Tumgik
#blowing stuff up with dynamite is a love language right
Text
The amount of shenanigans and arson these two could (and would) get up to together is unparalleled
Tumblr media
(Tap for better resolution)
Tumblr media
(I spent longer on the background idk why)
115 notes · View notes
wroteclassicaly · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Summary: Sometimes, you just gotta use Steve. And sometimes — he’s just gotta let you.
Warnings: Language, NSFW, PWP, vaginal sex, overall filth, etc.
A/N: Something I came up with last night because some of us are sluts for Steve’s tight little jeans, and the monster he’s got caged inside of them. ;) This has zero plot, and it’s just filth, but I’m proud of myself because when I was writing it, I felt like I was able to form sentences again (that I actually liked, lol). Hope y’all enjoy it too? And I am working on more stuff, plus the plus sized Eddie angst/comfort that I promised! ❤️💘❤️💘
Tumblr media
The explosion of cinnamon amongst a molten, midnight black is impeccable — it’s delicious. He’s completely gone and you’re not sure what reality you’ve landed upon, your body not still or sound. If there’s control you aren’t exactly sure who has it (does anyone, really)? There’s a rumbling sound that’s dislodged from his diaphragm, his chest — thick with chestnut curls — expands on a jagged breath. Your back arches again, that undeniable shift helping you push your hips with all they’re worth, owning your movements.
“Oh, fuck. H-honey, I can’t —“
He cuts himself off, pearly white teeth sinking into the swollen skin of his stubble bitten, top lip. Your sclera is shrouded in tears, the crystal liquid overflowing, spilling down your lash-line. He almost has to check in with you, but as your fingers find your nipples and give them that extra stimulation — he ceases, his abdomen muscles crunching beneath the tremors. He’s about to speak and you beat him to it, bearing the tendons in your throat.
“Yeah… s’ fucking good. Love it.”
He has to drop his head to crest into focus, bowed between defined shoulder blades, his large hand reaching to cradle your cheek. He nearly blows his load right then and there, a wince crackling across his features like an electric shock. Your fingertips are the pulsing magnets, his body your dynamite to explode. His mouth feels chapped and dry, but he knows that it's his throat that’s raspy, brimmed with velvet arousal, stroking the flames that lick below his navel everytime you work your heat back onto his cock, using him.
And he tries another turn at coherency. “You love what, baby?”
You’re without pause, humming, feet planted into the mattress, toes curled into his baby blue bed sheets. Mingling scents of your soft perfume, his cologne, laundry detergent that littered the laundered sheets, and sex — it’s fanned with your possessive rhythm. Still, you sound more capable of speech — albeit — drenched in a honey wrapped heat, capable of destroying you both in the most aching burns. “Love having my cunt filled with your big cock, Steve.”
“That right?” It’s through clenched teeth that it separates itself free of his throat. His calloused thumb pad finds your cheekbone, pathing a way only he can ever know, one that slithers across your jaw and presses into the corner of your mouth, prying open your lips to hear you beg just a little more. “You know that you take it better than anyone else ever has, honey? Like you were made for it.”
Those words ignite your blazing inferno, your hips raising off the mattress and pushing, retracting into a rough bounce, an encouragement, a plea. Steve has never seen you like this before. A goddess amongst his broken knighthood (he needs to stop hanging around Eddie when the dude has Hellfire and goes all nerdy on him with metaphors), summoning his body for your sole pleasure, bringing him to the brink and shattering the release before he can even begin to sample a taste. Everything stings, prickling his tongue, locking his muscles into submission, his hair constantly swaying in his sweaty forehead and matting there, leaving him to blink rapidly. He isn’t sure what time it is, aware that he’s been bouncing you in a painstakingly, agonizing rhythm over his swollen cock, no one cumming, left to graze that high with fingertips.
Steve can barely take it anymore, his balls throbbing with unshed release, posture growing sloppy with choppy exhaustion. But damn it feels so fucking good, with his bones satiated and melting, fusing into his overworked muscles. And then you run your fingers through his chest hair, your digits stretching to splay across his jugular, arm elongating to assist. Steve wraps a limb around your back, using his forearm to propel you forward, your pussy taking him the rest of the way with a slick squelch, an immediate press of your milky white cream seeping out around where you’re joined, soaking him. His fingertips press into the meat of your back, tapping idly, squeezing.
“My dick is fucking soaked, honey. You’ve just been using me up for the last hour, huh?” His plush mouth finds the skin behind your ear, your breasts smashing into his chest and sticking.
He nibbles a little, alternating with that diabolical swipe of his tongue along the side of your neck, seizing your salty exertion — your body dusted in layers upon layers of it. It’s Steve who takes this movement, falling back onto his haunches and raising a bit to tighten his hold around your lower back, the other lacing your hands together and wiggling them between your thighs, making them part further, your limbs still wrapped around his waist, now draping over top his hips. He uses his nose to nudge your gaze, redirecting it to where he slides out enough for you to see his cock shining with a mess of you. “Look, honey. You see all this mess?”
If you weren’t totally in love with this man, you would’ve been flooded with shame. You’ve gotten yourself so fucking wet from simply riding him at a cruelly, leisurely pace, that your thick essence has patched itself around the public hair at the base of his shaft, slicking it back and bubbling away with a peeling squish — one that drizzles down and strings across his full balls. He can’t take it anymore, his hand sliding up your back and fisting into the back of your hair. You surrender, almost letting yourself get swept out to sea once more, but Steve brings you back into the moment. “Watch this with me, baby.”
Finding that overwhelming scene between your legs, Steve uses the strength in his hips to bounce you, your cream dripping onto his thigh, and — what’s at his base, sticking to your skin, the hair tickling your clit in ways that have your eyes rolling back. Everything inside of you shouts and tightens, taking hold and bolting you to him. He already feels it inside of your warmth, your walls fluttering, squeezing, pulling him impossibly deeper inside. “Fuck, I’m cumming, Steve. Baby, I can’t hold it, please —“
“Shh, shh. I know, honey. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He buzzes through a partial hiss, jaw agape as he feels it right on through with you. The pressure is almost too much, enough to knock him onto his ass.
You’re a whimpering, quivering heap of bones and flesh, body stuck so tightly to him that he’s holding you in his lap, fucking you on his cock as you take it now, Steve in charge of capturing the high. Another squelch in the quiet of the room, a warmth of arousal that’s accumulated below your ass, Steve’s palm shoving into yours, and his lips pry yours apart, tongue rudely licking its way into your mouth and you completely come undone, drenching him into his orgasm. If pulling out was on the table, the forsaken table is in shambles at the moment, Steve’s thick, hot release sinking into your insides, body welcoming him home.
By the time the prolonged highs end, Steve piles onto his back and takes you with him, silence blanketing the room as his hand finds the flesh of your tummy and massages. Aftercare will come soon, as your limits were damn near overpowered by your cock hungry need for your boyfriend and that monster he keeps in his pants. It makes you giggle as he smiles breathlessly, welcoming your cheek onto his hairy chest.
“Never seen you like that before,” he mumbles.
Your hair is a mess when you raise to answer. “It’s not my fault you wear those tight little jeans, Harrington.”
~*~
763 notes · View notes
unbreakablekiribaku · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
Genre: angst
Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki/Female Reader
Requested: @rinarecommends​
5 with bakugou and female reader 🥰😭😭😭
“You’re such an asshole!”
Word Count: 1.7k
Content: Pro hero Bakugou, pro hero reader, 
Trigger warnings: strong language, references to fighting/violence, injuries, broken bones, head injury, amnesia, perceived sexual harassment
A/N:  Please don’t hate me too much, Rina! 
