#Madison Avenue Look
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scopOphilic_micromessaging_958 - scopOphilic1997 presents a new micro-messaging series: small, subtle, and often unintentional messages we send and receive verbally and non-verbally.
#scopOphilic1997#scopOphilic#digitalart#micromessaging#streetart#graffitiart#graffiti#brooklyn#nyc#photographers on tumblr#original photographers#ArtistsOnTumblr#2005#2007#Madison Avenue#briefs#stud#2xist#Burning Flesh Fish Quivering Exausted Breath Touching Sking Leviticus#your Mother Is looking for you#BIOHAZARDtan#green#tan#blue#orange#black#white
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Try a Little Tenderness
Paring: Mob Boss! Steve Rogers x Reader
Word count: 3.7 K
Summary: Steve can’t win you with presents. He’s got to try a little tenderness.
Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, SMUT, Lil bit of ANGST. Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Pining, flirting, organized crime, implied ice skating, teasing, former jerky boyfiend, inexperienced reader, nipple play, oral (both receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) breeding kink, size kink, crying during sex, violence (due to mob world).
A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask.
I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.
I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
“Good morning, Steve!”
You were stocking onions, but you looked up and smiled as the tall blond entered the store, setting off the bell. He was well built and handsome and wearing a fine wool coat with a red scarf. It was a cool December, but New York had not yet had its first big snowfall.
“Mornin’, Ambrosia,” came his gruff response.
You kind of liked his early morning voice. And the nickname. The first time he came in, he’d picked up an apple, already biting into it but also already paying. He handed you a twenty and said, “Mmmmm, Name?”, pointing to you with the apple. Flustered, you replied with the name of the apple instead of your name and the rest was history.
This morning, Steve smiled at you and his blue eyes were sparkling. They always sparkled when he looked at you. He seemed very sweet.
“The usual.”
You laughed and went behind the counter to wash your hands.
“Of course, already had the fixin’s set up for you.”
You started the water for the espresso and got out the fresh everything bagels you’d put aside for him. Steve was one of your best customers, coming in every morning, and several evenings. He’d been coming in for about four months now.
Steve settled at the counter and watched you prepare his food. He looked at his watch: 7:42 am. He knew you'd been at work almost two hours now and that you were working very hard. One of your braids had come undone from your bun, and he wanted to put it back, but he didn’t touch you. You wore no makeup, yet your skin always glowed, and when you looked up at him, his heart nearly stopped.
You were naturally beautiful. And your apron did not hide your curves. Or the fact that you were wearing the same pants that you’d worn three days ago. Steve figured that you didn’t have many clothes. He had the urge to take you shopping on Madison Avenue and let you go crazy. But somehow he knew you would never blow a load of cash on clothing. And that’s part of why he was so far gone on you.
He watched you battle your espresso machine with bemusement.
“Why haven’t you set up your new machine yet?”
You stopped and put your hands on your hips, looking so cute that Steve restrained himself from jumping over the counter.
“Is that from you?” You shook your head. “I suspected it.”
Steve had unexpectedly given you many gifts, the espresso machine, a cash register. He’d even tried to have a new walk in cooler installed. You refused and sent back everything he’d sent. It wasn’t right. He barely knew you.
You wondered what he did for a living, always dressed in the finest and able to afford multiple thousand dollar gifts. You figured that he was one of those Angel investors. Well, he wasn’t very good at being anonymous.
You watched as Steve gave you a lopsided grin, then leaned over the counter toward him.
“Listen. Steve. Mr. Rogers.”
You looked from his eyes, to his perfect lips, to his golden St. Christopher’s medal. He smelled so damn good. You bit your lip and Steve smiled, warmed by your proximity. This was his chance.
“Yeah, Ambrosia?”
“I’m not taking your gifts.”
You straightened up abruptly, handed him his drinks and finished his order. You gave him two folded newspapers.
“One Daily News for your friend and one News Day for you.”
“Have you thought about it yet?”
You raised your eyebrow at him.
“About what?”
You thought he was finally going to ask you on a date. You knew the main reason he came in was to check you out. But you weren’t about to be bought.
“About the possibility of getting The Times in here? Alright, the Sunday Times at least.”
“Sorry Steve, it doesn’t sell. If it doesn’t sell, I don’t order. Can’t afford a non starter. But I do subscribe to the Sunday Times myself for the crossword. You can borrow mine any time.”
You winked at him. Something about Steve brought out your inner flirt.
Steve wanted to say something about sharing the Sunday Times in bed, but he thought better of it. Any other girl, and he would have been able to spit all kinds of game. But with you, he was tongue tied.
Steve sipped his coffee and shook his head as you gave him his bag.
“You are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”
You waved at him as he stood up.
“Have a great day!”
Steve chuckled at your dismissal as he walked out of the door. Bucky was waiting by the car. Steve handed him his cup and sandwich.
“Send Sam to pick up the espresso machine.”
“Still a tough nut, eh?”
“Yeah. She’s still refusing gifts…”
Steve got in the passenger seat while Bucky sat behind the wheel.
“Instead of giving her all of this expensive shit, why don’t you just be nice to her?Ask her out ice skating or something.”
Steve scoffed. He didn’t know how to ask a girl out anymore. He felt like that scrawny kid running around with Bucky back in the day. Now, women were always clawing at each other to get to him. And they always wanted something.
Steve didn’t respond to Bucky, just asked about his calendar.
“What’s on the agenda for today, Buck?”
“We gotta meet with the truckers today. They don’t want to bend to our terms.” Steve put on his sunglasses.
“We know what to do to make ‘em bend, don't we Buck?”
“Sure do, buddy.”
You were in your walk up apartment above the store halfway listening to the 10 o’clock news. They were doing a story about an explosion at the Eatern Tri-State Trucking hub in Bay Ridge as you put your body oil on after your shower. The reporter indicated that authorities thought that the Valkyrie crime organization was behind it. You were zoning out looking forward to the next day.
You were glad that Janie and Nate would be back at work tomorrow. Nate had just taken a week off, and Janie had recovered from the flu. You were going to take the next afternoon off. You could have taken the entire day, but you wanted to open up for some reason.
Running an organic bodega in Brooklyn was a tough job, but the business was growing, but it was even tougher when your help was not there. You deserved a bit of a break.
The next morning, you were humming an Otis Redding song when Steve came in. You looked over your shoulder and caught him looking at your ass.
“Good morning, Mr. Rogers.”
“Mornin’ Ambrosia.”
“The usual?”
Steve wanted to say no, I want to ask you to marry me, but that might be a little too forward.
“Yeah.”
He sat down at the counter and noticed that you had on something brand new. When you turned around, he gestured to your outfit.
“What’s the occasion?”
You looked down and then grinned.
“This outfit is my Christmas present to myself. I’m taking the afternoon off and I’m going into the city to go to the Central Public Library.”
Steve tried to respect your glee. But he had to do it.
“How thrilling.”
“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch, “ you quipped.
Steve laughed at you. He thought about what Bucky said the day before.
“Grinch hunh. Well, would a Grinch offer to take you ice skating instead?”
You turned around and leaned on the counter. Steve leaned toward you.
“I don’t know. Are you offering, Mr. Grinch?”
You loved teasing him. Steve groaned.
“C’mon. I’m trying here. Ambrosia. Do you want to go ice skating with me in the city this afternoon? And to dinner afterward.”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
Steve was very close to you now, staring at your lips.
“Yes.”
You stood up and put your hands on your hips.
“It’s about time. Sure!”
Steve laughed at how easy it was. You shoved his order into his hands.
“Pick me up at 1.”
Steve was grinning like an idiot out at the car, and didn't know how he got there.
“So you finally asked her out, hunh?”
Steve snapped out of it as he got in the passenger seat.
“Move the talks up to 10. I’m taking the afternoon off.”
“Rumlow is stalling. I can handle it this evening.”
“You sure?”
Bucky looked at his best friend.
“Sure as shootin’.”
You and Steve had a great afternoon, and Steve thought that ice skating was genius. He had to thank Bucky. You had to hold hands to stay steady, and when he pulled you in close, you didn’t pull back so you could stay warm. He didn’t know that you were thinking the same things.
Steve got to treat you to Via Carota and you two walked right in. The food was great, the wine was amazing, and you even stole a kiss in your corner booth. The night was perfect.
He drove you back to your place and you sat in the car for a minute. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and you were the one to make the first move with the kiss. You looked at him quizzicaly.
“Can I ask you something, Steve?”
“Yes, Ambrosia, anything.”
“After today, this afternoon and tonight. Do you still like me?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course. Why do you ask?”
You looked down.
“Well, you’ve been such a gentleman. I see how you look at me, all hungry all the time. And the gifts. I don’t know. I just thought you’d be. You know. More…”
“Aggressive?” Steve responded.
“Well. yeah. I just thought.”
You looked back up and saw that Steve’s eyes had darkened.
“I am not a gentle man in my everyday life, Ambrosia. And I know that I can come on strong. But you make me want to be tender with you. I want to cherish you.”
“Oh.”
And Steve pulled you in for a sweet, but sexy kiss.
“So, yes, I still like you. And I have very aggressive thoughts about you. Want to ruin you in fact. But I want to do it carefully. Make you feel it. And make you glad you did.”
“Oh. No one has ever…damn, Steve.”
He recognized that you had been hurt.
“Here’s an aggressive question. What kind of an asshole would make you feel that way about yourself? His name is all I need.”
You laughed.
“Do you want to come up for the answer?” You cocked your head at him as he chuckled and nodded.
“Yes.”
When you got up to your place, you were settled with a glass of wine on your couch.
“I’m not going to give you his name, but I will tell you that we were together for a few months, and we only did it a few times. He’s the only one I’ve ever been with.”
The way you looked as him made Steve’s heart soft, but other things hard.
“It…It didn’t feel good. He said I was frigid and too small. I… I went to the doctor and everything. She said I was fine physically. So I figured it must have been in my mind and I haven’t been able to get out of my head after that. He broke it off and then I just decided to focus on work.”
You peered at Steve to see his reaction.
Steve’s eyes flashed with anger, then cooled.
“That joker is a fucking idiot.”
His eyes traced your body.
“He didn’t know what to do with all this?”
Steve reached for you and kissed you, this time with undeniable passion. You broke away and stood up, offering him your hand.
“Show me, Steve.”
He stood up and followed you to your bedroom.
You stood at the foot of the bed and reached up to kiss Steve, and he picked you up and sat down, sitting you down with both of your legs over his. You made out like this, Steve’s hands still in neutral places until you whined and scooted closer to him.
Then, he went under your sweater, finding your nipple in your bra and brushing it with his thumb. He was exhibiting intense will power, but he couldn’t hold it all back as you responded to his passionate kisses.
Steve lifted your sweater off and your tank top, which was underneath, with it. Your bra contained your breasts, but your nipples were erect and straining against the material. He brought your body towards his for a kiss, his thick fingers pressing and playing with your sensitive buttons. He had you squirming on his lap as he reached around and expertly unfastened your bra.
He looked down at you and then back up, eyes hungry. You’d been yearning for that look.
“I’m gonna cherish this moment, get you ready for me, Baby. You’re gonna feel so good.”
He was weighing and kneading your breast and tenderly flicking your nipple, then he leaned down and kissed you, moving down your neck and collarbone, descending your chest and kissing all around your areolas, teasing your stiff nipples.
He had you moaning and writhing, wanting some friction for your cunt.
“Patience, Baby. You’re gonna get everything you deserve. Including this.”
Steve moved your hand to the hard member in his pants, which you tried to grip in vain through his slacks. You whimpered in frustration.
“I know. I know. I want to do so many things with you.”
Steve’s fingers were in your leggings, through our panties and tracing your wet pussy lips gently as he finally started sucking your nipples. You pulled his hair wantonly as he teased you.
“Mmmmm. Who’s got you all wet, Ambrosia?” he asked, as he pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth.
“Y-you, Steve… unhhhhh.”
The sight of him relishing your taste made you even wetter. And he found out, because his hand was right back down your pants.
His lips were at your ear and he was breathing hard.
“Can I…”
His thick finger parted your lips and the rough pads of two fingers slid over your clit into your wetness. You arched your back in anticipation.
“...Can I eat you out, my sweet Ambrosia?”
His voice and the request sent you on a tailspin. You nodded vigorously as Steve pulled his hand out to your whine of desperation at the loss of contact.
You quickly stood up as Steve captured your hips to stand still in front of him. His eyes raked up and down your form as he took hold of the waistband of your pants, and slowly pulled them and your panties down your legs. You stepped out of them and Steve’s hands ran back up your form as you looked down at him. He grabbed the backs of your thighs as he pulled you near him.
Steve put one knee over his shoulder and stared at your most intimate part.
“She’s a sweet little flower. So pretty and tight.”
His fingers were parting your folds so he could see even more.
“But she will be ready for my thick cock, I know she will, Ambrosia.”
He pulled you forward and held you up as he licked through you, almost causing a near stroke as far as you could tell.
“Mmmmmm,” Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head. “You are so sweet. I could eat you all night.”
You almost cried as he dove back in, grabbing his hair for purchase. He grabbed your bottom and stood to place you on the bed. He kneeled on the floor and held you down and open with his huge hands.
Steve started his feast, gently licking at first, then made you build to a crescendo as he started tongue fucking you. He made sure to stimulate your nipples, and when he felt your hard little nub vibrate, he sucked your clit hard as you came.
“Was that good?”
“Oh my stars, that was good.”
You both laughed.
“You’re so fucking cute, Ambrosia, but there’s levels to this.”
You sat up and watched as he took off his shirt. You were sure that your eyes were sparkling now.
“It’s just going to get better and better.”
He was just clad in his black boxer briefs, a huge bulge leading the charge. He reached in and you were certain that he was going to pull out an entire pack of socks, but instead, he showed you the largest, thickest dick you’d ever seen. Your eyes were like saucers. You were a little afraid, but your legs fell open out of reflex.
“See what you do to me?”
You bit your lip and nodded, reaching out and touching it tentatively.
“I’ve never seen one that big.”
You looked up at him and his heart melted simultaneously as his cock jumped. Your trembling fingers around him made him almost bathe your hand in his spend.
“Oh, Baby.. So sweet.”
“You are too, Steve. I want to taste you.”
You looked up at him through your lashes and Steve groaned, trembling with the effort to hold back.
“Christ… I’m…I…. Whatever you want, Baby.”
You stared at his cock for what seemed like forever. Then, you tentatively reached out and kitten licked his tip, causing him to groan as he palmed the back of your head.
“You’re killing me here, Ambrosia.”
“Hmmm.” You smiled. “Lay down for me, Steve.”
