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katiexpunk · 5 months

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Sex On Fire, Part 1 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them. Part 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

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S P R I N G Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them.

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful.

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life.

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite. After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it.

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged.

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK.

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore.

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story.

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one.

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below.

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug.

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it.

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think.

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up.

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram.

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it.

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep.

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await.

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste.

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try.

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts.

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone.

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl.

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door.

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open.

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast.

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door. “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone.

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door.

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess.

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more.

“Cute shirt, by the way” he says, his voice low and even.

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman.

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious.

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk.

Oh god.

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is. You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it.

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot.

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.”

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it.

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note.

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did.

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it.

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.”

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain.

God, he wishes you would have kept it.

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days.

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden.

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown.

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway.

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it.

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place.

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy.

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself.

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside.

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter.

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help.

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one.

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy.

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot.

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh.

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him.

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease.

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country…

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile.

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight.

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception.

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box. It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency.

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.”

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt.

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him.

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive.

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink.

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again.

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls.

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car.

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom.

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life.

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one.

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him.

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected.

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had.

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen.

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated.

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment.

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves.

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips.

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips.

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken.

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching.

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him.

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room.

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice.

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it.

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight.

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock.

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him.

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm.

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.xx

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedro pascal #new york #firefighter smut #pedro stories

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sophaeros · 2 months

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arctic monkeys for clash magazine, april 2010

ON THE ROAD WITH… ARCTIC MONKEYS

Words by Simon Harper Photos by Jason Joyce

As Britain’s favourite band headed out on the European leg of their ‘Humbug’ tour, Clash discovered that Arctic Monkeys were less sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, and more cakes, ping-pong and Coco Pops…

The city of Offenbach, about twenty minutes south of Frankfurt, was once noted for its abundant leather industry, and is currently the base of the German weather service, but such claims don’t negate the fact that it’s basically a sterile, grey, typically German suburban borough. The arrival of a fleet of trucks and buses, carrying Arctic Monkeys, their crew and stage gear, heralded the notion that for one night only, Offenbach may just come alive with suitably bustling energy.

Offenbach’s Stadthalle is the smallest venue on the Monkeys’ three-week tour of Western Europe. The band have been through Portugal, Spain and France, and know how to kill time during the day while everyone works around them, building the stage for that night’s show. And so, when Clash finds them, upstairs in the Stadthalle’s back rooms, they’re in the middle of a fierce ping-pong match – the game scores being tallied up across the tour. The table, it transpires, is the band’s own, and follows them wherever they go. A set of football goals lie waiting for action, but the small white balls prove more enticing.

It’s a cold, February Tuesday, and these back rooms are where the band will spend the whole day.

Previous encounters with Arctic Monkeys have been somewhat tough – notoriously reticent and famously press-shy, there’s a tangible wall that surrounds them, which is seemingly hard to penetrate. Suspicious stares cut through you, while succinct answers frustrate you. Today, however, they couldn’t be more accommodating.

Clash sits with the quartet in the band-only room, where their personal equipment is kept in a vertical flight case of drawers, and a small fridge is at hand for cold beers. Nick O’Malley, Jamie Cook and Matt Helders sprawl on the leather couches, while Alex Turner perches on the table, often pacing the room, then escaping in search of a lighter. We’re here to talk about life on the road. What starts as an interview eventually descends into louche conversation; daft chat punctuated by much laughter. Perhaps they’re glad to see a friendly face; perhaps the monotony of touring makes them crave any respite; perhaps there’s nothing better to do in Offenbach.

Is being on tour like real life, or does it feel like you’re detached from what real life is?

Matt: It’s probably real life. It doesn’t seem like it’s too separate or miles away.

When you go home is that normality or is it just a continuation of what you do on the road?

Matt: I don’t find it hard to settle back and switch between the two.

Nick: You feel like you’re unemployed when you go home properly.

Like you’ve got nothing to do?

Nick: Yeah, or like if you’ve got a couple of weeks off.

Matt: Like school holidays.

Alex: Does that make this school then?

Matt: Yeah, but it’s like basketball camp or something you enjoy.

How do your friendships cope with life on the road?

Matt: It’s fine.

Nick: Yeah. We know how to not annoy each other. We’ve never really had friction, because we’ve all got a similar outlook on how not to annoy people, I suppose, so there’s never really been any problems.

Alex: (Mock nastily) That’s what you think, mate.

Nick: (Laughs) I suppose if you see the same people every day, after a while you’re bound to get a bit annoyed, but as long as you keep in your mind that it’s just because of the situation and not because you don’t like the person, then you can kind of avoid outbursts that you might not mean. It’s never really been a problem so far.

Do you notice a huge cultural difference between touring Europe and America?

Alex: Even between places in Europe. I mean, often, to be honest, certainly at this stage that we’re at, days like today aren’t uncommon, where you’re out of town and you don’t even really see where you are, as I’m sure you’re aware. But you can really tell the difference just in the show, from the crowd. We did Madrid and Barcelona over t’weekend, and last week Portugal, and they were really excitable and there was like a frenzy going on when we were playing. Whereas I think crowds elsewhere can be a bit more reserved, can’t they, depending on where it is. I reckon one of the best crowds on this tour was a gig we did last week in Porto. We’ve never played there before. There was this real appreciation or something just from the start. You can just sort of feel it, can’t you; ‘We’re all here to have a laugh’.

Alex lives in the States now. Have any of you considered moving to somewhere you’ve visited on tour?

Matt: Yeah. It’s good that you do get to see places that you might consider moving, like Berlin. I could imagine living there.

Does living apart make you appreciate each other more when you’re back together?

Jamie: [Long pause] Mmmm…yeah.

Gone are the days when you’re living round the corner from each other.

Alex: Yeah, I suppose that’s true. You’ve got to sort of organise to be in one place. I suppose that is a bit of an inconvenient drag.

Are there any essential items that you have to pack before you come out on tour?

Jamie: One of them rolly things that gets fluff of your coat. (All laugh)

Alex: I feel like you’re a lot better equipped than the rest of us with things like that.

Yeah, you’re looking very bobble-less.

Jamie: Ah, cheers. Yeah, I did it this morning actually. A quick roll.

Matt: A skipping rope – except I forgot it this time. I’ve lost mine.

Nick: DVDs, stuff like that.

A ping-pong table?

Jamie: A ping-pong table is essential actually. I don’t think we’d go on tour without that.

Alex: Some kind of series…

Matt: A box-set.

Alex: Kinda really discovered that this last year. It was summat I’d never really got into before.

Nick: Any HBO series.

Alex: (Laughs) Yeah. I’ve really learned to appreciate that sort of continuum, because you can follow a thread.

Matt: You know what you need to do the next day.

What have you been watching?

Alex: We’ve got into Deadwood a bit on the last tour. That’s what’s been missing, I think, for me on this tour, some sort of thing like that.

Have you done The Wire?

Alex: Yeah. I went Wire mad on that tour. I just got so greedy. I get so greedy with them things.

Matt: I couldn’t catch up.

Jamie: Yeah, he ditched everyone. I got ditched on t’second series!

Matt: Six in t’morning, I could hear him.

Jamie: You’d get up and that [theme] song would be on. It’d just be crisps all over, a bottle of…

Nick: ‘Wire Beast’s been up all night again!’

Alex: ‘Where’d you get that dressing gown from?’

Jamie: Just laying there with crumbs all over him.

Have you ever had any scares at customs?

Nick: I got searched yesterday actually.

Matt: It was your squeaky wheels, just as I’d said. I said, ‘Them wheels are gonna attract attention.’

Nick: In Germany. A very thorough search, but luckily no glove action.

Jamie: They probably wanted to mend your wheels for you.

Matt: ‘I’ve got summat for that, some GT85.’

Nick: They were really suspicious of me. They really took everything apart and didn’t put it back as neat as I’d put it in.

Alex: At this end, yesterday?

Nick: Yeah, when we arrived in ‘Munchen’.

Alex: They’re quite, like, strict, aren’t they, Bavarian authorities.

Nick: Yeah. They had a look at me belt, everything. All me case and bag. Took everything apart. Then he were like, ‘Where have you come from?’ I went, ‘Barcelona’. He were like, ‘Have you had any contact with drugs in Barcelona?’ I went, ‘No.’ He went, ‘What do you do?’ I said, ‘I’m in a band.’ And he went, ‘Ah’, and then, like, swabbed everything.

Alex: When I got in t’car yesterday, the fella were like, [German accent] ‘If you like to do drugs, do not try and do it in Bavaria.’

American customs scare me most.

Matt: Yeah, it’s a load of questions.