Thank you @kingkatsuki​ for helping out with your extensive Bakugou knowledge!
***
Your head hurt.
The nurses taking care of you had told you that you’d been involved in a brutal fight with a group of villains, one of which had dealt a devastating blow to the back of your head.
It was most likely because of that injury that you were having a tough time remembering exactly what had happened to you. 
You’d gathered bits and pieces of information from eavesdropping on the conversations of the medical professionals that stood around your bed from time to time, examining your notes and discussing your predicament with each other. 
The nurses had also let you watch the news a couple of times, so you’d learnt that the villains you’d fought had gotten away. That’s why it was particularly important to remember what had happened during your fight with them. You could have seen or heard something that would allow the other pro heroes to track the bastards down again.
One of the most frustrating things about your memory gaps, was that you couldn’t remember who else was fighting alongside you. If you could at least pick out one familiar face from the blurry figures that flashed through your mind when you tried to think back, perhaps you could find them and talk over what had happened. That was surely your best option.
You’d had no luck so far, though. The fragments of jumbled memories that had come back to you were so distorted and blurry that it was impossible to make out anything more than the odd flash of a cape or the sound of a distant, indistinct yell or scream. 
There’d been a little talk amongst your doctors, of calling in someone with a memory recovery quirk. Apparently they were reluctant to allow you to undergo any such treatment just yet, your body was still healing all of the physical damage you’d suffered and was far too weak to sustain any further stress.
Perhaps that was also the reason that they hadn’t allowed you any visitors. If a person or a conversation was to trigger a memory, there was no telling how traumatic or stressful it could be. Something like that could set your recovery back significantly.
You understood all that, but your own health and well-being was low down on your list of priorities right now. Your friends and colleagues were undoubtedly still in trouble. Even if the villains had fled the scene of your fight like the news anchor had said during the bulletin that had just ended, they were most likely planning to strike again soon. Villains never laid low for long.
Settling back amongst your pillows, you reached for the remote to turn off the TV so that you could focus on trying to recover some of your lost memories. Just as the screen turned black, a vaguely familiar voice rose up above the general hustle and bustle outside of your room.
It was a man’s voice and he was yelling.
Despite the importance of remembering what had happened to you, your interest was piqued by the events unfolding out in the hallway. It was unusual for someone to cause such commotion in a hospital, so whoever the man was, he  must have had a good reason to be so angry.
As you listened intently, the man’s voice gradually grew closer, as did the various other mutterings of hospital staff begging him to go to the waiting room.
“Get the fuck away from me! I’ve waited long enough.” He growled, “If anyone can make her remember what happened it’s me.”
“But, sir…” A nurse began, she was cut off by the angry man’s indistinct yell of impatience just as the little group of people reached your doorway.
You immediately recognised the man as the number 3 pro hero; Dynamight. What the hell was he doing in the hospital? Why did he have any interest in you and your memories? Perhaps the villains had been even more dangerous than you’d expected. They must be high up on the priority catch list if such a high ranking hero was involved in the pursuit.
“Shitty woman…” He growled at you. “Why the fuck-”
“Sir!” A young nurse spoke up, cutting his sentence short. “We must ask you to leave, our patient is not ready for visitors yet.”
“Are you really going to stand in the way of a pro hero’s investigation, you idiot?” He asked irritably. “If she doesn’t start remembering what happened, we’ll fucking lose them. Do you want that on your conscience?”
The nurse shook her head, backing away from your door and encouraging her colleagues to do the same. “You can have five minutes with her, but we request that you don’t stress her out too much. Any possible stress or emotional trauma brought on by the things she might remember could seriously impede her long term recovery.” she offered you a sympathetic, yet warning glance before disappearing from view.
Dynamight stepped into your room, closing the door behind him before striding closer to your bed. “They’re telling me that you can’t remember shit about the fight.” He said, crimson eyes burning into yours like he was trying to see into your damaged brain himself.
It was hard to tell what other emotions beside determination were spilling from him. Dynamight was renowned for his short temper, loud personality and his ‘take no shit’ attitude. It was therefore easy to decipher that he was frustrated by your impeded memories and probably impatient to glean some information from you so that he could be the one to track down the villains. This theory made perfect sense, afterall Dynamight’s inflated ego was no secret either.
“That’s right…” You admitted, almost feeling ashamed that you couldn’t help him. Despite his fearful reputation, you’d always held Katsuki Bakugou in high regard. He may have unorthodox methods of getting a job done, but he very rarely failed at anything he ever put his mind to.
“Well you need to start remembering, dumbass.” He stated, dropping into a chair beside your bed. 
Okay, perhaps unorthodox didn’t even begin to cover the true extent of Dynamight’s personality. “Wow.” You exhaled, trying to conceal the anger that his ego and the need to uphold his impeccable hero ranking was seemingly overshadowing any ounce of concern he may have for you. “Thanks for the sympathy…”
“I don’t have time for sympathy, you shitty woman!” He bit back. “The best heroes known to man are out there right now trying to track the fuckers down, we need every ounce of information you can give us.”
“Well I’ll be happy to share whatever I can, as soon as stuff starts coming back to me-” You began, although it wasn’t entirely unexpected when Bakagou interrupted you.
“We don’t have a lot of time, princess!” He implored, his tone almost frantic now.
Something bigger must have happened during your fight, something that the news wasn’t reporting on. That’s the only reason that the number 3 hero would be here at the hospital, personally asking you for a first-hand account of what happened.
The somewhat fond pet name stood out to you, overshadowing the reason why Bakugou was talking to you at all. Was ‘princess’ meant to be some scathing remark, mocking you for being laid up in a bed whilst other heroes were still out there fighting and searching for the villains that put you there? 
“Those villains are dangerous and we need to catch them before…” Dynamight trailed off when he noticed the confused expression on your face. “What aren’t you understanding?” He enquired. “Do I need to talk slower?”
You scoffed, offended by his lack of bedside manner. “I understand everything, just fine!” You assured him. “Just because I have a bit of a gap in my memory of the fight, that doesn’t mean I’ve lost any of my intelligence. I can still follow a conversation, thank you very much.”
“What exactly is the ‘gap’ in your memory?” He asked, holding your gaze steadily as though he was trying to read your mind. “Tell me what you do remember about everything before you woke up here, princess.” 
Bakugou’s fingers twitched towards your hand across the bed covers. The movement seemed inappropriate, seeing as you’d very little contact with him in the past. What gave him the right to do that after treating you poorly up until now?
You moved your hand away from him but kept your eyes on him. “I’d appreciate it if we kept this professional, Dynamite.” You stated sternly. “Call me by hero name or my family name and keep your hands to yourself. Ranking in the top 3 doesn’t give you the right to start making unsolicited moves on other heroes, or anyone else for that matter. I know you’re probably not used to being told ‘no’, but I’ve barely ever even spoken to you face to face before today.”
Noticing that Bakugou had dropped his gaze, you were fairly certain that the uncharacteristically soft expression on his face was a hurt one. Entirely confused by how you managed to hurt the explosion hero’s feelings, you refused to be reeled into what was surely a mean-spirited or sordid ruse. 
“You’re such an asshole!” You scoffed. “I’ll tell the nurses when I remember anything, you can talk to them about this case from now on.”
Bakugou made a noise like an injured animal as he opened his mouth to speak again, but the sound of his phone ringing cut him off. Pulling the device out of his pocket, he checked who was calling before placing it to his ear.
A shocked gasp escaped you as you noticed the photo Dynamight was using as his lock screen. He didn’t see to see your reaction, as he answered the call.