He did as he was told and put his arm behind his head to watch you. The way his muscles bulged inspired you anew. He reached down and roamed his fingers over your body as you hovered over him. You stroked him a couple of times and then played with his balls, Steve putty in your hands.
“B-babyyyy.”
You smiled in triumph that you had him whining as you spread your lips over the thick mushroom cap and sucked it into your mouth vigorously, causing him to moan and buck his hips up. You took the cue and drew him into your mouth, making him hit the back of your throat and gag.
“Holyyyyyy sssssshit. Stop. StopStopStopStop.”
Steve pulled you off his dick, which made you release him with a plop. He sat up and stared at you, disbelief in his eyes.
���Did I do it wrong?”
“Did you do it wrong. Fuck, you almost made me…. C’mere.”
You giggled as you ended up with your back on the bed again, Steve eating you out, this time one finger inside you as you came. You were in shambles as he looked up at you and inserted another finger inside as his opposite thumb stroked your still-quivering clit.
“Gotta get you up to three. Hold on.”
You did, and when he crooked his fingers this time, you let out a wail that caused dogs to bark down the street.
After your fourth orgasm, Steve looked up, smiling ear to ear.
“Still want this dick?”
You scowled at him.
“If you don’t…”
He laughed as he kneeled between your legs, stroking the magnificent beast. You opened your legs even wider and stared down at it.
“No. look at me, look at me. You’re ready. I got you Baby.”
Steve supported himself with one arm as he got nearer to you and started swiping his head between your folds. You keened as he entered you.
“Ow. Steveeeee.”
Your face looked so adorable as you struggled to take him.
“Holy shit, you’re, fuck you’re so….”
Steve kissed you through your moan of shock and pleasure as he slid all the way home. You gripped his bicep, your fingernails leaving marks. Steve pecked your lips as you pounded together, waiting for you to get used to him.
“You ok? You good?”
Steve checked to make sure you were okay. You nodded at him with tears in your eyes.
“I- I- think it feels good. You’re so big, Steveee. But.. but I like it….”
You started moving, a little at first, and then more wantonly. Steve looked down to where you were impaled upon his dick.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You are perfect. Just so.. Fucking… tiny…. But made for me…Shit.”
You felt Steve’s cock jumping inside you when he said those words, and you clasped your hands behind his back and uttered, “More!”
And that’s when you began to get fucked. Tenderly yet filthily. It was the best Steve had ever had, trying to be gentle and knowing that he wanted to put the bed under the ground. It was such a turn on. The ragged moans that you gave him with each stroke was a gift from god, and he started cumming before he could think.
“Shit! I didn’t use a condom…Fuck. But why does that just motivate me to keep going?”
Steve laughed into your ear as he kept stroking for dear life. He was usually so careful, knowing that most women wanted his kid. But with you he didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around him, taking the pounding he was giving you now.
“Hmmmmmm. You want me to put a baby inside you? Pump you so full of cum that you get all round and full with my seed?”
“Hnnnnghhh. Steve… I…”
“Tell me. Do you want it? You want me to get you pregnant?”
“Ohhhh shitttttttt! Steeeveeeeee!”
You detonated around him and Steve cursed, finally pulling out and jacking hard onto your stomach as three fingers on the other hand continued to fuck you through your orgasm. His pearly spend looked beautiful on your skin.
“So gorgeous. There’s time for that yet, but we gotta get you to a doctor, because I don’t want to do this too many more times. And fucking you with condoms is no longer an option.”
You were fucked out, absentmindedly playing in his cum, causing him to spurt one last rope onto your fingers. When you brought them to your mouth was when he shivered. He collapsed beside you.
“I can’t even explain how good that was.”
You just smiled at him, lips shiny with gloss that he made.
“You are an angel. A Christmas angel.”
Steve sighed as you smiled at him. He got up and went to your bathroom to clean up and get a warm towel.
“I’m hungry.”
“Anything you want, Babe. I’ll get it for you.”
You grabbed the remote and turned on the tv, catching the tail end of the news.
“Shootout in DUMBO tonight between the Rumlow and Valkyrie crime organizations. Several high-ranking officers dead or injured, including Brock Rumlow and James Bucky Barnes. More news when we have it.”
“Steve? Bucky? What’s going on? Valkyrie?”
Steve was up and grabbing for his clothes, an inscrutable look on his face.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I gotta go.”
He gave you a quick kiss.
“Don’t leave. Sam will come back with some food for you and he will stay with you. Don’t open the store tomorrow.”
“But Steve!”
“No buts! I will call.”
And then Steve disappeared into the night, leaving you with so many questions.
Knock that reblog button off the block fa me. 😉
Read part two, All I Want.
#dj’salliwant4kchristmas22#Steve Rogers#mob boss steve rogers#mob boss!steve#chris evans#chris evans imagine#steve rogers smut#Steve Rogers x reader#steve rogers x black reader#chris evans smut#bucky barnes
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- YOU’RE MINE -
Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.
Warnings: This story will contain fluff, suggestion, smut and angst- not sure what else yet! Some love bombing but we love a needy Trent
Note: I was planning on keeping this just for myself so please be nice. I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6 - ‘You’re Mine’
His fingers laced between yours as the summer sun sunk on the horizon in between the buildings in Manhattan. You walked down Madison Avenue popping in and out of some stores before dinner. You were caught in a conversation with one of Trent’s friends talking about something frivolous when you walked by Van Clef & Arpels.
“Ugh! I’d die honestly” you said staring into the brick and mortar window at a particularly ridiculous necklace; it’s audacious shimmer reflecting in your eye. Trent just looked at you falling in love with a piece of jewelry like he wished you would with him.
“You’re so dramatic, relax, it’s a necklace” his friend still next to you said.
“It’s not just a necklace though” you assured him.
“You don’t want to match with me, baby?” Trent interjected into the conversation pointing at a version of the bracelet he currently had on.
“Nah, mate. It’s not the look” his friend speaking before you even could tear your eyes away from the necklace that held your attention.
“I actually really like T’s” you corrected the boy. “Looks good on you baby” you spoke amorously now to Trent but hadn’t turned your head to actually look at him. “This necklace though... You don’t understand.” It was a ‘10 Motif’ necklace in white gold, like Trent’s, but unlike his, this one was covered with diamonds.
“If someone ever bought me this, I would beg them to be in a relationship with me.. would have to be my boyfriend..have to marry them” you sighed not realizing what you were saying caught in a greedy haze.
“That’s insane but sure.” Trent’s friend shook his head at your rational. Trent on the other hand had to stop himself from just walking into the store and buying it for you then.
You squeezed Trent’s hand, missing the connection as you continued to walk down the avenue. He was also a little lost in the moment but responded to the squeeze with a kiss to the back of your hand.
A few days passed like this; filled with the word ‘baby,’ sharing secrets, stolen kisses and a lot of sex.. like a lot. You couldn’t pull yourself off or away from him, you were completely hooked. He was everything to you. You were completely submissive to him, you were his.
You laid tucked on the hotel bed in Trent’s arms. This had become your favorite place to be. You both had gotten ready for dinner, the last one of Trent’s trip, the other boys all had met up in Tyler’s room before they planned to leave but you and Trent had opted to cuddle a little in your room till the Ubers arrived. Your head nuzzled into his neck, your hand drawing patterns over his button up shirt.
“Baby” he spoke between kisses to your temple. You only hummed in response.
“I’m gonna miss you so much, beautiful” Trent continued speaking. His words stung. As much as you two had discussed over the past few days how much you liked one another and your rough plans it still hurt to be reminded about his impending departure.
“T… I can’t even think about that. It actually makes my heart hurt, please.” You said nuzzling your head further into him.
“I know, baby. I just hope you know really how much I’ll miss you” he placed another kiss onto you.
“I do” you giggled a little back, swooning over his kiss. “Do you know how much I’m going to miss you baby?”
“Don’t know… show me.” He said pulling at your body. You leaned up to kiss his lips. “It won’t be that long though, I promise” he continued talking.
“5 and a ½ weeks is pretty long considering I haven’t left your side for days. Don’t know if I’m even going to be able to breathe tomorrow” you tried to lighten the mood given the harrowing reminder of the time apart you were about to embark on. You and Trent had decided that you would keep in touch and try to talk as much as possible while he was away back in England and then gone for preseason. If you both were still feeling the same you were going to go visit him at the start of his season. Neither of you thought your feelings were going to change so you both were pretty certain about being together again.
“It’ll go quick then you’ll be back with me. Yeah?” He tried to reassure you.
“You sure you don’t want like space for a little? I mean..” you tailed off nervously second guessing his commitment.
“Baby, I’ve never wanted someone to give me less space. Promise you’ll call me everyday?” He was showing just how needy he was for you and you ate it up. You wanted to give him all your attention.
“If you want me to. I will definitely call you, maybe a little FaceTime too show you what you might be missing…” You mused suggestively
“Yeah? I will need to see what’s still mine. We'll find a good rhythm baby.” Trent placed another kiss on your lips, his hands lowering in your body. You just stared into each other's eyes for a little.
“Promise you won’t meet anyone else on the street and hole up with them?” He looked really nervous as he spoke again which surprised you.
“T… trust me this is a once in a lifetime.” You tried to ease his nerves.
“And.. if you get drunk or horny.. please don’t go home with someone else I don’t think I could take it” he was almost begging you.
“T! You’re you! A footballer! I should be the one worried about you being horny, you can have anyone at the snap of your fingers...” your voice faltered a little realizing your circumstance.
“Baby.. “ he laughed a little. “Thing is.. I only want you.” Giving you another kiss. Fortunately, it was a really good kiss so you worries slipped away without a second thought.
“If that happens, I’ll just call you T” you said pulling away.
“Huh?” He looked at you a little confused forgetting what you were talking about lost in your kiss.
“If I’m drunk and/or horny… you will be the first and only person I’ll be calling.” You confirmed.
“Good, beautiful,” he said, snuggling up to you some more. He placed his face in the crook of your neck and kissed your sensitive skin. The idea of you being horny was now making him horny.
Trent rubbed his hands along the bare skin beneath the hem of the skirt you had on. His touch had your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You could feel your cheeks blush red, your body getting hot.
He was so devastatingly beautiful you needed to fight back a whimper from escaping. You slid your hands up his chest and your fingers curled around his shirt pulling at it. He knew he had won when you slowly spread your legs and let his hand slip underneath your skirt.
“Baby…” you moaned quietly.
“Shhh, just let me take care of you.” Trent hushed, dragging his thumb over your core. Your slick gathered between your legs before he parted your lips a little more to swipe over your clit slowly. His touch sent a shiver up your spine, pushing out a soft moan.
“T, please we have to go soon.” You tried to stop him.
“Nah, Nah. Just be a good girl for me, okay?” He spoke into your neck when he slipped two of his fingers into you.
“Oh my god, baby, you feel so good.” You let out in a gasp.
“Needed to feel you” Trent said while his fingers worked slow and then up to a blistering pace. You felt that familiar knot in your stomach forming. You shut your eyes tight, your pussy pulsating around his fingers. Before you could even tell Trent you felt it all snap and release, a sensation of pleasure washed over you embarrassingly quick.
“Fuck…” you could barely speak but Trent was persistent.
“Gimme one more baby, please I need to make you feel good,” Trent coaxed you on. You were over stimulated but the thought of not being with Trent for weeks had you begging for more.
“T, please, please” you moaned with no real direction of your words. His fingers still circling your throbbing clit. The lack of oxygen made you felt dizzy and you loved it. His lips all over your neck. The pleasure you felt was like nothing else. Your stomach came undone again, fingers digging into his biceps, leaving half crescent marks on his tanned skin. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly and you gasped at the loss of contact. You breathed heavily collapsed on Trent’s chest. You couldn’t get the strength to look but you heard Trent lick his fingers still wet with you.
“You’re perfect. So good f’me.” He said now kissing your head, his hand coming to soothe your back.
“That wasn’t fair, T, I have to like get ready all over again.” You said trying to pull yourself off him now but you couldn’t break out of his tight hold.
“You look so sexy just like this. C’mere, baby” he said pulling your face to his for a sloppy kiss.
“T…” you tried to pull away from him but he held onto your lips with his teeth “let me get uppppp.” You groaned, actually starting to get annoyed.
“Fine, fine” he said, releasing you. You got up pulling your skirt back down, running your hands over some of the sequins of the silver mini. You fixed the hem of your tight long sleeve white t-shirt: You wanted to ruche the bottom to crop it showing your stomach.
“Look okay?” You asked, now putting on a pair of black boots.
“Mmmm. Fuck baby, maybe we should…” your eyes flashed at Trent in frustration before he could finish his sentence. “Okay, sheesh nevermind. Was just trying to tell you how good you looked but fine.” He said laughing trying to be dramatic per usual.
You were in the bathroom fixing your lipstick when Trent came in, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder and giving you a wet kiss on your cheek.
“All mine. So, so beautiful. Hmm?” He cooed with question before placing another kiss.
“I actually might kill you before you leave this country.”
“Nah, you secretly like this.” He was right to be fair. He was actually always right. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of you two in the bathroom mirror. You had gotten into the habit the last few days, taking more and more pictures together. It was like you were dating but you…you definitely were not. You sure as hell acted like a couple and it was even furthering the delusion you and he were in.
Finally you two managed to leave the room after another messy make out, another reapplication of lipstick, and another slew of mushy ‘you’re so perfect” comments to the other. You got to dinner with the rest of the boys and while both you and Trent were trying your best to be present and engaged with everyone, your hand was placed high on his leg pulling his attention elsewhere. You had pulled his shorts to rise a little underneath the table grazing your fingers on the inside of his thigh tracing patterns. The glide of your nails had Trent unable to focus, unable to get his words out, unable to think about anything but you.
When dinner ended the group had gathered at the front of the restaurant waiting for cars to arrive. Trent’s mind was still muddied with dirty thoughts. He sat on a bench pulling at your hands till you stood between his legs. Placing kisses on your exposed stomach, his hands slid up and down rubbing the sides of your bare thighs.
“You want to go out with them? Or…” he kept kissing against your bare skin.
“T..” you groaned a little.
“Or you want to come back home with me, baby?” He said tilting his head up showing a cheeky smile.
“Well that’s not fair… of course, I want to go home with you, I will be going home with you later but we should go with them first” you said, placing a kiss on his head.
“Fine” he said, his plump lips rolling into a fake a pout. Cheekily he slid his hands up your thighs again except this time completely under your skirt squeezing onto your ass.
“T!” You exclaimed. He just kept his hands on you until you physically removed them. The sly smile illuminating his face had you anything but mad.
