.

Gyatso tried to explain that the skybison couldn’t know whistle-speak because they didn’t need it.

Aang asked Gyatso why, and Gyatso just smiled and gave him a gift. Aang believed him, nonetheless, but he was still a bit scared.

Appa licked him again. Aang crawled off his buddy and tucked his new bison-whistle in the hidden pocket in his robes. He trusted his mentor. He trusted him as much as his winds. Gyatso held his hand, and they walked away.

Aang looked back for his buddy, but Appa was already trotting at his side. His best friend rubbed his furry head against his cheek before Aang could think to pet him. Aang giggled and held a handful of his fur. He would never let him go.

...But then the sandbenders happened. And then the end of the war. And now Appa was taking care of a family that had been waiting a hundred years for him.

Aang still whistle-speaks to his best friend, even though Appa never answers.

He asks him how his day was. He asks him if he likes the palace. He asks him if his new family is as sweet and kind as his.

/I love you, Still./

Appa didn’t respond like always.

Aang wishes that he hadn't left the bison-whistle his master had made for him in his room when he ran away. He had his other from his travels tucked into the secret pocket of his robes, but its weight never felt quite right. The whistle didn’t feel quite right at all, but it seemed to be the only way to speak to his buddy.

The whistle was silent. Aang didn’t like silence. His skin crawled whenever he played it. It’s air felt numb and lifeless even though it came from his own lungs. It turned his winds into spoken silence that made the world feel crooked. Like he was lost and no one was looking for him.

Like he was being left behind.

He was calling for his best friend with a void for a voice, and it felt so inherently wrong.

The silence from the bison-whistle reminded him of home in the worst ways. The voices of the faces from a lifetime ago were growing quieter and quieter in his memory. The soft words of his mentor that were almost fatherly, the prideful boasts of the newly-blued masters who showed him off to their friendly rivals once he became the youngest newly-blued of them all, the nostalgic song of the old nun who cared for him as a child...

Aang’s throat tightened. Something tugged his gut and made him curl up until he was as small as he felt.

He could hardly remember their voices. Barely even their names. Even the warmth of their whistle-speak was washed away in dull-grey in the attic of his mind.

One of his hands fisted Appa’s fur without Aang knowing. The coarse hairs were familiar and comforting like nothing else was anymore. They cradled his earliest memories and reminded him that those good times actually happened.

Something heavy sat on Aang’s shoulders and weighed him into the dirt, but Appa licked him before he could cry. A giant paw pulled him close and nearly crushed him against his face.

/Are you there, Soft?/

Aang smiled as the familiar winds of his family curled around him.

/I’m here./

And that’s how his family found him after Zuko came out of his meeting.

/What took you all so long?/

Toph and Sokka laughed, Katara awwed, and Zuko shook his head with a smile.

Appa didn’t want to share at first, but they all dogpiled onto Aang and laid in the sun like they did during the war.

Appa grumbled and still didn’t want to let him go, but Aang’s family weren’t going to let him go, either.

...But, one day, Aang did go. He went by himself into the woods to greet the first sunny days of spring.

He was halfway back to the palace when an echo broke his peace.

/Are you there?/

Aang spun around so quickly that he nearly fell flat.

The whistle-speak rang distant and high-pitched. A cry from far beyond the mountain. Its lyrics were icy fingers numb and black from frostbite—the ghostly touch of nails gliding up his back.

The song in his ears curled its winds around him like a hand reaching out of the dark. It was small, unsure—

/Are you there?/

—like when he was a boy in the Southern Air Temple and in the woods without a partner.

Aang’s shoulders curled to his ears.

One of his family was alone.

/I’m here./

He rushed his wordless words in warm gales to hug his wayward loved one. He rushed his sprint even faster as he commanded the air to aid his haste.

If only he had his glider.

/Are you there?/

If only Zuko had told him sooner.

/I’m here./

Aang is out of breath and tired as he gets closer to his family.

His heart aches some more.

He thinks they are alone.

/I’m here./

Azula always lies.

And Aang doesn’t see the danger until she smirks.

He tries to step back, further into the cave, but there are four more laughs behind him.

Azula braids whistle-speak with something that isn’t an ocarina, and her winds curl around him like a lasso.

/Oh, there you are./

Aang’s blood would have run cold if Azula’s winds weren’t so warm. They’re smooth and oddly soft like the scales of a batviper winding up his leg. His stitched-up heart welcomes them all the same, and his panic grows damp and fuzzy under the weight of her melody’s calm.

Her lyrics dig under his skin. His shoulders curl to his ears.

The inky blackness smells his blood in the water, and it dances around his heels like a pet eager to play with its master.

/Are you there?/

He freezes again, and even the breath from his closing airway is cold. Her lyrics are concerned and filled with sorrow like they were fighting back tears. They remind him of Katara. Instinct pulls his attention in every direction to look for her, and it blooms fresh adrenaline when he can’t find her.

/I’m—

Azula hits him where one of his arrows curl around his arm. Her sisters hit him more. Cold like ink dripped into a pool of water branches frozen webs under the medals of his mastery. She rips his elements away from him, and his past lives blur behind dirty glass.

She lets him still move, though. Not that it helps him. His insides are more slush than bone.

/Are you there?/

Her song is playful and satisfied to the brim; his mind thinks the day is hot and his friends are too lazy to play.

Aang’s lip trembles. His throat tightens. Grey memories are ripped out of the sacred chest in his mind and brought into visceral clarity.

They make him feel everything until he feels nothing, and that’s when it really starts to hurt.

/Are you there?/

She always asks him when he closes his eyes. She doesn’t want him to pass out. She wants to hold him at arm’s-length and dangle his winds in front of his face. She wants to taunt him with his whistle-speak from her crude metal flute.

The thing looks industrial. It reminds Aang of the war and the things he tries to forget about it. She could play it like a professional, but she and her sisters force their blows just to watch him squirm.

They steal the voices of his family.

They make his people scream.

Pins and needles fill Aang’s chest, and liquid heat sears his eyes. He feels their horror as his own. He feels their every dying breath in his gasps. He screams so loud that he deafens himself, but the scrape of his brow on the cave floor makes more of a sound than him.

Aang didn’t understand. The wind wasn’t hers. Its songs weren’t something that could be captured and tamed and used.

But Azula had put his winds on a leash. She had made them lie.

Her lyrics tack him down like a needle through a butterfly all while making his arms itch for a hug.

/Are you there?/

Aang’s cheek kisses cold earth while his arms debate whether or not to pick him up off of the ground. Wordless words pile into wordless sobs that choke the base of his throat. A whimper slips through the cracks.

Azula laughs.

And she gets four more in response.

They dance around him to the tune of his people’s screams. The voices of faces from a lifetime ago claw his chest bloody, and they rip off the patch his family had stitched for him.

The pit is starved and bigger than ever.

He hears his friends who snuck around with him and never let each other get caught. He hears the newly-blued masters who lifted him onto their shoulders when he got his tattoos. He hears the elderly nun who nursed him as a child in the Western Air Temple and gave him his whistle-speak name...

We need you, Aang. Are you there? We need you. Are you there?

/Are you there?/

His throat runs dry. His cheeks run wet.

Azula’s next winds are slow, almost tender. She lazily sinks her fangs into where she had peeled him raw, and she lances him with just as much venom as she did in Ba Sing Se.

She sounds almost like Gyatso.

/I love you, Soft./

Aang’s shoulders shake. His soul bleeds.

/Are you there?/

His first sob breaks him into a kneel. His second brings him to his knees. And he is surrounded by cold laughter and something heavy, an iron net, just as he forgets how to breathe.

His shattered heart weeps.

/Are you there?/

They tie him down and take special care to bind his chest so tightly that he can only breathe spoonfuls of air. Aang writhes like a newborn badgermole grabbed by its scruff and held high off the earth it had been born to command.

Everything is dark. Everything hurts. His voice abandons him after the second bolt of lightning.

Azula takes her time. She bites away at him until they no longer have to hold him down.

They drag him outside by his robes and shove him to the ground. Azula’s satisfaction is nearly palpable when his chest meets the dirt with a pained sound. Aang shivers and heaves for breath, and every inhale grates his ears with the scratchy sound of sandpaper on stone.

Azula’s foot finds its home between his shoulders and squeezes the last fragments of air out of his empty lungs. She presses harder, hoping for a wheeze. He feels her disappointment when all he gives her is something that sounds like a cough.

She spits his title and talks some more. She threatens his family—his brothers, his sisters, and Katara.

Aang grinds his teeth. His blood runs hot. He pushes against her, even though he can barely push his chest up to steal a glancing breath, just so she can see his snarl.

She digs her knee into his back until he can’t breathe entirely. Aang gasps on nothing, desperate and writhing as he is cut from his element, and the wind flurries around him like it shares his panic. She holds it there and relishes his empty gulps for air like his pain was to her as food and water were to every living thing.

The seconds tick by in small centuries. The faces of his family tick through his mind’s eye in so much time lost.

His body begs for air. He opens his mouth in a silent cry.

And Aang gets four responses.

/Looking for you./

/Are you okay?/

/Love you, Soft./

/I’m here./

Aang smiles so hard that it hurts his bruising cheek. He would have laughed if he could.

His family was here. They were looking for him. Their winds were honest. Their winds were warm. And they curled around him just like they always had.

He goes to respond—

Azula laughs.

Aang’s lip trembles some more, and even the blood in his lungs runs cold.

He can’t make a sound. She doesn’t give him any air. His voice is as dead as his people.

His family is further away now. Their songs disappear beyond the mountain—taking their winds with them and singing, without him.

I’m here.

Azula holds his face and presses his cheek into the dirt. Chilly panic writhes in his belly like an animal in a too-small cage that was quickly filling with water. Aang struggles for all he is worth, but he can’t move. He can’t breathe . Tears run over his lip and mix salt with copper in his mouth.

I-I’m here.

His family’s silence hums cold and mocking in his ears. Aang tries to swallow. He almost chokes. More like a hiccup. Their silence presses a boot on his throat just as Azula presses his face harder into the dirt.

His stomach lifted like he was falling. His skin raced over with the same feeling.

He was falling away and falling apart.

He was being left behind.

I’m here...

Azula laughs just as coldly as the ground beneath him feels. Her knee digs in so hard that his ribs feel like they’re bowing.

/Are you there?/

They taunt him with his people’s voices as his vision fades. Stolen winds hug him with hope and rip off of him in screams so much that his head spins and his heart forgets how to beat. They dunk him in and out of icy water, and he prays they would just keep him under.

They had ripped away his winds. They had ripped away his family.

Like when the Avatar took Gyatso.

Like when the Fire Nation took his home.

He opens his mouth to cry out. Silence filled his lungs, and silence is all that comes out of him. His chest tightens like he’s drowning.

Azula presses her knee harder to tear out his silence in muted songs just like she tore out his people’s screams from her metal flute.

Aang was peeled raw and torn bloody, and the pit was swallowing him whole.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here—

Azula’s laugh bleeds into the air like ink onto something sacred. She pats his wet cheek.

“Are you there, little bird?”

I’m here…’m right…’m right here...

Aang’s head is filled with cotton and his vision is black with spots when the ground shakes. The silence is blown away so furiously that it makes his ears ring.

It’s Appa who finds him first.

More earth churns, and Azula is vaulted off his back.

It’s Toph who finds him next.

Murder is in Katara’s shout. The promise for pain is in Zuko’s curse. The guarantee of slaughter is in Sokka’s battlecry.

The four of them chase after the devils who hurt their family, but Appa stays huddled around Aang’s limp form. He groans and rumbles and paws the ground in his desperation to get his sky-rider to move.

Toph, being able to feel Aang’s condition, is the one to call off the attack. They sprint to his side, even though they were no more than a few yards away, and Appa only growls for a second before allowing them closer.

Their bloodlust turns to panic as soon as Aang remembers how to breathe. The ropes are gone, his wrists are red, and the whole of him makes them contemplate murder again.

They hug him tight and hold him close like their arms might somehow be bandages, and they speak softly their small assurances and loving coos.

Aang clutches their clothes like his life depends on it. He trembles so hard that he shakes them all. He weeps, but he is quiet. Not even his wet hiccups make a sound. They hold him tighter. Appa licks his shoulder.

Azula and her sisters escape, but they could care less at the moment. Sokka and Zuko tear their shirts for bandages, Katara stems Aang’s bleeding where it’s worst, and Toph braces herself as he squeezes her hand numb.

Aang stares at everything and nothing as he holds his other hand out, but Appa’s nose is there before the trembling limb can fall.

They all have a million questions.

They all agree not to ask them.

On the way back to the palace, Aang sits on the cradle of Appa’s neck and hugs him like he otherwise might fall into something worse than death.

He still hasn’t said a word. That’s when his family knew something was worse than wrong.

He doesn’t respond to words, so they try whistling instead.

/Are you there, Soft?/

Are you there?

His eyes are wide and vacant. He trembles harder. His tears flow faster. They get their answer.

Aang fists handfuls of Appa’s fur—his knuckles white and bandaged and shaking—and he refuses to let go.

The sounds of his family’s hearts breaking are the only noises to break his silence.

***************************************

I cannot write hurt-angst-stuff for the life of me so I’m sorry but I tried--and also present-tense can slob the fattest knob I should never have done that why would I use that in the original one-shot I am such a fOOL--

(IM SORRY AANG BB)

Part I: I’m Here

29 notes · View notes

iffyswriting · 4 years

Text

Star Quality

Pairing: Pardison Fontaine x Black! Thick! OC

Summary: A story with some smut at the end. May give it a part two, I don't know yet.

I don’t know about y’all but that fine ass man right there got my ovaries on LOCK.

I blame my friend, Dom for this. She encourage the whortivity.

Anyway enjoy,☺🥴

The light shined bright on my face, my eyes slightly blinded. Anxiety rested in my chest as I looked over all the people in the stands. So many of them were screaming, pumped up with excitement. So many were screaming my name.

All these people here just to see lil ole me.

I searched through the crowd, hopeful to see his face but I knew he wasn't going to be here.

I wanted to be wrong but what's true is just what it is.

I blinked back my tears as I began with my first song of the night 'Heartbreak'. I started strong, singing my heart out as things went on my lyrics hitting closer to home.

My mama told me to stay away from the industry niggas.

If we both wanted a career, it'd never work she said. I didn't listen because I figured who better to understand me, than someone with my exact goals- we could be an it couple, we could be successful together.

I should've listened.

The year before.

"And you said we'd be late." I teased, taking my bodyguard, Tommy's hand as I stepped down from the car.

"You took your sweet ass time at the Hotel."

"My makeup is a whole regime- one lash out of place and my whole energy is off." I said matter of factually, pleased when he didn’t reply.

I looked up at the radio station, my heart swelling with happiness. I'd never been invited to do an interview before- I've never been famous before either. This year was full of firsts for me and honestly, I'm ready to accept it all.

"Nervous?"

"Not nervous- terrifyingly happy, I'll say."

"Those don't go together."

"A lot of things I do don't but I make it work." He chuckled to my side, his laughter easing my nerves.

Plopping into a chair, I bounced in my seat giving the biggest grin I could to everyone in the room. You could say I was a little too eager.

"We got brand new artist- Sincerity in the building!" He started off cupping his mouth to make an echo effect.

"Wassup y'all!" I said excitedly, my bubbly giggle bursting through.

"I see your animated this afternoon.”

"I'm grateful as hell to be here, that's why."

"We're just as happy to have you." He spoke returning my grin. "Let's talk about your new hit single, Black Jack that just hit number 2 on the top 100 in the U.S. and number 12 worldwide. How does it feel as a new artist to become this popular, this fast?"

"It feels so good and so unexpected. When I recorded it, I had high hopes but they never went up this high."

"I guess that's on me for having such low expectations," I said shaking my head.

"Could you tell me the meaning of the song? Give a little insight."

"Black Jack is about gambling with your life and all the decisions you want to make with so little time. Everything we do feels like we're playing a game of chance and I think my song with its fast-paced beat really gives you that feeling."

"Any inspirations?"

"You'd be surprised to hear this but I had such a huge mixture of music growing up." "Like from Lauryn Hill to Bjork, I was everywhere and I think that really shows in the songs that I make. I like to be versatile.”

The energy in the room shifted slightly and I braced what was he was going to say.

"So recently you've taken pictures with New York rapper, Pardison Fontaine." Tommy gave me a look and I sat up straighter, paying attention. Nervousness started to run through me because anything I say could be critical to my career.

Junior was a lot like other radio people, messy as hell because that's what people like to hear. They're interested in you but they're more interested in the drama that surrounds you because it creates traction.

My manager, Shanice couldn't come but she prepped me the night before telling me what to do.

"Yeah, we took them at Meg's birthday party! It was so much fun." I said nodding my head at the memory. " I took pictures with a bunch of other people too."

"But Pardi is in all of them, one way or another."

"We were sitting together. We talked throughout the party."

"About what?" Junior looked me in the eye, his slick smirk making me scoff. He was trying to get into my head but I stayed resilient.

"About business deals and music really," Pausing, I leaned into the mic closer continuing to talk.

"I can admit he cute or whatever," I said with an eye-roll, everyone else laughing with me.

"But there's literally nothing between us, I super duper promise," I say crossing my heart. " We're just friends- friends, who when they cross paths, take a whole lot of pictures and talk."

"That's it?"

"Dassit." I said quickly, laughing afterward. The disappointment in his face spoke volumes and He looked like he wanted to press further but he knew he couldn't. He moved onto the next question, my interview going much smoother.