Alex: ‘What are you doing here?’

Jamie: New Zealand were quite funny. We all got pulled…

Matt: We had to sit in them chairs for a bit…

Jamie: And this guy was asking us directly the last time we ever did drugs. Then someone came over who worked for us…and he soon disappeared rather fast. We were fine. (All laugh)

Alex: I’ve come to quite enjoy the American customs people. (All laugh)

Matt: They’ve always got weird names.

Alex: They’re like, [American accent] ‘So you’re in a band, huh?’ You go, ‘Yeah, yeah.’ ‘What do you do in the band?’ ‘Oh, I’m the singer.’ ‘Yeah? You don’t look like a singer to me.’

Nick: ‘Do you sound like Coldplay?’

Alex: Yeah, ‘What kind of music do you guys play?’

Jamie: ‘Do you sound like Staind?’ I went like, ‘Staind? I know them… Fuckin’ hell!’ It took me ages. ‘Yeah, yeah, we sound a bit like Staind.’ When he said it I were like, ‘Yeah, a bit.’

You’ve said before that you wanted to try and get an album out this year. Do you get any time on the road to do any work on that?

Alex: Not really. That’s a bit of a pain in the arse, not being able to rehearse and work stuff out. I don’t think I write very good songs on t’road. They’re all a bit wonky. You get back and you’re like, ‘Hmmm’.

Does it detach you from what we were talking about earlier, ‘real life’? Does it detach you from the things that you want to be writing about?

Alex: I dunno. You can still use your imagination, but I just think, yeah, in your surroundings there’s always about to be something that’s going to happen. You can’t think. I always write wherever I am, but I dunno if the things that come out when you’re touring around always have the shelf life that the other things do.

Have you got any songs earmarked for the next album?

Alex: Yeah. I mean, there’s some ideas, but we haven’t really had the chance to get out the fine toothed comb.

‘Humbug’ was a departure in sound from your previous albums – do you think you’ll continue in that direction, maybe bring Josh Homme in again?

Alex: Not sure, really. We would like to do something with Josh again – it was terrific for us to go on that adventure – but whether or not it’s this next thing, I’m not sure. And also, like, he’s busy! (Laughs) He’s got a schedule himself, doesn’t he?

You went to record over in his place, so do you think next time you’ll have him over to...

Alex: High Green? (Laughs) Homme in High Green? I quite fancy that.

Nick: He’d look like a superhero in High Green, all the bad genetics there are in High Green. He’d look amazing.

Matt: He’d be the biggest man there.

You’ve released a couple of singles exclusively through Oxfam. What made you decide to do that?

Jamie: Laurence and Jonny at Domino came to us with that idea – a great idea for the charity reason, and then cos Woolworths and stuff had shut down, but there were always an Oxfam.

Alex: Like, in towns where there perhaps aren’t, like, an Our Price or something.

Do you have to think of more creative ways to get your records out there?

Jamie: Yeah, rather than just sat at home.

Matt: They should think about making the journey exciting – paint paths a nice colour to the record shops.

Alex: The yellow brick road.

Matt: Something that makes people want to walk to a record shop. Even if it’s just free parking. (All laugh)

Jamie: It’s just too easy to buy music now.

How do you feel as artists about the devaluing of music? Does it annoy you that you’re working hard to make something, but people can just pick it up from their friends?

Jamie: I suppose we were never in the industry when it were big money, when people used to sell twenty million albums. Has that ever happened since we’ve been around?

Probably someone like Dido has.

Jamie: Yeah, that were probably the last.

Matt: It’s like, we wouldn’t expect anything like that to happen to us, so…

Alex: I do think there is people that always will want to go and get records.

Matt: Yeah, it won’t change everybody.

Alex: I was reading a couple of months ago about there’s an idea where you won’t even have – you know like you pull songs off iTunes or whatever – but they were saying you subscribe to a database and pay to get ’em…

Jamie: Spotify, that’s what that was.

Alex: Yeah. But you can’t get them on…

It streams the music – you can’t download them.

Alex: But you can’t do that on your phone, can you?

Matt: Yeah, you can do Spotify on your phone if you pay about £10 a month. Nokia did that thing where you can just pay a monthly thing and you can have as many as you want…

Alex: The fella had a quote, he’s like, ‘There’s nothing sexy about an MP3 on your desktop’. (Laughs) He’s like, ‘There’s nothing sexy about having a subscription to a database’. (All laugh) But then you could just sort of buy a record and stand it up against your wall. Not that that’s particularly sexy, but, you know what I mean… I like things that you can stand up.

Jamie: Like you said the other day, everyone’s just gonna have an empty house.

Matt: Yeah, there’s gonna be nothing on t’shelves. Not even books now.

Jamie: No one’s got any photos anymore, no ones’s got any CDs or records…

Matt: You’ll just have a screen and a chair.

Jamie: You’ll just go, ‘Sound. This is sound.’

Matt: With nowt on your wall.

Jamie: You can just have everything [at your fingertips]; turn your fire on, open your curtains…

Alex: You’d get in it for your bath. (All laugh)

[Alex goes into the band’s equipment drawer, pulls out a giant figure of Freddie Mercury in full-on rock pose. “See, he said he likes things that stand up,” Matt says.]

Does being on an independent label give you the freedom to experiment with your marketing or promotions?

Matt: Yeah. They [Domino] have as many ideas as us for stuff like that, like the Oxfam thing. They tend to think on a similar level, and, at the same time, if we have a suggestion, they’re open to it. It sometimes is a good thing to have a label like Domino, cos they’re experienced in doing weird stuff, and have obviously signed things that aren’t necessarily to make any money or anything, so we’ll listen to them if they have a suggestion, and vice versa. They’d put records out on tins of beans and all sorts. (All laugh)

Jamie: I wanted to do it on a conifer. I wanted to put an MP3 out on a conifer.

Matt: Or just seeds. Christmas tree seeds.

Alex: Yeah. What did they actually do?

Matt: There’s a Jewish guy, I forgot what his name is, and they did it on a kosher chicken noodle soup or something. You buy the soup and you get the code [for the MP3]. Which is good in a way, because he’s just poo-pooing the fact that there’s not much point. It’s an incentive, but it doesn’t get it in the chart, you see. It’s a give-away. So you can sell anything and just have an MP3 code on it. You can sell a car and you’d just get one song.

Jamie: But then it doesn’t count towards t’charts?

Matt: No. The Oxfam thing don’t either, does it. Only the download bit does. You’re not allowed to give away incentives like free stuff, because that’s obviously encouraging people. See, that’s the thing – people might buy the soup and not download the song. ‘I wonder if they make good soup?’

Jamie: When you see a good cover sometimes…

Matt: Yeah, you buy it for the cover.

Alex: Perhaps the epitome of that is you buying a Lady Gaga picture disc. (Laughs)

Matt: Yeah, I did. I’ve been a fool.

Alex: It’s great, cos she’s wearing like a fuckin’ box of Coco Pops or something. (Laughs)

Matt: You could buy that Freddie Mercury thing and get a Queen album, for instance. You don’t need to put it on or owt.

Jamie: You want to make it awkward.

Matt: Buy a chair. Buy a flat pack piece of furniture and you get a code for an album.

Jamie: You have to put your furniture up and send a picture to someone, then they send you the MP3.

Alex: That would make a good video: playing in a bowl of Coco Pops. (All laugh) Remember that kids programme where they used to have to go swimming in a bowl of cereal…

Jamie: Ah yeah. Didn’t they used to do something like that on The Big Breakfast?

Matt: They did, yeah.

Jamie: It were a massive cup of tea and you used to have to get the sugar lumps…

Matt: Yeah, yeah, that was it: One Lump Or Two.

Jamie: One Lump Or Two, yeah!

Alex: It would be great: kid comes down, he’s having his breakfast – Coco Pops – and then, like, Arctic Monkeys are in his cereal. (All laugh)

Jamie: Hot milk, though.

Matt: Hot milk in t’afternoon.

Alex: (Laughs) ‘Why not try Coco Pops after school?’

Jamie: (Laughs) I love that advert!

Alex: It’s the best!

Do your fans give you CDs of their bands?

Matt: They throw them on t’stage! Imagine if you got one of them in t’eye! Fuckin’ hell! Remember in America, a kid got on stage and he had a handful [of CDs] and someone had to grab him to get him off, but he threw them. So he were getting pulled away and he threw them.

Alex: I’ve been getting less CDs though…

Matt: Now they’re throwing download cards at you!

Alex: I got a pair of underpants…

Jamie: People are chucking downloads at you. You’re like, ‘What the fuck?’

Matt: People are throwing zeroes and ones at you – it’s like the credits of The Matrix!