Jumping out of the black cars, the group of boys and you were escorted into a bar downtown seated in a lounge area that was still accessible by the public. You were trying to be conscious of how clingy you were to Trent when out with his friends the last few nights. As much as you were ‘together,’ it wasn’t lost on you that this was initially a trip with his friends. In an effort to ‘distance’ you opted to sit with Marcel but you only managed to get arms distance away before Trent was pulling at the hem of your top asking you silently not to go too far. Trent sat comfortably, legs spread leaning forward onto one of his legs as he and his friend ordered drinks.
“Baby..” Trent said reaching for you again. “What do you want?” He cooed with more affection.
“Whatever you get T,” you said with a smile before diving back into your conversation with his brother. Trent watched you with a smile, swaying gracefully, talking with excitement. He barely could make out your words over the music but he didn’t care, he just liked the look of you, the presence you had in the room was completely enthralling to him.
“You actually like her mate” His friend quietly said.
“Yeah, like genuinely, down a bit bad for her. I’d be embarrassed but honestly don’t care. Gonna have her come visit me as well.”
“Wow bro, whirlwind, no?” His friend looked surprised but also happy with the authentic smile that had been permanently stuck on Trent’s face the past couple days, his eyes refusing to break away from you now.
“Yeah, I don’t know but I want this one.” Trent said with certainty. He had caught your eye and you stared back a little questioning his gaze. He just winked at you licking his lips. Even just a glance from him had your stomach doing flips so you looked away quick.
As you expected and had become accustomed to, a few girls had made their way over into the space. Plenty of naive questions about Trent, renditions of attempted Liverpool accents, a few bottles of 1942 circulating, the night was quickly picking up and your distance from Trent no longer seemed intentional but unavoidable as you could no longer get to him.
Like any girls would, they all attached to boys in the group, sitting in laps, standing in between legs, hands brushing biceps. You were standing with Marcel soon along with two new girls and it wasn’t until they asked if you two were together that you noticed Trents position.
“Nah, she’s with my brother.” Marcel answered for you pointing to Trent which caused his face to drop a little. Trent was sat in another seat, only now a girl in a backless mini dress stood in front of him and way too close for your liking.
“Oh…” the girl with you seemed kind but had now gotten a little awkward seeing her friend with a man that was apparently with you. Unbeknownst to you Trent was gently letting her friend down.
“I’m going to be in London this winter” The girl attempted to flirt and ignite plans with Trent.
“Yeah, London’s great. I prefer to stay up north but I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” He said his eyes now panning the room looking for you. He was trying to be polite but was getting a little bored of the niceties. He couldn’t find you through the crowd of people but you could see him. The girl stretched her arm out grabbing for Trent’s and that’s when you felt sick.
“Marc, I can’t do this. I am so stupid.” Your eyes filling with tears. You were drunk and emotional about your impending split. You soberly would trust Trent but you were overwhelmed and frankly overreacting but you needed to get out of there. You couldn’t stomach another girl touching him.
“Y/N” Marcel tried to grab you but you slipped away breaking out of the area. He didn’t follow you instead he adamantly stared at Trent with a ‘what the fuck’ expression.
“Look, you seem really nice..” Trent said with some sternness removing her hand from him quickly “…but I’m here with someone” he continued looking for you, only now catching Marcel's glare. Still unable to see you, Trent began to worry. He stood up briskly, making his way through his friends ignoring any remarks determined to find you immediately.
You had rushed into the hallway in tears trying to catch your breath before you kept walking to leave. What had happened? To no surprise but also to your disappointment your fool's paradise had crumbled around you.
“Hey, nah, none of this. Where you going” you heard echoing off the walls. You knew the voice, you knew who it was but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, not with your swollen eyes and tear stained cheeks.
“Baby.. C’mere now” he said firmly, grabbing your wrist forcing you to turn to him. “No, no, no, please baby. Don’t do this. C’mere” he cooed, picking your chin up to make eye contact, his thumb brushing the tears from your skin. “Please beautiful.”
You started to cry again a little more.
“T, why are you dragging this out with me?Just let me go, it hurts too much already and you’re still here.” You wept.
“Y/N” he said harshly before his lips crashed into yours, passionately making out, pressing you up against the wall before you pulled away.
“T, don’t. I get that this..” you gestured to your bodies, “works but my heart is breaking here so please.” You were practically begging but his lips stayed attached to your neck.
“Baby, I’m not breaking anything, I’m not letting you go, I’m here with you, alright?” He whispered against your skin.
“Baby..” you whined “what about...” You wanted to ask about the girl but you already were looking embarrassingly desperate and your drunk logic didn’t really make sense anymore.
“Don’t even go there… I told her I was with you, pretty girl.” He cooed with a goofy smile now placing a soft kiss to your lips.
“Yeah?” You questioned returning the kiss, falling into a heavier makeout before Trent pulled you into an unspecified room.
He broke the kiss trying to inspect where you two had ended up, a maintenance closet of sorts, both of you heavily breathing, his forehead rested against yours, before his lips were back on your neck.
“I just didn’t want to bother you tonight…” you tried to explain your distance ultimately causing the miscommunication.
“This face…” he said stroking his thumb over your cheekbone “will never bother me. Don’t leave my side when we’re out, yeah?” He said as your hands slid under his shirt, twisting the material higher up to show more and more of his abs. His lips were still on your neck, his teeth nipped at your soft skin. His mouth slowly moved down your neck shoving your shirt up now over your boobs giving him a rushed but full view of them before placing his mouth on your exposed skin. You pulled him off though pushing him up against the door before working your lips down his body.
“T, don’t leave me” You said regarding tonight at this bar but also in the grander sense. You had made your way down to Trent’s shorts looking up at him with a sinister look. You quickly fumbled around pulling his now hard cock out, placing him almost immediately in your mouth.
“Fuck…” he groaned.
You took as much of him as you possibly could. Trent’s groans filled the maintenance room as you licked down his shaft, before moving your mouth back up. His hands gripped your hair, growing tighter as you continued to bob up and down vigorously. You moved one of your hands to squeeze his balls, you knew his orgasm was fast approaching, by his ragged breath. Given your location, you picked up your pace slightly, your jaw now aching, feeling more and more lightheaded, as much as you were enjoying this you couldn’t stay in this room long. Trent knew that too so he pushed your head a little more so all of his cock was in your mouth. You gagged slightly before feeling his release shoot into the back of your throat. You swallowed obediently.
“All mine” Trent moaned, almost completely breathless as you pulled off of him. You stuck your tongue out a little to show him how good you did for him.
“Oh my fucking god, baby, it’s insane you think I’d try to leave you.” He joked but the sentiment was incredibly serious.
“T” you cooed looking up at him through your lashes. He reached out grabbing under your arms pulling you into him while he tried to adjust himself back in his shorts.
“We should go beautiful.” He said kissing the top of your head. “You want to head home or stay out, anything you want, yeah?”
“Anywhere with you T.” You confirmed sweetly.
“Perfect, perfect girl” he said with a kiss to your lips, pulling you out the door into the hall. The pair of you snuck back into the area where the boys were. Some of them had paired off with the girls from earlier, the remaining seemed to be enamored in various conversations although your return didn’t go unnoticed.
“All good?” Tyler looked at you with a smug smile. You and Trent weren’t exactly as discreet as you thought. Your eyes a bit watery not from sad tears, Trent’s face flushed. You shyly giggled squeezing on Trent’s arm.
“You all good? Hmm?” You cooed a question looking at Trent knowing what just ensued made him feel pretty good.
“Yeah, yeah, better than ever.” Trent said, unable to hide his grin.
“Subtly is not a strong suit of either of yours” Tyler joked.
“Wasn’t trying to be. What you want to drink, baby?” Trent snapped at his brother before affectionately asking you.
“Mmm whatever you think, T” you said staring into his eyes, completely enamored and obsessed before placing a sultry kiss behind his ear.
“Sit with them till I get back” he suggested, his hand pressing low on your back, hand dipping into the waist of your skirt. Leaning closer to your ear so only you could hear he began to whisper…
“Don’t fucking think for a second I’m not coming right back to you after you had my cock down your throat tonight. Be a good girl and wait for me, baby.” His lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. It occurred to Trent that maybe security and transparency was something you were looking for from him so he was going to tell you exactly what he was thinking and that definitely including his dick in your mouth.
You went and sat on a couch next to one of Trent’s friends trying to hide a stupid smile before he nudged your thigh.
“Earlier… He wouldn’t do that. Not to anyone, definitely not to you Y/N.” He said with a sincere smile. “Not you” he repeated
It was incredibly kind to try to ease your mind about what he watched unfold earlier. It was also unnecessary given what Trent had just whispered in your ear but he didn’t know that. He just wanted to reassure you and you appreciated it.
“Yeah? Thanks. When I think too much it just feels a little far-fetched, the whole thing.” The honest response fell out. You were a little buzzed, very emotional, and a bit dizzy from the night.
“Yeah, it’s insane for sure” he laughed “but he’s also serious though. It’s not that far-fetched. I don’t know you but he’s not fucking around, I promise.” He spoke to you candidly before Trent came back over with two drinks. It made you feel better Trent was being authentic not only to you but in front of his friends too.
“For you beautiful” Trent returned, handing you a drink.
“Thank you, T” you cooed. He leant down pushing his lips out waiting for a kiss in return. You giggled pressing your lips to his, your hand cupping his cheek before he pulled you up taking your seat placing you on his lap. His friend gave you a smug knowing look, confirming exactly what he was saying a moment ago… Trent was serious.
“Absolute melt” Tyler mused poking fun at Trent’s desperation to please you. Little did he know you were quite literally on your knees for his brother.
•
Thank you for continuing reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think or if you have any thoughts/ questions! 🤍
Next part is up - Chapter 7
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I was in a lovely salon some years ago with my Mom. Somewhere in my 20's and in love with all things creative in the beauty/hairstyling industries. I never knew where to look first, my head swiveling between the hair cutters, colorists and makeup artists. Taking it all in.
At that time, the salon as spa was just beginning to take hold. This salon had added quite a few offerings, and weren't shy about their Madison Avenue pricing.
The owner showed the new brochure to me and I started curiously reading about all these exotic lotions, poitions and pressure points. No, I didn't indulge.
My Mom smiled and said that aside from a therapeutic standpoint, people are basically paying to be touched.
That insight was honestly impactful, and resonated deeply with me.
I began to think about what might be missing from one's life, where a person would reach for a massage.
The word Touch.
How often are people in a relationship touched sensually without it leading to a sexual scenario.
How often people want a hug to last a bit longer.
How people merely wish to be held and have their hair stroked.
Touch. Tenderness. Caress. Healing.
Flash forward.
I was in an amazing relationship where I was gifted with a nightly massage. Sometimes oil, lotion or just fingertip touch. ( In case you're wondering - of course reciprocated.)
That nightly massage wiped away the day, literally. It sometimes led to pure deep slumber, and sometimes led to something sexy.
The beauty of it was that there weren't any expectations.
Touch simply given in abundance and received in gratitude.
The sensuality of skin texture.
The sensuality of fingertips with varied touch.
Either drifting off or fully turned on.
A relationship of pure giving sensuality.
Pleasure derived from gifting pleasure.
The definition of sensual.
- beautflstranger
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"The Need For Topical Music", written by Phil Ochs
Before the days of television and mass media, the folksinger was often a traveling newspaper spreading tales through music.
It is somewhat ironic that in this age of forced conformity and fear of controversy the folksinger may be assuming the same role. The newspapers have unfortunately told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the cold war truth so help them, advertisers. If a reporter breaks the "code of the West” that used to be confined to Hoot Gibson movies, he’ll find himself out on the street with a story to tell and all the rivers of mass communication damned up.
The folksingers of today must face up to a great challenge in their music. Folk music is an idiom that deals with realities and not just realities of the past as some would assert. More than ever there is an urgent need for Americans to look deeply into themselves and their actions and musical poetry is perhaps the most effective mirror available.
I have run into some singers who say, “Sure, I agree with most topical songs, but they're just too strong to do in public. Besides, I don't want to label myself or alienate some of my audience into thinking I'm unpatriotic.”
Yet this same person will get on the stage and dedicate a song to Woody Guthrie or Pete Seeger as if in tribute to an ideal they are afraid to reach for. Those who would compromise or avoid the truth inherent in folk music are misleading themselves and their audiences. In a world so full of lies and corruption, can we allow our own national music to go the way of Madison Avenue?
There are definite grounds for criticism of topical music, however. Much of the music has been too bitter and too negative for many audiences to appreciate, but lately there has been a strong improvement in both quantity and quality, and the commercial success of songs like “If I Had a Hammer” have made many of the profit seekers forget their prejudices.
One good song with a message can bring a point more deeply to more people than a thousand rallies. A case in point is Pete Seeger's classic “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” which brought a message of peace to millions, including many of the younger generation who do not consider themselves involved in politics.
Folk music often arises out of vital movements and struggles. When the union movement was a growing, stirring and honest force in America, it produced a wealth of material to add to the nation's musical heritage. Today, there regrettably seem to be only two causes that will arouse an appreciable amount of people from their apathetic acceptance of the world; the Negro struggle for civil rights and the peace movement. To hear a thousand people singing "We Shall Overcome" without the benefit of Hollywood's bouncing ball is to hear a power and beauty in music that has no limits in its effect.
It never ceases to amaze me how the American people allow the hit parade to hit them over the head with a parade of song after meaningless song about love. If the powers that be absolutely insist that love should control the market, at least they should be more realistic and give divorce songs an equal chance.
Topical music is often a method of keeping alive a name or event that is worth remembering. For example many people have been vividly reminded of the depression days through Woody Guthrie’s dust bowl ballads. Sometimes the songs will differ in interpretation from the textbooks as with “Pretty Boy Floyd”.
Every newspaper headline is a potential song, and it is the role of an effective songwriter to pick out the material that has the interest, significance and sometimes humor adaptable to music.
A good writer must be able to picture the structure of a song and as hundreds of minute ideas race through his head, he must reject the superfluous and trite phrases for the cogent powerful terms. Then after the first draft is completed, the writer must be his severest critic, constantly searching for a better way to express every line in his song.
I think there is a coming revolution (pardon my French) in folk music as it becomes more and more popular in the U. S., and as the search for new songs becomes more intense. The news today is the natural resource that folk music must exploit in order to have the most vigorous folk process possible.