How the hell did he get that photo of you and him together? He must have manipulated it or something because you had no recollection of ever smiling at him with so much love in your eyes that you could almost feel it emanating from the photo. You didn’t know him nearly well enough to love him. He’d certainly never looked at you with such fondness either, was he even capable of feelings like that for another human?
As your mind raced to try and make sense of it all, a snatch of Bakugou’s conversation caught your attention.
“Yeah we need to act fast! It’s definitely a quirk at work and it’s already started to accelerate. It’s not just the fight she doesn’t remember…”
***
Bakugou Masterlist
Angst prompts masterlist
Main Masterlist
412 notes · View notes
engineer-in-space · 3 years
Text
a simple call of the wild review that is totally professional and not way too detailed by me (February)
It's gonna be a bit of comparing to previous powerwolf albums/songs and remember everything is my own opinion. If you disagree/agree we may talk about it in a civilized way, I actually love talking to others about this shit!
But otherwise (hate, insults, etc.) you can keep your opinion somewhere where I can't see it :) Also, the album has barely been out for a day and things change with time and I may grow to like certain things more. (but there's not too much that I don't like tbh) But I hope you enjoy this metalhead-gremlin's ramblings!
Faster than the flame
I had to listen to it quite a few times before I could say anything about it. It's a powerful start into the new album, however, it is (as previously stated) powerful but didn't blow me away like the first songs on the previous albums. (Fire &forgive, Blessed &possessed, amen & attack - wait am I just now noticing a pattern here? oh my god. Anyway.) Maybe I got that personal feeling that I want it to be Fire & Forgive, which is, of course, not possible and would be boring. So i think I'm not even critizing the song but rather the order of the songs.
It feels like a typical powerwolf song; both lyrics and instrumental. Fast, heavy, something about flames and burning - awesome. The two Latin parts (I think it's called the pre-chorus? man, I have no idea and will just throw around these words because my internet connection is too bad to look this up. But if you listen, you'll know which parts I mean.) already give me goosebumps. I also really, really liked the bridge (again?? idk??) aka the "flame, flame, burning wild in heavens name" part. This was the most memorable part for me after the first time listening. Of course, the guitar arrangement throughout the whole song is just... god bless. I must say that using the word "pastor" is dangerous because my stupid brain keeps thinking Attila is singing about "pasta" again... Oh well, moving on!
Beast of Gevaudan
Man, I've been listening almost non-stop since it was released as a single! At first, my head was comparing it somewhat to army of the night but after a few times this feeling was gone and it became an awesome new idea/song. The choir and orchestra part are so well placed and support the rest of the instrumental and Attila's voice perfectly. Again, much fast, very powermetal. I've grown very fond of the guitar solo. The lyrics tell us a little about the story of the beast and I. Love. Storytelling. In. Songs. Glad matthew finally came around to put his idea out there!
This song also has a video, which left me speechless at first. I love Attila's acting so much??? And making this sort of their own story of Jesus was such a cool idea. Production is high quality as well (didn't expect anything less after The Sacrament of Sin MVs) and there were really nice shots in there. I doubt that I will get tired of this song and this video anytime soon!
Dancing with the dead
That choir stuff in the beginning, following by that awesome guitar riff already had me. I couldn't stop listening to this one either. This might be, in my opinion, the most catchy song on the whole album. The intruments are in perfect harmony with Attila's heavenly voice. The transition into the guitar solo is so damn smooth and well done. I'm having a whole crisis about how good this song is.
The lyrics are interesting too! Again, there's a story to be told. As far as I can interpret it, being introduced to some darker powers and growing to enjoy them, despite previously having lots of faith, is what's going on here. It has this slight feeling of... corruption (in a good way of course). This makes me want to go dancing (with the dead)
This one also has a video! Once again, very high quality. Every band member had their "special moments/shots" and just looked stunning. But Attila left them all behind this time. Slow dancing, in a suit, with that smirk on his lips??? Well done, my dude.
Varcolac
This one's dark and heavy. It brings me back to the good ol' times of Lupus Dei and Bible of the Beast. Just with more orchestra, choir and overall harmony. It makes me so happy that Powerwolf is using so many real life legends and figures on this album! And they did such a good job with them as well. If this song was alive, it would be a scary beast.
The typical metal elements and orchestra/choir parts are very well balanced. And the organ throughout the whole song is fitting. It supports the dark and sinister feeling of the whole thing. My favourite part may be the "And as army we bing fire..." parts! Man, I just love werewolves. Also, I think Attila's famous gibberish singing made a return in this one!
Alive or undead
Oh boy,here we go. The piano in this one is incredible. "Here we STAAAAAAND!" Goosebumps and shivers. Everything about this is so emotional andreading the lyrics while listening just makes me want to cry, ok?! T_T Powerwolf has become so flexible, exploring different ways to make music. This could have been some kind of typical powermetal song but it's not and I'm glad about it.
Even if it's a little different, they never stray to far from what makes them special. The few parts, reminding one of typical church music would not have been necessary but are appreciated! They know when to leave out the guitars and go slowly. What bothers me a little, is that it somehow feels like Attila's voice had a tiny bit more potential up to the chorus. It could've been a little bit softer? if i can put it that way. But honestly this song is raw emotion and everything still fits together. If you thought their first ballad was emotional, buckle up, this one kicked me right in the feels.
Blood for blood (Faoladh)
Powerwolf ventures again into the folk metal territory and successfully conquers it! Could be a headline of something. Anyway, this song is a very worthy successor of Incense & Iron! It just makes me happy, its melody is so light - combined with your typical Powerwolf lyrics. Perfect song to start jumping up and down! It radiates motivational energy. Just like Dancing with the dead, this song has a very smooth transition to the guitar parts.
The melody is strong but still easy enough to quickly get into it! I can barely sit still and write this aaaa. Seriously, I am just happy with this song and will go jump and headbang a while to it!
Glaubenskraft
I have returned from jumping and oh no. It's a German song. Bold of them to go all out on that Latin beginning... it works really well though! It might be because I'm German but this song hits hard. Very hard. It's not easy to make this language sound good and ( if you don't happen to know much about German) the lyrics consist of a bunch of old words and grammar you wouldn't normally use anymore. But they made it fucking work!!! The quiet verses only make the pre-chorus and chorus itself heavier and blow me away. And SOMEHOW this super epic song with (made up, at least I'm pretty sure they don't exist like that) Latin words is about.. you know what Powerwolf writes about a lot. And I LOVE that. It's so subtle and only if you read into it, you're like "wait a minute".
This song has a feeling of corruption too. But not in a good way this time. It feels evil and intimidating and - honestly, I can't get enough of it. Everyone of my neighbours will think I'm some kind of weird Christian fanatic because I WILL yell "Glaubenskraft" just as much as I yelled "Stossgebet". Worth it, tho.
Call of the wild
The song with the same title as the album! (or the other way around, whatever.) This song is just catchy from the beginning to the end. Like many other songs its fast and hard. Just how I like it. Don't take that out of context.
The lyrics and instruments go wild (haha get it), with a really neat Latin pre-chorus. It's very fun to listen to. Personally, it makes me feel like I belong to the pack. That we're strong together, that we can say fuck it once in a while and just go crazy. The chanted part near the end of the song reminds me strongly of Sanctified with dynamite (ya know "die, die dynamite" and "call, call, call of the wild") and it's really cool they pick up on old things once again. Be it intentional or not. It's a reminder that they still are who they were back then - and their music is still fucking incredible.
Simply an epic song, strong vocals, strong guitars. I really, really like the intro. Attila has to sing so many words in such little time, does he even need to breathe now and then?