Jamie: You can’t get any flick on a download.

Alex: They’re chucking Spotifys at me. Maybe that’s what them pants were – some sort of code.

I think it’d be a totally different sort of code! Do you listen to the music that fans give you?

Matt: I listened to one that someone gave me the other day. It just were at home though, he just gave it me.

Alex: No more than I’d wear that pair of pants! (Laughs)

Matt: It were just convenient – I were getting in me car and there’s a CD player there.

What’s the strangest thing a fan has given you?

Matt: Just in Japan – everything you get is weird! Like, a monkey hat – it left your own face in but it’s got ears and a tail.

Jamie: And sweets.

Matt: A lot of sweets.

Jamie: We once said, ‘Oh, we like these sweets’ in an interview…

Nick: There’s someone that makes baked goods.

Matt: You got a good one, where it were like a picture of you…

Alex: Yeah, I got like a diagram of myself…

Matt: A diagram, pointing at every bit, and then asking to fill in, like, what his favourite brand of jeans were.

Alex: Hand it back, and then she’d sort of kit me out.

Matt: She’d buy it all! So, like, ‘Favourite shoes? Trainers or boots?’ It would be like that. He’d fill it in and send it back and then she’d buy it. ‘Will this do?’

Alex: Back it came with this jumper that were perfect actually. She really knew me better than I knew meself.

Nick: With baked goods, I know it’s not [spiked], but you never know… It’s probably fine – it’s more than likely fine – but it is a gamble.

Matt: It’s innocent, but someone might have seen that opportunity.

Jamie: I don’t think I’m ever gonna eat a baked good that some stranger’s made. You learn about that. There is a story there…

What’s the first thing you do when you get home after the tour is finished?

Nick: See your friends and family that you’ve not seen.

Matt: I go and get my photos developed. That’s actually one of the first things I do.

Alex: I usually pick up me guitar. Honestly. It’s a deep breath.

Later that evening, Clash is back in the ping-pong room. The tour manager comes to break bad news to the band - the curtain at the front of the stage is broken. They won't be able to make their usual grand entrance. "Ah, we've got to do it," grins Alex. Do what? "We've been saying on this tour if ever the curtain doesn't work, we've got to go on to this song." Which song? "Black Eyed Peas’ ‘I Gotta Feelin’’," Alex beams. The band are giddily bouncing around, electrified by the prospect of taking the stage to the song that's soundtracked many a menopausal vodka-stained Saturday evening's preparatory gathering.

“But when do we go on?" Matt asks.

"The rap. We gotta wait for the rap," Alex asserts.

"We should wait until "Mazel tov”,” Jamie smirks.

Ten minutes later, Clash is amidst the Offenbach crowd when the lights go out and the song bursts from the PA. A wave of euphoria swells, the irony not lost, and right on cue, just as the Peas declare, "I know that we'll have a ball", the four Monkeys stride towards their instruments.

The nineteen-song set covers their three albums - with Nick Cave's 'Red Right Hand’ thrown in for good measure. The last song before their encore is 'Secret Door’ from 'Humbug’. Just as Matt cracks the snare drum that launches the song's long psychedelic outro, cannons on the roof blast out gold and silver confetti over the joyous crowd below, proving that the Monkeys aren't averse to a bit of showmanship every now and then.

The after party is a subdued affair (well, in Offenbach it's bound to be!), with just the band, some friends, crew, and Clash, diving into the beer and nibbles on offer. A fairly drunken chat with Alex about Johnny Cash, Billie Holiday and Gram Parsons rounds off our time with the band, as they retreat back to the confines of their bus, about to depart for Dusseldor and their next gig.

Such a welcome and warm atmosphere is often rare backstage, especially with a band as celebrated as this, but the Monkeys - ever changing and ever surprising - are beginning to make a habit of defying expectations. Growing up has never been such fun.

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #humbug era #clash magazine #interview #not my scan #bands #screenshots from vk #in another universe they wouldve started a four white men talking podcast #eye contact #my image id

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fourmoony · 3 months

Text

Friends or What?

James Potter x F!Reader

A coming of age story in which Potter's Corner Shop has a funny way of bringing people together. Falling in love is daunting when everyone is watching.

Ao3 Link - Series Masterlist - Fourmoony's Masterlist

Chapter Warnings for Chapter Two -

Language. Internalised homophobia. Mentions of physical and emotional abuse. Smoking. Use of the word 'fag', in context to a cigarette (UK Slang)

CHAPTER TWO (4K) -

JAMES

Sirius is quiet in the taxi home. He’s quiet when they shuck their shoes off in the entrance hall of the Potter Estate. He’s quiet as he footers around the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He’s quiet while he and James stand side by side in their conjoined bathroom, brushing their teeth and washing their faces. He’s quiet, quiet, quiet, and James is starting to worry. The thing about Sirius is – is that he’s loud. In every possible way. Aged eleven, Sirius Black had come bounding into James Potter’s life with his boyish grin and loudmouth attitude, two middle fingers held up to the world and they’d been inseparable since.

James is loud like the sun. He’s funny and he’s charming in a warm, light, happy sort of way. He’s sturdy and reliable, he’s soft and he’s gentle. Sirius is loud like the laughter of a ten-thousand-man crowd. He’s abrasive and he’s obnoxious, he’s rough around the edges but he’s so fucking loyal that James never really stood a chance. He was destined to be Sirius Black’s brother, his best friend, his twin flame. Sirius is rebellious, he’s never been anything except what he wanted to be. He’s jagged and he’s loud and he’s James’ best mate in the entire world.

James knows Sirius like the back of his hand. So, he knows that quiet is not good. Sirius is complex. His past hasn’t been kind to him, and while he’s not the same sixteen-year-old boy that showed up on James’ doorstep seven years ago, battered and bruised, traumatised and a shell of himself, James still worries about him sometimes. Sirius talks about his family less and less as the years go on. James would like to think that, in a way, he’s healed from the trauma of Walburga and Orion Black. There are parts of Sirius that will never come back; his boyish innocence and the warmth he once exuded from his very soul, but James knows that Sirius is better. He doesn’t have nightmares anymore, he doesn’t hide himself away, he doesn’t stash bread and sweeties under his floorboards, he goes to therapy once a week and he’s making changes, for Christ’s sakes.

But James knows, he knows it deep into his fucking core, that the reason Sirius hasn’t told him about Remus, the reason he’s being so quiet, now, is because of his upbringing. It’s a subject he knows will have to be dealt with carefully, untwined with gentle fingers like plucking the thorns from a rose. One wrong word and James is scared Sirius will flee. He doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like lack of control, and if he’s kissing Remus Lupin for any other reason than to get under the poor bloke’s skin, then James is willing to bet Sirius is feeling an overwhelming amount of both.

So, he waits for Sirius to come to him. He sends him off to his own bed with a quiet ‘goodnight’ because he can wait. He will wait. Sirius isn’t ready and that’s okay. The two years James spent without Sirius were, by far, the hardest of his life. The Black’s decided this village was a bad influence, that it bred insubordination, was infecting Sirius’ mind with thoughts of growing up and doing anything but working in politics like the rest of his family. They moved to central London, in the borough of Islington, and that’s where things got really bad. Sirius doesn’t speak about London, much. Only to his therapist, which is fine with James. But he knows about all the stuff that happened when the Black’s lived in the village, he was there for it all; the broken bones, the bruises, the cuts, the scars, the rapid weight loss, he saw it happen, held Sirius through it, took the pieces of his own armour and filled in the gaps on Sirius’ because whilst Sirius is chaos, James is calm and he’s loyal, and he’s strong. And then Sirius left. And then Sirius came back to him. Then. Then, Sirius came home. So, James can wait. He can do it. Because James and Sirius tell each other everything, do everything together, but this is something that Sirius might just have to figure out on his own.

The house feels too quiet, the air around him too heavy, as James lies in bed. He tries to read, he fails, he polishes his rugby boots for training in the morning, and he fails. He can’t stop thinking about Sirius’ face; the frazzled, lost sort of look that plagued him when James had asked if he was okay, if he needed to talk about anything. James watched as Sirius fought and lost the battle of following Remus out of the Three Broomsticks and felt the pain heavy in his chest when he had to stop Sirius, himself.

“Not tonight. Let him cool off.” James had whispered, and Sirius didn’t have it in him to argue.

He tries to read, again, and he fails, again. He loves Sirius so much. He worries. He always worries. Because, sure, Sirius is a lot better, now, but he’s complex, he has trauma, and he’s visibly struggling. But James can’t help. Usually, he can always help Sirius. Sirius never shies away from asking for help. He’s on his own this time, scared and struggling and James can’t help him because he hasn’t asked and James refuses to push.