(Broadside #22, March 1963)
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Murderdolls
Love at First Sight
Metal Edge 48-11, March 2003
By Roger Lotring
Photos By Eddie Malluk
(google drive link)
Slipknot interview here – Stone Sour interview here
There are probably less than two hundred people at the Webster Theater. It’s Tuesday night in Hartford, CT, and the Murderdolls are in town to tutor a whole new generation on the fundamentalism of real rock ‘n’ roll. Without the vacant hype of Madison Avenue trendiness, their renascent timelessness is lost so far on the youth of a nation. But that’s about to change. They seize the stage with an adrenaline overdose that probably hasn’t happened since Mötley Crüe first molested Hollywood’s Sunset Strip over twenty years ago. The Murderdolls are glorious rock ‘n’ roll sluts in a manner desperately lost from contemporary music, and definitely lost on those two standoffish fuckers provoking the band with drunken taunting. Vocalist Wednesday 13 swings around to leap to the edge of the stage, leaning forward to dare them with confrontation. But they don’t respond—They can’t, even if they had the balls, because the kids are right in their faces. That pissed-off look in those kids’ eyes, their vehement willingness to defend their band, it’s a defining moment that marks this band as something special. For those couple hundred kids here in Hartford on a Tuesday night, they believe in the Murderdolls. Love at first fright, indeed, and it’s only a matter of time before the word spreads.
“There’s nothing better than that first time seeing a band,” enthuses guitarist Joey Jordison, recalling his own formative rock ‘n’ roll indulgences. “It’s so special, when no one else knew who the fuck they were, and they were your fucking band.” The impact of his influences–and those of the whole band, really—are just as prevalent today as they were back then. It’s obvious as the band prepares for the show with their battle cry of KISS Alive II shaking the dressing room walls. KISS, Alice Cooper, Hanoi Rocks, Twisted Sister—That is the essence of the Murderdolls. “We wanted him to come out and do ‘Twist My Sister’ with us,” guitarist Acey Slade says of Dee Snider, disappointed that he is no longer broadcast on Radio 104 WMRQ in Hartford.
Metal Edge sat down with Joey, Wednesday and Acey to discuss the Murderdolls. And while the conversation touched on numerous topics including their Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls debut, touring Europe, and drummer The Ghoul’s exhibitionism with two women in a crowded Japanese bar, at the heart of it were rock ‘n’ roll fans sharing their obsession with a sound that the Murderdolls are single-handedly determined to resurrect.
METAL EDGE: Where does a band like the Murderdolls fit within contemporary hard rock? Or is it more important to go against the grain of popularity?
JOEY JORDISON: That was our point, exactly what you just said. The whole thing was–especially with me coming out of Slipknot—I did not want to do anything even remotely where music is right now. I wanted to come out completely different, and just create music that’s a little bit more fun, because everything right now is stagnant and stale. I think, really, the nu metal scene, where hard rock is right now, is almost like a dead scene. We wanted to be completely removed, as far as possible, from all that stuff.
WEDNESDAY 13: It wasn’t that hard, either, because we really didn’t have to try. We just wrote the songs, recorded them, and didn’t think about anything outside the studio.
JJ: What he was doing in the Frankenstein Drag Queens was pretty much a lot of what we’re doing now. Wednesday was one of the only people I saw in the underground scene that was doing what I was doing. That’s cool, because he doesn’t know about many bands that are out right now and really big—All that stuff that Slipknot gets lumped into.
ME: Joey, being the writer, producer, and principal musician on Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls, was it hard to be objective toward the songs?
JJ: I was having a hard time, like is this even worth putting out or not? That’s why I wanted to get a songwriting partner. I really liked Wednesday’s voice, and the way he looked. His songs were very similar to what I was doing, but had a little darker feel to ‘em, and the sense of humor was a little bit more tongue-in-cheek. If I was not sure on something, he'd give me an opinion. If he wasn't sure on something, I'd give him my opinion. It made it a lot easier for the recording process, for sure.
ME: What's the most surprising reaction so far to the Murderdolls? What have you seen that you just kind of stepped back and said, "I don't believe I just saw that?"
W13: We got a human heart given to us by a girl who had all our names carved into her arm—Even the band name. But, with me, she told me, "Well, I couldn't write your whole name, so I put a 'W' and a '13'."
JJ: She's like, "I want to give you my heart, 'cause my heart belongs to the Murderdolls. Hold onto it safe, "cause I might need it back someday." And it had a picture of her and me with it in a fucking jar…
W13: Floating around in the formaldehyde.
ME: To what degree has there been any moral backlash as a result of misinterpretation of your lyrics?
ACEY SLADE: When we were in Germany, there was a Christian group that went around and put Show Cancelled (sic) over the top of our posters, so people won't (sic) show up for the show. I saw the shit [written] in German, and I was like, "Sold out! Right on, that means sold out!" They're like, "No, Show Cancelled (sic)." [Laughter]
W13: But nothing really, really good has happened, though. We're still waiting… And hoping, keeping our fingers crossed. [Laughter]
ME: Do you think that will eventually happen?
JJ: Most of that backlash stuff is an American thing. Over in Europe—actually, anywhere besides America—is way more open to the fun aspect. They see the humor in what we're doing, especially the U.K. Their type of humor kind of goes along hand-in-hand with our type of lyrics.
ME: It would seem that as far as any controversy, there's been more uproar over the "body snatching,” so to speak, of Acey from Dope. [Acey laughs] It's almost like one of those jokes: How many Dope guitarists does it take to screw in a Murderdolls lightbulb? [Laughter]
JJ: Y'know, that's weird, 'cause I liked Dope. I was actually a fan of theirs. I really enjoyed them a lot, [and] thought they were great. And it was never a thing like, "Oh man, I want to get people from that band." I just hit it off well with them. Tripp was a great guy. It just came down to the time when we were going to tour, and he comes up with news that he had to go back to Static-X. Well, that's cool, but he wanted to stay in the band and play some [select] shows. I just didn't want to have a revolving door and confuse the fans. Acey was actually a choice to be in the [pre-Murderdolls] Rejects, as well, just Tripp came into the band first. Me and Acey kept in touch, so the only choice we even considered was Acey. Luckily enough, he came in and did an amazing job. He had like six days rehearsal just before we started our tour.
AS: Not even. I came in on a Wednesday or Thursday. We left [the following] Monday. [Laughter]
W13: Plus, me and Acey, we used to play in bands together in Philadelphia, before he was in Dope. We knew of each other, so we were into the same kind of music then. I met him back then, then when he was in Dope, I met him again and we started talking.
AS: Back in ‘96 or ‘97, we were the only two guys on the East Coast with dreadlocks and eyeliner, so it wasn’t too hard for us to cross paths. So I’ve known him for years and years.
ME: From a musical standpoint, people don’t realize that what the Murderdolls are doing is very fundamental, but it’s a lot harder to learn because there’s a lot of intuitive stuff.
AS: The thing is, we all have the same musical roots. For me it was like, “Alright, this part’s kind of like ‘Rock And Roll High School,’ this part’s kind of like Hanoi Rocks’ ‘Mental Beat.’” All three of us have the same point of reference. I think it would probably be a little harder from the nu metal school to come in and learn the stuff, ‘cause it would be so foreign to them.
ME: In a fatalistic kind of way, then, Murderdolls has actually been coming for a long time.
JJ: Yeah, there’s been a bunch of links, but it’s not like this was just all of a sudden really formulated. It’s like, everyone knew each other in a weird, different way. We just didn’t all meet as a band until last year. But everyone knew each other through different people.
ME: But isn’t that how it’s theoretically supposed to happen if you’re going to do it right, so it’s not contrived?
JJ: Exactly, man. People might think that, all of a sudden, it was just put together really quick, this little project that’s only going to be one album, and that’s it. It’s really not like that.
ME: Media comparisons have been to Mötley Crüe and the Misfits, but there’s so much more going on. Is there a predominant underlying influence behind the Murderdolls that might not be readily apparent?
W13: I think we all have our different things. Me, it’s Alice Cooper, totally. And Acey, Hanoi Rocks, and Joey, KISS. I mean, it’s a lot of the same stuff, but I don’t think you can really pinpoint it al.
ME: Similarly, media focus is on Wednesday and Joey—and now Acey, coming from Dope. In all fairness, what do Ben [Graves] and Eric [Griffin] bring to the Murderdolls?
AS: Well, first of all, Ben’s not Ben… He’s The Ghoul. [Laughter]
ME: Is that a capital “T” in the word “the”?
AS: Yes, The Ghoul.
JJ: I had the hardest time finding people that I actually wanted to bring into the band on bass and drums—Especially with drums. It took a really long time, and they just seemed to fit. I can’t really explain, but hey just brought that attitude—I guess the cockiness, in a way. Ben’s like the hardest hitting drummer that I’ve ever seen in my fucking life. He is so fucking loud.
W13: I’ve played with some hard-hitting drummers, but he is so loud, and so hard.
JJ: And that’s great! I mean, it drives our fucking music.
ME: But you’ve got to have that for this type of music to work.
JJ: Exactly! He’s fucking great, man, as far as just slamming it home live. You can feel it. I mean, the energy is amazing that comes off that guy.
ME: Is it harder for him, in the sense that you’re a drummer, and going to be his worst critic? [Laughter]
JJ: He’s cool about it. Actually, he doesn’t really even get that nervous. When I was working with him in rehearsal, I did kind of drill him, ya’ know? He did get it worse out of all the guys in the band, for sure. But he just worked his ass off, really, and he pulls it off amazing.
W13: And [Eric] brings a lot of hairspray. [Laughter]
AS: He brings a lot of hairspray, some good makeup products, and no less thunder.
JJ: And tardiness.
W13: This guy’s just really got the whole image of the rock ‘n’ roll thing down.
AS: It’s kind of funny, how people ask us about the image of the band. To me, if you wake up and look the way you do, then it’s not an image. An image is something that’s formulated and calculated. We don’t have a consultant telling us, “Alright, track suits aren’t in as much as they used to be.” This is just who we are, ya’ know?
ME: But does your look empower you, as far as performing the music? If you think about it, you must feel differently than if you were going onstage wearing sneakers and levis.
W13: It definitely turns something on for me when I go onstage. I mean, it definitely helps. It’s like, it turns it on. It’s just a switch.
ME: Being that Joey was responsible for pretty much all the performances on the album, how have the dynamics of these songs changed, now that you’ve got five individuals interpreting them?
JJ: The album is really good, [and] I’m very, very proud of it. I think it turned out phenomenal—Actually, better than I expected. It is different, though, much more of a chemistry with the five guys, as opposed to me. Not necessarily completely different, but the vibe of the five different personalities playing some songs.
ME: Almost like the songs taking on a life of their own that they didn’t have before?
JJ: Absolutely, yeah.
AS: What Joey’s been really cool about is letting it become a chemistry, letting it become the Murderdolls. When I came into it late, I was looking at the CD, going, “Well, Joey played all these guitar parts.” When we sat down in the [rehearsal] room together, I was intimidated! But he was like, “Well, yeah, that’s cool, I like that accent… What do you think?”
ME: So you’ve been able to make your impact on the songs.
AS: Yes, but keeping the original continuity. But it’s the same with The Ghoul, or with the other members.
ME: Are the songs continuing to evolve, even after being recorded? Watching you soundcheck “Love At First Fright,” that looked like you just stumbled across something brand new right there.
W13: [Laughter] We did! That was the first time we did a different intro.
ME: How different has the reaction been in Europe than here in the United States?
W13: We’ve really been touring there a lot, so we’ve built up a thing there—Especially in the U.K., man, it’s just insane. Hundreds and hundreds of kids, and they all look just like us. But we really haven’t worked it here, though, so this is like we’re just starting from the ground up.
JJ: But that was kind of what we wanted to do, concentrate on everywhere else in the world first and establish the band. Those people [in Europe] really appreciate when you do that over there. Some bands, like American bands, nu metal bands, wait two years before they even go to Europe. We’re like, fuck that! And it’s already paid off. It’s only now that we are really going to start hitting America.
ME: Does it make it a little more difficult, though, having gotten such a reaction, then coming back to America? You must have known going into it that you are going to be playing to smaller audiences at first.
W13: I prepared myself for it. I knew it was going to be hard. I know it’s a lot different, maybe for Joey, who’s in Slipknot. But before this, i was driving ten, twelve hours to play in front of ten people. That’s never going to leave me. I’m always used to that, so I can work an audience, whether it’s ten people, or ten thousand people, it doesn’t really matter.
JJ: Doing what I do in the other band that I play in, it’s basically playing in arenas. But it doesn’t matter, man. As long as people appreciate your music, or want to come out and see you, i can still play in front of two people.
AS: It’s weird, even though we’ve done dates, i still don’t feel like we’ve done a proper U.S. tour yet. And so, when we do that—probably February—I think all bets are going to be off. It’s gonna be off the hook.
ME: You’re going out with Papa Roach? Or are you going out on your own?
JJ: We gotta get a (sic) on a support slot for a band, obviously bigger than us, to take the band out to a little bit wider of an audience. Papa Roach is an option, [and] there’s a couple other things that are in the works.
ME: Do you look forward to the fact that it’s going to be a challenge? If you’re out with a band that isn’t necessarily similar to what you do, you’ve got that challenge of winning over an audience.
W13: We did. We did it with Papa Roach in Europe. We toured with them, five, six weeks, [and] every night…
ME: You’re getting the looks on faces, the “What the fuck is that?” look.
W13: That’s exactly it.
JJ: It was every night. And like, four songs in, they’d be smiling, singing the words, ‘cause our shit’s singalong. It’s so anthemic live, it’s so hard not to get into it. One of the big things about our band is that it’s a fun show. It’s fucking fun again. It’s something that’s been really missing [from music], probably like fifteen years.
ME: From that standpoint, I get it because I remember. But does the 14-year-old kid standing in front of you, wearing the Slipknot shirt get it?
JJ: Good question. I think yes, by the end of the set, he does. You don’t have to be a fuckin’ brain surgeon to understand what the fuck we’re doing. But I think that’s what’s great about it. It’s simple, and it’s anthemetic (sic). The lyrics are fucking cool, and it’s not about fucking childhood trauma, or war, politics, or bullshit like that.
#if you want anything else from this scanned lemme know!#murderdolls#joey jordison#wednesday 13#acey slade#eric griffin#ben graves#interview#metal edge 48-11 mar 2003
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Considering superhero comics predate the invention of spandex, when did the idea that superhero costume are made from spandex come from?
Great question!
To answer this question, I first need to backup and do some history about fin-de-siècle strongmen and the origin of the "superhero costume" as a distinct cultural concept. In the late 19th/early 20th century, circus strongmen were not just huge draws but celebrities and cultural icons in their own right, part of the whole obsession of anxious masculinity in that era, along with the emergence of bodybuilding and quite a bit of racist eugenics (think "Passing of the Great Race" stuff) about how industrial civilization was making white men effete and degenerate and thus vulnerable to the Other.