Finally leaving the radio station, my phone started to buzz in my hands. I already knew he was gonna call me the minute it ended and I took my time to answer letting it ring a little longer.

"You make me sick."

"Now, I know that's a lie." Pardi, or Jordan as I called him said, I could practically see his smirk over the phone.

"You don't know shit."

"So, I'm just cute or whatever?"

"Ain't that what I said?"

"You've said more than that."

"I been lying." I admitted playfully

"That easily? Wowww-" He faked shock and I bit back a smile, scratching at my hand. Despite my dodging, he did make my stomach flip inside out and made me think things I know I shouldn’t have been.

"You seemed to be so tuned into the radio today- I thought you didn't listen unless you were on it?"

"I had to support my girl."

"I'm your girl? That's crazy."

"You always gonna be my girl." I let out a breathless laugh, my heart thumping in my chest like a drum.

"Okay, Jordan."

"Come see me." He said confidently making me raise an eyebrow.

"See you where?"

"At the studio. You know that's my second home." It was mine too and my mama was constantly down my throat about not being stable with my sleeping.

"Who else gon' be there?"

"Nobody. Just the two of us." Blinking, I opened my mouth trying to find a response.

"You plotting, you're trying to get me all alone."

"You gonna fall for the trap?"

"Maybe” Feeling frisky, I pushed harder. “I don’t feel so convinced, though.”

"If you come, I'll mix something for you."

"Something new?"

"Brand spanking new, baby." He slapped something for emphasis and I shrugged my shoulders like he could see me.

"I'm feeling a little persuaded-"

"I also happen to have some new music- you know I trust your judgment." He came to me for a-lot of things, whether it be a critique or some advice we talked about so much.

"Since you're begging me at this point, I'll show up."

"I can't wait." I could hear his grin and I couldn’t suppress my own anymore, full on biting my lip as a smiled.

"Don't cream your pants, now."

”I won’t even say what I’m thinking,” He chuckled. “See you in a second, Nelle.”

“Bye, Jordan. “ Clicking off my phone, Tommy stared at me- a smirk on his lips. The kind i absolutely hated.

"What?"

"Nose wide open over that boy."

"Just like I told Junior, I'm gonna tell you."

"We're just friends."

*********

Watching intently as his fingers danced over the keys, one by one he let my head lean on his shoulder. He made me feel so comfortable, his shoulder felt like a hard pillow.

"How long you been playing the piano?"

“A long ass time.”He thought for a second. “My mom’s wanted me to be productive with something and music became that something.”

"I want a kind of interlude, you know with the piano playing the back. Soften the soul you know?"

“Yeah, I can see it.”

I opened my mouth to sing a couple of notes as he kept going. He went up higher and I followed suit, going low when he went he low too. He found somewhere steady and I let my voice rest there with him, finishing softly.

The way he looked at me, his eyes trained on my face so hard it's like he was entranced. Being his center of attention made my heart swell.

"I ever tell you, how much I wish I could sing."

"You know how to hold a tune."

"Nah but if I could belt out like I want, I'd be all over the place."

"How you feel singing from your chest." Taking his hand I pressed it right to my breast, and looked him in his eyes.

"It's like grabbing something from within and pushing it out." I took one deep breath and then another his hand rising with each breath I took.

His hand slowly dragged up my neck to touch my cheek. He seemed hesitant at first but I leaned further into his hand, moving in closer.

We kissed softly to test the waters but we weren’t gentle kind of people. The second kiss felt more impassioned and aggressive, as I sighed behind his lips his touches all over my body jolting me.

He placed his hands on my waist pulling me onto his lap. With my legs on either side, I pressed my panties against his clothed shorts grinding on him so he could feel how wet he was making me.

"What we about to do here?"

“The fuck you think.” I said impatiently, swiping my gloss off his bottom lip even though I was going to stain it some more.

“I’m just wanna know before, we get too deep.”

"I know what I want."

"Do you?" Pressing my hand against his chest I started to unbutton his shirt, keeping up eye contact.

"I do."

Scrunching my dress up around my hips, he pushed my thighs apart pressing his fingers onto my clit. He was gentle swiping against it but I want him to be rougher.

He lined up his tip and slid inside making me gasp. I threw my arms over his shoulder, my fingers becoming entangled in his curls as I bounced on his dick our cum echoing in the room.

He gripped my ass, making me bounce faster.

Standing up from the chair, we kissed as he stroked up into me. My back hit the cold glass and something clicked on behind me but with how good he was fucking me I couldn't care less.

"You feel so fucking good-" One of his hands grasped my neck, the other touching the dip of my back to get in deeper. I bit back a smirk, my breasts heaving up and down as he picked up speed.

His deep groans of pleasure, rumbled in my ear and into the pit of my stomach.

I clenched around him slowing things down, his hand tightening it's grip. He guided my face up, sloppily french kissing me our tongues melding together. He pecked my lips one more time gazing at me.

“You gotta take it.” He mumbled, making me wrap my legs around his waist entrapping him.

I pushed him back onto his chair, plunging him back inside of me.

“I’m not the one who needs to take it.” I said breathlessly, kissing his neck lining hickies where his tattoos were.

His chest rose and he shuddered underneath me, his big hands on my back rolls guiding me clearly as I fucked him into the chair. My thighs clapped together and I moaned quietly stopping in my tracks as my orgasm started to crash onto the horizon.

He pushed my thighs back open, circling my clit so I could cum all over his dick. He pulsated inside me and every movement made me feel more sensitive as minutes ticked on.

“Gon head and cum.” He teased me, bringing our lips together once more. He swallowed back my moans, easing me into a steady lull of pleasure.

I came seconds later, a trembling mess. His name tumbled from my mouth in repeated chants, his strong arms surrounding my hips to keep me in place. He sat still in me, his own body barely holding on.

I couldn’t tell if you it was lust, or the fact I had in the palm in my hand but as I ground onto him knowing he was going to cum in me, the power and love I felt was unmatched.

He stopped trying to stop me, relishing in his satisfaction as he painted my walls white. His cum filled me up to the brim and I slid back watching it ooze out a little, the sweat on pooling my forehead sliding between my breasts.

He caressed each part of fat on my body the look in his eyes so intense, my heart barely matched it. He said 4 words that cemented everything and from there I was locked in.

“Let’s do this again.”

#pardison fontaine #pardison fontaine smut #itsiffysworld #fanfiction #rappers #imagine #pardi imagine

33 notes · View notes

blurry-fics · 4 years

Text

Chapter Twelve

Where Did We Go | Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, angry!Tyler

Word Count: 2049

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you enjoy this chapter today :) (picture credit)

I idly drew doodles in the margins of my notepad as the team droned on about some matter that didn’t really concern me. My head was so heavy on my hand that I knew it would leave a mark when I finally pulled away, but I didn’t care. Next to me, Josh actually seemed to be paying attention, but he was still drumming his fingers on the table. I liked the beat.

Another song lyric floated through my brain, so I quickly wrote it down beneath the others before it got away from me. Lately, it felt like the only thing these meetings were good for was coming up with fragments of song lyrics and making my throat sore. Nothing else productive ever seemed to get done.

“We got the visuals back from the artists. I have some stills here, but you should all be receiving an email tonight with the full videos for review.”

Now this actually seemed interesting. I scribbled down the words “visual review” in the corner of my page, ripped it off, and stuck it into my pocket. Nobody seemed to notice.

“We think that the visuals are adequate, but not exactly as we intended.”

We?

“And as a result, we’re thinking about cutting the payment of the artists. This will also save us some room in the budget to put elsewhere.”

I leaned forward in my chair. People’s eyes immediately went to me, anticipating what I was about to say.

“Cutting the artist’s pay? How do we know if their work is ‘adequate’ or not if my team hasn’t even had a chance to do a full review?”

“Well our artistic board-”

“Exactly, your artistic board. Last time I checked, your artistic board isn’t the one putting on a show,” I said. “And no matter how we feel about the visuals, the artists did the work and deserve full payment for their time and effort.”

“But they didn’t deliver-”

“They did. The visuals were done to the best of their ability and provided by the deadline that we gave them. We’re giving them full payment and my team can decide whether the work is satisfactory or not.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Joseph, but then we’re going to have to raise ticket prices to make up for the losses.”

“What is all this crap about raising ticket prices?” My voice was getting louder now. “We gave you the budget months ago! Everything was laid out with enough money to cover all costs and keep ticket prices exactly where we wanted them, but your company decided to put things off until it didn’t work anymore.” Josh reached out and put a hand on my back. My shoulders relaxed, but my voice remained raised. “Our fans are not in charge of paying the price for your poor choices. That art looks fantastic and, if I’m being honest, the only people here that aren’t delivering satisfactory work is you.”

I stood up then, sending my chair flying out behind me. Josh’s hand fell away from my back. I turned on my heel and headed for the door, still fuming.

“Where are you going?” someone asked. I couldn’t place the voice.

“I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in ten.”

I walked down the hallway, unsure of where I was going, until I found a sign marked with the stairs. My hands were curled into fists at my side until my nails were digging into my palms. It had been a long time since I was this angry, but the stupidity of the company we had chosen to put on this tour was sending me over the edge. Tour was only a week and a half away and it still felt like we had more loose ends than we did answers.

Most of all, I hated that this was what I was missing out on time with my family for.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and immediately dialed Y/N’s number. She would know what to say to get me calm again before I walked back into that conference room. My leg bounced as the phone rang, alleviating only a small portion of the emotions I was feeling. They were quickly getting overwhelming.

“Tyler?” she answered. Just that simple word was enough to release some of the tension in my shoulders.

“Hi, love.”

“What’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, “Yes, but it’s not going well. I just blew up on the company representative.”

“Oh no,” she sighed. “What are they trying to get you to do today?”

“Raise ticket prices again! It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them I don’t want to do that, they won’t let it go.”

“Ty, hey, it’s ok. At the end of the day, you still have the power in this situation.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is there somewhere else that you can cut costs a little bit? Weren’t you talking about maybe switching out some of the fancier effects for something a little simpler?”

“Yeah, there’s definitely places that we could do it, they just don’t like to listen to those ideas as much. It’s hard to convince them that it would actually help the budget.”

“I know, but it’s worth a shot. It’s like I’ve been saying, you and Josh just need to team up and get your ideas in there. Plus, you have Mark to back you up too. The power is there.”

“I’ll talk to them before the next meeting and really get things solid. I hate to ignore the progress that we are making, but the problems just feel so much bigger right now.”

“You’re going to get this worked out, Ty. I know you will. Think of how much you’ve been through to get here. Even if, at the end of the day, things don’t work out exactly how you want them to, you know people will be happy as long as you’re there singing the songs with them. You were popular even before you had the big productions.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’ll try to keep that in mind. I just get so wrapped up in this vision that Josh and I created that I forget it’s the music that really matters. Thank you.”

“Of course. I know the show is going to be great no matter what you end up doing.”

“You always know the right thing to say,” I smiled.

“It’s a talent of mine,” she laughed.

“I just wish that I wasn’t stuck at this stupid meeting today.”

“It’s ok, Ty,” she said, but I could tell that her tone had changed. “You’re doing important band stuff. We’ll have a break soon enough.”

“I hope so.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the door to the stairs swinging open. Josh’s head poked through the door, quickly scanning the area. Relief came over his face as soon as he saw me.

“There you are. We need you back in the conference room. Things are happening.”

“Ok, let me finish this up and then I’ll be there.”

Josh nodded and disappeared again, letting the door swing shut behind him. I waited for it to fully close before I started talking to Y/N again.

“Sorry about that. Josh showed up.”

“I heard.”

“Anyway, I guess they need me back there.”

“Time to let you go?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you, and don’t let them get to you, ok, Ty? I know you can find a way to put on the show you’ve been dreaming about.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I love you too.”

“Bye.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you remember that I’m going over to my parents’ tonight for dinner?”

“I remember now,” she laughed. It sounded forced.

“Ok.”

“Good luck, Ty.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.”

I ended the call, now feeling a different sort of discomfort in my chest. It took me a moment to finally get off the steps and walk out the door back towards the conference room. My mind was running its endless loop of questions, but no matter where I looked, I came up with no answers. It felt like a weight in my head, dragging me further and further down.

I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

* * *

The meeting finally ended around four that night. There was another one scheduled for the next day - which the company claimed would be the last additional meeting we had to schedule - although after today’s events, I was feeling hopeful. They were finally starting to listen to the ideas that Josh and I had, helped along by the fact that Y/N had given me a new sense of confidence about the show. After a few more emails and phone calls, I was sure that things would finally start coming together.

My mom was the one to open the door when I knocked. She immediately pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tight enough that I nearly coughed. I didn’t blame her, I had only been able to find enough time to see my family once since I had gotten home from tour a week and a half ago, and most of my siblings hadn’t even been around. This time had been a little more planned so that Zack and Maddy would be able to stop by too.

“I’ve missed you so much,” my mom said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom.”

I went around and hugged each of my siblings and my dad. It was nice to have everyone together again for a family dinner. The last time we had a get together like this was before the Australian leg of the tour nearly a month and a half ago.

“Dinner is already ready, if you guys want to eat. I made it early since I figured you would be hungry after your meeting, Tyler.”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

Everyone stayed pretty quiet, aside from small talk, as we dished up our food. I was sure that my family was full of questions to ask me, but they knew better than to try and ask before I was settled at the table. Right now, my mind was on food and food only.

We eventually all sat down at the table in the places that we had been assigned since childhood. Once everyone was comfortable and had taken a couple bites of food, the questions slowly began to come out.

“How was your meeting today, Tyler?” my dad asked.

“It was alright. I kind of blew up on the representative today-”

“Tyler,” my mom chimed in. Zack barely concealed a laugh.

“Mom, listen, it’s only because they keep trying to make us raise ticket prices even though we’ve had the budget planned out for weeks. It didn’t matter how many times I told them that wasn’t going to happen, they kept insisting.”

My mom kept a disappointed look on her face, but deep down I could tell that she knew I was right. From day one, she had always made sure that I knew staying true to myself was vital as I continued to pursue music. That advice had stuck with me since.

“Are they starting to listen though?” Maddy asked. “I mean, there’s only like a week and a half until tour starts, right?”

“Yeah, they’re finally coming around. Josh and I have been fighting with them pretty much all week, though. They’re bringing us in for another meeting tomorrow.”

“Another one?” Jay asked.

“They flew Josh in?” Zack chimed in right after.

“Yes and yes. That’s how big of a problem all of this is.”

“Geez,” my dad said. “That sounds intense.”

“It is. I’m barely hanging on by a thread here.”

My mom reached over and reassuringly rubbed my shoulder. “You’re safe here, Tyler. We’re not going to let you fall.”

I quickly glanced around the table to see that the rest of my family was nodding along with my mom. Warmth spread throughout my chest at knowing that they still had my back, even if I couldn’t always make as much time as I wanted to for them. At the end of the day, they were still my family.

We’re not going to let you fall.

* * * * *

Taglist

@tylersheavydirtysoul @faceofcontvsions @ohprettyweeper @shaytwentyonep @tyler-josephs-floof @angelicopioid @topownsmyheart @harishaanne @addictwithaheavydirtycheetah @somethingboutyou1 @boiled-onionrings @heythereitm3 @gaysludge @breadbinishigh @5secondsofmoxley @patdsinner33 @littlerachelbee @royal-avengers

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transstudiesarchive · 4 years

Text

Madi Lou (and trans+ artists, too!)

Playing off the idea of "T4T" (trans seeking trans, typically associated with the terms found on the app Grindr) I wanted to compile a playlist of trans/nonbinary/gender non-conforming artists that are present in a variety of genres and gender expressions/presentations/labels.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/52OZ896qRkAM2oqUwbtd5P?si=OQpd8kqSRnGGKcWe6XLcSw

"Maker - Acoustic” by Anjimile

Anjimile is a “queer and trans songmaker/lover boy with a heart of gold” based in Boston, MA

"Emasculate" by Dorian Electra

Dorian Electra is a gender-fluid pop musician who likes to become a “genderless clown” in their extravagant makeup and campy aesthetics.

"800 db cloud" by 100 gecs (Laura Les)

Laura Les, part of the duo 100 gecs, is a trans woman previously known under her project Osno1 (I felt it personally prevalent to include her song “How to Dress as Human” but could only find the link through Youtube)

"Heartbreaker" by Ah-Mer-Ah-Su

In her 2018 album STAR, Ah-Mer-Ah-Su wanted to tell the story of her black trans identity--a story typically connected to struggle and coping with extreme opposition from society at large. “For me, this album simply means that I’m a black girl with something to say. I have a story, and I’ll tell it through my music.” (billboard, August 2018)

"HRT" by Girls Rituals

Devi McCallion has worked in a number of projects centered under her label blacksquares. Her trans identity is touched on in such projects as Cats Millionaire/Mom, blackdresses, and Girls Rituals.

"Trans Femme Bonding" by Tami T

Originally starting her glittery electronica sound under the name Tami Tamaki, Tami T describes many aspects around the love for/between trans femmes // “So fucking brave, so fucking femme”

"Nonbinary" by Arca

Alejandra Ghersi, better known by her stagename Arca, came out as nonbinary and goes by she/her and it/its pronouns.