He tosses and he turns, and he sits up, he lies back down, he paces, he sits down, and eventually, he falls asleep, only to wake up when the bed dips beside him.

When his eyes open, he realises he’s fallen asleep with his glasses on because he can see the way the dawn breaks over the orchard outside his bedroom window. There’s frost on the grass and the sky is still a deep blue, getting lighter the further down he looks. Sirius is next to him. He doesn’t have to look over to know. James can tell by the pattern of his breaths, the smell of his shampoo, how far the bed dips. James Potter would know Sirius Black’s presence were he deaf and blind. He always will. He has a feeling Sirius, much like him, feels the weight that’s suffocating them.

He doesn’t look over, just waits for his best friend to say something. He can hear the cogs whirring behind Sirius’ pale blue eyes, the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. Sirius doesn’t speak for a long time.

“Do you –“ Sirius starts, but he falls short. He’s unsure, voice wavering, thick with anxiety. He swallows, coughs, tries again; “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

It’s not what James is expecting Sirius to ask. As his best friend, his first instinct is to say, ‘Of course I don’t’, but James knows Sirius Black like the back of his hand, the insides of his eyelids, the warm glow that burns in his chest. He knows how Sirius can be. He knows how cruel his tongue is, how his first instinct when he’s threatened is to go for the throat. So, James deliberates.

“I think you’re a good person who horrible things have happened to. Sometimes, you allow those things to control the way you act. But no. I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Padfoot.” James answers honestly.

He watches the breeze blow through the orchard trees as the sun continues to creep up between the branches. Sirius breathes a sigh of relief, shuffles closer to James so he can feel the warmth of him. He finally looks down at Sirius, head rested on the same pillow as James, and he smiles softly. Sirius smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks tired, lost, scared. James wants to fix it all so bad. But he can’t. He has to let Sirius do it, himself.

When Sirius ran to him seven years ago, James made himself a promise. Nothing, and no one, would ever harm his best friend again. Not over James Potter’s cold, dead, body. But he can’t stop this, can he? He can’t wrap Sirius up and protect him from his own heart, his own mind. He doesn’t have that much power and it’s killing him.

“Remus thinks I’m a horrible person.” Sirius says, voice so quiet James thinks he believes it. Like Remus’ word is final.

He sighs, rubs the tiredness from his eyes, “Did he tell you this?”

“No,” Sirius answers, voice a moment from sleep, his eyes closed, and his face so sad and soft James feels his heart splinter, “I see it in the way he looks at me.”

“You could prove to him that you’re not.” James advises, voice soft.

Sirius makes a humming noise of acknowledgement, but ultimately, James knows the conversation is over. He’s dead to the world ten minutes later, and James follows suit not long after.

-----

SIRIUS

When Sirius was ten, he realised what it truly meant to be a member of the Black family.

It was more than fame, or politics, or even money. It was more than presenting themselves as a prestigious, well-educated family. For the Blacks it was about one thing: Power. They have an ability to play games with people that don’t even know they’re a part of them, closing in, moving pieces, counting cards until finally, they win. The Blacks always win. For as long as he can remember, every conversation Sirius Black has ever had with another member of his family has held some sort of purpose. Manipulation, information gathering, seed planting. The list goes on.

When you grow up in that environment, carefully wrapping your lips around poisoned words, watching your back with every move, the thing is – it becomes hard to trust. It gets hard to distinguish the difference between someone trying to get to know you, and someone trying to learn every dirty little secret you have so they can use it against you.

So, Sirius was ten when he learned the hard lesson of keeping his mouth shut, keeping his secrets close to his chest. Because the beating he took for telling Mary Riddle that his mother nicknamed her husband, Tom Riddle Sr., ‘The Snake’, was unpleasant at best. Secrets, or spilled secrets, never end well. He likes to keep his secrets close to his chest. Perhaps that has more to do with Walburga than he’d ever be willing to admit – because while the Black’s liked to know everyone else’s secrets, not a soul alive could tell you any of theirs.

It took Sirius one year to tell James how bad things really were. Even then, it’s not like he had an option. Too many black eyes, too many sprained wrists and unhealed cuts. James Potter is one of the smartest people Sirius knows. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out. By then, Sirius knew he could trust James, could feel it in his chest. What they have is special, unheard of. Their souls are made of the same things. Sirius knew that just as sure at age eleven as he does, now, age twenty-three.

Sirius doesn’t know why he hasn’t told James, yet.

Honestly, he doesn’t.

He’s tried. Gods, has Sirius tried. But the thing about James is – is that he’s so observant when it’s the big things, the big moments, the bad days, but the smaller, more minute things? Things like Sirius asking him to go for coffee, have a chat – it goes over his head completely. Every time Sirius builds himself up, James bulldozes over his confidence with an enthusiastic rant about rugby, the weather, the shop, and Sirius deflates like a burst balloon. He can’t get angry with James. Not really. Because Sirius has a sneaking suspicion that he’s subconsciously grateful for James ruining the moment over, and over. If he was truly confident in letting his secret spill, he’d just bulldoze James right back. That’s how they work.

But, instead, Sirius says nothing.

Always nothing.

It’s becoming a problem, he’s aware. Especially with the way Remus is staring at him, now, expectant, and impatient. He’s just – he’s not good at opening up to people, at letting them in. There’s something there, though, with Remus. He feels it in the static buzzing between his ribs, the sparks buzzing at his fingertips. He doesn’t know what to do with the energy, doesn’t like the way it makes him feel. A loss of control.

It’s been less than twenty four hours since their… fight. In the Three Broomsticks’ beer garden. Remus called Sirius a pretentious prick, Sirius called Christopher a wet wipe. Remus’ lips felt so angry against his, so frustrated and raw, so. Nice. They haven’t spoken since. Not really. Not in any way that matters. Nothing other than the short, jabbing quips that once, were fun, but now are exhausting. Sirius doesn’t hate Remus. Not really. But he’s not sure he likes him either.

He’s scared and he’s confused, and Remus is looking at him like he should have all the answers and he doesn’t know what to do.

So, he shrugs, “I told you. I don’t know.”

Remus nods, he looks like he’d been expecting that answer. “I’m not just someone you can fuck around with until you figure out whatever posh boy gay crisis it is you’re having.”

Sirius has the nerve to scoff. The thing about Remus is. He’s incredibly good at giving what he gets. Sirius knows he’s cutthroat when he’s been backed into a corner. He has this evil monster in his head, in his chest, in the blood that thrums through his veins – it’s a by-product of being born a Black. Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe he grew up in a house so rotted, with a family so monstrous, that he never had any hope of being more than. But Remus is just as short, just as rude. It’s maddening. It inspires Sirius to challenge him, if only to feel the scorch of his lips, the electricity of his touch.

“I can’t do this right now.”

Remus flicks his fag across the road, pushes himself off the wall, “You’ve been saying that for as long as I’ve known you.”

“You don’t know me.” Sirius feels the need to remind Remus.

Because really, he doesn’t.

Remus Lupin knows jack shit about Sirius Black. Other than what he tastes like. What he sounds like. That he’s rotted and spoiled and probably a horrible person.

So, he knows a little.

But he’s never shown any interest in getting to know the good parts of Sirius. The loyalty. The unwavering fucking loyalty that Sirius gives out like rare change, but when you have it, you have it, and it never falters. The laughter, the jokes, the careful way he cares for each and every person he loves. He’s loud and abrasive, but Remus will never know he can be that way and not be an arsehole about it.

Sirius won’t force him to see past what he wants to see. He’s accepted that maybe the reason Remus thinks he’s a terrible person is simple. Because he is.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Remus doesn’t say good-bye when he turns, yanks open the door to the shop and steps inside. Sirius hears the faint ringing of the bell, your voice calling out Remus’ name. He gives himself a moment. A moment to look at the door and hope that Remus will come back out and explain very plainly what it is he wants from Sirius. Because Sirius is at a loss. He doesn’t remember much about the night that he met Remus. Just the feeling of pure adrenaline he got from whatever haughty words they exchanged in the smoking area, the half-hearted scoffs and awkward chit chat of getting to know someone you really shouldn’t have any interest in getting to know. Remus was charming. He was quiet and mysterious, and he was rather blunt. Sirius didn’t mind. He likes to talk, likes to push, likes to know everyone’s secrets.

Power. Games. He never really got away from that. Just them.

He doesn’t remember how it got so heated, how they ended up millimetres away from each other’s faces, their breaths mingling and the static electricity winding its way around Sirius’ ribcage. But they did. And Remus’ lips. They were so rough, so demanding. So lovely. He remembers the way it overpowered him, the kiss, shook him to his core and turned his entire fucking life upside down. The thing Sirius can’t shake, though. The thing that tears him up inside – which he refuses to look at too deeply – is the look on Remus’ face when Sirius broke the kiss, took two steps back, announced that he wasn’t gay, and essentially took off running.