However, the strongmen had something of a fashion problem: in order to do their shtick, they often wore close-fitting silk tights and shirts in order to show off their musculature, and these had a tendency to split when they were flexing. This could run the risk of leaving the strongmen hanging in the wind, as it were, so they adapted by putting on wrestler's unitards over their tights to keep themselves under wraps.
Throw on a cape, and you literally have the archetypal superhero costume. But if you take a look at how these costumes look on an actual human body, they're not literally skin-tight. You can see some muscle definition in places, but there's also visible wrinkles and folds at the joints and other places where you need more flexibility. It's just not quite there yet in terms of evoking the whole George Sandow aesthetique.
And then in 1958, spandex was invented as a much more elastic fabric that could be truly skintight without splitting, so you could really see the musculature much more clearly. Add this to the expanding and increasingly professionalized and advanced culture of postwar bodybuilding, and people's expectations about what their superheroes could and should look like began to change. Thus, starting in the Silver Age and into the Bronze Age, superheroes start to look a lot buffer and their costumes look a lot tighter so that the reader can see every damn muscle (and curve) on superheroes' bodies - because artists and editors and publishers realized they could make more money by making comics that were a bit sexier, thanks to the magic of "spandex."
Now this gets us into the economics of the comics industry and changing generational cohorts, but as we passed from the Silver Age to the late Bronze Age, you started to see a shift from comics artists who worked in comics because Jews and Catholics weren't welcome in the Art Departments of Madison Avenue, to comics artists who worked in comics because they had grown up reading comics and learned to draw from comics.
This had an impact on superhero costumes, because the older artists tended to be plugged in more to fashion and fashion art and thus drew superhero costumes as clothing with real three-dimensionality to it and the younger artists found it easier and faster to just draw familiar superhero bodies naked (with "spandex" as the figleaf) and then put in a few lines showing where the costumes end - and this easier and faster style that turned up the dial on allowable sexiness was more profitable for the companies.
Once you get to Jim Lee, Rob Liefeld, Todd McFarlane, and the other "Image Kids" of Nineties Comics, the spandex-ification of superhero comics had reached its peak because now the hot new trend was stuff that wouldn't work even with real-world spandex, hence the phenomena of the boob sock and the logical extension of the swimsuit/bikini for superwomen to the battle thong.
So ultimately it all comes down to the combined pressures of culture and economics.
#comics#comics meta#superhero costumes#silver age#bronze age#nineties comics#cultural history#superhero comics#marvel#dc#marvel meta#dc meta#image comics
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Along the Hudson River
This is simply a wonderful spot on the face of the earth—we’re north of Cold Spring, New York, along the Hudson River, at Breakneck Ridge. Metro North still stops here, mainly for the benefit of hikers who want to explore the rugged landscape in this area (known as the Hudson Highlands). The “station” stop is just south of where the first photograph was taken with a few trains making stops each way, each day on the weekend. The land mass visible behind the southbound train in the first image is called Pollepel Island, and the structure thereon is called Bannerman Castle.
The second photograph was taken the same afternoon at the same location—but looking south. It shows a Metro North commuter train headed north, most likely headed for Poughkeepsie. Also visible in the image, across the river, is the dramatic and massive form of Storm King Mountain.
The model of locomotive, seen in both photographs, is interesting as well—the EMD FL9 was a unit designed specifically to be used for New York’s Grand Central Terminal—the destination for these trains at the time. [I believe all Amtrak trains traveling the water-level route currently end up at Penn Station now.] This unique engine is diesel-electric but also has a pick-up “shoe” for the electrified third-rail. This way the diesel prime-mover could be shut off or at least idled when in the tunnels under Madison Avenue and in the bowels of the massive terminal itself.
Two images by Richard Koenig; taken in August of 1988.
#metronorthrailroad#metronorth#hudsonhighlands#hudsonriver#breakneckridge#pollepelisland#bannermancastle#amtrak#newyorkcentral#filmphotography#grainisgood
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Fade Into You, Chapter One: New York, New York
pairing: bookstore owner!ezra x f!reader
rating: M (talks of strange familial relationships, lots of introspection with a touch of angst, brief talks of gender identity/homelessness)
wc: 2.9k
series masterlist
You’d always dreamed of autumn in New York. There always seemed to be a special kind of magic in the air, the browning leaves melting into the brownstones lining the streets. Even in the midst of the city’s chaos and incessant bustle, the season seemed to offer its own comfort to any soul looking for it.
You couldn’t think of anyone who needed that sort of comfort more than yourself.
Grad school was never in your plans, but neither was becoming a writer. You always imagined yourself as something more practical, not because you wanted it, but because practicality had been drilled into you since you were a child. In truth, the dreams you’d buried with your girlhood were the furthest from practical.
You wanted to be a singer, a designer, an actor, a painter, even a fucking astronaut for a couple years after watching an Apollo 11 documentary at the impressionable age of thirteen. Anything that would give you an exit from the life you’d been born into, a life born with the weight of generations of struggle and hardship on its shoulders, seemed like the dream.
You’d been all set to head into an accounting program after graduating high school, satisfying your blue collar father’s dream of stability and your all-too dependent mother’s dream of raising a daughter who didn’t need to rely on a man for survival. You had burned every thought of a life filled with passion and fulfillment to make their dream come true, the guilt of being the eldest daughter outweighing your own desires. But the minute you stepped onto campus, you could feel yourself breathing in the air that they never did, the air that tasted like freedom and choice, and knew you’d let them down.
It took one semester of accounting to know that while you could spend the rest of your life doing this, you weren’t sure if you could live with yourself if you did.
The year that followed this revelation was spent trying on every hat you could.
You tried to satiate your need for adventure by consuming as much of the party life as possible, hoping that perhaps all you needed to feel okay with this sacrifice of desire was to live a little, but that only made you feel more lost. It wasn’t until you stumbled upon a creative writing class that you first felt that spark inside of you, the little kid you’d long buried clawing its way up from the ground to breathe.
You dived head first into these new waters and were surprised to find you were quite decent at it. With a professor's help, you managed to self-publish a poetry book, juvenile work at worst and promising at best, in hindsight, but it was that book that got you into the creative writing program at Columbia.
Into the autumnal magic of New York city.
It had been such a long time since you’d felt this brand new. You had no ties to anyone or anything beyond the tiny studio in Harlem that you called home, and though you weren’t absolved from feelings of loneliness, you felt a surge of confidence blossom in your chest at the thought that you could be anybody here. And so, you would.
Mid September
Needing something to do besides sitting on your bed that doubled as a couch, desk, and table, you found yourself wandering through the slowly cooling city streets. None of the trees showed any signs of preparing for the upcoming season, Central Park’s astounding green acting as a beacon as you got off the subway at 125th street.
Walking down Madison Avenue, you pretended to be cooler than you felt you were, not that any passersby would look at you long enough to notice your effort. In fact, everyone’s lack of perception or care put you at ease. To them, you were just another face in the crowd, and just another face in the crowd caused no hurt or offense, just another face in the crowd was simply that—a person, good or bad, cool or uncool. Your insignificance meant your existence wasn’t staining, and as someone who’d allowed herself to get splashed and tarnished by the colors of the outside world for so long, you never felt freer.
The sound of Mazzy Star’s Blue Light guided you down Madison Avenue much further than you anticipated you’d go, your plans of an afternoon spent in Central Park being derailed by the sudden desire to check out the Guggenheim Museum.
It was this small misdirection, this impulsive journey that led you to his bookstore, the place you’d come to frequent for an entire month before you ever learned his name.
It was a small shop on the first floor of a brownstone, it’s antique golden sign hanging over the shop door reading: Prospect Books. The building’s red brick blended in with its surroundings, leaving you to question this spark of intuition burning in your belly as your eyes fixed onto the sign, your feet slowing on their own accord until you were standing still in front of the window display, blindly staring inside. A couple—new if you had to guess solely based on one man’s chivalry and the other’s smitten smile—opening making their way out, the doorbell jingling with the swing of the wood, caused you to break free from your trance of sorts. Looking down at your phone, you figured you had plenty of time left in your afternoon to make a quick stop into this tiny relic from the past, if only just for the sake of exploration.
“Welcome in,” a voice called from somewhere in the shop, but you couldn’t spot anyone behind the checkout counter.
Rather than speaking back to air, you kept quiet and moved slowly about the room as if a movement too haste would ruin all the history these four walls carried. Finding your way to the fiction section, you finally spotted the owner of the voice that had greeted you, a young person with a jet black shag and round glasses, their smile easy and welcoming as they approached you.
“Need help finding anything?” they asked. You glanced at their name tag reading “Jay” before meeting their eyes, a friendly smile growing on your face as you shrugged your shoulders.
“No, not really looking for anything in particular,” you said. “I’m new here, so, kind of just exploring.”
“Oh, yeah? When did you get into the city?” they asked.
“Last month,” you said, earning a look of understanding from Jay.
“Well,” they said, gesturing at the room around you. “This was a great pit stop in your explorations. We have a ton of events, and I’ve actually met basically all my friends here.”
“Oh yeah?” you probed with a smile, feeling a sense of ease in their presence.
“Yeah, we actually have a couple things going on this weekend if you wanted to check them out,” they said, walking you over to the register so that they could point out the monthly calendar taped to the glass counter. “The last Friday of every month, we have a little mixer, always themed,” they said with a grin. “This month’s theme is Gothic Literature, so we’ll have all of our gothic literature for half off and free wine. Can’t go wrong.”
“That actually sounds like so much fun,” you chuckled, surprised by the way the afternoon was unfolding.
“And then on Saturday afternoons, we have our book club meeting. It’s a group of probably fifteen people, all ages, all types, very inclusive. All you have to do to join is fill out this little “Meet Me” card and purchase the book of the month, but since the month’s almost over I’d just buy it now and get a head start.”
“Well, what's next month’s book?” you asked, following them with your eyes as they jogged around the counter to the display on a table in the middle of the room, picking up a used book and handing it over to you.
“Jane Eyre,” they said. “Have you read it?”
“Oddly enough, I haven't,” you smiled, flipping through the annotated and well loved pages. “Someone sure seemed to like it.”
“Yeah, all of our books are used and scribbled on like that,” they chuckled. “The owner is this old money rich guy who works on the board of the New York Public Library, so most of the books here are either throw-outs from them or donated by the community.”
“Well, that’s a very interesting life to lead,” you chuckled. “Honestly, all of this sounds like so much fun, so…count me in.”
Jay beamed and nodded, ringing up your copy of Jane Eyre that came out to an astonishing total of $2.99.
“I think this just became my favorite place in New York,” you said as you watched them slide your new book into a paper bag before reaching behind the counter to grab your “Meet Me” card. Quickly filling out the basics: your name, age, pronouns, favorite book, favorite movie, and favorite color, you handed over a five dollar bill and moved to leave with the event calendar tucked into your paper bag, but a man walking behind you caught your eye and forced you into lingering.
He was an older guy, his hair graying in patches on his beard and in his brown curls, but he didn’t look any older than forty-something. He was wearing a vintage tee and a pair of well loved jeans, his sneakers just as scuffed. You couldn’t help but admire and fall for his casual coolness, the kind you always tried to emulate and never felt close to nailing.
“Hot date?” Jay teased the older man and earned a smile from him.
“Something like that,” he smiled, not giving you more than a blink of attention. “I’ll be back before closing.”
“Sounds good, Ezra,” Jay nodded, joining you in watching Ezra leave the shop before catching you staring a little too long. “That’s the shop owner.”
“Oh,” you managed, your eyes still locked on him as he stood in front of the building, his eyes glued to his phone as he typed a text. “Figured he’d be older.”
“Yeah, he’s a cool guy. If I hadn’t met him, I’m not sure where I’d be. He gave me this job, let me stay at one of the apartments he owns here when I was homeless…just, really cool guy,” they gushed, a sort of admiration in their eyes that had nothing to do with romance and more to do with respect. “Hopefully you’ll get to meet him properly at the mixer, he’s always there for that unless his godkid’s in town.”
“Well, I’ll be there,” you smiled, albeit bashfully. “It was really nice meeting you, Jay.”
“You too,” they lifted your “Meet Me” card and read your name off with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger!”
When Friday evening rolled around, you found yourself in a full face of makeup and dressed to the nines as some sort of vampiress, your lips stained blood red and body squeezed into a black lace corset and black jeans that left little to the imagination. You weren’t sure why you’d gotten so dolled up to go to a bookstore mixer, but figured if the handsome owner, Ezra, was going to be around, you needed to stand out.
It wasn’t until you opened the door to the shop and walked in that you realized how severely underdressed you were.
“Hey!” Jay beamed, making a beeline for you in their Frankenstein costume, their face painted green. “You actually came!”
“Everyone looks so cool,” you whispered in awe, earning a laugh. “I thought I overdid it.”
“No, there’s no overdoing it here,” they laughed before gesturing at your corset. “The corset is stunning, you’re gorgeous, let’s get you some wine. Red or white?”
“Red seems on brand for the costume,” you said, earning another laugh. “Is, uh, is the owner here?”
“I think so,” Jay said, looking around the room. “He’s dressed as The Phantom.”
“Love that,” you smiled, accepting the glass from their hands. “So, what’s, uh…what’s his deal?”
“Oh, no,” Jay laughed, shaking their head. “He’s single-ish. I’ve seen lots and lots of dates but never a long-term thing.”
“Well, rich and attractive,” you weighed your head to the side. “Why would you want to settle down?”
“I think he’s the type of person that makes a much better friend in the long run than anything else,” they said. “He used to go out with one of my friends a few years back and he said that the best moments were the ones where they were just friends. The romantic aspect of it all left a bad taste in his mouth, I guess.”
“Really?” you asked, too absorbed by Jay’s candor to notice Ezra dressed as The Phantom from The Phantom of the Opera walking past you and out of the shop with a woman dressed up as Marian Halcombe from The Woman In White until they were already outside.
“Yeah, he just…he’s not good at serious stuff. He comes from a long line of divorcee’s and doesn’t really believe that people can have successful long term romantic relationships, at least that’s what Ez told me after they split up.”
“How did you meet him again?” you probed, unsure why this man had taken such root in your mind and piqued your curiosity.
“We met when I was an art student at NYU,” they said. “I had a few pieces in an exhibition and nobody stopped for more than a second to look at my shit except for him. He offered to buy all of my art, and at that time I was female presenting so I just assumed he was a rich creep or something, but over time I realized that he’s just a lonely guy who loves to support young, queer artists in whatever way he can. After graduation, I was broke and in debt and homeless, and the minute he learned I was struggling, he offered to let me live in a studio in the building he owns next door, gave me a job here, helps me network with art dealers and galleries. Really just…has been a great friend and mentor to me. I’ll get choked up if I talk about it too much.”