Now I'm wondering what came first; the album title or the track title? Chicken or the egg?
Sermon of swords
First of all: WHAT IS THAT OMINOUS VOICE IN THE BEGINNING. Mark me down as horny and scared. Ahem.
I really like how the verse and the chorus have their own theme and melody going on and yet they're connected. The chorus is super catchy too! And just say it yourself "Sermon of swords", how cool does it sound??? The choir in the beginning is a really neat introduction into the whole song. The lyrics match the whole album, very much a soundtrack to go on a crusade to, like Raise your fist, Evangelist or Christ & Combat. Just... "AAMEEN!" Ok, I'm actually going insane here, calm down, Feb. These might be my favourite lyrics of the whole album I think?? (unless I said that somewhere else already, then i have more than one favourite.)
The whole song has a more "classical" feeling to it, not only in the Powerwolf sense but also in the Heavy Metal sense in general. BUT. Orchestra and choir are prefectly mixed, especially supporting Attila in the chorus. The guitar solo is really cool and sounds very Greywolf-y, if you know what I mean. It's just Matthew's style.
Undress to confess
The name of this song says it all. This is your friendly reminder that no matter how much they preach about Jesus or the Devil, Powerwolf should not be taken too seriously. When I first saw the title I couldn't help but chuckle a little.
The melody is pretty catchy and easy to remember, the organ and general approach reminds me of Demons are a girl's best friend. I absolutely love how the lyrics are on that thin line of somewhat poetic and ridiculous. Let me provide two examples here: "all the world we posess for desire and sin we carress" - man, this sounds pretty.
And there's also "dressed to hide the dark, and obsessed to ride him hard on the.... crucifix." Yeah, I... I don't know what I expected here. Anyway, this is how you describe church sex without actually using explicit words. (why are you booing me, i'm right)
Still really nice to listen to and have a good time!
Reverent of rats
We arrived at the last song of the album! And here we picked up on the speed and power again! The way the organ is played during the verses makes it so... sinister. Again, this piece reminds me of Lupus Dei. The verses keep the sinister feeling while the chorus picks up more... drama? An epic melody mixed with epic words make my soul ascend to heaven.
This guitar solo is also the absolute good shit. It might be my favourite from all the songs of this album?! Additionally, the drums? I don't know why but they really stand out here. Love how fast paced they are.
Aaaaand that's it! If you've read all the way through holy shit, you are actually a badass. Thank you for staying with me, my werewolf friend. Maybe we'll meet where the wild wolves have gone. But always remember: Metal is religion.
21 notes · View notes
anna-mator · 4 years
Text
How to Draw a Toon - (In-Progress) Fandom: Warner Bros, Looney Tunes, Disney, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Rating: M Categories: M/M  Relationships: (eventual) Bugs/Daffy  Warnings: Language, moderate violence, cartoon violence, racism, Additional tags: friends to lovers, mystery, adventure
Somewhere in Toon Town, a rabbit sat uncomfortably in the only library in town. He was pouring over autobiographies of other Toons. Each chapter of every book began the same: humble beginnings with a chance of stardom. Most were poor, some were sheltered… every single one was literally drawn into their lives. Their family, their class, their religion, their politics; it seemed to be all predetermined. Whether it was intentional from the creator, or heavily influenced, he still wasn’t sure. 
“Bugs?” A small voice spoke.
Bugs Bunny jolted, placing his hands over the piles of books he collected on instinct. He quickly regained his posture and settled his eyes on a soft-colored and familiar face. “Belle?” He asked, shocked.
Belle was hovering over him slightly with a few books in hand. “It is you… Did you need any help, Bugs?” She asked politely. 
“Oh ehh… nah.” Bugs said, trying to keep some of the books from her view. “I’m all good here. Say ehhh… shouldn’t you be at like…. Disneyland or somethin’?” he asked.
At that, Belle laughed slightly. “Oh Bugs… just because I’m a Disney princess doesn’t mean they keep us all holed up in their theme parks. Plus, with all of the royalty checks, I don’t really need a job. I volunteer here.”
“Ah. I see. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Not at all…” Belle said, then looked curiously at Bugs’ pile of books. “It looks like you’re about to check out the entirety of the Autobiography section.” She chuckled.
“Ahaha… just about.” Bugs said, suddenly feeling slightly nervous about her nosiness.
 “All of them are Toons, too…” 
Just then, Bugs had an idea. “Ah!” He exclaimed before he stood up and gently turned her away from his pile of books, “Actually, I’ve been watchin’ some kids recently and wouldn’t ya know it, I can hardly put ‘em to bed. If you could find me the very best fairy-tale book you can think of, I would be foreva in your debt.” 
“Uh, sure.” Belle said with a weary tone. 
Bugs didn’t like the sound of her voice. Once he believed Belle was out of earshot, he scrambled to gather his haphazard notes and supplies. “I gotta get outta here.” He said from under his strained breath. 
When Bugs placed things away, he turned tail to find the closest exit. The rabbit managed to slip through a back door completely unnoticed. He found his car and sped off in a hurry. This kind of prodding had consequences. He had heard rumors of Toons going missing over stuff like this. Luckily, Bugs was smarter than that. 
In truth, Bugs trusted no Toon nor Human with the kind of information he was gathering. It was starting to weigh on his conscience, and even take a blow to his general health. Typically, when a Toon became stressed it visibly showed. Bugs was no exception.
Which was why an hour later, with no one else to turn to, Steven Spielberg took a look at Bugs and simply said, “God you’re a mess.” He commented once he approached the Toon rabbit.
“Thanks, Doc.” Bugs said with a slight roll to his eyes. “You looked in the mirror lately, yourself?” He japed, commenting on the distracting and ugly anti-paparazzi gear Steven had on.
Deciding to ignore the comment, “Please tell me it’s not…” Steven asked, as he brought his shades onto the brim of his baseball hat.
“It’s not the kids. I can take care of ‘em jus’ fine.” Bugs shot Steven down immediately. 
They walked down the sunny L.A. street, headed towards Griffith Park. They were both well aware it was the entrance to Toon Town. Still, the park itself was the only place that provided Bugs with any comfort. 
“So… what did you bring me out here for?” Steven asked. 
It took every ounce of energy Bugs had not to just start spouting out every tiny piece of information he had been gathering for the past six months. Instead, he took a breath and exhaled softly. “I’m over eighty years-old, mac. I’ve been repainted a dozen times and there’s no end in sight.”
Immediately, Steven knew exactly what Bugs was dealing with. It was obviously some kind of mid-life crisis, but a Toon equivalent. “Go on…” He prompted.
“So a few months ago, I got ta thinkin’... What else am I gonna do with my life? I can’t be slingin’ dynamite foreva. I already toured the world when I was younger… but I never learned anything!” Bugs cried out, “Sure the occasional script had some kind of historical tidbit, or a line from another language, but I still felt… uneducated.” 
Steven was already connecting certain dots in his head, leading up to what Bugs wanted to say. Because of it, a small smile was beginning to inch onto his face. However, he continued to let the Toon speak.
“Then I realized… what if it ain’t just me? And as it turns out--” 
“Eighty-seven percent of Toons are uneducated.” Steven finished and the smile vanished, ”And the number keeps growing every year. There isn’t a single school in Toon Town. If Toons want an education, they acquire it themselves or through scholarships the studios award.”
Bugs and Steven stopped and looked at one another. “I came to you nearly a decade ago... “ Steven started, feeling slightly irritated at Bugs.
Immediately Bugs cringed, “I know, I know!” he shouted, starting to move away from him. While he wanted to tell Steven more about his findings about Toon education, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Paranoia struck him again.