"Bitch Pudding" by KC Ortiz

Rising in the Chicago hip-hop scene, KC Ortiz wants to be known that she is no different than any other rapper. “I cringe when headlines say ‘Trans Rapper.’ That ain’t me...The only times that even crosses my mind really is when I think about because I’m trans I gotta be dope.” (Art Music Fashion Life, June 2020)

"Faceshopping" by SOPHIE

Sophie Xeon made her breakthrough in Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides, becoming a known name after producing for artists like Charli XCX. She is very reclusive and has a smaller public image, contrary to her Louis Vuitton Spring/Summer 2020 appearance. (I have also discussed her imagery/lyricism of this song in 5th Avenue’s podcast--you should give it a listen to hear about other great queer artists!)

"Unkillable" by Katie Dey

“I was born inside this body and I’m stuck there/I’m a storm inside a rotting false construction” (Transition from “solipsisting” into “stuck” on Katie Dey’s debut album Asdfasdf)

"I'm Not 'Supposed' to Be Anything" by She/Her/hers

Emma Grrrl (and the occasional appearance of her friends) describes herself as sad grrrl pop-punk. “When I hear that a trans teenager shared one of my songs with their parents and it helped them to understand their experience, I just can’t imagine anything more validating or fulfilling than that.” (arena, June 2018)

"Gotta Gimme Your Love" by Sateen

Sateen is the band formally made up of the lesbian power couple Miss Sateen and Exquisite. Originally famous and sensationalized as a “hetero drag couple,” Exquisite came out as a trans woman and shifted the projection of their music and relationship into making disco for a new generation.

"TRANSylvania" by Kim Petras

Known famously on German television for medically transitioning in her teens, Kim Petras’ assertation in her identity as a trans woman gave her much of the internet presence and platform to successfully kick off a music career. “I hate the idea of using my identity as a tool...It made me the person I am and that’s a big part of me, but I think music is about your feelings and your fantasies and it goes deeper than your gender or your sexuality.” (billboard, 2018)

"Breakdown" by Torraine Futurum

Making waves in the fashion industry before walking in New York Fashion Week, Torraine Futurum says she aims to “do whatever the fuck I want to do on this Earth -- and it’s going to be excellent.” (them., 2018)

"I Am America" by Shea Diamond

“I knew at a very young age I loved to sing. My voice was effeminate and I remember feeling afraid to sing in the church choir...Desperate to find the financial means to transition to my true gender, I committed a crime in 1999 and was sentenced to 10 years in a men’s prison. I was afraid that I could possibly die in a prison system designed to ensure correctional jobs over human lives...I began writing ‘I Am Her’ as a statement to a world that said I shouldn’t exist.” (TEDxKC, 2018)

"Body and Soul" by teddy<3

Teddy Geiger has known many lives in popular culture from teen idol, romantic lead, to sought after producer. “I didn’t know anyone who was trans...I had very little connection to that, so it wasn’t really until maybe three years ago I started actually painting my nails and going out. Nobody cared if I was femme.” (Rolling Stone, 2018)

"Genderqueer Love Song" by Schmekel

“Schmekel means little penis is Yiddish, and is a play on the fact that all four members were born female but ow identify themselves on the masculine side of the gender spectrum. It’s an appropriate name for a band that started as a laugh.” (New York Times, 2011)

"Queer Kidz" by Ashby and the Occeanns

Ashlynn Barker is a trans/nonbinary musician based out of Chicago. They write songs about trans issues, queer identity, mental health, and video games.

"Cis Girls" by Dyke Drama

Sadie Switchblade of the band G.L.O.S.S. (Girls Living Outside Society’s Shit) came out with this “transparent” side project. “It’s pretty transparent...The songs are either about trans girl problems or dykey lesbionic friendships.” (Pitchfork, 2016)

"Femme Bitch Top" by Tribe 8

“When the trans-dyke neofeminist rabble-rousers known as Tribe 8 make music, not even heaven is safe.” (SF Gate, 2006) The San Francisco LGBT Film Festival entry “Rise Above” is a rock-documentary anomaly I highly recommend taking the time to watch.

"They / Them / Theirs" by Worriers

“You’ve got a word for one, So there’s a word for all. // The smallest things have become Which side are you on? // What if I don’t want something that applies to me? // What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything, anything?” The trio of gender-neutral pronouns

"Gender Nightmare" by Art Projects

“That’s not my face on the license picture // You call my name as it is on paper // As it will still be // When they write me up a eulopy” (Genius Lyrics analysis you want to click in on)

"Male Gynecology" by Shoplifting

A revival of riot-grrrl manifestas, the album Body Stories “brims over with precisely the kind of heartfelt, politically-charged fervor that’s far more likely to save rock. (Pop Matters, 2006)

"Third Gender" by Good Asian Drivers

“Sometimes my gender is chilling out inbetween, but most of the time my gender is FUCK YOU mind your own business!” → Please please please listen to the lyrics of this song, this is a wonderfully politically charged bop carried with heart and bass and punk spit.

"True Trans Soul Rebel" by Against Me!

Laura Les came out with her release of the album Transgender Dysphoria Blues and furthered this message in Against Me!’s album Shape Shift with Me. She was one of the first trans people I saw openly continue to pursue a passion despite previously having works “pre-transition” out in the world.

"If I Were You" by Claud

“Sometimes it’s more important to write from a perspective different from your own in order to touch on important things. People always tell me that I’m brutally honest and I think it’s because I don’t hold back on anything...it’s refreshing to hear something said that you want to say yourself, but just couldn’t.” (Popsugar., 2019)

"If You Knew This Was About You, You'd Deny It" by Wargo

A trans woman solo-acoustic based out of Virginia, Wargo’s sound is directly influenced by the punk scene of the east coast. She likes to call her style “Appalachian Power Pop.”

"I DONT TRUST U ANYMORE" by Left at London

Coming to a place of internet recognition through such vines as “hahaha I do that” Nat Puff’s indie pop project Left at Londed (shorted as /@/) dives into the heart of “what it means to navigate the current political world as a queer person, while still remaining accessible to the general public.” (“About” on /@/ website)

"Body Was Made" by Ezra Furman

“My body was made this particular way // There’s really nothing any old patrician can say // You social police can just get out of my face // My body was made” (Body Was Made music video is a quirky and fun stylistic retelling of these lyrics) Ezra Furman identifies as trans and bisexual and uses he/him and she/her pronouns.

"Complicated" by The Cliks

Lucas Silveira shared that the band’s name derived from two ideas; using The like iconic bands The Beatles and The Rolling Stones and Cliks as a portmanteau of the slang terms clit and dicks. (In The Life interview, 2009)

"Upper West Side" by King Princess

“Although [Mikaela Mullaney Straus] identifies as a genderqueer lesbian, King Princess doesn’t necessarily want her music to be placed in the ‘queer pop’ box.” (MTV, 2019) Who isn’t bored of the heteronormative narrative?

"Make Me Feel" by Janelle Monáe

“I consider myself to be a free-ass motherfucker. I want young girls, young boys, non-binary, gay, straight, queer, queer people who are having a hard time dealing with their sexuality, dealing with feeling ostracized or bullied for just being their unique selves, to know that I see you.” (NewNowNext, February 2020)

"body cast" by Dua Saleh

A Sudanese refugee, Dua Saleh nurtured their love for poetry in the beginnings of their Minneapolis music career. They came out as nonbinary while in their second year at Augsburg University but have said “I always been on gay shit.” (them., May 2020)

"Mercury" by CJ Run

“With a deep understanding of pop sensibility, and enough hooks to last a lifetime, CJ Run’s music is the inner monologue of a black queer 20 something in the 21st century.” (Propelr)

"Dancing With Stranger" by Sam Smith

“When I saw the word non-binary, genderqueer, and I read into it, and I heard these people speaking, I was like, ‘Fuck, that is me.’” (Vanity Fair, March 2019)

"SkindeepSkyhighHeartwide" by Lawrence Rothman

Lawrence Rothman is a gender fluid artist, musician, and producer. Looking into their Google Image results yields the visual evidence of the nine personas Rothman refers to as “alters, each one offering a different lens for their creative use.” (NPR, November 2018)

"Extended Vacation" by Ryan Cassata

Ryan Cassata is the first openly transgender musician to perform at Warped, winning the Ernie Ball Battle of The Bands contest twice (both in 2013 and 2015*). He has spoken out about American Idol attempting to exploit openly transgender people to pander to a broader audience banking on new forms of media “diversity”. *I saw him in Mountain View, California in 2015 and you have no idea how happy a newly out genderqueer 16 year old was to stand on stage behind a proud trans man singing on a bumping stage.

"Let My Baby Stay" by Amandla Stenberg

This entire article is great in explaining why Amandla’s openness on their pronouns outside of this website might have harmed them for the future of their career.

"Dolla in My Titty (Part 1)" by Peppermint

Best known as the 2017 runner up on the ninth season of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Peppermint made her musical debut in Head Over Heels becoming Broadway’s first out trans woman to play a lead roll.

"Gender Bronoun" by Human Kitten

“What is unstable And what is real // This is a question that i ask myself on a daily basis // Are my emotions genuine Or are they just the result of my neural passages sending my chemicals back and forth” → “Caught i’m between two completely separate identites Who Can’t agree on anything // And i can’t even decide on which one’s me”

"Wow in the Now" by Honeybird

Honeybird is a musician and composer based in Bologna, Italy. Their mission is to listen to intersectional LGBTQ+ community voices and transform the daily struggle into songs.

"I Don't Love You Anymore" by ANHONI

“My closest friends and family use feminine pronouns for me. I have mot mandated the press do one thing or another...I think words are important. To call a person by their chosen gender is to honor their spirit, their life and contributions. ‘He’ is an invisible pronoun for me, it negates me.’” (Flavorwire, November 2014)

"Robert Frost" by Mal Blum

“Now I’m looking at the ground because I don’t want you to leave // I know it’s co-dependent But I think it’s kind of sweet // Out of every person in this city I could ever meet // Leaving feels like losing But I’m learning what I need”

"Dysphoria" by Saint Wellesley

“Binding my chest and biting my tongue Wearing boxers never fixed anyone” → “And this is the last time I’ll allow my ribs to be swollen // And I’ll grow out my hair And pretend I don’t care And maybe my ribs are broken” → “Dysphoria’s a bitch I wanna kick her in a ditch // It’s not fair to wanna itch All of the places that don’t fit”

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neargaztambide · 4 years

Text

Prologue: The Flower Fair

Words by chapter: 5.490

They left. And they won't come back. Did he really go with him? Why didn't he want to stay here at home, and why he decided to go with Stanley? Now, the house makes a sepulchral silence: parents sleeping, awake son who thinks. A son who is thinking about what just happened only a few hours before. He left in his Cadillac, and now I can't know where he is. Do I have the right to ask about your well-being after I have done nothing to keep you from leaving?

No I don’t think so. I feel a pain a serious emotional pain, for him. That kid ... I don't want to know what kind of teaching he can get from a brother like Stanley. Holy God, Shermie ... I hope you're well, wherever you are. I still feel the tears -a couple of many- sliding down my face, because my dreams are broken, my dreams of success, of being someone in this life are scattered. My soul and my heart are also broken, because Stanley just wrote my way: he crossed out everything he didn't like, changing just everything. Isn't everyone supposed to have the right to sign their life for themselves? Am I a bad brother? Am I correct, do I have everything with a just and understandable justification? Stan betrayed me. That ... knuckle head has just separated, completely detached from me: I don't think we're still something. All our friendship is nothing anymore. Now, it must have a great time: wherever you are. I am pleased to imagine my twin drifting, without many things, just with clothes, just like Shermie. They should be going and sure cold and both are ... oh. I see. He couldn't even… I get up from my bed, watching the dark infinity of my lonely room. I realize it: he has nowhere to go. It has nothing: it has no membership. And, even if done what he did, should I...?

That would be the right thing, even if it is against what my father wants and has just sentenced: help him. Just for one time. I get out of the safety of my bed, hot, protective. I go to my desk chair, putting the clothes I wore today: a pale yellow shirt, smart trousers to make a good impression, but I left ignored the bowtie. I leave my room with all the silence I can and go to the kitchen. From the cupboard I take out a bag full of bread and four drinks from the refrigerator. Now I have one more thing left: I take a small piece of paper, and a pencil, writing in a hurry, trying to don’t make noises, so I won’t wake him up. I write something simple, something easy to remember: “Use it well. Take care of Shermie. –Ford. ” I take the paper. I can no longer know what else to add in the small letter. I don't know if... no. I love my Pa because... well, because the person he is. I know he has given me everything he could. It's weird: I can't stop of feeling that I'm betraying my family.

I know he has a part full of positive things to share... even though that same man kicked out his two children without contemplation. One of them with four years. To be that age, Shermie turns out to be ... amazing.

I go out through the only entrance to my home; that would be the door of the pawn shop. I turn right to head to Stork Avenue: if Stanley is still here, he must have gone there. He was always a regular visitor of the bay.

I continue in an automatic way, seeing the sky. It's barely ten o'clock at night, but it seems to be an older night: three or two in the evening, maybe. Almost all stores are closed, with metal doors secured with bronze-colored locks, rusted by the passing of time. I hope to find them; I hope they are at least well. After a few minutes that no longer have meaning in the race of time, my aspiration is fulfilled. The Stanley’s Cadillac is in a parking that isn’t far from the beach. The driver's door is open, showing a leg out, hanging as if it were the leg of a corpse. I approach carefully to see my brothers. And yes: they are. The red car that many pampering obtained for so long gives them away. Ahead is Stanley, who is quite hurt. Bruises, nose with dried blood, scratches and finger marks on his neck. He has an arm over his stomach, and it seems that he has restless sleep, breathing with some difficulty. Oh God. What will he have done to stay that way? Did he steal, did he? Did he get anywhere and he was kicked out?

My questions are answered when I notice a strong smell that my brother emanates: it is the smell of cheap booze. I am disturbed by that detail. With a child in his hands, which would now be his responsibility, he goes to drink, probably leaving the child alone in the car? It is outrage the first thing I feel to notice that. My nose wrinkles from that strong stench. My gesture frowns in reproach and understanding. And as a duality, I feel it. A person is not free to escape from his misery? In part, I can understand it to a point: he is alone now. And I was the one who left him alone. No one is made entirely of stone.

In the backseat, there he is: the smallest of the three of us. Use a gray backpack as a pillow. He sleeps heavily, with disorganized and disheveled hair, resisting combing or looking good. When I remember the color of his eyes, he inherited mom's eyes: green. He has a typical orange-colored nose that details that he is someone from my family. All the men in the family have it. He wears a white eta shirt, with jet black pants. He goes barefoot, showing the red socks he wears. He sleeps with his glasses on; he was probably too tired to take them off. I approach him carefully so as not to wake him up. I take off the glasses with care to not wake him up, leaving the glasses close to his shoes. When finished, I make sure to leave the food in the passenger seat as an offering. I look at Stanley. Should I hate him? Maybe I should do so. I look at Shermie for the last time. I stroke a little the face of Shermie, seeing that he smiles a little for the show of affection. God, how much I’m going to miss him… I look at Stan for a few more seconds, for once more. Hate is grouped in my throat, ready to come out of a scream to wake him up for pure personal pleasure.

Am I leaving or staying? Hard to decide. He ruined my life, so it is reasonable ... yes. I stay, and there is nothing and nobody that makes me change my mind, no matter what ... the brain is rational, it is not intertwined with vain passing emotions, always thinks and acts with logic and reasoning, always does, and now I am not going to change that fact. I cover Stanley with the jacket. It seems cold. I hope this can be enough... and... the letter... broken.... in the garbage dump of the street, in a thousand pieces. If I'm going to break up, I must do it well... I think. I walk back home, thinking about what I just did, what I could have done, what I didn't do, how I did it, my reactions and answers. “I hate you, Stanley. But I ask you to take care of Shermie as if he were your son… do it for him.” I say in a small whisper in my room, minutes after I left the jacket with Stanley. Rather, I tell the full moon that is reflected in the sky, being very slowly covered by clouds.

I would like to numb myself. I am cruel to even believe that Sherman is a traitor for leaving with Stan. My sorrows are repressed when I want to silence my tears of concern for that child. He's my brother. I have no idea why, but he was also like a friend to me. Although he was not so confident with himself. Sometimes I have compared it to a psychiatrist: always listening, always advising. He is a good boy.

God, if you listen to me, I ask you to always take care of him. I hope you can hear my prayers. I close my eyes, which cannot contain the tears more, although I don't feel sadness as such, I only think about my broken dreams and Shermie ... I hope I can get up and move on. And I hope he can too.

7 years later

They were looking at the street, in the bright lights. The mood of an entire country was on the ground, but the fair was trying to get a bitter smile at the Colombians, who for so long have had to endure bad news after terrorist news. He can see the beautiful decorated street, with protective barriers to avoid injured people. He see the silleteros of Antioquia walking through the parade a few streets away show the saddles created with beautiful flowers, sewn all with mastery and beauty. His brother is driving, watching also the Flower Fair in all its glory in the middle of one more night in Medellin. He likes to hear music in Spanish from people living in Colombia: salsa or vallenato are his favorites. The emotions and things they transmit; as euphoria, caps typical, people celebrating with tequila, eating and laughing haughtily paisa tray, meanwhile they travel to meet with Don Julio. His brother, Stanley, drives a Volkswagen Golf with some concern and seriousness on his face, pending that no cops recognize them (the car has a license plate included in Itagui). He see women and men go dancing to the tune of a song that celebrates the fair. If that song does not play at full volume, there is no flower fair. The vast majority of people, who are in Lleras Park and in the bars, find themselves singing almost all in unison: “I'm going to Medellin; I'm going to meet there, my queries, my loves.”