You watched Jay in awe, the twinkle in their eyes as they spoke of their unique journey and this rich man that could have done what most would’ve done in his position and turned a blind eye at them, but he didn’t. You could see the respect and admiration there, and though the news that this Ezra wasn’t necessarily a great romantic partner dampened the image of him you’d drawn in your mind, the reality of his heart and intentions when it came to his friends only made you want to know him more.
“Anyways,” Jay laughed, wiping the corner of their eye. “He’s a good guy. Just, if you’re looking for romance with him—at least a lasting one—I’d forget about it and just try to get to know him as a friend. There’s really nobody like him.”
“I’m coming to realize that,” you chuckled, putting the image of him in your mind on the shelf so that you could focus on the room around you instead. “Thank you for being so friendly to me, I really like your entire vibe, Jay.”
“I like your vibe too. I think you and I are gonna be good friends,” they said with a smile. “Do you want me to introduce you to some of my friends here?”
“Yeah, I’d love that.”
After that night, you had a new set of friends, and a best friend in Jay. This group of eclectic creatives and interesting minds took up most of your time, almost to the point where you didn’t even wonder about their handsome older friend. After a couple weeks of waiting for your chance to meet the mysterious Ezra, you’d become worried that he’d disappeared into thin air, but quickly found out from Jay that he’d only left the city to go upstate and would be back by the start of October.
In the meantime, you continued to explore and try on as many hats as you could. You and the group that adopted you went out to speakeasies and art galleries, you went to museums and comedy shows; Jay even invited you to go volunteer at the women’s shelter they stayed at for a while after graduation.
It was easy to forget the life you lived before this, the faces of your family and friends blurring into the background of the tapestry of your life. You tried not to think about their opinion of you, off running wild in New York City, and while you were able to hush that voice of inherited self-doubt most of the time, you couldn’t manage to silence it when you were all alone. When it was just you in your tiny studio apartment on the third floor of an old, overpriced building, you didn’t feel as invincible as you did around your friends. The thought of becoming an imposter, of abandoning yourself, loomed over you like a constant dark cloud. It took daily reminding from Jay that you weren’t impersonating anybody but the person you felt most comfortable being.
“You’re still you, just a more you you,” they’d say.
You hoped they were right.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fluff#ezra prospect#ezra prospect x reader#ezra x reader#ezra prospect x you#ezra x you#fade into you
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[18:45] date nights at the city were one of the things you and boyfriend!johnny loved to do whenever you were free from work. whether it was planned weeks before or even on a whim, the city had a lot of activities for couples to do.
as you both entered the 9th month of “calling it official”- because everyone in your friend circle were itching for the both of you to date- you thought it would be best to gift johnny something he deserved. also, his birthday was closing in, so you decided to get him a pair of dope-looking sandals from peter do.
johnny texted you saying that he was on his way to, making you all smiley and giddy to see his reaction of your gift to him.
[johnny] : “hey babe, i’m by madison avenue. will turn to the section soon ❤️”
[you] : “alright, got us seats already. see you ❤️”
you smiled and waved at him when he finally set foot in the restaurant. johnny’s eyes smiled at you and he’d be truthful to himself that on each date night you guys had, you never failed to make him swoon and his stomach would take a while to get over the jitters.
johnny even laughed more seeing you and him wearing similar outfits: a navy blue sweater and an emerald snapback for him, while you sported a lighter shade of a blue cardigan and a green beanie.
“my girl, you’re just wearing comfort clothes and you got me all eyes on you even more. but seriously, stop copying me.” he said jokingly before giving a chaste kiss on your temple.
“hey i got here first so let’s just say you copied me.” you squeezed his cheek and poked his nose, him chuckling. “anyway, this couldn’t wait ‘til your birthday so i got you these.”
johnny pouted in a short confusion, seeing you shuffle in your seat to hand him a white paper bag. his eyes caught sight of the words ‘peter do’ and you swore that you wished your phone cam caught his funny expression.
“peter do?!” he said in a soft whisper, switching his head from you and the box back and forth. “no. freaking. way. you got the limited edition too? these aren’t even in stores yet. how did you- wow.”
you covered your mouth with your sweater paws and giggled in embarrassment. “well i know someone at his retail so..”
johnny stood up from his seat and sat next you, giving you quite a long hug and another kiss on your head. “you’re amazing y/n, you know that?”
you pondered a bit. “hmm, yeah. i think you should copy that from me, john. kidding, advance happy birthday, love.”
johnny smiled at you and his upper cheek dimples showed, just how did he get so lucky with you? he’d like to know the answer to that.
“thank you, babe.”
#johnny scenarios#johnny imagines#johnny fluff#johnny au#johnny fanfic#johnny series#johnny drabble#johnny prompts#johnny timestamp#johnny nct#nct johnny#johnny seo#seo youngho#seo johnny#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct imagines#nct au#nct fanfic#nct timestamps#nct drabbles#nct prompts
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Golden Hour || Ch. 1
A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]
Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?
Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC
Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers
Warnings: Cursing, illusion to cheating
Chapter summary: Dr. Olive James arrives in Willow, Georgia, and Dr. Bob Floyd immediately has his feathers ruffled; Olive meets Phoenix, the neighborhood bar owner, who offers her a place to live; Bradley and Olive crash into each other together, literally.
WC: 3.5K
Masterlist here; next chapter here
Willow, Georgia. It looked exactly like you thought it would. You had spent approximately forty minutes Googling the town before booking a one-way ticket from JFK.
Everyone looked straight out of a Normal Rockwell painting. Couples walking hand-in-hand down the flower-lined street. Kids playing in the town square near a white painted gazebo. Neighbors waving at each other as they crossed paths on the sidewalk. A shop owner sticking his head out the door to chat with a customer.
You shook your head and inched the rental car down a tree-lined road off the main circle in town, double checking the GPS to make sure it was correct as you stopped the car in front of a small house on a suburban street.
This was the a doctor’s office?
The only thing that made you think it could be was the small metal sign hanging, lopsided, on a pole near the front of the house.
Dr. Robert Floyd Sr. and Dr. Bob Floyd.
You turned off the car, sitting back for a moment with the air conditioning blasting your face, closing your eyes. What were you doing here? You should be on Madison Avenue, drinking an overpriced iced latte and heading to your job at Mount Sinai.
Except that wasn’t your job anymore. Your job was inside, past the impossibly charming front door of the two-story house that apparently doubled as a physician’s office in what you could only describe as a hamlet, not a town, not a city. Not even a village. A hamlet. In the middle of Georgia. A state that, up until two hours ago, you had never stepped foot in.
A knock on the glass window to your left made you jump, eyes flying open wide. A woman with a large grin stood, pearly white teeth on full display, only a foot or so from your door.
Cautiously, you rolled down the window.
“Well hello there,” she said, too chipper for the morning. Too chipper for any time of day, in your opinion. You liked your people sulky. Salty. like a good New York bagel. LIke a good New Yorker. “I’m Macy Goodwell. Are you lost?”
You frowned. “I don’t think so? Is this the doctor’s office?”
She smiled. “Yes, it is! Are you here to see Dr. Floyd?”
You shook your head. “I’m not a patient.”
Macy cocked her head to the side. “Are you a tax collector?”
You laughed. “What? God, no. I’m a doctor.”
Her face relaxed. “Oh! You’re the new doctor. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
They had? You had accepted Dr. Robert Floyd’s job offer less than twenty-four hours before. How could people already know who you were?
She scooped her hand through the air in a welcoming manner. “Well let me show you inside.”
You rolled up the window, stepping out of the car, ankle wobbling in your stiletto on the uneven pathway in front of the house.
Macy eyed your shoes. “Bit impractical, no?”
“I wore heels on the subway,” you told her. “I think I can handle the sidewalk.”
She tutted quickly, so quickly you almost missed it. “Bless your heart,” Macy said as you followed her up the stone steps toward the house. “You really can walk in those.”
Hiking your Chanel purse higher on your shoulder, you shook out your hair, walking through the door. It was an older house, probably from the twenties, with dark wood trim running along the ceiling edges and wooden paneling in the foyer. The door led straight into a hallway that was lined with chairs, a desk at the far end. It was early, not even ten, and the desk was empty. In fact, the entire house was quiet.
Macy looked at you. “Dr. Floyd is probably already in, but they don’t open until eleven.”
“Eleven?” You tried to hide your shock. By eleven in New York you would have done rounds on patients, assisted in at least two surgeries and done your post-op charting. There was probably even time in there to pop out for an overpriced Sweetgreen salad, or a croissant at Sant Ambroeus if you really hauled ass.
She nodded. “At least, on Thursdays. Come on, let’s check in the offices. Dr. Floyd?”
Macy knocked on one solid wooden door. Inside, you heard rustling, before the door squeaked open.
A tall blond with glasses loomed in the doorway. He wore a blue button up shirt with a white doctor’s coat over it, a pair of tan trousers and cowboy boots hidden below the hem of his pants. When he looked at you, he scowled, and you felt his gaze searing over your skin and dark hair. It made you want to turn away from the intensity, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze and smile.
“Dr. Olive James,” you said, holding out one hand, bangles bashing together as you waited with the hand outstretched. “You can call me Olive or Liv.”
After a beat, he reached out and enveloped your hand in his. His fingers were long and beautiful, like a piano player’s. “Dr. Bob Floyd,” he said.
You nodded, your hand still trapped in his. Finally, Bob let his gaze slip from yours and you let your hand fall.
Macy looked between the two of you and blushed. The air was thick with tension. “I’ll be on my way then.” She nodded at you. “Dr. James. Dr. Floyd.” There was a way that she said Bob’s name. A sort of reverie. Macy scampered away and you heard the front door shut behind her, leaving you and Bob alone. He made no move to show you around.
You realized you had never even asked Macy what she did or who she was. Perhaps that was the charm of a small town. It didn't actually matter. Everyone was a friend or a neighbor or a relative. Everyone felt entitled to interaction.
You cleared your throat. “Is, um, is Dr. Floyd Sr. around?”
“My father is quite elderly,” Bob said and his voice was deep, gruff, but velvety. “He’s retired.”
You nodded. “That’s why I’m here. He hired me as his replacement.”
Bob squinted. “And what exactly are your credentials?”
Anger bubbled inside of you. He doubted your credentials? This small-town doctor who probably graduated bottom of his class was asking about your credentials. You straightened your shoulders. “Columbia medical. I did my surgical residency at Mount Sinai where I was chief resident, and I just completed a fellowship in obstetrics.”
Bob brushed past you without a response. You frowned, trailing after him as he made his way into the back behind the desk to a small kitchen at the back of the house. He poured himself a cup of coffee and then turned around. “Why the hell would you want to come here?” he demanded. “You’re a surgeon.”
You didn’t know how to tell him that New York was dead to you. Perhaps not the whole city, but there was no going back. Not when Peter had come home three nights before and ended a five-year relationship and engagement with five words.
I slept with someone else.
There was no going back. Your apartment, your perfect Upper East Side apartment, the one you had searched high and low for three years before finding, was getting packed up as you spoke. The walls you had painstakingly painted were being stripped of all of the artwork and photographs that dotted it so carefully. The kitchen where you had spent countless hours trying to learn how to properly saute green beans and how to roast a whole chicken that would make Ina Garten proud, was standing empty like a skeleton on a gurney. The bedroom that you and Peter had shared was just a shell that had once housed whimpers and soft declarations of love.
How could you tell a stranger that the largest city in the US was still too small to go back to? So you had done the only rational thing. You had fled. Somewhere far. Somewhere small where you could hide in plain sight. Somewhere he would never come looking for you. Not that you expected him to come searching. Peter Mulligan was the head of fetal surgery at Mount Sinai. He also, not so coincidentally, was your former boss. He had better things to do than to trudge through backwater Georgia looking for a woman he had once loved, but no longer did.
“I’m still a board certified surgeon,” you replied tartly. “I’m just going to be a internal medicine physician, too.” For now, you added in your head.
Bob frowned, taking a sip of black coffee. “He didn’t tell me he hired you until yesterday,” he said.
“He only hired me yesterday.”
“You’re telling me you packed up and left your life in less than a day?”
Your ears burned. You needed to change the subject. “Who thought opening at eleven was a good idea?” you asked. “How do you even conduct business?”
Bob set his cup down. “You might be the other doctor here,” he said, “but this is my practice. I know how it should be run. I know these people. They’re my friends, they’re family.”
You rolled your eyes. “What, like Olive Garden? When you’re here, you’re family.”
Bob stepped closer. You could smell him. Musky, with a light hint of mint. He was attractive, despite the fact that he hadn’t stopped scowling the entire time you’d been in the same room as him. He towered over you, even if that wasn’t his intention. “This is a small town, Dr. James,” he whispered. “It’ll do you good to remember that.”
“You can call me Olive.”
“Dr. James,” he repeated. “Molly will be in shortly. She’s the receptionist. She’ll get things set up for you.”
He turned to leave and you shot out one hand, grabbing his wrist. Bob turned to you with wide eyes. “Sorry,” you murmured, dropping his hand. “I just, do you know a good place to get a coffee around here? While I wait for Molly, that is.”
“Breakers Cafe,” he said. “Only restaurant in town.”
“You’re kidding.”
Bob shook his head, wandering back toward his office. “Like I said, Dr. James. Small town.” The sound of his wooden door shutting firmly signaled that the conversation was done.
You looked around the empty office and sighed, pulling out your phone and typing Breakers Cafe into Google maps.
Half a mile. That was ten city blocks North and South. You could do that without the car. You’d covered more ground in a pair of Jimmy Choos on an average day.
***
You regretted the decision to walk to the cafe the moment you turned down the street.
There was something about the sickly Georgia heat that made your hair puff, your skin slick with sweat, your eyes burn from the sun.
By the time you showed up at Breakers, there was sweat on your hairline and your ankles hurt. New York walking was different. Smooth sidewalks, an aggressive pace set by strangers with their elbows seemingly dug into your sides. Here, in Willow, there was no one to keep pace with. Just tangles of vines and scraggly sidewalks and overgrown lawns that dipped over the cracked brick. No yellow cabs and black Suburbans vying for lane space, honking so loud your ears might burst. Here, in Willow, it was just the sound of your heartbeat raging on in your ears as you trudged toward salvation in the form of a two-star restaurant.
Breakers Cafe, for being the only restaurant and bar in town, wasn’t much to write home about. Not that you’d be writing anyone in New York. They would all side with Peter, for God knows what reason.
A one-story structure out on the edge of town, directly across the square from the medical office, Breakers had another tilted sign out front, in Carolina blue writing. There were a dozen cars parked in the parking lot, and a slew of outdoor tables that sat empty, sweating in the sun.