Still, Steven gave a small chase. “I asked repeatedly if you wanted to make Acme Loo into a real school, and you said there was no need. I gave you my pitch all those years ago, now give me yours.” He said in a harsh tone.
Bugs tugged on his ears before looking at Steven in the eyes again. “People love me, Toons idolize me… but for what? Bein’ the lucky one? Always comin’ out on top? What good is that when you can’t protect the ones you care about? I just… I want to give somethin’ back’.” 
After hearing that, Steven was more than pleased. He gave a nod to Bugs, “Alright, I’ll help you. We’ll make Acme Loo.” 
“Thanks, Doc.” There was still so much on Bugs’ mind, but he tucked it away for later. Right now, he allowed himself to relax and feel good about these life-changing decisions. 
A year passes, and somewhere along the coast of Central America there was a lowly island on the horizon. With a closer look, anyone could see the stark-white mansion that stood nearly three stories tall.
Even as a young Toon, Daffy Duck had pictured his retirement from his acting career very vividly. He dreamed about being alone on a private island, with an enormous mansion and every luxury he could possibly think of. And wouldn’t you know it, after nearly a decade of work, few movies and a couple of reboots, Daffy had that private island. Staying there continued to be a blessing for many, many years. With the royalty checks and occasional paychecks from public appearances rolling in, he was able to upkeep the mansion very well. 
Daffy’s desire for attention was somewhat satiated by social media. He had a big presence online and made sure everyone knew it. From when he woke up to when he was preparing for bed, he would cross post about every detail onto every feed. People ate it up, as they were fascinated by his lifestyle. While he wasn’t the richest duck in the world, he was certainly one of the most popular. At least, he was in his mind. 
As Daffy was tweeting about his incredible breakfast one morning, he noticed one of his butlers carrying in some mail. “What’s the big idea? Checks go straight to my financial adviser, and fan mail without any valuables inside are shredded! You all know the deal!” Daffy barked. To his knowledge, he hadn’t been expecting anything either. Still, the butler came to his side and silently handed him a letter. 
Before he could protest further, the Butler turned away. Daffy simply huffed to himself and opened the letter. He took his time to read it, just to make sure he was reading it correctly. Once he had finished he slammed the letter onto the counter top, and ran up the stairs towards his room in seconds flat. 
He pressed his help buzzer multiple times and shouted into the speaker, “I need to pack, now! Book me a flight to L.A.! Let’s go people!”
It was time to move back to Los Angeles. 
The next day, Bugs Bunny got out of his Oober (Toon Town’s Uber equivalent), adjusting his suit as he looked on towards his greatest accomplishment. A stairway from the curb stood Acme Looniversity. Despite seeing the building many times over the course of its production, Bugs still couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with pride at the sight of the finished school. 
And there, in front of the entrance, he saw a huge crowd gather. This wasn’t even taking into account for all of the cameras and people lined up along the sidewalk. Not even the Toons who were celebrating in the streets. The crowd split like a wave as Bugs approached the doorway of the school, finding it partially blocked by a stage with a ceremonial ribbon. Bugs could tell it was painted because of how large and neat the bow in the middle of it looked. 
As he approached he saw the only human at the event (besides a few brave reporters) Steven Spielberg, sitting beside the podium on stage next to three empty seats. Bugs’ felt slightly saddened by the sight of the empty chairs, still Bugs shared a smile with Steven before he approached the podium. A deafening silence went over the crowd, with all eyes on the Toon rabbit.
“My fellow Toons,” Bugs began, “For too long, we’ve been deprived of our own education. More than 87% of Toons have never stepped foot in a school that wasn’t a painted set. After learnin’ that, we decided that wasn’t fair.”
The crowd cheered and clapped for Bugs. Over the crowd he continued, “Our newcomers should know our history! They should know our culture!” He paused slightly to wait for the crowd’s enthusiasm to die down, “And they should know their limits.” 
Bugs felt his stomach twist, “Too many Toons have been lost simply because they didn’t know how to survive their next fall durin’ a stunt. We owe it to them to inform newcomers of the risks. No one on Earth can do what we do, and we need to learn to do it right.” 
Gesturing to the building behind him, “Now, thanks to Warner Brothers studios and Steven Spielberg, Acme Looniversity ain’t just a fantasy we all saw on TV all those years ago. It’s here for everyone!” 
The crowd once again burst into applause and cheers. Bugs looked out into the crowd, noticing a slight disturbance that was making its way to the stage. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Daffy Duck emerged from the crowd and began to crawl his way onto the stage, rather than using the stairs on the side.
Immediately, Daffy wormed his way in front of Bugs in order to speak into the microphone. “Helloooo, Toon Town!!” He shouted. The only sound he was met with was the sound of crickets. “As the Master of Deception, I just wanted to say what an honor it is to have been recruited by my longtime co-Star, Bugs, to teach at this wonderful place of edumication.” 
Bugs saw the shifty eyes from the crowd when Daffy had mentioned his unofficial title. “Eeeh… We’re still workin’ on the curriculum.” He said, addressing the crowd. Then he turned to Daffy, knowing exactly how to derail him from hogging the spotlight. “Hey Daff, ol’ pal, wouldja wanna join me in the honors of cuttin’ the ribbon?” 
Daffy’s head whirled around as he gave out a gasp, “Really? You’d let me cut the ribbon?” He asked. 
“Togetha, yeah. It feels only right.” Bugs said, just to butter him up even more. 
The two of them were approached by a Toon who held out comically huge a pair of golden scissors. They took the scissors, holding them open above the ribbon for a little longer so photos could be taken. After a minute, they looked at each other and cut the ceremonial ribbon. Daffy and Bugs posed briefly with the scissors that were nearly the same height as them. 
Once they were done posing, Daffy turned to look for the first camera he could find. For Bugs, he turned to Steven and gave him his hand. “Thank you… So much. For everything.” 
Steven shook his hand, “Anytime, Bugs. I have a lot of faith in you.” Then he gave a slight nod towards Daffy, “You sure about hiring Daffy, though?” He asked. 
Bugs looked over and watched as Daffy chatted up the remaining reporters. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in the years we've worked together, it’s that I know how he ticks.” 
“Well, it’s your call. It is your school, after all.” Steven said with a shrug. 
“I’m gonna go check on ‘im. I’ll be seein’ ya, Steven.” Bugs said before slipping away. 
Bugs hovered over Daffy’s shoulder while he spoke to a reporter. “And that’s when I told my buddy Bugs, the only way we’re going to reach today's Toon youth is through education! And what better teachers than the oldest Toons out there?” He said. 
When he heard that, Bugs rolled his eyes. Of course Daffy would lie and make this his idea. Bugs decided to butt in. “We’re opening our gates to humans, as well.” He told them. 
At that, more reporters surrounded them. A chorus of questions were being launched at Daffy and Bugs. While Daffy shied away, Bugs lifted his hands to quiet the small crowd. “I wanna stress this; Acme Loo is gonna be the only school to focus on the importance of learning about Toons. As citizens and as a species. So we ain’t gonna turn away humans who wanna learn more about us.” Bugs said. 
A reporter’s voice spoke up, “Who else do you have in place as teachers? Any word about Mickey Mouse?” they asked.
“That hack—?” Daffy said before Bugs pinched his beak. 
“Mickey sent us his best wishes, but regrettably makes no plans of joinin’ the staff.” Bugs said with a shrug.
Daffy rolled his eyes when he felt Bugs let go of his beak. 
“As for the rest of the staff, we’re still lookin’. So if any Toon wants to come forward and apply, they’re free to do so on our website.”
“When does class begin? And what’s the class size going to look like?” The same reporter asked.