The thing is, Sirius isn’t gay.

At least, he’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s not.

He can’t be. He won’t be.

When Sirius is positive Remus isn’t coming back out, he leaves.

----

The bell dings above the shop door and Remus returns in a flash of fury. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted. It pulls at the scar on his cupids bow, makes it an angrier shade of red than it normally is. Usually, after a smoke break, Remus returns more relaxed, calm, a more pleasant version of the boy you’d originally sent outside to cool off after he kicked a box of freddos across the storeroom twenty minutes ago.

He stalks up to the till, doesn’t even check if there’s any customers present before he announces that, “Sirius Black is a fucking prick.”

You’re perched on the edge of the counter, flipping through a magazine. Sundays are generally slow days. All the week’s deliveries have arrived, the pull forwards have been done, the cleaning is done. All that’s really left to do is sit around and wait for customers to show up. Remus must not be expecting you to reply – probably because you never do when it comes to Sirius – because he huffs a breath before continuing through to the storeroom, likely to take his anger out on another unsuspecting box of chocolate. The door squeaks awfully behind him.

A head of Black hair flashes past the window, barely visibly above the promotion signs James is always tacking up. But it’s there. You see it. Sirius is stalking off in the direction of the Leaky. Remus’ frustration suddenly makes sense. Not saying anything to Remus about what you and James witnessed last night has been torture, especially when he’s been a moody sod all day. Sirius and Remus don’t make any logical sense. But then, you’ve never really given it much thought. Until last night, you were under the impression they’d sooner knock each other out before going at it like horny teenagers in the beer garden.

But you promised James you wouldn’t say anything. So, you don’t. You allow Remus to sulk and fume and take his frustration out on a box of freddos. Because that’s what friends do, you suppose.

Remus returns five minutes later looking cool, calm, and collected. He doesn’t offer an explanation nor an apology for his outburst. Instead, he travels around the counter to stand behind you and be ready to serve, should anyone come inside. You doubt they will, most of the village residents barely leave their homes on a Sunday, let alone past five in the afternoon. The silence is weighted. But then, you think, that’s probably because you know more than you should. Silence with Remus is usually comfortable. It sticks to your skin like humid air and makes you restless, unable to enjoy flicking through your magazine.

“What did he want?” You ask, eyes pointedly focussed on the article about this week’s fashion trends.

You’ve got one leg kicked up on the counter, balancing your magazine, and one dangling off the side, facing Remus, but you refuse to look up; terrified he’ll be able to see right through you.

He hums, “Who?”

“Sirius.”

Remus doesn’t respond for a minute. You imagine he’s trying to piece together how you know he was outside.

“Saw him stalking off towards the Leaky after you came in.” You offer.

“Right.”

“So?”

“So, what?” He asks.

You finally look up; Remus is already staring at you with nothing short of frustration written across his face. He purses his lips, shrugs a non-committal shrug, “The usual. To be a prick.”

“Right.”

“Why does it sound like you don’t believe that?” Remus asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

It’s your turn to shrug. You flip the page of your magazine, eyes downcast. “Just doesn’t seem like Sirius to go out of his way to be a prick.”

Remus scoffs but doesn’t say anything else.

The rest of the shift passes in silence.

James comes to lock up because you forgot your keys at home, this morning, and Monty offered to send James before he left earlier on. It feels like walking on eggshells when he shows up, asks how the day went, and Remus is still in his horrible, sulky mood. You avoid eye contact as you clear lottery tickets and scratch cards from behind the till, making polite conversation as James counts the money inside the tills. He knows you hate numbers – he does it without asking.

Remus doesn’t offer much of a goodbye when he leaves, just tells James he’ll see him on Wednesday and goes. You deflate when the door closes behind him, tension seeping out of your shoulders. James frowns after him, “What’s up with him?”

“Sirius stopped by, earlier.” You fiddle with the clipper display, moving the lighters around as though you have a particular order that you’d like them to be in.

“What did he want?” James asks, locking the till.

You shrug, “They were outside. Couldn’t hear. But Remus has been in a right mood since he left.”

James doesn’t say anything, just sighs and rubs his hands across his face.

Then, “I owe you an apology. For last night. I shouldn’t have been so forceful with you not telling them you know. Sometimes I forget Sirius is an adult who doesn’t need to have his feelings protected.”

He looks earnest, sincere. You hadn’t really thought any bad of James for cornering you the way he did. Honestly, you’d admired how much he cared about Sirius in that moment, how he didn’t think, just reacted in the best possible interest of his best friend.

“S’okay.” You nod, offering James a kind smile.

It’s weird, to have a normal conversation with no one watching, no flirting, no innuendos. It’s nice.

James shakes his head, his half-damp hair moving with him. He looks freshly showered, probably is, you know he had rugby practice today. He’s wearing his rugby hoodie and his gym shorts. He looks boyish and cute, and when he offers you a lopsided smile your heart stutters.

“It’s not. I felt the way you tensed when I grabbed your wrist, I shouldn’t have done that.”

You laugh a little breathily, “That-“ You try, stop, try again, “That wasn’t because I was scared or, or anything. It was just,” You trail off, hoping James accepts that as answer.

How incredibly embarrassing would it be to tell James that you’d been so tense because his touch felt like blazing fire against your skin, made your heart stop, your head spin, your stomach grow butterflies. Pathetic, really.

James looks lost but nods slowly anyway.

“Right, well. That’s us done, so you’re free to go. I’ve a few things to grab from the office and I’ll lock up on my way out.”

“Right, cheers. See you tomorrow, Jamie.”

James’ face brightens at the nickname, his smile wide and teasing, “Tomorrow.”

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snoutbleed · 29 days

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Telling a story takes guts.

Forensic photographer Sören Heinrich can’t ignore the nausea bubbling in his throat when documenting someone's darkest day. He loses sleep over the fates he captures but is drawn to the purpose vested in his grisly role. When blood-slicked prints become Sören's next subject, he finds a message that blurs the line between his personal and professional life.

"This is where I’ve been. Don’t follow."

Unable to fathom his long-lost brother’s crimson handwriting, Sören descends into the criminal underworld for answers. The young boar's inner demons guide him toward a morbid self-reckoning.

Direktion 2 has their work cut out for them.

Crime is on the rise in post-reunification Berlin. Among the cases, the Polizeidirektorate in the city's westernmost boroughs is baffled by freak murders at the hands of denizens without motive.

In the shadow of the Berlin Wall, the crime wave takes a supernatural twist behind the lock of a post-Soviet puzzle.

Camera flashes at the crime scenes reveal gruesome secrets stirring in the shadows.

Unravel the conspiracy in #LONG STORY SHORT.

#The Filing Cabinet -- scan the profiles of those in the know. #Bloodstained Polaroids -- view the images of lives gone astray. #Evidence Board -- learn the details of secrets best kept. #Mystery Signals -- behold the lore of the mind melt. Face the music in the official Long Story Short playlist!

Everyone gathers toward the Abschnitt.

There are several Polizei Berlin stations like the Abschnitt, but everyone tied to this supernatural symphony ends up near this Spandau station particularly.

Sören Heinrich -- ( boar | tag | bio ) The black sheep of the Abschnitt. Sören’s abrasive nature keeps his co-workers at bay, a division widened by their western ideals clashing with his East German upbringing. He distances himself from the station through tight focus on his job, always the first to arrive at a crime scene. Don Jae Hale -- ( elk | tag | bio ) The silver-tongued Kriminalhauptkommissar of the Abschnitt. Hale is quick to dismiss the killings up until his leadership comes under siege by the paranoid public. Umeya Romanova -- ( fox | tag | bio ) The Bundeskriminalamt detective sent to assist with the Abschnitt’s mounting cases. Rumor says Umeya is there for more than the mystery, but her motives veiled by a callous attitude. Marieke Reiss -- ( rabbit | tag | bio ) The star psychology student barely escaped a killing. Now a key witness, Marieke can’t rest easy knowing she could be the next victim, driving her to take matters into her own hands. Reinhardt Müller -- ( donkey | tag | bio ) The Abschnitt’s disgraced ace detective, worn down and living in the grimy corners of Berlin. When crime spikes, Reinhardt tries to relive his “glory days" of detective work. Ukko Heinrich -- ( boar | tag | bio ) The crime lord defends his territory with brutal but firm methods. He's sworn to his found family, the country's political rift making him protective to a fault. Vorwitz Albrecht -- ( bat | tag | bio ) A gardener with good banners but bad morals. Vorwitz's unsavory career choices put him in the Abschnitt, but he finds a way out with Sören.