You took a deep breath and pushed in the door, relishing in the feeling of air conditioning wafting over your sun-drenched skin.
By the time your eyes adjusted to the darkness after spending fifteen minutes in direct sun, you realized all eyes were on you. Literally every table with patrons had stopped talking, their eyes turned toward where you stood at the door.
“Can I help you, darlin’?” A woman, maybe thirty, around your age, stood behind the wide wooden bar on your left, wearing a pair of overalls and a thin tank top, her dark hair pulled back into a bun, face makeup free but stunning nonetheless. “You look lost.”
You stepped further inside, letting the door shut behind you, drawn to her. “I, uh, I was hoping to get a cup of coffee. Dr. Floyd said this is the spot.”
Her face lit up. “Oh you know Bob? Sure, honey, come on in. Have a seat wherever.”
You nodded, choosing a table off to one side, sitting down on the metal chair and pulling a sticky, laminated menu toward you. Everything was either deep fried or smothered in butter. No wonder they needed another doctor in town.
“What can I get you?” The brunette stood next to your table, head cocked to the side. Out from behind the bar she was even more stunning. Tall and lithe with a perfect complexion.
You smiled. “Do you make a cappuccino?”
She held back a laugh. “We have coffee and tea.”
You sighed. “Coffee. Let me guess, no oat milk?”
She smiled. “It’s half and half or cream. Where are you from?”
“New York.”
She nodded. “That explains it. Let me guess, you’re the new lady doctor we’ve been hearing about.”
“Guess so.”
She hesitated. “I’m Natasha, but people call me Phoenix.”
You held out a hand. “Olive James.”
Phoenix grinned. “Dr. James. Good to meet you. I’ll be right back with that coffee. Black, I assume?”
You nodded and Phoenix disappeared. There was a rustic charm about Breakers. From the worn wooden floor to the walls peppered with posters and framed photos of locals. It had absolutely nothing in common with The Breakers in Palm Beach, and you stuck out as bad here as someone from Willow would in Palm Beach.
Phoenix slid a cup of coffee over to you and took a seat at the table. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” You took a sip. It was hot and dark, a little bitter, but overall smooth. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
She eyed you. “How long you planning on staying?”
You were too embarrassed to admit you hadn’t thought that through. Instead, you shrugged. “Depends on a few things.”
“Well, are you renting or buying?” she asked.
Fuck. Another thing you hadn’t really thought much about. “I, uh, I’m going to stay at a hotel for a few days. Get my bearings.”
“Willow Inn,” she said. “Only place in town worth staying at.”
“Good tip, thanks,” you replied.
Phoenix leaned back against the chair, crossing her long legs. “Listen, I’m staying at my sister’s place and there’s a guest house out back if you’re interested. It needs some work. But it’s better than staying at the Inn, at least on your pocketbook.” Her gaze lingered on your Chanel flap bag on the table. “Or maybe your salary will allow it.”
You let out a breath. “Really? You don’t even know me. I could be a serial killer.”
“About time this town had something exciting happen.”
The sharp bark of a laugh that exited your mouth surprised you both.
“Here.” She pulled out a scrap of paper and jotted down a few lines. “My number and address. I’m off at six, so come by after? If Dr. Rob vouched for you at his practice, that’s as good as golden with me.”
You slipped the paper into your bag. “I’ll see you tonight after six.”
Phoenix stood up, ripping off a piece of paper from her pad and dropping it on the table. The receipt. She smiled. “Welcome to Willow.”
***
Back at the office, you stepped through the door to find the waiting room full. A cheerful blonde at the front desk greeted you. “Hi!” she said and her voice hit a sucrose register that nearly made your ears bleed. “Do you have an appointment?”
You shook your head. “No. Let me guess, you’re Molly.”
“Sure am.” She grinned. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I’m Dr. Olive James.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, Dr. James. Yes, Dr. Floyd told me to expect you. Give me five minutes and I can show you around.”
Your eyes scanned the room. “I think the tour can wait. Pretty packed in here, I can take whoever is next.”
She laughed, a thin hiccup really. You squinted at her. “Oh, honey,” Molly drawled. She couldn’t be more than twenty-four years old. “These patients aren’t here to see you. They’re here to see Dr. Floyd.”
“Does it matter?” you asked. Looking around, you raised your voice. “Hi, everyone. I know you’re all here to see Dr. Floyd, but I’m Dr. James and I would be happy to help treat you today.”
Molly opened her mouth, but a woman sitting near the window beat her to it. “We ain’t here to see you, honey. Dr. Floyd is our doctor.” There was a collective round of nods and hums.
You frowned. “I understand, but like I said, I am also a doctor, and I would love to help.”
“You can help by not making a scene in my waiting room.” Bob entered the room through a side door. He had taken off his white jacket, and his shirt was one button looser than it had been this morning. He smiled at the woman who had just spoken up. “Mrs. Whitaker. How are you, ma’am?”
She stood, patting his arm. “Just fine, dear, just fine.” She paused in the door frame and looked back at you. “She’s trying to steal your patients, Dr. Floyd.”
His face softened and he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am. Head on back, I’ll be right in.”
Mrs. Whitaker nodded, and Bob lingered in the doorway. He looked up at you.
“A word?”
You followed him down the hall, curving into the front office. It had a series of dark built-in bookshelves lining one wall, a large wooden desk in the middle. Through a pocket door you spotted an empty exam room.
“I know my father hired you,” Bob said quietly, his voice low and slow, practically rumbling from inside of him. You were struck with the sudden urge to reach out and trace over his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his thick neck. “But you are an outsider. Don’t go stepping on my toes. You won’t like where it leads you.”
Before you could respond, he was gone.
You rushed out the door the two of you had slipped through, but instead of meeting empty air in the hallway, you crashed against something hard and soft at the same time. It wasn’t until the two of you were stumbling to the ground that you realized it was another person, their arms scrambling for purchase on you as the two of you tumbled to the floor.
“Shit!” Your voice echoed through the hallway as the definitive sounds of smacking limbs hit the wood and you grunted, as did your partner-in-crime.
You sat up, mentally calculating if there were any injuries. Everything seemed fine. As you made your way to your knees, you heard a voice over your shoulder. “You alright, ma’am?”
The voice was decidedly sexy. That’s the first thing you noticed. The second was the warm set of chocolatey eyes that met yours as you whipped around, hair getting caught in your mouth.
“Here.” He held out one impossibly large hand, visible veins running up and down his forearm, and helped you gently to your feet.
You smoothed your hands over your hair, hoping the fall hadn’t pushed everything too out of order. “Thank you,” you murmured.
He smiled, bright white teeth. There was a small set of scars along his left jawline against tanned skin, soft brown hair curling up at the edges. He went on for miles and miles and you found yourself looking up, despite your four inch heels. “I’m Bradley Bradshaw,” he said confidently. “Don’t think we’ve met before.”
Your fingers were still resting in his hand. “Dr. Olive James.”
Bradley’s eyes widened slightly. Your reputation might have preceded you. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”
“Call me Olive,” you said.
“Olive,” he replied and your name had never sounded sweeter than it did in that moment. Down the hall, in the waiting room, someone coughed and it pulled you from your daze. Your hand slipped from Bradley’s and his eyes flickered down to where your hand landed at your side before trailing up, back to meet yours. “I, um, I have to go speak with Bob about something,” Bradley said. “But I’ll see you soon I hope?”
You grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure you will.”
Bradley bent down and collected his folder that had fallen on the ground when the two of you collided. A single piece of paper stuck out the top. You caught two words.
Partnership agreement.
Bradley righted himself and smiled. At the end of the hall, Bob Floyd opened his door and ushered Mrs. Whittaker into the waiting area. He caught sight of Bradley and waved one hand. “Bradshaw,” he called out. “I’ve got a minute between patients.”
Bradley looked at you once more, tipping his head slightly. “Duty calls. See you soon, Olive.”
You watched as Bradley sauntered over to where Bob was standing, a frown plastered on his face as he looked at you. Bradley gazed over as well, his smile a complete contrast to Bob’s displeasure. A strange sentiment gathered in the bottom of your stomach.
Willow was turning out to be a more complex place than you had originally thought.
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Got my gallbladder out yesterday. It was laparoscopic and outpatient, and I was home 6 hours after I arrived at the hospital. I'm as good as possible for someone who lost a knife fight less than 24 hours ago.
But me coming out of anesthesia is always a good story, so I'm sharing. Here's what I remember so far:
I kept telling the nurses I wanted to get a good grade in Patient
I talked a lot about how much I hated the Barbie movie, which I'd seen the night before
Had a "what are your pronouns" discussion with one of the nurses
Talked about things I'd done previously while coming out of anesthesia, including the time I talked about how much my doctor looked like a doctor (he looked like the platonic ideal of a Hollywood or Madison Avenue doctor)
Gossiped about other patients in recovery around me
When I realized I was no longer wearing my N95 I'd worn in, I said "they stole my n95" again and again until they gave me another mask
Apparently I was so amusing that one of the techs couldn't stop laughing, though I don't remember that part
When I finally had my phone again, I sent everyone this:
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Hiya~! You're always in the back of my mind as a kind and knowledgeable source for Daredevil. ♥
Do you know if it has ever been revealed exactly what chemical blinded Matt? Or even where it was coming from/going in the middle of the city? My knowledge of comic books exploiting all potential plots makes me feel like this is a thread that would have been pulled at some point over the last 60 years, but I don't see anything.
Aah, thank you! That's a great question, and the answer is that a lot of these details have actually been kept vague. There have been a lot of retellings of Matt's origin, but they haven't explored the actual context/nuances of the accident that much and the details they have included have tended to be inconsistent. The thing that blinded Matt was a radioactive substance of some kind, but visual depictions have varied wildly, from a glowing "radioactive cylinder" to leaky barrels of toxic sludge.
Matt's accident depicted by Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, and Glynis Wein (left); and by Chris Samnee and Javier Rodriguez (right).
As I mentioned, the details of the accident itself also vary. In Daredevil #1, we learn that the substance that blinded Matt was being transported by Ajax Atomic Labs, and that the accident was caused by the truck's brakes malfunctioning:
Daredevil vol. 1 #1 by Stan Lee, Bill Everett, and Sam Rosen
In Daredevil #164's origin rehashing, Roger McKenzie tells us that it was the army transporting bomb materials through the city, and that the accident was caused by the driver suffering a sudden heart attack:
Daredevil vol. 1 #164 by Roger McKenzie, Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, Glynis Wein, and John Costanza
Perhaps most compellingly (at least to me), Tony Stark's notes on Daredevil in the Civil War Files identify a Stark Industries project (under the leadership of Tony's father) as the source of the substance, which is referred to as radioactive waste:
Civil War Files #1 by Anthony Flamini, Stuart Vandal, Ronald Byrd, Madison Carter, et al.
Mark Waid added one more detail, which gave voice to something that had previously just been implied: that this dangerous substance—whatever it was—was not supposed to be going through a populated area at all:
Caption: "That's when the driver opted to finally look up. His tires screaming, his cargo tumbled loose. It had been secured with the same kind of care one would expect—from a fly-by-night company that thought it'd be okay to illegally transport toxic waste through New York traffic."
Daredevil vol. 3 #23 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, Javier Rodriguez, and Joe Caramagna
To this, I might add the inference that it was likely being driven through Hell's Kitchen in particular because it was (at that time) a low income neighborhood where the authorities would be less likely to notice or care.
Waid's description of the accident, and the visual of barrels of toxic waste rather than a radioactive cylinder, are reminiscent of the alternate universe version of Matt's origin that Frank Miller and John Romita, Jr. presented in Man Without Fear—which also included the juicy detail of lawyers for the corporation showing up at Matt and his father's apartment afterward and strong-arming Jack into not pressing charges.
But yes, though I understand keeping the science involved in superhero origin stories non-specific, this is definitely an area of the Daredevil lore that could use further clarification. For real-world inspiration, here's an interesting New York Times article from 1985 about the transportation of nuclear waste through New York City. This part in particular seems relevant, and fits the timing of the publication of Daredevil #1 in 1964:
"Brookhaven has had a nuclear reactor operating since 1954. From 1954 to 1976, the spent fuel - radioactive uranium - was carried by truck into New York City, across the 59th Street Bridge, north on Third Avenue and across town to the George Washington Bridge. It then went south to a site in South Carolina for reprocessing. But in 1976 the city passed a local law banning the shipments, and triggering a battle over who has authority to control the shipments."
Maybe Matt was blinded by radioactive uranium? That transport route doesn't hit Hell's Kitchen at all, but I will also point out that Matt's childhood neighborhood wasn't specified as being Hell's Kitchen until Daredevil #164. At the very least, we know that toxic stuff was going through Manhattan in 1964, so if you were interested in a potential real-world source for more details to add to Matt's accident, that seems like a good place to look.
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Cowboytober Day 12- Blowjob
Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader
Word counting: 1.8k
Rating: 18+
Warning: Semi-public sex (most precisely on Jack's office), hair pulling, SoftDom!Jack (nothing new under the light of the sun), cum swallowing.
Masterlist
A/N: I've wrote a good part of this listening to "That's what I like" by Bruno Mars, so it can be a good soundtrack during the reading. For geographical purposes, I've considered the Statesman's office being in the place where is the MetLife Building, once it's the building they used in the movie.
Part two: Cowboytober Day 18
Jack hated to be in New York. He was aware that it was necessary and inevitable in his position as Statesman’s CEO, but if he had the chance to schedule the meeting in Louisville or do it remotely, he would. Everything was a better option than NYC, but, at least, since you two got married he could take you with him, forgetting about all of his problems when he remembered that at the end of the day, he would have you in his arms. And you didn’t disapprove of that. Even with Jack spending all his day on Statesman, you could go anywhere you wanted while having his credit card as your company or you could just relax all day on that 1394 square feet condo on the Rose Hill Building, which conveniently was just a twenty-minute walk away from Statesman; it wasn’t for no reason, Jack refused to spent hours on the traffic just to attend a meeting, if he couldn’t escape from New York, at least he would have the best of it.
When you got out of the bath, you checked the clock and noticed that it wouldn’t be long until Jack was back home. Once you were dressed, you decided to go meet him, you used to do this a lot, sometimes meeting him halfway or getting out of Statesman. After leaving the building, you followed through Park Avenue, walking the most calmly it was possible at that hour in Manhattan.
Safe to say that you find pretty odd the fact that you were already entering the Statesman building and hadn’t seen Jack yet; there was no chance that you two could have mismatched on the way, he never walked home through Madison Ave exactly because he knew you never used that street to go to meet him. When you spoke with the sympathetic lady in the reception, she confirmed that Jack was still in his office.