“We’re startin’ in the next coupla months, just in time for the school year. Dependin’ on how many teachers we get, we’re gonna be expecting anywhere between 500 to 900. Applications for students will also be online.”
“900?!” Daffy exclaimed. Just how was he going to teach to a class of 900? 
Bugs sighed a little, knowing Daffy had misinterpreted his information. He turned to talk to him, “900 altogetha, Daff. We’re lookin’ at a class of 40 for each homeroom.” 
“Oh.” Daffy said softly. 
Then Bugs turned to the cameras, “No more questions now. Thank you!” He said and waved them away. 
Disappointed, Daffy watched the reporters shuffle along and pack away their equipment. He had truly missed being in the limelight. Then a tap on his shoulder brought him out of his daydream-like state. “Huh?” He asked as he turned towards Bugs again.
“Ehh… Daff?”
“Yeah?” 
Bugs sat there like he was fighting to say something. “I’ll uh… I’ll see you later. We’ll have to look over that curriculum of yours, before school starts.” He finally said.
“...Yeah sure.” Daffy said. After looking at Bugs more he noticed something was off, “You should get yourself a new paint job. You look awful.” 
Bugs deflated angrily at the comment before rolling his eyes and turning away. He knew that, in Daffy’s twisted way, that he was concerned for his health. So he let the comment slide off of his back. The truth was, Bugs had never let go of his Toon research; and the paranoia had set in so much that it was starting to alter his appearance. He hoped that the success of Acme Loo would be both a distraction and a resource at his own disposal. 
Later, after numerous phone calls and even a couple of live interviews, Bugs managed to find his way home. He paid and tipped his Oober as much as he was allotted, due to the fact that they had to travel out of Toon Town during rush hour. As Bugs approached the steps of his white porch, he loosened his bow tie and unlocked the door. 
Bugs threw his keys on a stand next to the door, just before closing and locking it behind himself. Just as he was about to call out for someone, his long ears perked at the sound of rattling glass and plastic coming from the kitchen. Immediately, Bugs’ eyes darted towards a lowly baseball bat sitting in his umbrella holder in the foyer. 
Quickly and quietly, Bugs’ removed his black blazer and rolled up his dress shirt sleeves. All the while his mind was racing: Where had he slipped up? Who was onto him? What kind of force would be pitted against him? All these questions burned inside him while he picked up the bat and held it tight and high. With as much stealth as possible, he rounded the kitchen corner. As he suspected, the figure hidden partially inside of his fridge wasn’t any of the kids. 
The fridge began to close and the figure swerved around to meet Bugs. Several plastic containers dropped to the kitchen floor as they exclaimed, “Bugs?!”
Bugs brought down the bat, stopping it only inches away from Daffy’s beak. “Daffy?!” He exclaimed. 
“What the hell, Bugs? Is that any way to welcome an old friend into your household?” Daffy barked while pushing the bat away from his face. 
Only a few seconds later, Bugs and Daffy heard a stampede of footsteps coming from upstairs. Settling on the staircase, three Toons looked down on Bugs and Daffy. “Well what’d ya know, the old Duck has decided to grace us with his presence.” The tallest smiled. 
“Daffy, darling!! We had no idea you were in town.” The smallest chimed with an obnoxious accent of some kind.
“Really? I mean, he tweeted out his entire trip…” The middle one said in a thick Liverpool accent. 
Daffy looked on in surprise and awe. “The Warner’s?! What are you three hooligans doing here?” He asked with a wide smile. 
Bugs put down the bat, leaning it against the staircase, and turned towards Daffy. “They’re stayin’ with me.” He said simply. 
Sure enough, the three siblings of undetermined origins ran down the steps and gave Daffy a group hug. “You three look a little different than I remember…” he said, looking over Yakko, Wakko and Dot. 
Yakko peeled away first, “Haven’t ya heard? We got a reboot comin’ in! Two whole seasons, so far.” 
“You don’t say? An’ they gave you a repaint jus’ for that? Your designs were fine before.” Daffy said, a little confused. 
“It’s standard now. Nothin’ we could really do about it.” Wakko said as he pulled away with a slight shrug.
Dot continued to cling to Daffy, looking up at him with her glossy black eyes. “You don’t think we look ugly, do you?” She asked, her lips trembling. 
“Ugly?! Nonsense!!” Daffy exclaimed, picking up Dot into his arms and holding her tight. “You three are the sharpest lookin’ Toons I know. Anyone who says otherwise is blind.” 
Bugs looked curiously at the way Daffy was interacting with the three. He didn’t remember them being particularly close, but he assumed that was simply the effect the three had on adults and Toons alike. Still, he was certainly enjoying seeing this other side of Daffy.  
“Alright, you three.” Bugs finally interrupted, “How’s about givin’ Daff and I some space?” He asked. 
“Yeah yeah…” Yakko said before turning back up the stairs. 
“See ya later, Daffy!” Wakko waved and followed the oldest. 
“Always nice to see you, Daff.” Dot said when Daffy put her down so she could follow her siblings. 
Once the three were out of sight Daffy turned to Bugs, “Now, I know it might not be the most convenient thing for you at this time…” He explained, “But I’m certainly not the richest Duck in the world. I had to sell all eight of my estates to get that private island.” 
Bugs move towards the kitchen and began to clean up Daffy’s initial mess. He already knew what Daffy was about to ask, and he already knew his answer. Still, he let his friend speak. 
“Each estate had to go, including the two I had in L.A.! Honestly, the price for rent in this forsaken city is so damn high, I really don’t know how you do it!”
“You can stay.” 
Daffy gasped and looked deeply offended, “You would throw out your own flesh and blood onto the street? I thought I knew you better, Bugs Bunny!” 
“Ehh… we ain’t related, but you can still stay wit us.” He tried again. 
Daffy started to walk towards the door with a dramatic flair, “Fine! I know when I’m not wanted—” He stopped as soon as he draped himself on the corner of the closest wall, “Wait… what? You’ll let me stay?” He asked, bewildered. 
“Of course I will, Daff. We’ll be able to look over your curriculum togetha, you’ll be able to do some shoppin’ for the house, maybe a few chores and you’ll be able to watch the kids…” Bugs said, closing the fridge door to get a better look at Daffy.
At that, Daffy looked even more surprised. “Watch those kids? Chores? Me?” He asked.
“Well yeah! What? You’d think I’d let you stay out of the goodness of my heart?” Bugs asked, leaning on the island counter.
“Well… Yeah!” Daffy exclaimed, manhandling the other side of the counter. Here he thought he could take advantage of Bugs’ feelings of existentialism and sudden generosity to fully weasel his way into staying with Bugs with zero obligations. But apparently this rabbit had other plans for him.
Bugs simply laughed in Daffy’s face. “Ahaha, oh that’s rich, Duck.” he laughed. Then there was a slight pause,  “When are you gonna realize, we ain’t so different? You and I…”
Daffy and Bugs sat in silence for a little bit. Something about Bugs’ smug look made Daffy’s face feel warmer than usual underneath his feathers. He shook his head wildly. “Nope. I don’t see it.”
At that, Bugs simply rolled his eyes. “We can split chores in the mornin’... right now I just want to hit da hay.” He said, peeling himself off of the counter and moving to unbutton his dress shirt.
While Bugs navigated past the living room, Daffy gave a slight chase. “Wait, wait. I just gotta know one more thing,” then a slight pause, “okay a couple of things.” 
A small sigh came from Bugs, then he decided to plop down onto the living room sofa. “Alright. A coupla questions.” He said, putting his feet up.