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Everyone laughs and enjoys the party in the city of eternal spring, a spectacular night that is accompanied by the natural colors of several flowers in the saddles. The music of the song resonates loudly in speakers provided by the mayor's office. Shermie now eleven years old, closes his eyes and begins to sing the lyrics, accompanying every being in perfect harmony: “I'm going to Medellin, to the Flower Fair. I am going to meet there, my desires, my loves. No one can forget that beautiful land, blooming gardens, and women as goddesses. The one of the hill Nutibara, and the metropolitan train. Cradle of the Aburraes, loving and sovereign people.” He sings it as if it were a whisper, singing to himself and seeing the colored lights and the peasants with their silletas, who receive applause for their great artistic work at every step they take. Stanley accompanies singing with his little brother, humming the melody. Both look briefly, and of course...

One of the two could not help but regret a very important someone.

***

Shermie looks like his brother. In almost everything: his smile, the way he walks, talks, behave, when he reads a book by Andrés Caicedo or García Márquez... it seems incredibly similar. I put one of my hands on his knee, encouraging him for what we have to do. He wears my old jacket, which is quite large, but he manages to roll up the sleeves until after the elbow. He looks good with that suit. He shakes my hand, and the next thing he tells me he does it in English. “So, what work should we do now for Don Julio? When he called on the phone, he sounded altered.” He says, somewhat disturbed by the fact that the “Patron” sent us to call with such urgency. We have to meet him and Ricardo at the Buena Mesa restaurant, in the middle of the fair in Lleras Park. I go and decide to answer: “Maybe it's something serious. But hey, we lived worse stuff, right?” I say, and I try to make a carefree smile. The truth is that we must be careful with the work, because who knows if tomorrow, or within a month, I can be shot in the head. Given by Popeye, the right hand of the Tsar of Cocaine. “Like when you had to get out of the trunk of one car with your teeth?” says my brother in jest as he crosses his arms. Yeah. Anybody can tell that we have lived for many things together...

“Yup. Something like that. But we have always got rid of that. Do you think this is the time we can't manage?” He answers for me. I keep driving until I find the meeting place, a restaurant quite elegant to have a name of that style. The glass door, I can note that the party inside to have expensive brandy and cigarette smoke. We park nearby, in a free parking lot. I turn off the car by removing the key, causing the trinket to stop purring (it needs someone to repair the pump). We went down, and walked towards the restaurant, in which don Julio is; a man who surely has a gun in his pocket gives his suit. Beside him is Richard, a man of muscular build and being a whole gigolo, who is successful with more than one woman, a madman who knows of torture better than anyone. Well, except Popeye, of course. The two with brown skin and black hair, are wearing black suits, highlighting all the work they had to do to reach the top of the world of drug trafficking and the mafia. I greet them in a clumsy Spanish, although these are quite worried about something, nervous. “Gringo, now we are in big trouble.” says the Patron, who now directs us inside the restaurant, sumptuous and large volumes that express the extravagance of the place. All the mighty men with prostitutes (from the expensive ones. I try to Shermie not look to them) dancing to the sound of a song a little more erotic than there is outside.

Shermie walks and starts asking Ricardo what's the deal. “Now, what da hell’s goin’ on, parcero? Don’t tell me that something worse could have happened than last week.” The latter replies, having a forced accent to no more power of the country, something that makes Ricardo laugh nervously, leading us to the VIP room. Elegance goes beyond its limits, because now the scenario demands attention by all means, showing leather sofas. There are also abstract paintings that tell me nothing. Don Julio sits on the largest white leather sofa he could find, while Ricardo offers us a seat, making Shermie give him a small, grinning smile. “Well, gringuito: I must tell you that I'm worried about a little thing.” My boss starts talking, starting to take something out of his jacket: a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “And what's the matter, boss?” I ask. Shermie puts himself in an almost perfect position, and leaving a hand near his pockets where he has something stored to defend himself if he needs it. Ricardo uses some tequila in a small glass, filling it until almost reaching the board, and passing the glass to Don Julio. I look closely to his mustache that seems scruffy in the middle of his fat face. If it moves too fast it means that whatever he have to say isn’t good at all. “Look. What happens is that I have to ask you a question about anything? And, I would like you to answer me honestly before everything, gringuito. Do you understand?” He says, while looking at me seriously, imposingly. I shake my head slowly affirmatively. Shermie is paying attention to everything that happens, watching Ricardo taking a glass of tequila to his mouth, pouring another drink, offering one to me. “No thanks.” I answer almost aggressively, although I didn't want to be rude. I point to my brother with my eyebrows. My father looks at the Patron, trying to guess what he can say next. Ricardo quickly looks at one and then the other, and quickly understands my rejection, and why of it. He leaves the cup on the nearest table. He looks once more at Shermie before resting at his table, and notices that the child is serious, or perhaps nervous. You can tell it by the expression and its posture.

“Well, what happens, Stanley, is that I’ve been truly mad to be accused with those cops of out there. And if it is not a cop ...” He says, dragging his words. I see where he wants to go. Surely he thinks I’m the infiltrated: recently we had a few difficulties. And that is very false. Shermie apologizes for both of us, showing his nervousness: “Don Julio, we don't associate with them, how you could think we're going to stab all of ‘ya in the back? We aren’t that kind of people; we won’t associate with the police or the CIA, or with the Cali cartel, never!” He says, while Don Julio evaluates him, raising a hand for Shermie to shut up. “Well, that was the question I had prepared for ‘ya. Tell me if you work with one of them. I need to be honest. It's not that I doubt of ‘yer loyalty, Gringo, but it doesn't seem normal to me that when you don't show up at the meetings, a dead leader appears there in Pereira or in Rionegro. It seems very strange to me” He says the latter, while pulling a gun from his jacket, pointing at me with it. I tense in the chair while I look at him. Shermie tries to unsheathe his knife if Don Julio dares to shoot. Ricardo does the same with his gun: “let that happen. And it gives me the idea that you are working with those motherfuckers. Do you know how many times they packed us or almost killed us?” He says. The weapon details a shine, noting that it is new. “Of course I know. I know better than anyone, Don Julio.” I say, putting weight on my words. I get up and approach without fear of Don Julio (or that’s what I’m trying) and his guardian: a large gun enough to cover his whole hand. He put his guard down. Instead, Shermie and Ricardo are still prepared for any situation.

- “There’s one of two- I say, approaching in very slow steps. So much so that my steps are not heard. The echo and the silence between my defense feel and cause an atmosphere of tension in the place. “: shoot me, and see that you only killed a loyal, faithful man, and that he never dared to betray you. And you'll see that someone else’s the infiltrate. Or, if you retract... you can start discarding...” I speak with all the intelligence that the situation allows me. Staying calm is the best thing I could do to avoid falling prey to the fear that the gun nozzle produces. My expression tries to be the most convincing of all. “You don't have to believe me: but I can assure you that my word’s clean.”

“I don't know if I can believe you ... but if you have the balls to approach an armed man, I think it's very brave of you.” He seems convinced with my words, since I have just been sincere, no tricks on my part, nothing. Shermie and Ricardo sit down again. I look at Don Julio carefully; ready to run if he changes his mind. “I'm going to send him a little job tomorrow to show me what he says, Gringo. Tomorrow at about eight or nine of the morning, and don't even think about not going. Did you hear me?” he asks. “Yes, sir.” I answer nervously, breathing more calmly. Although I was calm, in fact, I was full of fear. I almost shit my pants. – Tomorrow, Ricardo will call you to pick him up. We’re going to meet at the farm and I’ll explain what you have to. Get outta here.” He says, as I address Shermie to stay with me. Unintentionally, I squeeze his shoulder tightly through my nerves. “By the way: I would like to ask you one thing.” Don Julio asks, preventing us from leaving. We turn around, and he looks at Shermie, who beckons with his finger so that he gets closer. He is pending, without trusting too much in a man who may be armed to the teeth. –Look, boy. What have you been reading? - I put a nervous smile on feeling that the danger is already being lost. Shermie lights his face a little, because he loves to read whatever they put in front of him. “About an hour ago I could finish ¡Qué Viva la Música! by Andrés Caicedo, and a week ago I started with Crónica de una muerte anunciada, of Marquez. Both are good novels, I think” He says something shy and full or proud at the same time. Don Julio smiles satisfied. “You have raised this child, because he is the smartest kid I’ve ever seen, Gringo. Keep that habit up, kiddo, did ‘ya hear me?” He asks with a smile with slightly yellowed teeth, and Shermie smiles. I nod affirmatively. I dismissal of Ricardo and Julio. We left together, carefree of any problems, at the moment.

***

While the two brothers withdrew from the Buena Mesa restaurant, Ricardo looked at the boss, who finally began to take the first puffs on his cigarette. It takes a moment out of his mouth to give Ricardo an order: “I need you to make some calls, Ricardo, fine? We found the right man. Give them the address of that spoiled asshole.” He says expelling smoke from the mouth and something through the nose, containing the smoke until the order is finished. Ricardo opens his eyes wide, thinking that his boss was going crazy. “What? Stanley’s one of the most working man, you’re sending him to the slaughterhouse. And what do you intend to do with the kid?” Ricardo asks, confused, ecstatic about the order. “Look. If the one you are going to call kills the kid, lemme know and I will clarify what’s the matter. And I give a fuck if is Popeye or the Caesar of Rome. Is that gringuito; that guy isn’t giving me a good impression. If I make him believe that he’ll be fine, he won’t guess what we are really going to do.” Don Julio expresses his bad feeling with a gesture of distaste, with some fear, a deep fear. Ricardo may have done abominable things: destroy families, extortion, and traffic with pot, kill people in general; torture a thousand different ways to a single person... does not understand why it is difficult to abide by that order. Perhaps it is that Stanley has helped him so much that he has come to regard him as brother of guns. What worries Ricardo the most is the little one. He has killed elders, women, men ... what is the difference between sending to kill a man to killing a child of only eleven? “Better safe than sorry, Ricardito. And you know better than anyone in the group, that's why you've come so far and now you're one of the ones I trust most. Do me that favor, fine?” He adds the latter not as a question, but as an order. Ricardo prepares to leave the restaurant, thinking about what he should do. That thing kept him worried. He knew Stan by first hand, since he always accompanied him in the work he had to do. And Ricardo knows that for Stan, the most, valuable to him it’s Shermie: his first priority in the world. He keeps walking, seeing the joy of crowded streets, dancing, drinking; he admires the street and the Silleteros parade, proudly celebrating their culture. The Volkswagen of the Pines is leaving the parking to go to the Loma de Las Brujas, near the Medellín-Envigado border. Ricardo knows that he must do the right thing, but he has a terrible fear that Don Julio finds out that he disobeyed directly his orders. That he helped Stanley and Shermie to run. However, Ricardo has a lot of money saved, so ... besides ... it's not such a bad idea. He can go for them in the morning, take them to Rionegro to the José María Córdova airport. They can go to the USA and everything would be great. But he for the moment must make the right calls, and the plan seems almost perfect. He has to do it carefully, very carefully. Ricardo decides to go somewhere to communicate with his teammates. And, fuck dammit: he needs to take a goddamn drink.

***

Shermie looks at the night lights of the street lamps. It seems that at no time that the magnetism of Colombia can abandon them; always transmitting that energy. In the end, after half an hour, they finally arrived home. In a house in Las Brujas: made of concrete, without many luxuries due to the simple appearance of its facade. Stanley opens the door, using the key he has in his pocket. They both enter, chatting about the dinner they can have. The place is more or less immaculate, with only one room, a bathroom, a small kitchen and a living room. All built with bricks, unpainted, the floor with dark blue tiles, without many windows that reveal the exterior, full of trees that surround the building. "So, what do you think they can send us to do tomorrow, Stanley?" Shermie finally asks in English, who now takes the bread out of a closed plastic box, taking out the last four slices. Stanley, meanwhile, reviews what plastic plates they have: only two. He puts them on a plastic table in the living room, which is attached to the kitchen. The kitchen has only a stove, a washing machine and a small fridge, with occasional scratches on its doors. “Maybe it's the same as always: escort an important trafficker and accompany him to any place he would like to go. Or the worse, we should do something more disgusting.” Stanley says neutral, taking out the last two slices of cheese, ham and small packages of ketchup taken from a restaurant. “Do you remind me why we should do this?” Asks Shermie, who starts putting together dinner. Putting the sauce, cheese, ham, and the other piece of bread first. He gives one to his brother, who puts the plate on the white plastic table, and helping his brother with the other. “You won't be able to come back until you have millions in ‘yer pockets.” Stanley replies, imitating perfectly the voice of Filbrick, his father, while making some typical manners of the man, making Shermie laugh a little.

That was missing. For that there was enough. Shermie takes a good bite to his dinner and tasting with interest. “I miss them ...” The kid says tersely. He thinks of his mother, who can no longer remember too well... he didn't like to think about those things, but that night he couldn't keep stay ignoring. When they left home, Shermie remembers some things. Some with more force than others. He doesn’t forget the jacket. He doesn’t forget the blows. And of course, he doesn’t forget the food either. It was very useful the first month they spent away from home. And also remember... that feeling: a caress. He doesn't know if it was Stanley, but, why it has to care? He doesn't think asking that question is very important now. Asking that makes no sense after so long time. Stanley grabs his brother’s cheek, and smiles at him with some indulgence. “Yeah: me too. If you want, I can tell you a story before bed.” Stanley proposes wholeheartedly, willing to do it for a thousand loves. Although Sherman was eleven; he still loved children’s stories. A few minutes pass until they have already finished eating, both of them already preparing to go to bed (a small one, which thanks to him at least both of them fit well). The story will tell his brother. “It was a long time ago, I don't remember when. But it was us, Ford, and I.” He starts, talking with mysticism, making Shermie laugh a little to himself. “We went to the beach. Do you remember it?” He asks, looking at his brother, who raises his thumb, who never forgot the sun on his face, or the comforting sound of the waves. Neither of the sand on his bare feet.

“That day we found a lost cave, and we decided to enter it. And in the end, we were able to find an abandoned ship. It was quite large, old and destroyed. The bow was crossed by the helm. Ford and I had the idea of using our shirts as flags. Ha: if you had seen ma when she saw us arrive with red skin all over our bodies, you would have died of laughter. You weren't born by then.” Stan counts in detail, straining his mind to remember even the smallest detail. “We decided to take the boat to the beach by dragging it, and we had an idea in mind: repair the ship, and embark on several adventures. If one day I get a ship, I'll take you with me to sail around the world. Imagine going to Romania and seeing a few vampires.” Stanley looks at his brother, sleepy. His eyes weigh on him, he’s tired. It accommodates him well so Shermie can sleep comfortably, closing his eyes. “I miss him. Do you miss him too, Stanley?” Shermie asks, who notices the lights go out. His brother just turned off the spotlight, which is next to the bed. It turns, causing the sheet that has them together to deform. “I miss him much you can ever though, kiddo” Says the man, who wishes good night to his brother, who now sleeps deeply.

Yes. He must do. He can't ... he just can't. “Damn hypocrite. Surely you are already crazy. Are you really going to take that risk for a guy and his son? ” Helping them escape would mean treason. Which would cause his death if everything went wrong ... but it must? He must do it. Ricardo is in the middle of a nightclub, enjoying the drink, the dancing to the rhythm of El Binomio de Oro. “If you fall to the mud, to get up, you must get a little bit of a bit.” A prayer that a part of his brain expresses in his head like an atomic bomb, positioning itself above the negative, the other part of the brain that says: “Do not be a suicide, and give up, they are not your problem”. In response, the selfish side was receiving a bombardment from the other side of its head that screams in its ear: “DON'T BE A PRICK FAG!” Yes. It is not a faint fag. If he can do the right thing, even for once, he must ... but ... and if he is really the toad... he would put him out of danger, and Don Julio is not someone who forgives mistakes easily. Julio wants to climb the mafia pyramid, and his ambition, his dream, cannot be attacked by any mistake. Ricardo goes to the bar, and asks for a Club Colombia beer, drinking it little by little. Go to the people who kept celebrating the Flower Fair. He knows that the people of Antioquia (including it), are expert rooster suckers, making scam to not work. If not, then that does not explain why in Rionegro the "donut party" is held. Seeing the neon and multi-colored lights, people dancing. He doesn't know what he should do ... is that when he first saw Shermie, he knew that the kid was someone insightful, well that and all, and at the same time it seemed so small ... well. Nothing happens. He is going to solve that pod. Now, Ricardo’s good will try to forget for a while his problems and conflicts to save the Pines or not. Now, it is up to him to enjoy the occasional graceful women.

#shermie pines #Stanley Pines #stanford pines #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #mullet stan #the third brother #my writing #fanfic #fan fiction #colombia #gravity falls #my au #my au ideas #please reblog #please read

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theflashfics · 5 years

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Imagine // Barry Allen

Pairing: Barry Allen x reader

Summary: Based on Ariana Grande’s hit single ‘imagine’. Barry finds you singing along to your new favourite song and pleasuring yourself, and begins to imagine things of his own.

Warnings: Masturbation (male and female)

Word Count: 1693

Requests: Closed

Step up the two of us, nobody knows us, hop out the car like ‘Skrrt’.

You hummed along to the song, absently scrolling through your phone. Ariana, the queen herself, had just released a new single and this was possibly your millionth time listening to it. It let you imagine things of your own - about a certain scarlet speedster. Not that you had a chance with the Barry Allen, so you let your fantasies live in your mind only. Nevertheless, you couldn’t get that boy out your head. Everything drew you in; the nice things – his kindness, how he took care of you, how he was easy to speak to - and the not so nice things – how he bit his lip when he concentrated, when he took off his shirt after a training session, how he looked at you darkly when you wear your tight dinner dresses. Your earphones were at the highest possible volume to try and drown out those thoughts, so you mumbled the lyrics under your breath and propped your feet up on your desk in the workshop. You let yourself dive into your mind, closing your eyes, procuring certain unholy scenarios with the Flash himself. As you saw him in your head, you dipped your hand down to the waistband of your shorts.