After a reasonable time on the elevator, you were finally on the 39th floor. You walked calmly through the corridor, greeting a few people you knew on your way, till you finally stopped in front of the right door, unable to hold back a smile while looking at the golden nameplate with the writing “Jack Daniels Chief Executive Officer”. You knocked on the door, opening it after hearing his warm voice on the other side telling you to get in, and at the moment you entered his office, you already knew that he wasn’t on a very pleasant day; a crease between his eyebrows, his tie loosened, his Stetson lying on top of the desk, and his hair slightly ruffled due to the number of times Jack had passed his hand on it.
You closed the door and calmly approached his desk, waiting silently for him to move his attention off his paperwork. When he looked up, he was expecting to see someone from the marketing team bringing something for him to give the final approval, or his secretary bringing another problem for him to solve, but when Jack saw you, his first reaction was to smile widely, already forgetting all the stress he had been through.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sugar.” His smile was still pretty noticeable.
“Well, I was planning to meet you halfway home, to be honest.” You answered with a soft tone, smiling a bit. Jack frowned slightly and checked his watch, just then realizing the hours.
“I didn’t see the time passing.” He leaned back on his chair and looked at you “But c’mere.” He said while tapping his thigh. You promptly walked around his desk and sat sideways on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders.
“Let me guess, my cowboy is having a hard day.” You said while starting to softly massage his shoulders, making him let out a heavy sigh while leaning forward to rest his face against your breasts.
“You ain’t kidding, I don’t remember the last time I had such an awful day.” Jack passed his arms around your waist, keeping his face buried against you.
“Think about the good part, it’ll get a bit better when you get home.” Your hands remained on his shoulders.
“I don’t think there’s anything that could make this day better.” He answered softly and your mind immediately started to work.
“I’ll have to disagree with you on this.” Before he could question, your hand already was moving down his body, going straight to his fly, making him moan quietly at the very moment you groped him “Do you still think that your day can’t get better?”
“You’re starting to convince me that it can.” He answered while tightening his grip on your waist.
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you that it can.” Right after finishing the sentence you moved to the floor, kneeling between his legs while looking into his eyes.
“Honey, there’s a lot of people in the office.” Jack sounded slightly worried but didn’t prevent you from undoing his belt and opening his zipper.
“I know that, but I assume that people knock on the CEO’s door before entering.” You said while moving your hand inside his jeans, taking his cock in your hand “Or are you afraid of your coworkers hearing you whimpering?” you teased while freeing his erection from his pants, observing his mischievous smirk.
“Well then, sugar.” Jack leaned back comfortably on his chair and held your chin “Letting aside teasing, let’s see what this pretty mouth of yours can do.” He let go of your chin and relaxed, waiting for your next move.
You smiled sideways and didn’t hesitate before moving forward, running your tongue all over his length before taking him into your mouth slowly, slightly sucking the tip of his cock, just to tease him.
“Fuck…” Jack couldn’t hold back a quiet moan while moving one hand straight to your hair, you sighed satisfied and slid your mouth on him, savoring every inch you could take, and it was enough to make Jack contort slightly on the chair. You kept your eyes on his face, enjoying the vision of his mouth slightly opened and his chest starting to move quickly up and down as you kept the constant pace.
One of your hands remained on the base of his cock while the other moved along his thigh, squeezing it softly, and, even though you were enjoying the eye contact, you couldn’t help but close your eyes, loving every single part of that; the way his grip was getting tighter on your hair, how he seemed to have forgotten that most of the workers were still on the office and would listen to him if his groans got louder, and for sure you couldn’t ignore how hard he was on your mouth.
Jack was struggling harder than he ever had in his life, not even the most complicated missions he had been involved on his time as an agent were so difficult as keep his moans under control while he had you so beautifully kneeled in front of him, sucking his cock as if it was the most tasteful thing you ever had on your mouth. It was becoming too much for him.
“Sugar?” he called quietly with his breath considerably irregular, making you look up at him “Can I guide you?” Jack could see the sparkling in your eyes at the very moment he asked the question and you didn’t flinch before nodding your affirmation without pulling him out of your mouth “That’s my naughty little lady.” He caressed your scalp then grabbed a handful of your hair, starting to push and pull your head at the precise pace he wanted, not too fast to end the fun too soon and not too slow because he couldn’t trust his capacity of being quiet if that lasted for too long.
You kept both of your hands on his thighs, letting him take the lead while you could feel your body reacting to all of that, especially your panties getting wet and your clit throbbing at every move of your head. It became more noticeable for you how close to the edge Jack was when his hand clenched on the armrest of his chair, making his knuckles white.
Calmly, Jack pulled your head back, till he was out of your mouth, looking carefully at you with a lascivious look, loving the view of your reddish lips with a shining string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. He smirked and pushed you slowly back, moaning louder as he felt the warmth of your mouth moving on him once more, finally starting to lose the remaining crumbs of his composure.
“Be a good girl and suck it, darling’.” If you were wet before, after that you were unquestionably soaked, and of course, you obeyed, sucking his cock with all the desire you had on your body at that moment, realizing how much you had messed up with him when his other hand moved to your head too, now making you move faster, and you couldn’t control your moans as you felt him going deeper on your mouth, not bothering about the couple of times you had gagged on him.
Feeling his body getting to its limits, Jack grabbed your hair even tighter, biting his lips to try to suppress a loud moan as he reached his orgasm, filling your mouth with his sperm as his body started to relax. He let go of your hair, leaning his head back for a moment while wiping a few drops of sweat from his forehead, then turning his attention back to you, cupping your cheek and caressing it. You parted your lips a bit more, so he could see his seed puddled on your tongue, Jack smirked and held your chin between his thumb and index finger, appreciating that incredible view for a moment before cupping your cheek again and caressing your bottom lip with his thumb.
“Proceed as you want, sweetheart.” He said softly, aware that his high consumption of alcohol and red meat didn’t make his sperm so good flavored, barely did he know that you liked it anyway, but the message was probably well transmitted when you swallowed every drop of it with a smile on your face, resulting on him chuckling and shaking his head. “I can’t with you sometimes, honeybee. Now c’mere.” He pulled you up, kissing you slowly and caressing your back.
“Is your day improved enough for you to go home?” you asked softly against his lips.
“Our twenty-minute walk ‘till home will be very useful, ‘cause I have a lot of plans for you for the rest of the night.” He winked at you with a playful smile and kissed you once more.
Cowboytober Masterlist
#kinktober#kinktober 2023#agent whiskey#agent whiskey fic#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x you#jack daniels#jack whiskey daniels#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#kingsman: the golden circle#pedrostories
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Looking out of a store window on the east side of Madison Avenue between 96th and 97th Streets, ca. 1956.
Photo: John Albok via MCNY
#vintage New York#1950s#John Albok#snowstorm#snow#street photography#street scene#winter#vintage winter#Carnegie Hill#Upper East Side
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I am posting this for notes purposes, because we are going to be contacting many of these companies to pitch SIX Of Crows! ;)
The following companies are looking for new TV pitches for development & production.
Campaign - Production Companies
20th Century Fox Television
20th TV, Fox and MyNetworkTV
2C Media
3 BALL PRODUCTIONS
3 Ball Productions/Eyeworks USA
3 Ring Circus
360Production
40 Partners
720 PR
8790 Pictures,Inc.
ABC Cable Networks
ABC Entertainment
ABC Studios
Abrams Artists Agency
Adept Entertainment
Alan David Group
Alchemy Television
Alchemy Television Group
Alcon Entertainment
Allan McKeown Presents Ltd
Allan R. Smith Productions
Ambush Entertainment
American Media Television
Anne Carlucci Productions, Inc.
APA
Arclight Films
Arjay Entertainment Television
Artist International
Asylum Entertainment
AT IT Productions
Atlas Media Corp
Automatic Pictures
Avalon Television USA
Axelson-Weintraub Entertainment
Banner-Caswell Productions
BBC Worldwide
BCII
Beth Grossbard Productions
Big Cattle Productions
Big Hill Pictures
Boulevard Pictures
Boxing Cats Productions
Boz Productions
Brian Graden Media
Broken Lizard Industries
Buck Productions
Buck Productions Inc.
CAA
Cakehouse Media
Capestany Films
CartoonNetwork
Cataland Films
Cavelight Films
CBS
CBS Entertainment
CBS Films
CBS Interactive
CBS Paramount
CBS Paramount Network Television
CBS Studios International
CBS Television Distribution
CBS Television Studios
Central Artists
Champion Entertainment
Clear Pictures Entertainment
Codeblack Entertainment
Codeblack Films/Lionsgate
Collins Avenue
CoLours TV
cosmic pictures
Creative Chaos Inc.
Creative Convergence
DASH Networks
DatsEntertainment
De Line Pictures
Digital Alchemy Entertainment Inc.
Disney Channel
diverse talent group
Dragonfly Film and TV
E'lan Productions
Echelon Studios
Echo Lake Productions
Echo Production Company, Inc
Edmonds Entertainment
Edward Saxon Productions
Electric Entertainment
Elkins Entertainment
Ellman Entertainment
Enchanted Rock Pictures/MTS Entertainment
Endemol USA
Endgame Entertainment
Ensemble Entertainment
Entertainment Studios, Inc
Epic Level Entertainment
Epiphany Pictures
Espiritus Productions
Evatopia
Eventime Productions
Evolution Entertainment
Eyeworks Belgium NV
Fauci Productions, Inc.
Faultline Films ltd
Film 44
Film Garden Entertainment
Firehorse Pictures
Fireworks Enterprises
Fisher Entertainment Group
Forward Entertainment, llc
Fox Broadcasting
Fox Interactive Media
Fox International Channels
Fox Searchlight Pictures
FOX Sports
Fox Television Studios
Frontlot Productions
FX Network
Generate
Goliath
Grand Productions Inc
GRB Entertainment
Greene & Associates Talent Agency
Greenspan Kohan Mgt.
Handmade Films
Harper Winslow Productions
HBO
HDNet
Here Media
Homerun Entertainment
Honest Engine Films
Hope Enterprises, Inc.
Ideas Unlimited - TV (Denmark)
Idiomatic Entertainment
IKA Collective
Imbroglio Pictures Inc. / Scott & Cooper Entertainment Ventures
Innovative Artists
insomnia media group
Inspire Films and Television
International Creative Management
Intuitive Entertainment
IWV Media Group, Inc.
Jackamo Television Ltd
Jane Street Entertainment
Jeff Ross Entertainment
Jupiter Entertainment
Just SInger Entertainment
Kaplan-Stahler Agency
Ken Ehrlich Productions
Kickstart Productions, Inc.
Kingfish Productions
klasky csupo, inc.
KoldCast TV
Komixx Entertainment
Konigsberg Company
Kritzer Levine Wilkins Griffin Entertainment
Laika Entertainment
Legion Entertainment LLC
Lionsgate
Lionsgate Television
Little Dog Productions
LITTLE STUDIO FILMS
Litton TV
Lucky 8 TV
M Creative Group, Inc.
Madeline Films
Madhouse Entertainment
Madison Road Entertainment
Magical Elves
Magnet Management
Magnolia Entertainment
Mandeville Films Inc
Mandt Bros. Productions
Mango Tree Films
Manville Media
Mark Yellen Productions
Mashaal Media Corp.
Mass Hysteria Entertainment
Matrixx Prod.
Mayhem Pictures
Media 8 Entertainment
MGM
Michael Berk Productions
Michael Grais Prods.
Michael Levy Enterprises
Microsoft Corporation
Moniker Entertainment
Moxie Pictures
MPH Entertainment, Inc.
Mpower Pictures
Mt. Vernon Entertainment
myriad pictures
National Geographic Digital Media
National Lampoon/ Comedy Cocktail
NBC/Universal | Mun2
Neon Television
Network Entertainment Inc.
New Wave Entertainment
Noble Savages
Nu Image
Nu Image / Millennium Films
Nu Image/Millennium Films
Oceanside Entertainment
Ocular Production Inc.
One Entertainment
PalmStar Entertainment
Panic Productions, Inc.
Paradigm Agency
Paramount Digital Entertainment
Paramount Network
Paul Schiff Productions
Paulist Productions
Phoenix Pictures
Pie Town productions
Planet Grande Pictures
Planet Pictures
Playboy Entertainment Group
Plymouth Rock Entertainment, Inc.
Pogo Pictures
Popular Arts Entertainment
Porchlight Entertainment
Port Magee Pictures, Inc.
PorterGeller Entertainment
POW! Entertainment
preferred artists
Principal Entertainment
Principato Young
Principato-Young Entertainment
PrizmHead Pictures
Rain Management Group
Rainstorm Entertainment
RDF USA
RDS FILM
Red Baron Films
Reel Entertainment
Reid Media Group, Inc.
Revelations Entertainment
Reyes Entertainment
Right Brain Media
ROAR
Rob Gallagher Literary Management
ROBBINS ENTERTAINMENT GROUP
Rudolph Films Inc
S.L Entertainment
SB Productions Inc.
Scream Films (UK Based)
Shatner Universe
ShineReveille International
ShootersTV
Sidney Kimmel Entertainment
Sigh Griffin Management
Slate of Eight Productions
Smash Media
Smoke and Mirrors Creative / Pandemonium Films
Solar Films Inc
Sony Pictures
Sony Pictures International TV
Sony Pictures Television
Sony Pictures Television International
Sony Pictures TV
Sony Television
SPEED Channel
Sports Branded Media
Starz
Starz Media
State Street Pictures
Station3
Storytime Films
Stowaway Films
Telecast productions
Tell Tale Productions
test
The Corsa Agency
THE GERLER AGENCY
The Gersh Agency
The Gersh Agency, L.A.
THE MAK COMPANY
The Sterling/Winters Production Studios
The Televisionaries
The Terminal
The Wolper Organization
The Wolper Organization / WBTV
Thousand Hills Productions
ThunderBall Films, LLC
Touchdown Television
Trevino Enterprises
Trilogy Entertainment Group
TV Guide Network
Twentieth Century Fox Television
Twentieth Television
Underground Films
Underground Films and Management
Union Entertainment
United Talent Agency
Universal Studios
UTA
Valencia Corp
Venture IAB
ViacomCBS
VPR Media
Walt Disney Company
Walt Disney Studios
Walt Disney Studios Motion Picture Production
Washington Square Films
Wayans Brothers Prod.
Weller/Grossman Productions
Wide Angle Productions Group, Inc.
Wildbrain Entertainment
William Morris Endeavor
Wolf Moon Films
Zero gravity
Zero Gravity Management
Zilo Networks Inc.,
Zucker Productions
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