2 Works in Cardiacs (UK Band)

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    It was 1986, and I was working at the Humanoid Central Archives, located at an unmarked building in New York City, where all of the existing history and records of the fairfolk were and are quietly kept. I was a sensitive assigned to track down someone who was emitting a slow but steady amount of raw magical energy. I had been able to narrow it down to someone of mixed human-fae-water elemental heritage living in Britain, but I couldn't narrow it down any more than that.
    My coworker walked away, and I sighed and put my headphones back on. The needle on the Butthole Surfers album I had been listening to went into the lead-out groove, and I set a brand-new record on the turntable, something I had ordered on a whim from overseas. Some band called Cardiacs.

    I've been trying to write Cardiacs smut for several years now, because their music makes me deliriously happy. And I wanted to play around with the "Tim Smith is in touch with the fantabulous godlike cosmic oom" stuff that my fellow pondies keep rattling on with.

    Due to Tim Smith's recent death, I doubt I'm ever going to finish this. Actually, I think I will finish this, but after a respectful break and some replotting. I'm going to go cry now.

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    "Are you trying to annoy me again? Because it's not working." Bill smiled. "You know, in the old days, you two would have vanished into the bedroom by now. Twice."

    "We broke up, remember? And you left the band."

    "I think we all kind of pretended we left, actually." Sarah felt buoyant, like she was floating in a sea of unlimited possibilities. They had been working on the album for a week, the best week of her life. She had felt closer to Bill than she ever had, and definitely closer to Tim than she had since she had left him and the band three years ago. The best friends she had ever had. And they were making wonderful music again, something she hadn't realized she would miss so much. She got up and stood next to Bill at the piano.

    "Kiss her," Tim said.

    Read that article about the recording of On the Dry Land that's linked off of the Sea Nymphs wiki. Felt all of the feels. Was overwhelmed by subtext. Got naughty ideas. Wrote story.

    Attn to the Caring Concern: I write with nothing but love and respect for this band.

    RIP Tim Smith, the last scene of this story is very painful for me to read right now.



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