Daffy sat in a recliner adjacent to Bugs. “How’d you end up with the Warners?” He asked, his voice a little hushed in case they were being heard. 
“...I was visiting the new set last year.” Bugs began to explain, “Steven told me that he was concerned about rumors that the Warners were livin’ in their trailer. No one was allowed to go near it. They even wrote up a contract about it, saying they’d leave the show if anyone on staff visited it. Because I wasn’t in the show, I could see the trailer for myself.” 
The memory was still vivid in Bugs’ mind. A little more than a year ago, Bugs shared a weary glance with Steven before he slipped off the set. With the Warners busy in a scene, Bugs was able to make it to the trailer. And with a copy of the trailer key given to him by Steven, he pried it open. 
The mess the three had accumulated was even taller than Bugs’ ears. He honestly didn’t know how anyone could navigate the trailer, let alone three Toons. Even as he was inside, he made an attempt to clean what he could. Still, it was a horrible mess. 
After doing what he could, Bugs waited outside the trailer until the Warners began to approach it. Yakko was the first to catch eyes with Bugs, before rolling them. “God damn it…” Yakko groaned, seeing the look of disapproval spread across the rabbit’s face. 
“Y’all really live in dere?” Bugs asked.
It was Wakko’s turn to be angry, “Yeah! What’s it to ya?” he barked.
“Guys, I’m jus’ concerned. A lot of the staff are concerned. Steven was even worried!” Bugs exclaimed, watching them weave around him and head into the trailer.
“Yeah? Well we don’t need your pity.” Dot snapped.
Bugs stopped the door from being slammed in his face with full force. The trailer door swung open and Bugs stepped inside once more. “Fine then. Lemme give you a place to stay. Eva since you were created, I’ve always told you guys you were welcome at my house!” He said. 
“We’ve been fine on our own, Bugs. Didn’t need your help then, don’t need it now.” Yakko said. “Any day now, the show will air, we’ll get another wave of royalty checks and we’ll be livin’ it up in a mansion down the street from yours.” 
“Those checks will only stretch so far. You already know this.” Bugs warned. 
“Blah blah blah I learned my lesson. Like I said, I don’t need to stay at yours. I’m comfortable here.” To make his point, Yakko cleared off some space on the couch (which also acted as their bed) in the trailer and found his ideal position. 
Immediately Bugs read this type of prideful attitude. He also knew where Yakko’s weak points were. “If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for your siblings.” 
Out of the corner of his eye, Bugs saw Dot and Wakko perk up and look over at Yakko silently. Yakko sat up from the couch slowly and looked at Bugs with a hardened expression. “You’ve got a whole lotta nerve, rabbit.”
“And you’ve got a whole lotta attitude, kid.” Bugs snapped back. 
And with that, Bugs took them in. Presently, he looked at Daffy across the way and gave a slight shrug. “I’ve always seen a lot of myself in Yakko. Scrappy, independent and plenty mature for his age. It took him the longest to adjust here and for me to adjust to him, honestly. That boy doesn’t let me lift a finger for ‘im. His siblings? Sure. When it comes to him? No way, no how.” 
“Interesting.” Daffy finally said.
Feeling exhausted, “Any otha questions?” Bugs asked.
“Yes! Where do I sleep?” 
Bugs got up from the couch and beckoned Daffy to follow him. Down the hall there were three doors. On the left side there was a white door with a gold star labeled Bugs Bunny in black lettering. Though, something told Daffy that it wasn’t his original master bedroom. The middle door was left open, so Bugs pushed in further and flipped on a light to reveal a bathroom. “Here’s the bathroom…” he announced, then pushed open the door on the right side of the hallway. “And here’s your room. G’night, Daff…” 
Before Daffy could say anything else, Bugs slipped away into his bedroom and shut the door. “Night.” Daffy said more to himself. He maneuvered himself inside the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase from his Toon space. He flicked on the light and looked around, the decor was still predominantly white with the same hardwood floor that echoed through the house.
Daffy placed his suitcase on a chair sitting across from the bed and launched himself directly onto the comfortable mattress. It was something akin to a bed from a five-star hotel: soft as a cloud. It didn’t take long for Daffy to fall into a deep sleep.
----
NEXT CHAPTER >>
----
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It was a struggle but I’m happy with it and I can’t wait to continue. <3333
98 notes · View notes
Text
A DJ Story Part One
My name is Ollie and I’ve been a hard-working, well-known DJ in-the-making for 8 years. I’ve been working so hard to try and make it as a touring DJ. I’ve always been a fan of music and I really believe that my knowledge of music and skills behind the decks should warrant me a global audience. I don’t want to sound arrogant, because I don’t think I am, but I know that I have what it takes to be a big DJ. Who wouldn’t want to be respected for their knowledge of music and technical skill behind the decks? Plus there’s all of the fans and the nonstop travelling around the world. 
My passion for it started in school. It’s then that I first got into electronic, or underground and alternative, whatever you want to call it, music. It started with House and Techno music, growing up in a small city there was some of it around, I especially liked Berlin-style versions of the sounds and also some stuff that came out of Detroit although I knew less about this. This was good music with big variety, mellow to hard and heavy, as a budding DJ these were great tools that I could use to control the dancefloor and demonstrate my digging. Later I’d get into UK Garage, with huge, mostly untapped back catalogues it gave me the opportunity to make people dance and demonstrate my intelligence in finding these forgotten tracks. By this time, I was playing occasionally around my little city, working hard to build a name for myself, I took a monthly radio show on a local station also. When people asked me to identify tracks for them, I’d almost always not tell them. These were my songs that I’d worked really hard to find. I hadn’t been working and was living at home just so I could dedicate myself to finding new music. I wasn’t going to give up my tracks so easily. After building up my name a bit, still playing mostly house and garage stuff, I fortuitously came across some new music that I knew would be the key to my success. 
African music has really got a particular vibe. There’s regional variety but when you’re playing it out people just know that you’re playing African music. There’s so much out there that no one plays in clubs yet! I thought the stuff I was playing before was what would make me stand out, but I’ve found that it’s playing African music that really works well with the crowd. I have spent a lot of time following artists and labels, there’s one label that is full of tapes that the label owner has physically found himself on travels across the continent. I wouldn’t do that myself but I do think that I am deeply in love with the music and its potential. My commitment looks more like scrawling through YouTube, Discogs and various forums, there’s also a few people in my local area who share my interest and we share tips on where to buy old vinyl or new represses. 
It was a pretty normal Tuesday. I’d had some success in finding some new music, especially some Ghanian Highlife stuff. Lots of it was pretty well-known though, what I really needed was a track that packed a punch but was totally unknown. It was this track that would work for my big gig next week, my biggest to date. A one thousand capacity club in the big city nearby, I was second on the bill. I needed a tune that was so rare, so special in sound, one that I could totally own, I wanted it to be my signature. At about midnight, I thought I’d found it, a disco number made in Senegal in the ‘80s, but then I found someone had posted it on a forum a few years back. I’d still keep hold of the 320 I found on Soulseek, but it wasn’t the song. At 3am I really did find it. I was watching a very rare piece of footage of one of my favourite African DJs from about 15 years ago, the video itself had only 5 views. There was one song she played that was dynamite. A heavy, funky bassline, aggressive chords and a slow, rumbling voice over the top switching between English and a language I couldn’t recognise. 
“Oh baby, sweet down by the river was where we should have met, oh baby,” were the lyrics that I could recognise. I knew it was going to be hard to find the song, but this was the one I needed, I could feel it, this would be my signature song to really blow away the crowd at the coming rave. 