Staying up all night, order me pad thai, then we gon’ sleep ‘til noon.

Barry Allen walked through the concrete halls of STAR Labs, his mind wandering. He’d been sent to find you, to tell you that the others were going out for dinner and you could join if you choose. He’d volunteered in a heartbeat to be the one to offer it; he was rather infatuated by you. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, how you bantered easily with Cisco, and other, dirtier things. The way your hips swayed when you walked, how you held your tongue between your teeth when you were teasing, how you left little to the imagination when you turned up to dinner parties in those tight, tight dresses. It was hard for Barry not to imagine things of his own – but he supposed you didn’t like him, so he attempted to fan away the thoughts, like flies, and continue to find you. “Y/N!” He called out, only hearing the echo of his own voice until he reached the workshop entrance. As he began to round the corner, he heard noises and refrained from entering, simply listening. The first thing he heard was muffled music – someone was listening with headphones, but extremely loud – and the next was… someone moaning.

Me with no makeup, you in the bathtub, bubbles and bubbly.

You had leant back considerably in the office chair, focusing all your thoughts on Barry, and slipped a hand up your shirt, tracing featherlight figure eights on your bare stomach. It helped to imagine that hand was his, and that thought fuelled you to find your bra strap and slipping it off your shoulder. You massaged your breast, occasionally flicking at your nipple and moaning. Finding the bra to get in the way, you twisted it around to you and nimbly unhooked it, discarding it on the workshop floor. Your hand served as an adequate substitute to Barry’s, and you deftly rubbed the tender flesh, then moving to the other breast. Your free hand clutched the edge of the chair to stop it from spinning around, you put a leg down from the table and placed it on the floor, grounding yourself. Eventually, your hand slipped out from under your t-shirt and moved further south, tapping lightly on your stomach and coming to rest on the waistband of your shorts. You stopped momentarily, doubtful, but remembered there was no one there, and you free to do what you wanted.

This is a pleasure, feel like we never act this regular.

Barry was there, waiting, listening. He decided to slowly peek inside of the workshop and was utterly taken aback by the sight. You, in all your glory, legs spread apart on one of the office chairs, touching yourself, ‘imagine’ by Ariana Grande still projected fuzzily from underneath your earphones. Barry froze and had to remind himself to breathe, but the sight of you so vulnerable was breathtaking for him. Millions of thoughts were clashing in his mind. You should leave! This is a breach of privacy, he thought. But she looks so good, another voice countered, and there’s nothing wrong with watching. She’s too deep in that song that’s looping over and over, she won’t turn around. So, Barry stayed, guiltily, and leaned against the desk at the door. You let out a breathy moan as you began to pull down the waistband of your shorts. Barry watched in anticipation, only to have you let it snap back up again. He felt a familiar tightness in his pants and groaned internally. He couldn’t go back to the others with this problem, so he simply pursed his lips and undid his belt.

Click-click-click and post, drip-drip-dripped in gold, quick-quick-quick let’s go.

Your hand had a mind of its own, tracing your waistband and not letting you get to what really mattered, but it fuelled you further. You could see Barry in your mind, on top of you, teasing you. You almost felt guilty for imagining him like this. A breach of privacy, a voice in your mind said. But he won’t find out, a different voice offered, he will never find out. Easy. Just relax and feel his fingers on your skin. Surreptitiously, you obeyed running your fingers lightly over the crotch of your shorts. Finally, you pushed forward and took control, allowing yourself to slip you hand under the waistband of your shorts and gently palming yourself over your panties. You were already wet, all your nerves buzzing with electricity, and you felt you were going to burst. The friction caused to you to whimper slightly, but you didn’t let yourself go any further. You needed the build-up, and your shorts were getting in the way. You reluctantly took your leg off your table and stood up, shimmying out of your shorts and tossing them next to your bra.

Kiss me and take off your clothes.

Barry was shocked out of his lust at your sudden movement and sped out of the room, making no noise. You still had your headphones in, but he was still hyperaware of every movement you made. His rush to leave sent a paper flying off a desk and you turned to look, frowning. Barry watched you from the entrance, your pause feeling like hours, and was relieved to see you turn back and sit down, readjusting to get back in your original position. He did the same, moving slowly back to where he stood a few seconds earlier. He moved his hand down to his crotch, gently palming himself through his jeans. He closed his eyes, thinking: This hand isn’t mine. This hand is Y/N’s. And she is so good. That voice pushed him further and he caught his lower lip between his teeth, teasing himself by pleasuring for moments at a time. He quickly became impatient and unzipped his jeans, dropping them just so his tight – now specifically – boxers were in view. Your purrs from your corner of the room sent blood to Barry’s already hard length, and he pulled it out of his boxer, it slapping against his stomach.

Imagine a world like that.

Your hands pulled your panties aside and teased along your folds, being featherlight so as to tease yourself. Barry’s hands, Barry’s hand, you kept chanting in your head. Swiftly, you pushed your panties down your legs and kicked them off, allowing yourself better access to what needed the most attention. The cold air on your heat caused you to shiver and goosebumps rose on your skin. Your thumb found your clit, and began rubbing the sensitive nub in circles. Your head lolled back gently as you pressed your fingers to yourself, fingers floating deftly over your drenched folds. You spread your legs even further apart and slipped a finger into your core. The cold flesh of your finger made you hiss, but pushed you further to your climax. Not long after, you thrust another finger into you, pumping in and out. You rolled your hips against your fingers, trying to imagine it was Barry filling you up. As you got closer to your high, you were hyper-focused on everything – the music playing on repeat in your ears, your fingers – Barry’s fingers – delving deep inside you, the pad of your thumb busy on your clit.

We go up ‘til I’m asleep on your chest, love how my face fits so good in your neck.

Barry was in a trance. Your moans and whimpers only gave him more reason to fix his problem. His hand found his length, holding it in his hand and feeling it swell to life at your sinful noises. After making sure you couldn’t possibly see or hear him, he began to make slow, long strokes along his length, breathing heavily at the sudden contact. He flicked his thumb over his slit, it already leaking with precum. He gave himself permission to make noises and let out a long drawn out groan he’d been holding in for the majority of that rendezvous. Finally, he wrapped his hands around his cock and moved it up and down, maintaining a pressure balance to make it feel even better. Not my hands, Y/N’s mouth, he told himself. Not being able to take the teasing, Barry began pumping his length with vigour as he saw you were reaching your climax. His threw his head back and clenched his jaw, feeling the beast in his stomach coming to life. He kept thinking of you and had to stifle moaning your name. He was so close, so close to his climax, but you were gonna get to yours before him. He watched as you let out one last cry and heard a single word leaving your lips like a prayer.

“Barry…”

Why can’t you imagine a world like that?

#barry allen #barry allen smut #barry allen oneshot #the flash #the flash smut #the flash oneshot

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bigkill · 5 years

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One Night | Chanyeol x reader smut

Summary: Chanyeol being an idol and your boyfriend was stressful. So when the man starts coming home late at night, angrily throwing things around and confronting you, things become hectic.

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I'm writing this in class and I'm bored so don't @ me also I think we need more angst smuts out there because personally I get turned on when my s/o becomes aggressive I swear its not weird.

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You stared anxiously at the clock waiting for your boyfriend of three years to come home, your bed growing colder and colder as you chewed your thumbnail. This wasn't normal for him. He always got home immediately after practice and if not, he would call you to make sure you didn't wait up for him, (which you always did, anyway), unless he was on tour; which he very well wasn't because you knew his schedule. It was getting later and later, almost midnight, and still no sign that he was coming home, no phone call, nothing. The thought of anything bad happening to him was starting to scare you.

Just when the clock was about to strike 12, you heard keys jingling as the front door creaked open, and then to your bewilderment, slammed shut loud enough to scare the dogs in the apartment next door. The man groaned loudly at the barking, threw his keys in the glass bowl before the corridor, and began rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for something.

You had tried so hard to be quiet. For some reason, luck wasn't on your side, for when you took one step out into the living area, the floorboard had creaked, and his movements had stopped.

Chanyeol didn't mind it, though. He didn't even turn back to face you, simply continued looking through the cabinets, tossing the components to the floor without a care for the person who organized them weekly (that was you). "Fuck!" He barked, throwing an empty pill bottle across the room after he'd emptied everything out onto the floor, and then proceeded to kick things out of his way. He stalked over towards his book bag, all bunched up with things, and then emptied said things out onto the floor.

"Babe," you chirped, walking closer towards the man who resembled a crazy person right now, "what are you looking for?" You kneeled down beside him, about to reach a hand out to his shoulder to console him, but he only smacked your hands away without answering.

Now you were annoyed, crossing you arms over your chest sternly. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

The man groaned, throwing his bag across the room and breaking an ugly vase you didn't really care about. You stared at it boredly as it was knocked from the table stand and shattered against the floor. He stood up abruptly, still having yet to respond, and then muttered a slew of curses when he attempted to clean his mess and ended up cutting himself.

Sighing, you never knew what to do when he'd gotten so angry he didn't know what to do with himself. The man was very happy, yes, but the passion could also be flipped into a negative emotion if someone or something had been so inclined to make him that way. It was frustrating, sure, but you had gotten use to this behavior, and the usual aftermath that was having to clean up after him, replacing the things he had broken, and then accepting the apology flowers he bought you the next day to compliment the new vase.

You always bought vases you didn't like.

"Where is it?" Now his attention was directed towards you, his eyes bulging from his skull, implying his next phrase was to be an accusation. "Y/n, where is it?"

"Where's what?!" You tutted your arms up, motioning the offhand materialization of whatever it was he wanted.

Chanyeol groaned again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The fucking painkillers, babe! Where the fuck are they? I have a fucking headache and I can't find one goddamn pill in this apartment—," he kicked over the vase stand, causing you to raise your eyebrows.

"We have Advil in the bathroom—where its always been." Shakingly, you pointed towards the bathroom beside your bedroom, but knew this was more than just a silly headache. Chanyeol never got physical over a headache, in fact, he had become soft and mushy when he had those.

What was happening was way more than a stupid headache.

"No, I need something stronger." The man was on the verge of tears and you couldn't understand why. Never had he directed his anger towards you, and you usually just let him ride it out until morning because aside from throwing a temper tantrum like a five year old, he had no clue what to do with his anger. "Fuck, babe. Can you just fucking get them?" He croaked, his frustration turning into a red face as he sunk to the floor.

Rolling your eyes, you got the Advil from the cabinet and a glass of water, kneeled in front of him as if he were a child that needed guidance, holding both items out to his face. He rubbed his eyes, scooping up the pills from your hand with his lips and drinking the water that you had brought him, his heart thumping in his ears.

You rolled your eyes again and stood up to get ready for bed, but this action only seemed to annoy him further.

"You're not gonna ask what happened? I'm kind of in distress, here." His long leg stretched out, kicking over the organized items from the coffee table. Said items being the paper work that took you days to organize for your clients, scattering around and about your living area like gigantic confetti. For some reason, you felt your blood bubble up in the form of seeing red, your own anger internalizing as you remembered the nights of sleep you missed getting everything down before you had to go back to work. You had called the banks, closed deals over the phone which was especially difficult, talked some of your clients out of whatever stupid decision they were about to publicly make, and managed the social media accounts of upcoming artists.

Suddenly, a laugh bubbled out into the air from the pit of your stomach, your legs carrying you towards the dish rack filled with nothing but wet glass plates. And you snapped. Your body had flickered towards him as fast as the glass left your fingers, the item smashing against the wall he was leaned against and causing the man to bolt up from his seat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Chanyeol clamored, his large frame closing the space between you, but you didn't care. You threw another plate at his feet, not meaning to hurt him, but meaning to destroy things the same way he did.

"Me?!" You yelled with a condescending chortle slipping passed your plump lips, "oh, so now you see how crazy you act! Here!" And another plate went flying across the room, forcing him to back away from you if he didn't want to get cut again. "Do you know the week I had sorting shit out for ingrate idols determined to fuck up the careers they wouldn't have if I didn't exist?! Do you know the phone calls I had to make—despite being on my paid time off after a mental break down at the office—to make sure nobody fucked anything up while I was gone?! Those fucking papers, Yeol. Those were everything I did! I'm so sorry that your pretty leg hurts after hours of practice!"

Chanyeol scoffed, his own laugh bubbling out into the world, throwing his sweater off because of how stuffy it was becoming in your apartment. "Oh, so you automatically assume that that's what happened?! That I hurt myself during practice?!" He laughed again growing closer towards you, "no, my asshole manager just told me that the album we worked really hard on for months—the concept, choreography, lyrics—was quote on quote, 'too real' for the crowd that we have! Because we sing for twelve year old princesses who can't understand that fairy tales aren't life! They take my artistry for a joke, and my own girlfriend can't even see that."

"What are you even talking about?!" Your voice was only elevating the more he continued to speak. "I support you, I just don't like when you come home like this and do this," you motioned around you, bringing to his attention what a mess he had created, "and you think its okay that you act like a child, but its not because you're a fucking adult and I'm not your mother! I can't do everything!"

Having heard enough, he slammed his fist into the wall that had suffered the most, creating a new hole you would have to plaster some time in the near future. The idea of it made you rub your temples before you encouraged such behavior further by beating the shit out of him.

"I swear, you're so fucking immature! Whose going to fix that and then find the right paint shade? Me! That's who the fuck!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, already! You're not the only one who works hard!" He spat.

You laughed, however pissed off you were, "you do realize that neither are you!"

Chanyeol suddenly spun to face you, his frame towering over you with each step he took, a passion in his eyes you couldn't quite understand; a mix of lust and infuriation glinting in his eyes. The atmosphere had grown steamy as his body completely trapped your's against the kitchen island, breaths mingling together as you breathed heavily, but the anger was still there. All these emotions had translated into lust for the man, his sexiness vibrating in the fact that his muscles had been showing since he tore his hoodie from his body. Damn him for being so attractive, maybe you could stay angry enough to deny what you knew was about to happen.

His lips roughly encapsulated your's, your arms instantly latching around his neck as he pulled your legs up around his torso, firmly gripping your ass. You always loved it when he'd present his strength during foreplay, letting you know just how little control you had for the moment, or exactly what you were in store for.

Chanyeol was always rough during sex, but he had managed to become extremely rough during times like this, when hate-fucking would commence to end whatever dispute had put a strain on your relationship. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest antic, unlike talking about it, but you weren't ones for talking, anyway, so it didn't matter.

He walked you over towards the dining table, his breath still heavy and hot against your neck as he brought one arm out to clear the items from the table and dropped you against it for a moment to pull away and remove his shirt. You did the same, hastily pulling off the article of clothing, but he beat you to removing your bra, or simply ripping it from your body like an animal. He was always so needy when he was upset, but it was hot as hell and you didn't like that bra, anyway. You let a moan slip, your juices already soaking up your underwear when he dipped back in for another aggressive, sloppy kiss, the sound of his unbuckling pants and heavy lip smacks of pleasure the only thing that could be heard. You trailed your soft fingers down his solid chest, passed his torso, and down to his throbbing manhood beneath his underwear, the touch eliciting a groan that vibrated against your lips and felt like heaven.

Continuing to palm him, feeling his bulge grow harder than a street pole, he forced his tongue into your mouth, not having time to ask permission, and feeling his dominance slip away whenever you took action against his body. You moaned, his hands playing around with your nipples, his hips thrusting against your's harshly, forcing the tables to turn to his own control against you. "Fuck," you mumbled in ecstasy, your head becoming so fuzzy with want, it was almost painful. Seriously painful, he'd sunk his teeth into your jaw and collarbone, and then harshly sucked at the soft skin around your neck, forcing a hiss to bubble in your chest. Not the kind of painful that would have stopped you—the kind of painful that excited you, that turned you into the lewd person you were beneath the professional face you wore outdoors and in front of other people.

Chanyeol was the only person who got to see you in this state. This state of enjoyment, with your head thrown back in pleasure, and your back arched at the feel of his tongue swirling around your hard nipple. Whimpering, your body squirmed, but no other words had bothered to leave your esophagus. Not like they could, his hand was secure around your throat, only enough to assert his power over you. "You talk such a big game when you're angry, baby girl. Where'd all that go?" A smirk had painted his lips, those lips that had stopped midway to tease you. He was always trying to challenge you and it was annoying.

Whimpering again, you tugged at the waistband of his underwear, throwing your head back simply because you didn't want to talk. You panted as his hand slowly slipped down your stomach, beneath the hem of your underwear, and then finally, inserted his two fingers in without uttering a word. Something had tried to force its way out—words—but you choked them back, moaned, and shook your head. "Please, Yeol," you begged, "Fuck me, already."

Chanyeol didn't waste time. He didn't bother with the fact that you were already soaking up the cloth for him, (even though not much had happened), or tell you that you were dirty for getting turned on by his aggression. He tore the soaked up cloth away from your womanhood with such haste, the damn things had split from the middle and hung loosely around your middrift. And as if a shitty warning, or lack thereof, couldn't get better, he clutched the ring of your waist with his nails scratching at the surface of your skin and slammed into you, forcing you to scream out his name, followed by a slew of curses and your body shuddering. "Fuck!"