Entropy knows no bounds.

Stop, look and listen: stories are everywhere. Behold my settings.

Face more madness in #TALES GONE STALE.

LAID TO WASTE -- an abomination stirs in the bayou, its secrets poisoning a township. THE WASTED LIVES -- a group of galactic fugitives embark on a never-ending getaway on a runaway cruiser. (Links need an update. Stay tuned.)

The mind behind the melancholy.

ACHTUNG! This blog is 18+ for gore and suggestive content!

You can call me Dissy (she/her). I'm a writer with stories and ideas always bouncing inside my head, especially this one. Feel free to ask me about myself, my writing, my characters, or anything else. I promise you I can bark up a tree for hours.

I also do Polaroid photography: check out @hogrot for my shots!

I also encourage comments, critique, etc. about this setting. I want to pace myself while writing this, therefore I have all the time I need to refine this where I can. I don't expect this story to come out for a while anyway, especially as I run it through critiques. Hell, this pet project wouldn't have come into fruition thanks to the feedback of some incredible friends.

Shoutout to PYRY for doing character design and art for this setting, as well as giving his ideas and characters for the Heinrich plotline. Go check out his killer art. This story wouldn't exist without him.

Another shoutout to @tsanapi, an incredible artist who drew the art pictured above. Her sense of style is so keen.

And a final thanks to you, the reader, for tuning into the mind melt. This signals wouldn't have picked up without you.

#wip intro #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #story writing #furry writing #writing community #writer intro #long story short #furry #furry art #oc art #oc writing

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peterlorrefanpage · 9 days

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Peter Lorre & Celia Lovsky

Let's have a round-up!

1929

Peter Lorre and Celia Lovsky in the Black Forest of southwestern Germany, December. (Peter proposed to Celia at Christmas that year!)

1932

Peter and Celia back in the Black Forest, on holiday.

Peter and Celia motor-boating on der Wannsee, in the southwestern Berlin borough of Steglitz-Zehlendorf.

1934

Marriage time!

July 18, leaving London for Hollywood.

Peter and Celia aboard the Cunard White Star Liner Majestic bound for New York, mid-July.

I'm not sure if the above is a 1934 picture or not, but they did have to take a train again once they got off the oceanliner...

More under the cut

On the way to Hollywood in July, Peter and Celia changed trains in Chicago and took time to visit the 1933-34 World’s Fair. Peter is pretending to light his cigarette from a snowman in the Black Forest Village.

Also in July, Peter and Celia rented a house on 326 Adelaide Drive in Santa Monica. Whether or not they're really going to play badminton at that moment, that eyebrow steals the show.

But they did like to play!

1935

Peter and Celia taking a walk in the hills outside Santa Monica. His head was shaved for his role as Dr. Gogol in "Mad Love."

Peter and Celia arriving on the 20th Century.

Peter and Celia - I am not sure where they are.

Peter and Celia.

Peter and Celia, Columbia photoshoot.

The above three pics are Peter and Celia at a premiere, possibly for a Shirley Temple movie. Or something else.

Peter and Celia arriving in Southhampton, England, Nov 7.

1936

Celia, Peter, and German screenwriter and film director Berthold Viertel arrive in New York aboard the S.S. Washington, April 29, after "Secret Agent" was done filming.

Peter and Celia arriving in Hollywood.

Happy New Year

I don't know which new year it is, but it seems fitting to end this set with it:

#peter lorre #celia lovsky #peter lorre photoset #peter lorre pictures

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the-griffons-saddlebag · 9 months

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🎁 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗙𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁!⁠ [4/7] This content has been generously donated by @borough_bound to be shared while The Griffon's Saddlebag takes a vacation! Please support these creators and their excellent content!⁠ ⁠ Related downloads are available *for free* through the link in my Vacation highlighted story! ⁠ ___⁠ ⁠ Borough Bound is a talented, passionate team of writers, musicians, map makers, and game designers that come together to create fully realized settings each month. I can say with confidence that the content from Borough Bound has inspired me to play D&D more than virtually any force has before. I am so vocal about how much I love this content, I implore you to consider supporting their work!⁠ ⁠ Also, if you liked the recent dreamscape Saddlebag setting, this would be a setting to combine it with!⁠ ⁠ ...⁠ ⁠ Welcome to Ithivellia, the enchanted glade at the heart of the fey realm. Six enigmatic archfey lord over their sycophantic subjects, and lords and ladies of the seelie court while away countless years in blissful reverie. At least, that's how Ithivellia was before the inexplicable disappearance of one archfey and the emergence of the destructive Mycelial Gate. Now, fungal tendrils link Ithivellia to the mortal realm, and the remaining archfey must rely upon decidedly non-fey heroes to assist them in a quest of sleuthing, intrigue, and bacchanalian mayhem.⁠ ⁠ Borough Bound brings you a giant bundle of content, the first release of their Ithivellia setting. This bundle includes the first of six seamless maps, an enchanting piece of fey music, and a 26-page PDF to get you started adventures in the fey capital. ⁠ ⁠ If you like what you see, check out Borough Bound on Patreon for the full setting, plus more massive maps, building interiors, comprehensive setting guides, over 170 original pieces of music, intricate Foundry integration, NPC tokens, and so much more. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

#illustration #digital art #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d

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visit-new-york · 11 months

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How many lanes does the Brooklyn Bridge have for vehicular traffic?

The Brooklyn Bridge, an iconic symbol of New York City, stands as a testament to engineering brilliance and historical significance. Connecting the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn, this majestic structure has served as a vital transportation link for over a century. As a hub for both pedestrians and vehicular traffic, the Brooklyn Bridge plays a crucial role in the daily lives of countless New Yorkers and tourists alike. In this article, we delve into the specifics of the vehicular lanes on the Brooklyn Bridge, providing a comprehensive understanding of the traffic flow over this architectural marvel.

The Brooklyn Bridge and Its Importance:

Completed in 1883, the Brooklyn Bridge was the first steel-wire suspension bridge ever constructed. Designed by John A. Roebling and later completed by his son Washington Roebling, the bridge spans the East River, offering breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline. Initially built to accommodate horse-drawn carriages, the bridge has since evolved to handle the demands of modern vehicular traffic.

Vehicular Lanes on the Brooklyn Bridge:

The bridge features a total of six lanes, with three lanes in each direction – Manhattan-bound and Brooklyn-bound. The configuration allows for smooth traffic flow, catering to the thousands of vehicles that traverse the bridge daily.

It's important to note that traffic conditions and lane allocations can be subject to change based on maintenance, repairs, or special events. Therefore, it's advisable to stay informed about any updates or alterations to the vehicular lanes through official channels or traffic alerts.

Challenges and Modernization Efforts:

Over the years, the Brooklyn Bridge has faced challenges related to increased traffic volume and the need for maintenance and upgrades. To address these issues and ensure the bridge's continued functionality, various modernization efforts have been undertaken. These may include repairs to the roadway, enhancements to the structural integrity, and improvements in overall safety features.

Conclusion:

The Brooklyn Bridge, with its historic charm and enduring significance, remains a vital artery in the bustling heart of New York City. Understanding the vehicular lanes on the bridge is essential for commuters and visitors alike. As the city continues to evolve, the Brooklyn Bridge stands as a testament to the enduring spirit of innovation and engineering prowess that has shaped the landscape of one of the world's most iconic metropolises.

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dndsettingsinfo · 9 months

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Bridge City (+Night) by Borough Bound

#borough bound #bridge #bridges #city #cities #town #towns #village #villages #map #maps

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the-fluffy-folio · 1 year

Photo

Psigaric – Small plant, neutral

Fey beings tend to grumble when psigaric mycelium encroaches on their enchanted groves and glades. These mycelial networks are host to countless intermingling psyches, fungal entities that are so alien as to be incomprehensible. In truth, psigarics prefer not to interact with the fey either. They spend their days in dreamlike reverie, exploring realms of emotion and imagination while floating about as ethereal mist inside their fungal homes. They can, however, manifest physically, emerging from their mycelium to poke and prod at the three-dimensional world. When they do, they love to mimic the strange characters they encounter, though none would ever mistake a psigaric for a typical forest creature.

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of 200+ of quirky creatures, items and potions.

This creature was made in collab with the wonderful people over at Borough Bound<3

#dnd5e #5e #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dnd monster #dnd creature #digital art #dungeons and drawings #dnd homebrew #worldbuilding #dnd community #dnd campaign #digital illustration #digital painting #ciritcal role #ttrpg #monster art #fantasy monster #fantasy creature

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hlficlibrary · 1 year

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✤ Neighbors Fics✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ In Dreams by dolce_piccante / @haydolce [M, 23k]

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

2️⃣ I Didn't Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) by @allwaswell16 [E, 20k]

These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...