“Ollie, turn down the music, it’s well past midnight!”, my mum shouted up the stairs to me. I turned it down a bit, but I of course wasn’t going to stop now. It took me about an hour more to find the exact track. I tried all sorts of variations in the lyrics, I tried looking through all the other mixes of the DJ I’d seen playing it, finally I found the artist. A female singer from Mali. The track itself could only be found on an old tape. One single copy was all I could find on the internet, I paid whatever the price was and happily went to bed. Truly content and confident that I had found the ultra-rare piece of music that would show me to be the great DJ that I knew I was. 
The day of the gig had come. I’d received the tape and had already used a machine to digitalize it, the song was already safely sitting on my USB. I travelled up by train and met the promoters, two young chaps from the city who had been running nights for a year here now. I had on shorts and a tropical style shirt plus sunglasses. We checked a few record shops in the city and then had dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant that had just opened. It was delicious food, plus I had a bit of a chat with the owner about Ethiopian music and, of course, my collection. 
At the party it was pretty packed. Young people from all over the local area were here. The two DJs before me had played a bit intense. I’d have to slow down the mood a bit before dropping the track. I’d played out enough times to not be that nervous anymore, but I anxiously anticipated seeing the reaction to that song tonight. I had a few drinks and then stood behind the DJ playing before me while fingering my USB in my pocket. 
I was up. I played for about 45 minutes before I cued up the track. The crowd was about 4/5 there now. Hundreds of faces looking expectantly up at me. I knew that I had to deliver and I knew that I would. I’d decided to not mix the track into the preceding one, I wanted it to be heard in all of its glory. I slowly brought down the track before, a generic William Onyeabor joint. I could hear the funky bassline slowly coming in and so could the crowd. As I slowly brought the track in, adjusting the EQ and saving the full bass impact to very last, the atmosphere in the crowd seemed to change a bit, at least from where I was standing. I continued to bring in the track, looking more at the crowd than the mixer. When the omphy bassline finally hit there were a few shouts from the audience. People seemed to be dancing a bit harder. There was definitely a reaction. Maybe not as much as I’d thought. But there was something. I saw a few people using their phones to try and find the song name, not going to work I thought proudly. I spent so long gauging the crowds’ reaction that I almost forgot to cue the next track. Three quarters of an hour later it was all over. I refused people’s offers of drinks and had the promoters organise a cab for me back to my hotel. 
While I waited for the car, I mulled over what had happened. It maybe wasn’t the ecstatic response that I had envisioned. I was sure there would be a more significant response. It was probably just not the right crowd, plus the lighting and smoke guys hadn’t been very responsive, I thought. Anyway, I still had the song, it was my signature, my calling card and I’d be pulling it out to wow proper crowds in proper clubs soon. 
The taxi arrived and I sat back reasonably content. “Good evening, sir.” The radio was on but the traffic outside was quite loud so I couldn’t hear much, I asked the driver to turn the sound up a bit. “Oh baby, sweet down by the river was where we should have met, oh baby,” I realised it was my song playing. The driver sang along to it, clearly knowing the words. I sat back again, this time distraught. Maybe it was time for me to find a new kind of music, I thought to myself.
1 note · View note
captainexplody · 6 years
Text
Calamity Carl
Calamity Carl throws another stick of dynamite onto the pile of logs and twigs and some explosives. He rubs his hands together with glee as he walks over to a nearby petrol container, arms a-stretched as they often are when somebody is reaching for something. He grabs the petrol container and flings open the top in a strangely over-exaggerated manner. He then proceeds to dump the whole container over his makeshift bonfire, dancing around as he does so.
Calamity Carl: I sure do love causing calamity! It’s my favourite thing to do.
Calamity Carl takes a few steps back to admire his handiwork. He looks at a large-ish pile of sticks and explosives, dripping with petrol, and he grins a big grin, as wide as a thousand whatevers. He turns around away from his bonfire to retreat to a safe distance, but he suddenly finds himself face to face with somebody else.
Farmer Flynn: Hey what the hell do you think you’re doing?
Calamity Carl: I’m Calamity Carl!
Farmer Flynn: I didn’t ask who you were, I asked you what the hell you think you’re doing with all these explosives, setting them into a big pile like that!
Calamity Carl: Oh. Usually people ask me who I am the first time they meet me.
Farmer Flynn: I don’t give two stuffs who you are!
Calamity Carl: ...’Two stuffs’?
Farmer Flynn: What is this garbage doing on my land? What are you doing?
Calamity Carl: I’m going to cause a calamity! Calamity Carl, that’s me!
Farmer Flynn: Well criminy, Calamity Carl, why would you ever consider causing a calamity on my land?
Calamity Carl considers this for a moment, and then shrugs lazily.
Calamity Carl: I don’t know.
Farmer Flynn: Well criminy, Calamity Carl, that’s not a good excuse at all.
Calamity Carl: Could you stop saying criminy so much, please?
Farmer Flynn: Oh yeah, why sure I could Calamity Carl! As soon as you get this garbage off my fucking land, alright?! You criminy fuckhead!
Calamity Carl: Hey come on now, there’s no need for that kind of language.
The farmer does not like he appreciates this handy tip.
Farmer Flynn: Were you planning on detonating this stuff?
Calamity Carl: Well yeah, obviously. See, I set off all these explosions, and then everyone is all ‘oh man, what a calamity we’re in now!’ and then I run off into the night, having caused a calamity.
The farmer squints his eyes at Calamity Carl, seemingly not understanding what is happening right now.
Farmer Flynn: Are you broken?
Calamity Carl: I don’t know how to answer that.
Farmer Flynn: Well answer this, get this shit off my land right now.
Calamity Carl opens his mouth, as if he is about to say something stupid, but Farmer Flynn cuts him off.
Farmer Flynn: Don’t you dare tell me that wasn’t a question, boy! I don’t want to hear it. Don’t go setting off explosives on somebody else’s land, y’hear?
Calamity Carl: Well I can’t very well set off explosives on my OWN land, now can I? That’d be idiotic.
Farmer Flynn: It’d be a hell of a calamity though, wouldn’t it? Not only the calamity of somebody (yourself) blowing up some of your land, but also the calamity you must be feeling on the inside, debating your ability to bomb yourself and question your ability to prevent further self harm in the future.
Calamity Carl thinks about this long and hard.
Calamity Carl: The ultimate calamity... Wow. You’ve just blown my mind, Mister Farmer Man!
Farmer Flynn: Oh I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t formerly introduce myself earlier. My name is get the fuck off my land right now!
Calamity Carl: I don’t think thats your real name.
The farmer looks ready to punch Calamity Carl in the face, but he resists somehow. Calamity Carl seems to get the hint.
Calamity Carl: You know what, I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided you’re right, Farmer Get The Fuck Off My Land Right Now (which I still don’t think is your real name, but I digress). You’re right, if I want to cause the biggest calamity then I need to explode something on my own land. Maybe blowing up my own house would be a good start.
Farmer Flynn: All I know is, if I see you on my land with dynamite again I’m going to pitchfork you in the anus.
Calamity Carl: Well that just sounds disgusting, frankly. 
Farmer Flynn: i don’t give a squirt what you think is disgusting, frankly. Take all this crap and get the heck off my land already!
Calamity Carl: Alright alright, I’m going...
Calamity Carl grumbles to himself and picks up the entire bonfire stack with his hands, like in a cartoon, and then he walks away off this guys land, still grumbling. Farmer Flynn leans on his pitchfork as he watches the guy walk away, and he wonders why so many people try to blow up his land on a regular basis, I mean seriously, it’s like every week. If it’s not this guy, Calamity Carl, then its some other nut with easy access to explosives. What is the matter with some people?
0 notes