He grunted loudly, his speed picking up as his jaw tightened, his own curses falling from the tip of his tongue. His body dipped down into yours, connecting his mouth to the rim of your jawline, biting and sucking at the skin that made your knees weak. Your legs around his waist had forced him in deeper, the feeling of his body against yours driving you mad. You needed more. You needed his hands to scratch at the skin of your back, to elicit any kind of pain to bring your body where it needed to be, and that's exactly what he did. His hand kept scratching up the side of your plump ass, then roughly kneading into your breasts, and your own nails had dug themselves into the skin of his back, drawing out a hiss from his soft lips and encouraging him to move harder.

"Chanyeol!" You moaned quite vocally, the neighbor's dogs barking again, but neither of you cared. Chanyeol had only be determined to release his energy, and to break your body in the only way he knew how to. He wanted to fuck you so senseless, you wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow and he'd have to stay home with you to continue what you two had started. He pulled out completely, all of suddenly, and just as abruptly had slammed his entire length into your core, hitting that special spot that had you throwing your head back against the table and moaning ever so passionately. "Fuck, babe! R—right there! Don't stop!"

"I wasn't planning on it." His gravel road voice spewed, his large hands forcing your hips down whenever your back curled up, the actions leaving bruises against your [color] skin. Chanyeol had slowed his pace, not relishing in the idea of coming before you, his own close end rearing when he'd still had yet to satisfy you, and had transferred to long, hard strokes that made your breath hitch in your throat. He latched his lips back to your's, keeping the energy alive by forcing his tongue back into your mouth for further exploring, winning his own game of dominance, and reaching down to rub your clit to accompany his rough strokes. When he felt he was good to go faster, he slammed his palms beside your head and reverted back to his previous pace.

There was a knock at the door, but the both of you ignored it, and instead, he shoved his fingers in your mouth.

"You're fucking loud, you know that?" The man grunted into your ear, feeling your teeth sink against his fingers as you suppressed the urge to whimper his name. Straightening his posture, he lifted your leg over his shoulder with his free hand and came down again to continue his mouth work, his manhood hitting that spot again. That spot that knocked the air from your lungs and sent you for a ride on cloud 9. The spot that made you inhale sharply despite his fingers, and curl your nails around his skin at the sensation coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Mmf, oh my god," you mumbled against his hand, your eyes rolling back behind your head. "C-Chanyeol, I'm c-coming," the words had fallen from your mouth with the saliva build up around his fingers, the sight alone making his own pleasure an irresistible feat.

"Me, too, baby," chanyeol groaned into your neck, and then placed an unusually soft kiss against your cheek, letting you know that he, too, was coming to his end. "Go ahead, already. I wanna feel you." He whispered, his pace becoming sloppy when your walls caved around him from the release of pressure in your abdomen, the feeling had you shaking in your spot, drawing out a long, loud moan from your throat. Chanyeol had made his own grunts, pulling out shortly after you had come, and releasing his load onto the palm of your hand with a sharp inhale and exhale of a grunt.

"Fuck," he muttered, letting his body fall next to yours on the other side of the table, exhaustion beginning to consume him.

You could've sworn you were seeing stars with the way your body continued to shake, but you could feel his messy hair suddenly resting against your shoulder as your breaths fought to come to a slow. Neither of you spoke, especially not at times like this, when you'd both have to realize how toxic hate-sex could be. But by God, it was the only time he could truly get you off where one orgasm was all you needed.

"Is this healthy," he was hesitant, but continued after a few more pants. "I mean, are we healthy?"

Thinking for a moment, you shrugged your shoulders, truly having no concrete answer to the question he'd just asked you. "I don't know. I don't care," yeah, that's what you were going with, "I like it. I like how we are. Because its confusing, and its weird, and maybe others can't understand—but I think its sexy as hell. You're fucking hot when you're angry."

Chanyeol chuckled sheepishly, his cheeks tinting pink despite how confident he was just a minute ago. "Okay."

#parkchanyeol #kpop fanfiction #kpop #kpop icons #kpop smut #exo k #exo #exo sehun #exo suho #exo series #exo ships #parkchanyeolsmut

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magiesheartlove · 5 years

Text

The Greatest Show (a love letter to MLP:FiM

Okay, so I was planing on writing this down sometime after the season ended but, I’m just feeling a lot of...feels, at the moment that, I just needed to get this written down.

I’m going to be frank, I am sad MLP is ending but, at the same time, I’m glad it won’t become one of those series that just keeps going and going to the point at which it overstayed it’s welcome. I have long since accepted that season 9 would be the end of MLP. When a show ends, I always accept it. If it ends on a high note, even better.

Out of all the shows I have watched in the early 2010s, MLP was one I never, in a millions years, would have imagined would gain not only such a huge and devoted following that stretched far from its intended demographic, but also was a series that, in my eyes, reflected everything I loved about storytelling and why I wanted to tell stories to begin with.

I will never forget the first time I was introduced to the series. I was watching television on an ordinary Saturday, and one day on the Hub Channel in the channel guide I read My Little Pony was on. I simply shrugged and decided to just watch a little snippet of my childhood, so “what the heck”.

I had since grown out of the MLP phase, and while I still love magically colorful equines, the cutesy, baby talking cartoon horses didn’t appeal to a high school senior like myself. Instead of seeing either some old nineties rerun of an old episode, or something meant for a pre-school audience, I saw... cute, funny, not-cheesy, modernized ponies in a stylized flash animation...and they were taking on a flipping DRAGON!

It was the episode “Dragonshy”, and when I saw Fluttershy stand up to that dragon, no joke, my jaw dropped. I’ve seen the typical “shy person gets over their fear” plot done before, but the way it was handled, and the way they portrayed the ponies (including Rainbow Dash, who I remembered being a fashionable pony who said “darling” every other word), as a rough and tumble tomboy was awesome! It had a fashionista unicorn with sass, a Pinkie Pie who was actually funny, a country pony with muscle, and a unicorn who took charge.

This... this wasn’t the MLP I grew up with. This was... modern and, updated and stylized and, thought out more.... and... I... was.... HOOKED! I couldn’t stop gushing about it to my Mom, and she was staring at me like “it’s My Little Pony”, and I was all “I know!”

Of course, when I watched “Winter Wrap up” and I saw that they were about to sing, I thought, “Oh, a cutesy song. Okay.” And then the song played.... it wasn’t annoying, the lyrics weren’t babyish, and the ponies sounded.... good. Like, star quality, Broadway good. The music, the animation, the way the song fit into the episode it.... it was..... I loved it. My jaw was to the floor at how it completely blew away my expectations. This was definitely NOT the my little pony I remember, and I just fell harder and harder for it.

I fell for the characters in a heartbeat, the world building was colorful and beautiful, and the morals. Let me tell ya, the morals sold it for me. While I had seen other educational shows that practically shove the message in your face, this one did it in a way that was tailored into each episode without feeling like it was bashing you over the head with it. Sure, there were a few times near the end, but they were minor nitpicks in my opinion.

This, this was the kind of show, the kind of story, the kind of world, the kind of characters I always dreamed of making myself. Stories about love, and friendship, and family, characters with bonds that you could feel radiating off of the screen, a world so vast and endless you wished you could enter it and live every day exploring the horizons and uncovering new mysteries within it, and all alongside the ones who would wrestle a hydra or jump from a crystal palace for you.

As I grew older, finding good quality shows I could enjoy was difficult. Shows now a days either try to be “edgy” or “mature” that they just came across as trying too hard. As much as I adore overarching stories, it was refreshing to go back to that slice of life, villain of the week format that is feels like it’s being rejected now a days in animation. Again, I don’t have a problem with overarching plots, but slice of life stories can be just as fun, and open up a lot of doors for character interactions and enough wiggle room for the morals to shine through more.

MLP continued to surprise me over the years. As I grew, so did the show. I mean, Twilight went from an awkward student who didn’t care about friends, into the flipping PRINCESS of Friendship! Rarity expanded her business, Rainbow Dash learned humility and became a Wonder Bolt. Fluttershy became more and more confident, Applejack learned to ask for help, and Pinkie Pie had her ups and down, but at the end of the day, all she really cared about was making her friends happy. Even the Cutie Mark Crusaders finally found their calling, and it completely blew me away. Like a lot of people, I cried.

Speaking of tears, I know the whole villains reforming thing has caused some controversy over the years, and while I do empathize with a lot of the criticism, I can’t not love seeing these villains change for the better. Call me a compete and total sap, but if a man who persecuted and murdered people for believing in a Savior, only to have the most earth shattering revelation and transform into a messenger of the Gospel, even at the risk of his own life, and if a man from my Church can go from a man with the heart of a murder, into a devoted and kindhearted man who sung songs to The Lord every Sunday, then yes. If someone is willing, if they WANT it enough, I believe a heart of stone can become a heart of flesh. I know, a lot of people don’t believe it, and I understand why. But like Jesus, I want those lost lambs to find their way back.

As a President Lincoln once said: If I make my enemy my friend, have I not defeated my enemy?

I love when a villain changes for the better. Even if, story wise, it can be rushed, the meaning is still there. For me, that’s enough. I know not everybody changes, but that doesn’t mean nobody will. We live in a fallen world, but there is a Light that chases away the dark, gives us His hand, and shows us there is a better way. Just like Twilight did for Sunset Shimmer, and Sunset Shimmer did for Human Twilight.

Aside from introducing me to an amazing fandom, meeting so many wonderful people, and even being the show that coaxed me into the fanfiction world which led me to discover my love fo writing, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic has and will forever be my all time favorite show, surpassing all others from my childhood. It came during my transition from a child to an adult. It sparked my imagination, made me smile, made me laugh and made me cry.

This series, this world, and its characters carried something that made it stand out amongst so many other shows in my eyes, and in my heart I always knew why. To quote the minister of Shady Oak ministries on YouTube; “They took the love of God, and put it on ponies.” Yes, when I watched MLP, when I heard the messages and witnessed the strong relationships, I saw Jesus manifested in each of them. I wasn’t even trying to find it, I just... felt it in my heart.

The Magic Of Friendship brought out the best in the Mane Six, brought out the best in those around them, and came through for them even when it seemed as if all was lost. And, it didn’t just go by the motions. The characters grew and learned, but that spark, that special little something that made them who they were, it didn’t fade, it only became stronger. They became the best versions of themselves, and though they still tumble and fall, they keep getting back up, because one way or another, there will ways be somepony there to reach out their hoof and help them back up.

I am so grateful for this show, and for all the wonderful things that came with it. The good, the bad, the weird, the funny, all of it.

Twilight, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Applejack, Fluttershy, Spike, Celestia, Luna, Sunset Shimmer, Discord, everypony, Thank you all for these wonderful nine years, and for teaching us that Friendship truly is the most powerful magic of all. But most importantly, Thank You Jesus, for having revealed this series to me, and for speaking to me through these ponies, reminding me of Your love, Your mercy, and most of all, Your friendship.

Nothing stays the same for long, but when it changes doesn't mean it's gone. Things may come and things may go. Some go fast and some go slow. Few things last, that's all I know. But Friendship, carries on through the ages.

#my little pony friendship is magic #my little pony season 9 #mlp finale #mlp ending #the end lf my little pony #my little pony the final season #twilight sparkle #rainbow dash #rarity #applejack #pinkie pie #fluttershy #discord #princess celestia #princess luna #sunset shimmer #starlight glimmer

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the-inept-artist · 5 years

Text

Apologies to a Brother

Yay, I'm not dead!

Yeah, this is a songfic. I recently discovered the song "Lullaby For A Princess" by Ponyphonic and animation by WarpOut. Despite not being an MLP fan, this song touched me, and also made me think of the Sanders twins. So I took some of the lyrics and changed them to fit the story better. I'm including a link to the original video and a link to the instrumental in case you want to try to sing my lyrics.

Original video

Instrumental version

With all that been said, Sanders Sides, MLP, "Lullaby For A Princess" and "Morning Mood" do not belong to me.

As always, please enjoy and review!

~oOo~

Roman lay on his bed, idly staring up at the ceiling. It was a down day for Thomas, so the sides were taking the free time to relax and unwind. Logan was undoubtedly reading some new text book, Virgil was probably on Tumblr, and Roman knew Patton was baking down in the mind palace kitchen. The tantalizing scent of brownies wafted through the air vents, and Roman smiled to himself. They would certainly have a treat after dinner tonight.

Calming classical music played quietly from Roman's IPod across the room on his desk. Despite being a wild Disney fan, every now and again, the princely side enjoyed not feeling the pull to sing along to every song that played, leaving him to instead ride the symphony and travel the ups and downs of it's invisible story.

'Morning Mood' faded out, and the brief silence swept over Roman. He sighed. He was actually glad Thomas had the day off, because Roman wasn't sure he would've been able to function properly. June 18th always did this to him, despite having been ages ago.

If the date on it's own wasn't enough, shuffle decided to resurrect an old song, one Roman had almost forgotten. Violins and piano rose elegantly, and with them, memories. Memories of things said and done.

Things he had said and done.

Roman sat up and sighed again. It was bound to happen, it always did this time of year. Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a worn book, pages old and cover leathery from touch and use. He opened to the first page and gazed at the taped in photograph, the familiar tug at his heart now starting in earnest. Barely thinking about it, he began to sing.

"Fate has been cruel and order unkind,

How can I have sent you away?

The blame was my own; the punishment yours,

The palace is silent today."

A young Creativity, Morality, and Logic beamed back at the prince, but Roman's eyes were drawn to the tiny figure behind them, a small splotch of green in the sea of blues and red being the only hint he was there at all.

"But into the stillness, I'll bring you a song,

And I'll dig through the past treasuries

Till your tired mind and my aching heart

Have had enough of the memories."

Roman turned the pages slowly, one by one. Every one of them had several pictures either taped or glued to them.

Patton learning his way around the kitchen and proudly presenting his first edible batch of cookies.

Logan during Christmas, joy in his grin as he unwrapped the first of the Harry Potter series.

Roman trying karaoke for the first time and owning Mulan's "I'll Make a Man Out of You".

Occasionally, the camera caught the child in green, but when he was there, he was on the outskirts of the little family. In the rare pictures when he was in full view, Roman seemed to be the only one who could see him.

The delicate sound of a mandolin echoed throughout Roman's room, and he continued to sing, lump in his throat be damned.

"Once did a small prince who shone like the sun

Look out on his friends with pride

He smiled and said "Surely there is nobody

So lucky and so very blessed as I."

Roman swallowed, eyes tracking the growth of he and the other Light Sides. Glasses appeared on both Logan and Patton, and each gained a necktie and cardigan, respectively. A bright red sash eventually marked himself as the fanciful aspect of Thomas. But the child in green simply became darker as time passed.

"So bright was his flame and so cheerful his smile,

That long was the shadow he cast,

Which fell dark upon the twin brother he loved,

And grew only darker as days and nights passed."

Eventually, the child, now in green and black, disappeared from the photo album. Roman closed the book, recognizing this as the time when Patton really began his work, helping Thomas differentiate between right and wrong.

Roman's mind took over, filtering reality with painful recollection as he stared around his room, never stopping his musical storytelling. He watched as his younger self and brother materialized, arguing.

"Soon did that small prince take notice that the others

Did not give his brother the same care

And their host had realized he wasn't all good

So he watched as his brother lay his discontent bare."

"They don't like me, Roman!" Remus shouted. "They never have!"

"You just have to give them a chance, Remus," Roman pleaded. "I know that they—"

"But it's not just them! Thanks to Patton, Thomas is figuring out that you're the better one out of both of us! Sooner or later, he's going to stop listening to me completely." Remus' voice cracked and his shoulders slumped, the fight going out of him. "It was always going to happen. I don't know why you thought you could stop it."

"Remus, I'm sorry, I really am, but—"

"But what do you care?!" Remus snarled, ferocity returning just as quick as it had left. "You're the golden one! The perfect prince! The cherished "fanciful" side!" Remus grinned, full of malice as he brushed past his twin roughly. "Why not give the people what they think they deserve?"

And he left their room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook and Roman winced.

Roman saw his child self, shaking in surprise. Then his expression changed from fear to anger, and he growled, clenching his fists. Roman shook his head at the memory, disgusted at his own actions. The music swelled, and his voice strengthened to match it.

"But such is the way of the Light Side, it sweetly

Enchanted the mind of its host

And that foolish prince just did nothing to stop

The destruction of one who had needed him most."

The prince blinked and teleported himself to The Pit. The place where it had all ended, just as quickly as it had begun.

The Pit was believed to be the entrance to the home of the Dark Sides. Shadowy, cold and fraught with terrors and beasts, it was designed to keep the evils locked away where they could do little harm. Roman had first hated Virgil when he came out of The Pit, because he saw the anxious side as proof that one could survive and escape. Fortunately, he had soon come around and made peace with him. The Light Sides typically stayed a good distance away from the innocent looking hole, knowing the horrors it possessed.

But the twins hadn't, on that terrible day.

The IPod and accompanying melody had been left back in Roman's room, but he didn't care. He had the coming lyrics committed to memory after having written and rewritten the words he so badly wanted his brother to hear.

Little Roman and Remus appeared again, swords and shields in hand. Roman watched them, eyes welling as he sang, straining to reach the pair, to stop them..

"Goodbye now, dear twin, I'm sorry, brother mine

Rest now with darkness embrace."

"Remus, stop!" Roman cried, blocking another attack from his brother and pushing him off. "This isn't you!"