3️⃣ happiness comes in on tiptoe by scagnetism [NR, 9k]

There is a supermodel standing at Louis’ door. He suddenly feels extremely insecure about his unwashed hair and clothes that have seen better days. He’s sure his mouth has fallen open, but there is a supermodel standing on his doorstep.

Or, the AU where Louis is new to the neighborhood and Harry is the angel living next door.

4️⃣ That's How I Know by @allwaswell16 [E, 19k]

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

5️⃣ please don't be in love with someone else by wildestdreams / @butyouneverdo [E, 18k]

Harry ran after Niall, out the door, pausing at the doorway, realizing he was only in his boxer briefs and yelled out, “Niall! You forgot your lunch.”

Just as Niall paused from all the way down the hall, the door opposite theirs opened and the hottest boy Harry had ever seen walked out, eyes widening when he spotted a half naked Harry.

Harry was so fixated upon the boy across from him, who was staring right back with his mouth now hanging open, he’d missed it when Niall bounded back towards him and grabbed the lunch before popping a kiss on his cheek and leaving again. The kiss snapped Harry out of his daze and he let out a breathy laugh as the pretty boy walked out furthermore, closing his door behind him. He gave Harry a small smile back, raising his eyebrows in amusement while looking down past Harry’s waist and then back up.

or The one where Harry and Louis are neighbors and there's a lot of overthinking, misunderstandings, Backstreet Boys sing alongs, embarrassing moments in the hallway, and pining. They somehow still make it work.

- HIDDEN GEMS -

💎 deFENCEless by solvetheminourdreams / @cursethedaylight [T, 27k]

"I moved here first," Louis says with finality, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry shoots him an unimpressed look before leaning forward, leaving only a tiny gap between them.

"Then get the fence first," he whispers, lips a mere inch or two away from Louis'.

When Louis butts heads with his new neighbor who loves to garden a little too much, all he can do to protect his yard (and heart), is keep on building up his fence(s).

💎 Cut to The Feeling by ishiplouis / @pocketsunshineharry [E, 16k]

Louis has just moved into his new apartment in the fancy Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea in London. All was well until he notices that his neighbour rarely closes the curtains which makes for an unlikely friendship to form.

Or AU where Louis is a ghostwriter working from home, and Harry is his firefighter neighbour who happens to have the cutest dog on Earth.

💎 a garden in bloom by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry [G, 10k]

Louis used to live the quiet sweet life of a small business owner in the English countryside.

Then Harry Styles came along.

💎 Through the Wall (Through the Wall) by @taggiecb [M, 5k]

"We live in adjacent apartment and one day I accidentally knocked a hole in the wall and into your living room. I'm really sorry oh my God you're naked" AU

💎 Love Mail by @neondiamond [G, 5k]

A week after moving into a new apartment complex, Harry discovers the mailman doesn’t seem to know the difference between numbers 23 and 28. He’s not too mad about it when he finds out just how handsome his neighbour from apartment 28 really is.

Or the one where Harry and Louis keep mistakingly receiving each other’s mail (and also fall in love).

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demifiendrsa · 11 months

Video

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Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 | Gameplay Reveal

youtube

Introducing Kraven the Hunter

Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 will launch for PlayStation 5 in Fall 2023.

Screenshots

Latest details via PlayStation Blog

It’s a banner day for Spidey fans! We’re delighted to finally show you the first-ever gameplay of Marvel’s Spider-Man 2, the next installment in our original Marvel’s Spider-Man franchise, which will launch in Fall 2023. There’s a lot to unpack about today’s gameplay reveal, so let’s highlight some of the big stuff…

The Great Hunt begins

As many sharp-eared Spidey fans noticed in our announcement trailer in 2021, Kraven the Hunter. This version makes his debut appearance in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 and he’s in search of an equal. That spells bad news for the inhabitants of Marvel’s New York including a rogue’s gallery of villains and the Spider-Men, Peter Parker and Miles Morales. Between the start of Kraven’s Great Hunt and an all-new Symbiote threat to Earth-1048, our heroes have their work cut out for them.

Setting the stage for our gameplay reveal: Kraven’s Hunters, a new enemy faction, are in pursuit of Dr. Curt Connors, AKA The Lizard, and Peter needs to stop him. We kick things off at Connors’ home across the East River in Queens, one of the all-new playable and explorable boroughs we’re introducing in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2.

Let’s get Symbiotic

We don’t waste any time: bursting through basement doors is Peter Parker, our original Spider-Man in this story, who needs no introduction. But what he’s wearing perhaps deserves one: he’s donning the highly coveted, iconic, and beloved Black Suit and he’s more than ready for a fight.

Beyond serving looks, our Symbiote-bound hero has some new tricks up his sleeve. We’re no stranger to Spider-Man knocking heads, but never like this: he’s much more aggressive and punches certainly aren’t being pulled. Symbiote tendrils aggrandize Spider-Man’s silhouette, slamming foes against hard surfaces, dealing no mercy to Kraven’s Hunters.

My advice: get cozy with the L1 button because you’re gonna love it.

The super-popular suit can strike fear in almost anyone who comes face-to-face with it, but Kraven isn’t just anyone and his highly trained Hunters aren’t afraid of a brawl. Fret not! New combat abilities can neutralize our new headstrong opponents with a little finesse. Strike back with aggressive parries to gain the upper-hand, or cast a web to shunt enemies between a hard place and a harder place. You can also activate a classic dodge to get out of danger – but don’t get too comfortable; some attacks can’t simply be dodged and will require a parry to properly evade them!

Our animators put the work in to deliver a much more impulsive Peter Parker, fitting for the symbiote bonded to his person, without sacrificing his combative finesse. New takedowns humble even the most rugged enemies, and new combat animations push Spider-Man’s limits. I mean, did you see what Spider-Man did to this guy?

In Marvel’s Spider-Man 2, we’re putting respect on the Black Suit and giving it the story it deserves. In this installment, we’re really delving into Peter’s personal relationship with the Symbiote and how it affects those closest to him…

More Miles per hour

Speaking of which, this sequel features not one but TWO playable Spider-Heroes, as Miles Morales returns in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 and is a key player in our story. In this demo, Miles is in Harlem hot on Lizard’s tail. Speed is of the essence in many ways than one.

First, get a glimpse at the near-instant switching between both our playable Spider-Men. And if that wasn’t enough, traversal gets a significant speed boost in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2! Cue the Web Wings, which can be deployed by either Spider-Man to move about the city swiftly and urgently. Use wind tunnels between skylines to move with haste and behold the capabilities of the PS5 console’s SSD as you soar above the concrete jungle, zipping past all manner of cars, buildings, and people (and pigeons). If you thought traversal in our first two games was exhilarating, just wait until you experience it firsthand in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2.

Bringing down the warehouse

After a brief flight across town, Miles has tracked Connors inside the Harlem Fish Market. By the looks of it, Kraven’s hunters are making a move on him, so it’s time to clear them out.

In Marvel’s Spider-Man fashion, players can approach encounters with stealth or fists of fury, or both. Regardless of your approach, there are new gadgets and abilities that complement different playstyles. One of the new gadgets we’re excited about is the Web Line, a new way to sneak around the environment to get the drop on enemies. Cast a line over a couple of Hunters and watch as Spider-Man performs a dual takedown… a Marvel’s Spider-Man first!

Like his mentor before him, Miles Morales also has some new abilities and gadgets at his disposal. On the gadget front, we showed off the Web Grabber, a new gadget that pulls enemies together to an isolated spot. This allows Miles to chain one of his new abilities, the Thunder Burst, unleashing an electrifying ground-pound against a group of foes. You also saw a glimpse of the Chain Lightning ability, which has a shocking radius of effect on any nearby enemies.

Between Peter’s new Symbiote abilities and Miles’ newfound blue bioelectric powers, each Spider-Man has their own unique set of skills that can be upgraded via all-new individual skills tree. Our heroes share technology and train together, too, so we also included a shared Skill Tree that offers parallel upgrades for both.

The Lizard’s in the details

As Miles tracks Lizard through the Fish Market, our environments are sure to activate your Spidey senses: our world is richer, denser and packed with details from particles to improved textures. Lighting also gets an upgrade, casting more dramatic shadows and reflections along walls and pipes; meanwhile spatial 3D audio creates unique soundscapes all around you. Further, we’re upping the immersion in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 with our signature use of the DualSense wireless controller, including a range of haptics and spectacular use of the adaptive triggers.

Whether you’re sneaking through interiors or exploring our city streets, Marvel’s New York is brought to life in ways only possible on PlayStation 5 console.