"Oh, but it is, my dear Roman," Remus said sleekly, the new white streak in his hair flapping about as he landed a short distance away. "You see, I've learned that not all types of creativity are appreciated." He hefted his blade and rushed Roman, who barely had time to lift his shield and defend himself.

"Deliver my apologies, bring them to his ears

Through shadow, and through veil, and through pain."

"So I thought to myself," Remus said calmly, spinning for a counter attack, "why be forgotten if I can be the only creative side left?!" Sparks flew as swords clashed.

The knot in Roman's gut twisted as he witnessed the two young boys unknowingly step closer and closer to The Pit.

"Carry the peace and the coolness of night

And carry my tears in kind."

"Please, you can't!"

Roman took a shaky breath as his younger self started to cry, beaten down by his brother. A tear rolled down his own cheek as well. Still, he watched, and he sang.

"Remus, you are loved so much more than you know

May troubles be far from your mind."

"I can and I will." Remus stalked toward Roman, a manic glint in his eyes. "And all it takes is one—little—PUSH!" He lunged at Roman, who swiftly stepped aside out of self-preservation.

Roman broke into a dead sprint, reason gone, and head filled with alarms and the ever-growing chant of catch him, catch him, CATCH HIM!

But, of course, he couldn't catch him.

Remus wobbled, smirk vanished from his lips. Roman reached to grab the back of his lime-green sash, realizing the danger.

He missed.

Roman stopped at the edge of The Pit, even with his younger self, both watching as their brother fell. His cheeks were wet, and breath hitched in his throat. As his child incarnation screamed, Roman lowered his voice and whispered the final lyric, bowing his head as the shadows swallowed his twin whole.

"Please forgive me for being so blind."

"REMUS!"

~ONE WEEK LATER~

"Well if there's one thing I know, it's that Reese Witherspoon isn't evil." Patton nearly choked as he looked over at Roman. Roman gave him an odd look, but said nothing. Probably just the cookie he ate before doing the video.

Virgil scoffed from his place on the stairs. "I resent that. Ghosts aren't evil. They just scare people because you never know when they're going to SHOW UP!" His voice went deeper as he, too, glanced at the prince, eyes wide. Thomas also seemed to be somewhat panicked.

"Okay, okay, I take back what I said about ghosts!" Roman said, thinking they were just bashing his take on the movie.

A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head, and all went green and black.

#Sanders Sides #Roman and Remus #Roman #Creativity #Impulse Thought #songfic #angst #SOMUCHANGST #MLP #LullabyForAPrincess #stinkyboi #littletrashgoblin

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betterthinkaboutittwice · 5 years

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Andrew’s Top 10 Kpop Title Tracks of 2018

Hello again, it’s me. Yes, I’m still trying to make this a thing. Nobody cared in 2015, then my 2016 list got a decent amount of notes, then that dropped off by a lot for my 2017 list, so we’ll see what happens this time. I hope there’s even a couple folks out there that enjoy reading this, but even if there’s not, I still enjoy putting it together and writing it, so here we are. Quick refresher on how this works, I limit myself to title tracks (and/or songs that have a MV and were promoted), link their MVs, and then give a quick write-up of why I picked them, all listed in descending order from 10 to 1. I’ve changed the name from “Top 10 Songs” to “Top 10 Title Tracks” because I’m thinking of doing a separate list for b-sides or non-Korean releases. On that note, let’s get it; list under the break~

10. KHAN - I’m Your Girl?

The tenth spot on my list is always a dogfight, and my honorable mentions list is always long. This year, the debut song for KHAN (composed of former The Ark members Jeon Minju and Euna Kim) won the fight, and I’m not gonna lie, a solid part of why is based in the gay undertones of this song and MV (and honestly, they’re really not undertones, the lyrics are pretty frank about it). Honestly, though, I just really adore the chemistry Euna and Minju have always had together, and I’m so happy they’re back making music together. I’m Your Girl isn’t the fanciest song out there, but it is a bop and a half and will definitely be one of the songs I think of in future when I remember 2018.

9. gugudan - Not That Type

At spot nine, there was another fight, but it was between songs by the same group. The loser of that song will appear in my honorable mentions later. As for the winner, Not That Type was something I’d been hoping gugudan would do ever since they debuted. Their Produce 101 trio (Sejeong, Mina, Nayoung) have always had a certain sass and badassery about them, and even in previous comebacks you could see the other members had it in them, too. This is the song they needed to let it out, and boy did they. This track and MV had an attitude we don’t see much as of late, and the song managed to have that attitude without seeming try-hard or having an overplayed sound. One particular thing it did that I really liked was how it never entered the chorus the same way or on the same beat, keeping the listener on their toes. All in all, a breakout song for gugudan that had to make my list.

8. IZ*ONE - La Vie en Rose

This song, at number eight on my list, took some growing on me. When it came out, I never pictured it being on my Top 10 of the year. In fact, I didn’t even think I’d listen to it much at all. However, there’s just something about it, something about the chorus, that made it unforgettable to me. It worked its way into my brain and wouldn’t leave. Still to this day it won’t leave. It’s quickly become one of my most-played songs of the year. I followed Produce 48 all the way through, and while I wasn’t entirely satisfied with the final lineup, I must say they’ve really grown on me. Whoever produced this song did a brilliant job, because each member has a part that fits them like a glove, and no one really feels either over or under-exposed (though I could certainly ask for a couple more lines for Nako). Just a very solid song from a dynamic group that deserved to make my list.

7. Sunmi - Siren

Dropping in at spot number seven for the second year in a row is everyone’s favorite lesbian and best follow on twitter, Sunmi. Does she release anything other than bops? I think not. She revealed recently that this song was actually originally a Wonder Girls production, and released a quick snippet of the original recording from WG as a band in 2016. While I most definitely wish we could’ve heard the full group’s take on Siren, I’m glad Sunmi revisited the track and made it her own, ‘cause it’s really a stroke of catchy genius. Get away outta my face! More like get away outta my head. I just could not justify keeping this song off my list, not with how often I find myself subconsciously singing or whistling it.

6. WJSN - Save Me, Save You

Another artist that released multiple jams this year, WJSN comes in at number six. While I loved Dreams Come True, there was just something very special about Save Me, Save You. It felt like they finally nailed their sound again. The last time they truly hit it on the head was with Secret, and it feels like they’ve been trying to get back there ever since. Well, they did it here. This track has exactly that dreamlike quality to it, that beautiful cosmic sound that their name would lead you to expect. Add in nearly properly balanced line distribution (except for Dawon, #JusticeForDawon), and a particularly interesting choreography, and you’ve got a recipe for one of the best songs of the year. With their next comeback on the horizon, I’m hoping they can continue the trend.

5. (G)I-DLE - Hann

IDLE really leapt onto the scene in 2018 with their debut, but it’s their followup effort that makes my list at spot number five. The main thing I can say about IDLE is that, as rookies, they have no business being this good. They’re all incredibly talented, their stage presence is off the charts, and both of their title tracks thus far are certified bops. Rookies don’t do that! Yet, here they are. The chorus of Hann is simply unforgettable, both musically and visually. Vocals, raps, visuals, choreo, this song has everything you could ever want and it has them in spades, which is why it leads off the top half of this list.

4. GFriend - Time for the Moon Night

It wouldn’t be a kpop Top 10 without GFriend on it, and here they are at number four. If you’ll recall, I was probably the world’s biggest fan of their first “different” release, Fingertip, naming it my Song of the Year in 2017. TFTMN arrived as their second effort at a more mature concept, and I think they really killed it here. Not only is this track a more mature GFriend, but it is also still very distinctly GFriend. For their entire career, these girls have had a sound all their own, and TFTMN proved unequivocally that they can maintain their signature sound while striding into new conceptual territories, and for that alone it would make my Top 10 of 2018. It certainly isn’t hurt by the fact that the chorus is incredibly memorable, the melancholy-yet-upbeat tone is right up my alley, and the choreo is dope as hell.

3. fromis_9 - Love Bomb

The song that made me fall all the way in love with what is now essentially my second bias group comes in at number three. Honestly, I was actually expecting this to be my Song of the Year for 2018, but a couple other songs reminded me who’s boss. That’s to say nothing against Love Bomb, of course. I mean, imagine a single song making you fall head-over-heels in love with a group whose names you didn’t even know! Going into this release, I legitimately only knew Gyuri (from Produce 48) and Jiwon (way back from SIXTEEN). Now, a couple months later, I know them all better than I ever thought I would. As for the song, this is honestly one of the happiest songs that came out this year. By that I mean that it never fails to put me in a good mood. There’s just something truly special about this song. Moreso even than the song, it’s the girls’ singing; they have a way about them, where they always seem to put feeling into how they deliver lines. I can feel this song, and it wouldn’t change that even if there were no instrumental included; their singing is so incredibly emotional, it’s just special.

2. Chungha - Roller Coaster

The earliest release to make it on my list this year, coming in at number two is one of the bops of a great month of January, Roller Coaster by Chungha. I’ll be honest, this song really had a good argument for being #1 on the list. If producers went into the studio and said “we need to make the perfect song for Andrew,” this is what would’ve come from it. It’s funny, actually, because if you go back to when this was first released, I was lukewarm on it, but now it’s one of my most-listened to songs. The song has nearly every musical element that I love; it’s got that retro sound, those good synths, a gorgeous voice, upbeat, catchy, great choreo. I couldn’t ask for any more, other than to have her do more songs in this style because she absolutely kills it.

1. Red Velvet - Bad Boy

January was truly a great month for kpop songs, and Red Velvet’s Bad Boy has stood the test of time, making it all the way from January to year-end to claim the title of my Song of the Year for 2018. As I said when Bad Boy dropped, “Well fuck. Good luck, literally everyone else. I don’t see this being passed up as my song of the year for 2018.” Here we now stand, and that holds true. I said that Roller Coaster is the perfect “me” song, and it is. Bad Boy, though, is the perfect “me” song for my other main love in kpop; laid-back R&B. Everyone always seems to love the Red side of their music more, but I’ve always been about the Velvet side, and Bad Boy really gave me the perfect Velvet song. It’s everything I ever wanted from Red Velvet, and I’m not sure they’ll ever pass it up for me.

We’re at the end! As always, if you’ve read to this point, I love you, I thank you, and bless you. I’m not a professional writer or music critic, but I love putting together this list every year, and even if only one person reads it and finds it truly interesting, then it was worthwhile. I’m very proud of this list and the work I put into it, and I just hope y’all enjoy it. I began this list on January 1st, but it is now the 2nd (this seems to be a theme for me with this). That said, I wish you all a happy new year, and here’s to another great year of kpop!

Honorable Mentions

MOMOLAND - Bboom Bboom, gugudan - The Boots, CLC - Black Dress, Jeon Soyeon - Idle Song, J-Hope - Daydream, NCT 127 - Touch, DAY6 - Shoot Me, TWICE - Dance the Night Away, SNSD-Oh!GG - Lil’ Touch, Oh My Girl - Remember Me, TWICE - Yes or Yes, Yubin - Thank U Soooo Much, MAMAMOO - Wind Flower

#KHAN #gugudan #IZ*ONE #Sunmi #WJSN #IDLE #GFriend #fromis_9 #Chungha #Red Velvet #Andrew's Top 10 #kpop #personal

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phroyd · 6 years

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Officially, “Respect” is a relationship song. That’s how Otis Redding wrote it. But love wasn’t what Aretha Franklin was interested in. The opening line is “What you want, baby, I got it.” But her “what” is a punch in the face. So Ms. Franklin’s rearrangement was about power. She had the right to be respected — by some dude, perhaps by her country. Just a little bit.What did love have to do with that?

Depending on the house you grew up in and how old you are, “Respect” is probably a song you learned early. The spelling lesson toward the end helps. So do the turret blasts of “sock it to me” that show up here and there. But, really, the reason you learn “Respect” is the way “Respect” is sung. Redding made it a burning plea. Ms. Franklin turned the plea into the most empowering popular recording ever made.

Ms. Franklin died on Thursday, at 76, which means “Respect” is going to be an even more prominent part of your life than usual. The next time you hear it, notice what you do with your hands. They’re going to point — at a person, a car or a carrot. They’ll rest on your hips. Your neck might roll. Your waist will do a thing. You’ll snarl. Odds are high that you’ll feel better than great. You’re guaranteed to feel indestructible.

Ms. Franklin’s respect lasts for two minutes and 28 seconds. That’s all — basically a round of boxing. Nothing that’s over so soon should give you that much strength. But that was Aretha Franklin: a quick trip to the emotional gym. Obviously, she was far more than that. We’re never going to have an artist with a career as long, absurdly bountiful, nourishing and constantly surprising as hers. We’re unlikely to see another superstar as abundantly steeped in real self-confidence — at so many different stages of life, in as many musical genres.

That self-confidence wasn’t evident only in the purses and perms and headdresses and floor-length furs; the buckets and buckets of great recordings; the famous demand that she always be paid before a show, in cash; or the Queen of Soul business — the stuff that keeps her monotonously synonymous with “diva.” It was there in whatever kept her from stopping and continuing to knock us dead. To paraphrase one of Ms. Franklin’s many (many) musical progeny: She slayed. “Respect” became an anthem for us, because it seemed like an anthem for her.

The song owned the summer of 1967. It arrived amid what must have seemed like never-ending turmoil — race riots, political assassinations, the Vietnam draft. Muhammad Ali had been stripped of his championship title for refusing to serve in the war. So amid all this upheaval comes a singer from Detroit who’d been around most of the decade doing solid gospel R&B work. But there was something about this black woman’s asserting herself that seemed like a call to national arms. It wasn’t a polite song. It was hard. It was deliberate. It was sure. And that all came from Ms. Franklin — her rumbling, twanging, compartmentalized arrangement. It came, of course, from her singing.

Because lots of major pop stars now have great, big voices, maybe it’s easy to forget that most Americans had never heard anything quite as dependably great and shockingly big as Ms. Franklin’s. The reason we have watched “Showtime at the Apollo” or “American Idol” or “The Voice” is out of some desperate hope that somebody walks out there and sounds like Aretha. She established a standard for artistic vocal excellence, and it will outlast us all.

She, along with Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, Otis Redding, Tina Turner and Patti LaBelle, changed where the stress fell in popular singing. Now you could glean a story from lyrics but also hear it in the tone of the singer’s voice — agony, ecstasy and everything beyond and in between. Roots, soil, pavement on one hand, the stratosphere on the other.

I know. That does just sound like the art of singing. But when gospel left the church and entered the body — the black body — we called that soul. And a good soul artist could make singing for sex sound like she was singing for God. They call that secular music. But it just repositioned whatelse could be holy. Almost nobody — and even then, maybe just Ray Charles — did as much toggling between and conflating of the religious and the randy with as much sincere athletic imagination and humor andswagger as Ms. Franklin.

“Dr. Feelgood (Love Is a Serious Business),” the hit from 1967 that she co-wrote, never fails to chill, arouse and amuse. Ms. Franklin performs it with a mix of exasperation and smoldering anticipation. That song’s never sounded better or more theatrical than it does on “Aretha Live at Fillmore West,” from 1971. Its structural brilliance is that there’s no robust chorus or melody, just Ms. Franklin, her piano, a blues groove and her mood. She wants a friend to get going so she can have sex with her man. But who’s been shown the door with this much flair?

The song starts, “I don’t want nobody always sitting around me and my man.” You could bake a pie in the pause between “nobody” and “always.” And when she gets to “sitting,” she takes a deep, five-second drag on the “s” so that it sounds less like a consonant and more like a lit fuse. The remaining six and a half minutes put you in exhilarated suspense over when her top’s gonna blow.

There are so many things to love about this performance: its sexiness, its playfulness, its resolve, all the space in the arrangement for Ms. Franklin’s singing to stay low until it takes off high, the way that once she finally connects with Dr. Feelgood himself, the crowd audibly connects with the song or, really, just more deeply connects, since people had been shouting stuff like, “Sing it, Aretha!” between her pauses. You can feel in that moment the hold Ms. Franklin had over anybody who ever saw — or heard — her sing. She worked with bottomless reserves of swagger.

We tend not to think of Ms. Franklin that way — as an artist of bravado and nerve and daring, as a woman with swagger. We tend not to think of her this way even though nearly every song she sang brimmed over with it. (She sang about taking care of business — the old “tcb” — and, consequently, having her business taken care of, as much as she sang about respect.) Swagger we left to the Elvis Presleys and James Browns and Mick Jaggers. But “swagger” is the only word for, say, her approach to the music of other artists.

It didn’t matter whether it was a Negro spiritual or something by the Beatles. It was all wet clay to her. The Supremes, Frank Sinatra, Leonard Cohen, Adele, Simon and Garfunkel, James Taylor, ? and the Mysterians, C & C Music Factory: She oversaw more gut renovations than a general contractor. In 1979, she took the occasion of B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone” to allow her backing singer to exclaim that she (and they) were “free at last.” Toward the end of her funked-up, very fun version of Sam & Dave’s “Hold On, I’m Comin’,” from the 1981 album “Love All the Hurt Away,” she tossed in some “beep-beeps” and a couple of lines from “Little Jack Horner” because she knew she could make it work.

If good soul music is like good barbecue — slow cooked, falls off the bone — by the 1980s, she’d become a pit master, yelping and barking and wailing, but also talking in songs, sermonizing. You know the char and gristle, the bits of sugar and salt and fat on, say, a perfectly done slab of ribs? Most of this woman’s songs were blackened that way. Yet if Ms. Franklin told you she was going to take a classic R&B song and throw in a little nursery rhyme, you’d be nervous. Did 1986 really need a cover of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash?” Probably not. But she did it anyway — and robustly — and threw in a “hallelujah” while she was at it.