Be greater together

Working together, the Spider-Men must pursue Lizard and fight the Hunters who seek his capture. Unfortunately for them, Kraven is well-equipped: boats, aerial transports, and weapons are all-eyes on Lizard. The Great Hunt continues along the East River, one of the new areas you can traverse in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2, and the action is tight: Miles dismantles vehicles in his wake while Peter Parker leads the chase from afar.

You’ll seamlessly switch between both Spider-Men across a variety of story moments in Marvel’s Spider-Man 2. We want players to bask in iconic team-ups elevated by our signature set piece moments, and experience the story from the perspective of each Spider-Man.

Give me what I desire….

There’s no combination of words that can wholly convey how excited we are to finally show you Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 after all this time. We’re excited to give you this first-ever glimpse at what we’ve been working on all these years, and we hope you’re as thrilled as we are.

We know you have been patiently awaiting more information about the game, including when you will be playing it at home. While we can’t confirm a date today, we are on track for Fall 2023, and hope to be able to share a final release date soon. Stay tuned for future updates on Marvel’s Spider-Man 2, including edition information and pre-orders.

#Marvel's Spider Man 2 #Marvel's Spider Man #Spider Man PS5 #Spider Man #Marvel #Insomniac Games #Sony Interactive Entertainment #PlayStation Showcase #PlayStation Showcase 2023 #video game #long post

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dollypartonswig · 4 months

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My top 10 books of the year!

1 ) The Nothing Man - Catherine Ryan Howard -

At the age of twelve, Eve Black was the only member of her family to survive an encounter with serial attacker the Nothing Man. Now an adult, she is obsessed with identifying the man who destroyed her life. Supermarket security guard Jim Doyle has just started reading The Nothing Man--the true-crime memoir Eve has written about her efforts to track down her family's killer. As he turns each page, his rage grows. Because Jim's not just interested in reading about the Nothing Man. He is the Nothing Man. Jim soon beings to realize how dangerously close Eve is getting to the truth. He knows she won't give up until she finds him. He has no choice but to stop her first.

2 ) The Night Ship - Jess Kidd -

1629: A newly orphaned young girl named Mayken is bound for the Dutch East Indies on the Batavia , one of the greatest ships of the Dutch Golden Age. Curious and mischievous, Mayken spends the long journey going on misadventures above and below the deck, searching for a mythical monster. But the true monsters might be closer than she thinks. 1989: A lonely boy named Gil is sent to live off the coast of Western Australia among the seasonal fishing community where his late mother once resided. There, on the tiny reef-shrouded island, he discovers the story of an infamous shipwreck…

3) The Reading List - Sara Nisha Adams -

Widower Mukesh lives a quiet life in the London Borough of Ealing after losing his beloved wife. He shops every Wednesday, goes to Temple, and worries about his granddaughter, Priya, who hides in her room reading while he spends his evenings watching nature documentaries. Aleisha is a bright but anxious teenager working at the local library for the summer when she discovers a crumpled-up piece of paper in the back of To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s a list of novels that she’s never heard of before. Intrigued, and a little bored with her slow job at the checkout desk, she impulsively decides to read every book on the list, one after the other. As each story gives up its magic, the books transport Aleisha from the painful realities she’s facing at home. When Mukesh arrives at the library, desperate to forge a connection with his bookworm granddaughter, Aleisha passes along the reading list… hoping that it will be a lifeline for him too. Slowly, the shared books create a connection between two lonely souls, as fiction helps them escape their grief and everyday troubles and find joy again.

4) Midnight Is The Darkest Hour - Ashley Winstead -

Ruth Collier has always felt like an outsider, even as her father rains fire and brimstone from the church pulpit. In Bottom Springs, his word is as good as law. But there are things the townspeople fear more than God, like the Low Man, a vampiric figure said to kill sinners in their beds on moonless nights. When a skull is found deep in the swamp, a hunt for the Low Man begins. Suspicion turns to Everett – Ruth's oldest friend, with a dark past. As Ruth and Everett grow closer, Ruth begins to unearth the town's secrets, determined to discover the truth. But as the line between good and evil grows ever thin, how far will Ruth go to save the person she loves most?

5) The Appeal - Janice Hallett -

The Fairway Players, a local theatre group, is in the midst of rehearsals when tragedy strikes the family of director Martin Hayward and his wife Helen, the play’s star. Their young granddaughter has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, and with an experimental treatment costing a tremendous sum, their castmates rally to raise the money to give her a chance at survival. But not everybody is convinced of the experimental treatment’s efficacy—or of the good intentions of those involved. As tension grows within the community, things come to a shocking head at the explosive dress rehearsal. The next day, a dead body is found, and soon, an arrest is made. In the run-up to the trial, two young lawyers sift through the material—emails, messages, letters—with a growing suspicion that the killer may be hiding in plain sight. The evidence is all there, between the lines, waiting to be uncovered.

6) My Sister, The Serial Killer - Oyinkan Braithwaite -

When Korede's dinner is interrupted one night by a distress call from her sister, Ayoola, she knows what's expected of her: bleach, rubber gloves, nerves of steel and a strong stomach. This'll be the third boyfriend Ayoola's dispatched in, quote, self-defence and the third mess that her lethal little sibling has left Korede to clear away. She should probably go to the police for the good of the menfolk of Nigeria, but she loves her sister and, as they say, family always comes first. Until, that is, Ayoola starts dating the doctor where Korede works as a nurse. Korede's long been in love with him, and isn't prepared to see him wind up with a knife in his back: but to save one would mean sacrificing the other...

7) Outlawed - Anna North -

The day of her wedding, 17 year old Ada's life looks good; she loves her husband, and she loves working as an apprentice to her mother, a respected midwife. But after a year of marriage and no pregnancy, in a town where barren women are routinely hanged as witches, her survival depends on leaving behind everything she knows. She joins up with the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang, a band of outlaws led by a preacher-turned-robber known to all as the Kid. Charismatic, grandiose, and mercurial, the Kid is determined to create a safe haven for outcast women. But to make this dream a reality, the Gang hatches a treacherous plan that may get them all killed. And Ada must decide whether she's willing to risk her life for the possibility of a new kind of future for them all.

8) Madhouse At The End Of The Earth - Julian Sancton -

The harrowing true survival story of an early polar expedition that went terribly awry--with the ship frozen in ice and the crew trapped inside for the entire sunless, Antarctic winter. Drawing on firsthand accounts of the Belgica's voyage and exclusive access to the ship's logbook, Sancton tells the tale of its long, isolated imprisonment on the ice--a story that NASA studies today in its research on isolation for missions to Mars. In vivid, hair-raising prose, Sancton recounts the myriad forces that drove these men right up to and over the brink of madness.

9) Morbidly Yours - Ivy Fairbanks -

Callum Flannelly would rather dive into an open grave than take a stranger to dinner and a movie. But he can only inherit the family undertaking business and carry on their legacy under one condition: He must marry before his 35th birthday. So it’s out of the mortuary and into the dating scene. Lark Thompson would rather get crushed by a falling anvil than stay next to a funeral home during her stay in Galway, Ireland. The vivacious American cartoon creator and animator came here to embrace life, not be reminded of losing her husband. When Lark learns of Callum’s dilemma and aversion to marrying out of necessity rather than love, she agrees to help the introverted mortician. Although sworn off love herself, she is optimistic that Callum can find The One and secure his inheritance. But as the dating project progresses and their friendship grows, so does a mutual attraction. The more time she spends with serious, sarcastic Callum, the more she dreads finding him a match. And the more disastrous dates he endures, the more he dreads Lark’s imminent return to the states. If they think it’s possible to ignore their connection, they’re dead wrong.

10) Bunny - Mona Awad -

Samantha Heather Mackey couldn't be more of an outsider in her small, highly selective MFA program at New England's Warren University. A scholarship student who prefers the company of her dark imagination to that of most people, she is utterly repelled by the rest of her fiction writing cohort--a clique of unbearably twee rich girls who call each other Bunny, and seem to move and speak as one. But everything changes when Samantha receives an invitation to the Bunnies' fabled Smut Salon, and finds herself inexplicably drawn to their front door--ditching her only friend, Ava, in the process. As Samantha plunges deeper and deeper into the Bunnies' sinister yet saccharine world, beginning to take part in the ritualistic off-campus Workshop where they conjure their monstrous creations, the edges of reality begin to blur. Soon, her friendships with Ava and the Bunnies will be brought into deadly collision.

#honourable mentions to any Mariana zapata book #the ice planet barbarian series by ruby dixon #the sea sand warriors series by ursa dax and #also berries and greed by lily mayne(do not judge me)#bookblr #bookworm

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