But, by that point, Ms. Franklin seemed well on her way to becoming somebody who might have relished the culture’s doubt. She loved music too much to be vestigial or nostalgic or relegated. She wanted — you know, what she wanted. And eventually respect was tricky to come by. I, at least, remember sitting on my bed watching the 1998 Grammys and hearing that she’d be filling in for Luciano Pavarotti and rolling my eyes. Ms. Franklin knew. She went out there, sang some Puccini, and left the nation in shock.The Queen of Opera, too?

Is it possible that despite the milestones and piles of Grammys (the now-defunct female R&B vocal performance category seemed invented just for her; she won the first eight), despite famously having been crowned the greatest singer of all time in a vast Rolling Stone survey, despite being Aretha Franklin, the Greatest was also rather underrated — as a piano player, as an arranger (who had a greater imagination when it came to coloring a song with backing singers), as an album artist? Despite the world’s bereavement over her death, despite her having been less a household name and more a spiritual resident of our actual home, despite giving us soundtracks for loneliness, for lovemaking, for joy, for church, cookouts and bars, despite the induction ceremonies, medals and honorary degrees, despite her having been the only Aretha most of us have ever heard of, is it possible that we’ve taken her for granted, that in failing to make her president, a saint or her own country, we still might not have paid her enough respect? Just a little bit.

Phroyd

#franklin #aretha

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that-bwitch · 6 years

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Atmosphere

Inspiration came from Atmosphere by Bebe Rexha, one of my beloved singers. Lyrics of this song say everything basically and they're written in italics.

It was the first time you didn't spend the whole night crying in your pillow. It was the first time you said "I'm alright" in order to answer the "How're you?" question. It was the first time you were able to actually think through everything that happened to you and Sirius. You were standing at the top of Astronomy Tower, your usual spot to go to when you needed nobody to distract you. The night has already covered the neighbourhood and temperature has decreased from what it was like even two hours before. You were staring afar in the beautiful sky. Stars have appeared and you wished you could tell constellations among them. But you were never really good in Astronomy itself so you always asked Sirius for help. Oh, and here he was, back in your head again. Originally, coming here, you wanted to think about it but somehow abandoned those thoughts. Now, once this boy flashed in your brains, you couldn't. Tears tickled your eyes all of a sudden, when you remembered the day you two met. You tried to hold them and stay calm and rational but it didn't help and you felt a single tear running down your cheek anyway. From the very start of that thing between you and Sirius you knew it probably wouldn't work out. Nothing was right at that moment.

I feel in the beginning when we're living we were tripping, we were so high.

You ended up at a party somehow. How did that happen? You were never a party kinda girl but suddenly was spotted with a bottle of red wine of some sort — you honestly didn't know what it was — in your dress a lot higher than you'd normally like it to be, dancing to some wild rock'n'roll. Your friend, who you came here with, disappeared immidiately with a guy who you didn't even know existed til' this moment, which was kind of a shame, that meant you didn't know your housemates very well. You also didn't know the place you were at. It was, of course, in Hogwarts, but apparently not everyone knew about it — including you until today. The party was loud and wild and you found nothing better than taking a bottle of wine standing right next to you. You were now in the middle of the dancefloor with that same bottle trying to sing along to a song you didn't know lyrics of. You have never been so drunk in your life — not that you drank every night, and, let's be honest, even when you did, you couldn't manage to keep your eyes open after the second glass of any type of alcohol. But now everything wasn't right, so you didn't bother yourself thinking about sipping the whole bottle in two or three goes.

"Getting drunk are we?"

You somehow managed to hear those words through the loud music and they seemed to be said directly to you. You turned your head to see who the hell was talking. A very handsome young man was standing right behind you, smirking and holding a bottle of nothing but firewhiskey. At first your slightly blurred vision didn't let you recognise him but some seconds later, as you were staring at him, you clearly knew exactly who he was. It was The Star himself, and the star by all means. It was Sirius Black, the boy who was wanted by a good half of Hogwarts and who probably slept with at least a quater of them. You weren't the one to claim he's not extremely attractive and overly hot. But you also weren't the one to claim you wanted to have a relationship with Sirius. Everyone knew how much of a womanizer he was and you just didn't want your heart to be broken. Right now though all these thoughts have disappeared from your head all of a sudden.

"Well... Same about you, huh?" You looked at the bottle he was holding, half empty.

"I'm just tired," he said, yawning and taking another sip of firewhiskey. He didn't seem drunk at all so a thought crawled into your mind that such parties weren't a rareness for him. You wouldn't be surprised in this case.

He looked at you, grinning, and held out his hand, offering you the bottle of firewhiskey.

"You better try this baby and not that shitty... whatever you were drinking before."

To be honest, you have never tried firewhiskey in your entire life. Your friends suggested it several times but you always rejected. Now though you wiillingly accepted Sirius' offer, took the bottle from his hand and made a satisfied noise feeling the scent of strong alcohol. At some other times you would've hated yourself for doing this but now you didn't really care. You took a large sip and a hot sensation burnt you from inside. It was kinda pleasant to feel and seemed to be doing its job instantly — for you at least. Your mind turned off completely and all you saw now was Sirius' grinning face.

"I guess you're already over the moon, love," he said, coming closer.

You haven't had any idea of why he just called you love and approached so impermissible but turned out, you were more than down to it. He grabbed your waist and pulled you even closer.

"Don't you think it's too many people out here?" he whispered and you felt his breath on your lips.

"Indeed," you whispered back, your knees weakening all of a sudden.

"We should get out then."

You knew nothing would work out. You knew you were his another one nightstand. But who fucking cared?

It was now that you understood you shouldn't have done that, standing at the top of the Astronomy Tower and getting colder and colder every minute. Another memory appeared, causing a lot more tears than expected.

When you tell me that you love me were you bluffin'?

He caught you by the hand while you were running down the hallway in order not to be late to Potions. You knew it was him — his hands couldn't have been mistaken. You turned around and were met buy his beautiful eyes. He looked worried, to say the least.

"Is something wrong?" you said, smiling sadly because you knew what it was. You knew he noticed that you were abandoning him since that day. He was trying to talk to you for three days now because after you woke up in his bed, you realised that you shouldn't have done that and silently left.

"Something is clearly wrong, Y/N!" he almost shouted. He quite surprised you with a knowledge of your name. "You're abandoning me, am I right?"

"Why would I?" you asked, knowing the exact answer to this quiestion.

"Well, I don't know and I want to."

"I suppose everything's pretty clear, Sirius."

You didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain anything. You were afraid of truth being let out and the truth was that you were in love. You stopped avoiding it long before the party incident. You were in love with Sirius Black and he surely wasn't in love with you. Your heart had already been broken and you didn't need any more pain.

"Not for me! I don't understand! I thought we were like... a thing now. After what happened, I mean."

"So you want to say it wasn't for just one night?"

You didn't believe him. You wanted to but you didn't. It was Sirius Black after all. Everyone knew his nature.

"No, it wasn't! Listen, Y/N," he held your hand, caressing it with his thumb. "I know what they say about me — that I'm just one hell of a womanizer and all that shit. But that's not true. I just haven't found the right girl yet. Until three days ago..."

These words were so cliche. You've heard them at least twice in your life, from your exes who, turned out later, cheated on you. Nothing believable was in these words but you wanted to trust Sirius so bad.

"Dou you believe me?"

You were ready to say no. This was the most logical and right answer now. You say now and go away and he never bothers you again.

"Yes."

This single word somehow escaped your mouth and you couldn't take it back. You saw a smile growing on Sirius' face and wanted to cry because you knew you will agree with everything he says from now on. He had that influence on you.

"Will you be my girlfriend then?"

He asked it like it was simple and natural but for you it wasn't, yet the answer remained the same.

"Yes," you whispered.

"I love you," he said happily, kissing your cheek. You blushed and a sparkle of hope appeared in your soul. Maybe he wasn't all that bad. You couldn't have given your heart to the wrong person, right?

As it turned out, you actually could have done that, unless you wouldn't be slightly shaking of cold and silently crying right now. That's right, crying again. Because then you remembered everything good you had together, those nights you spent counting stars, him showing you constellations, you laughing at his jokes and holding his hand when you were nervous. All of that just disappeared one day when he told you something.

"We need to go our separate ways," he said, biting his lower lip and looking everywhere but at you.

And your whole world fell apart. You were destroyed and crumbled into pieces. It might have been nothing for him but meant everything to you. And it was crushed.

"Was it nothing? Now you're so dry," you answered, shocked and unable to hold tears to yourself.

"I'm sorry, Y/N but... that happens, you know?" he still hasn't glanced at you a single time, finding the floor much more interesting. "It was something at the start and now..."

"You can tell me that you're sorry but I know that you don't mean it, baby," you answered quietly, your voice trembling. "Don't lie."

"I'm not lying, I am incredibly sorry," he seemed lost. Maybe he thought it'll be easier to break up with you. That you will burst into tears and run away. But that didn't happen. You were here in front of him, looking heartbroken and telling him such things.

"Is it my fault?"

"No, it's just what happens, love can't last forever."

"But you told me that forever..." you stopped for a second to sob, but then continued, "was the time we'd be together. You changed your mind so soon?"

He didn't answer. You tried to smile but it was really hard in that moment so you decided that it was good time to leave.

"You know what, I can't blame myself for getting lost inside the promise of you," you added, going away but turning your head. Sirius was still there, staring in a big window on the wall near him. It was a bright sunny day, nothing like your mood right now. "Goodbye, Sirius."

The last words you said to him. Goodbye, Sirius. And since then you've been thinking only about him. You saw him very often and noticed him sometimes staring at you, especially at breakfasts and dinners. He wasn't laughing with his friends and looked extremely down all the time.

You shed so many tears already that you were kinda surprised they kept coming. Suddenly you heard footsteps approaching, turned to see who it was and were met by the two most beautiful eyes in the whole universe.

Sirius surely couldn't have picked a worse time to come. He stood there not really knowing what to do. He could've left but it'd be extremely awkward so he chose to stay as it wasn't an even more awkward choice. Moreover, he decided to actually talk.

"Hey," he said, looking down at his nails, speaking to them as it seemed.

"Oh, hey," you answered, being unable to think of a better reply. You thought of what felt like thousands of ways to meet him but they were kinda erased from your mind by those bewitching eyes staring at you now.

Sirius came closer, standing next to you and looking up at the sky and then at you again.

"You're cold."

It was a statement, not a question so no answer was needed. Sirius took your hands in his and tried warming them up, surprised about how cold they actually felt.

"Thanks."

You stood like this for some minutes until Sirius decided to break the silence.

"Can I talk to you, Y/N?"

"Well, you're doing it now so I guess I have no choice."

"Are you mad?"

That was the most stupid question ever, you almost laughed at how stupid it was.

"I can't blame you leaving." You shrugged, smiling sadly. Tears have surprisingly dried by that moment. "Cause, you know, what's meant to be will always be true."

"Not the first time I hear you saying it. Is it someone's quote?"

"Mine."

You felt his hands holding yours tighter. He was obviously eager to say something. You didn't want another twist of a knife in your heart so you began the conversation now.

"There isn't enough love in the atmosphere to keep you here, Sirius." It was better for both of you if you just say this right now and leave, you thought. But the boy had another intentions.

"Don't leave me here, all alone." He looked just helpless.

"Wasn't that something you did to me?"

It was, it truly was and Sirius couldn't deny that. He looked straight into your eyes and you felt a strange something in your stomach. He pulled you closer and hugged you so tight you were unable to breathe for some seconds. You didn't hug back as your hands weakened all of a sudden.

"I don't want another if we can't have each other," you whispered in his ear. "You still feel no love, right?"

"I don't."

"But can we try?"

He didn't answer. Instead he pressed his lips against yours and nothing sweet or gentle was in that kiss. No feelings. Nothing. But, you guessed, it was a "yes".

This might or might not have been your last kiss. But he was still there, he chose you for now. And in your messed up mind nothing was better to realise.

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gregoryfranks · 6 years

Text

Through the years.

10 years old i saw a change in the way i perceived women and girls

No longer did i think of them the same way playing tag with them didnt seem as interesting as this strange urge to hold their hands as the bell for recess chimed three times.

I started to develop crushes and like girls as more than somebody to play capture with(a game my class made up where girls would capture boys and vice versa and whoever had the most amounts of prisoners by end of recess won. ((The girls usually won)))

I didnt act on it till i was in the second semester of 6th grade. I liked this girl named essence and she seemed nice enough so i went to the store and being the little romantic i am i bought flowers, chocolate, and a card that said something bout puppy love and had a tiny golden retriever on it i signed my name and asked her to be my valentine she told me to meet her by the stair case during lunch. I go and she tells me to close my eyes and next thing i know im falling down the stairs after being punched or kicked in the chest and as im falling all i can hear is her sneer "you think you actually stood a chance with me thats sad." Before i blackout. I wake up in the nurses office my dad sitting by me asking what happened i lied and said i fell down the stairs

Im 13 years old and id been reading the bible particularly something my pastor had spoken on in passing one sunday talking to a couple to be engaged about the greatest love poem ever written called the songs of solomon so i checked it out liked what i read wrote it down put it in an envelope and gave it to my crush while my heart was pounding in my chest she read it outloud to the school and her "boyfriend" and his goons jumped me after school i didnt even know who that guy was and for the next week thats all id heard was the lyrics to the poem while being ragged on all day

13 years old i was accused of being a terrorist and saying i was going to shoot up the school in addition to the ass beating i got from my dad and kids at school i was placed in alternative school for 55 days and held the title of terrorist kid for the next 5 years but thats a different story i got out and made a friend in sarah batiste who took every secret and spread it round school and i didnt find this out till 8th grade prom when she was supposed to be my date but just walked in with me and left after a 10 second dance and i over heard her laughing about it

At 13 i was told to kill myself and the world would be a better place after telling a girl i liked her hair

at 14 my best friend started dating the girl i liked and didnt tell me i had to find out after getting jumped by the school thugs the day after i asked his advice for it

At 14 i was being called a rapist and creep and terrorist and stalker and cunt and bitch and nigger and faggot and had nobody i could trust

At 14 i was beat up weekly just because

At 14 i would try and talk to new kids only to find out everybody already told them the rumors about me and that really sucked

At 15 i foolishly decided to sing in a talent show and was promptly beat for it the next day even though i did pretty well and was to be essentially drafted into choir the next year (i continued to sing and dance it made me happy despite the consequences)

At 16 girls would pretend to date me just to embarrass me in front of their friends and rejection hotline became the most called number in my phone eventually i would call it myself just to chuckle cuz it was pretty funny

At 16 i was adducted to porn and masturbation because besides singing and dancing it was the only time i felt good

At 17 i was drugged at lunch cuz somebody thought it would be funny i passed out the next class for 12 hours

At 17 i stopped getting jumped cuz i was big enough and strong enough and fast enough to keep up sadly i could only handle 4 people at once i still hadnt even held hands

At 17 my parents start encouraging me to come out the closet even though i wasnt gay

At 17 i stopped giving a damn about rejection i didnt really feel anything anymore the mean comments stopped and were replaced by "no thank you" " im sorry i think of you as a friend" "it wouldnt work out" and my fav "you are such a great guy you are going to make somebody so happy one day like you are going to be such a great boyfriend husband and father one day." It was refreshing i didnt hate myself anymore cuz ya know progress

At 18 i had a date to prom walked into our hotel room to go to sleep and found her fucking some dude in my bed

At 18 i was raped and went home and played dragonball z budakai ten/3 for a couple of hours before watching porn and jerking off for a couple of hours

At 18 i fell in love with somebody and joined the navy to show them i wasnt a fuckboy like i had portrayed myself and due to not having any experience ruined it (its a really long story) and im still in love with her to this day

At 19 was told that if i killed myself in boot camp to do it in a way that wasnt messy

At 19 i was told by a guy in class that if he was me he would have killed himself years ago

At 20 i used this girl for sex to keep my mind off the person i really wanted to be with

At 21 i had a drunken one night stand witha white girl and was told to fuck her with my nigger dick

At 21 i walked in on my valentine date getting fucked doggystyle when i went to pick her up

At 22 im accussed of rape by a white girl and kicked out the navy even though all evidence pointed to my innocence

At 22 im used as a bank by a girl i felt i could fall in love with and had finally had a relationship and could marry this woman only to find out the past 9 months meant nothing and she thought of me as a friend

At 23 i gave up

At 23 i once again start contemplating killing myself

At 23 i have a hard time wondering if any ody would miss me

At 23 i pay for sex twice in 3 weeks

At 23 im just coasting through life wondering what the fuck is wrong with me

At 23 i just stopped caring and to make others think im okay i paint on my old mask of being happy even though in dying inside

At 23 im bout to get off lunch paint my mask back on and continue living day to day

At 23 im lonely and tired and i hate myself but i also love myself and think im the shit

At 23 i have so many conflicting emotions i have no idea what im thinking or doing half the time

At 23 hi my names greg i like singing dancing and acting i know damn near everything there is to know about dragonball z naruto and spider man both peter and miles. I still try and love all those that cross my path be it for a season or a reason i have been in love i have lusted ive cried ive thought of dying and have some of the best friends in the world who lift me up when im feeling low and push me down when im getting way to high

At 23 i think im still worthy of being loved and cared for one day maybe not today tomorrow 5 years from normw or 20 but somebody one day is going to love me for me

At 23 im going to post this knowing nobody will read it ill be surprised if im proven wrong

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