valvc

[vintage-tigre]

[gothamite-rambler]

A Day in the park (Tim and Jason friend fic) (Batfamily Chronicles Microfiction Series)

Inside Tim's Bedroom - Midafternoon

Tim Drake lay sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, old jazz music playing softly on a record player connected to a large speaker. The room was dim, shadows falling over scattered remnants of his once vibrant life.

On special days related to his parents came around, his mind and body shut down spiraling deeper into his sorrow and he locked himself off in his room, . The weight of Jack and Janet's absence loomed heavily over him.

The year approaches since Tim's dad died. Two years since his mom's passing. Losing both parents as a teenager felt surreal. He thought he would cope like his hero, Dick Grayson had with similar losses, but all he felt was the weight of depression, making it hard to function.

Tim (voice heavy with despair): What’s the point of anything?

His eyes glazed over, staring blankly into the distance.

Tim (fighting his emotions): I’m not going to cry. I won’t cry… I just have to celebrate his birthday… that’s the least I can do si- since I couldn’t save him.

He groaned, his gaze lost in the void, as if seeking answers in the emptiness.

Hallway Outside Tim's Room - Continuous

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stood at the closed door to Tim's room.

Bruce: How long has he been in there?

Dick checked his watch.

Dick: He started at 5 in the morning, so that’s 16 hours.

Bruce crossed his arms, a look of concern on his face.

Bruce: It’s not Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. His mother’s birthday and death anniversary aren’t until—

Dick (raising a hand): Bruce, it has been eleven months since his father, you know, died and he found him there.

Bruce: Hm, thought he'd be passed this already.

Dick (giving Bruce a pointed look): Mm-hm, and how well did you handle your parents’ death?

Bruce (defensively): Okay, I was eight when they were shot and killed in an alley.

Dick blinked slowly, irritation washing over him as he covered his eyes with his hand, listening to yet another excuse from his father. Despite being adopted, they had both endured the same experience.

Dick: Bruce, I went through the same thing. I watched mine hit the ground after being shot!

Bruce (deadpan): It's not a competition, and if it were, I'd win.

Dick (forcing a sugary tone): Why don’t you just go off and be all emo somewhere? I’ve got this covered.

Bruce (firmly): All I’m saying is maybe this is tied to something about his parents, and he needs to patrol to clear his mind.

Dick (annoyed): Bruce, last week he walked into a burning building—not to save anyone. He just went in and sat down. I had to drag him out, and his body was limp.

Bruce (shrugging): It happens.

Dick (rubbing his forehead in frustration): Yeah, well, it wasn’t fun carrying you out of a building when I was ten. Just go.

Bruce (still trying to reason): I was just suggesting options. He’ll be fine; he’s done this before.

Dick (voice rising): That’s not a healthy coping mechanism! He walked in on his father’s dead body!

Tim cranked up the volume on the loudspeaker, wanting to drown out the speculation of his family and block everything but the music from his mind.

Bruce shot a glance at Dick, then shook his head in silence.

Bruce (flatly): Fine. You handle him, Dr. Phil.

Dick: (crossing his arms): Okay, that was uncalled for.

Dick sighed, setting aside his frustration with Bruce’s disregard for Tim’s obvious depression, and knocked on the door.

Dick: Tim, do you want to hang out with me today?

Tim (O.S.) (voice muffled): There’s no point in doing anything today. Let me wallow in the depths of my despair.

His voice came out muffled as Tim pressed his face against the floor, making it impossible for Dick to hear him.

Dick: We can get lunch, see a movie, whatever you want.

Tim groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and trudged over to the door. Under normal circumstances, he would have leaped at the opportunity, but today was different. When he opened the door, Dick took a step back, taken aback by Tim's disheveled appearance.

Dick (holding his nose): Have you showered at all?

Tim (hollow tone): No. I’m staying in until my dad’s birthday is over. Just leave me be. Thanks.

With that, Tim shut the door again, returned to his original spot on the floor, and flopped back down, squeezing his eyes shut and resting a hand on the back of his head.

Dick (sudden realization): Birthday! That’s today.

He lingered for a beat, recognizing the inappropriateness of his reaction.

Dick (cont’d): With that in mind, Bruce and I will give you the space you need.

Tim (O.S.) (sarcastically): Fantastic.

Tim hit replay on his dad’s favorite jazz song for the fifteenth time, closing his eyes as memories of happier moments washed over him.

Wayne Manor Kitchen- Three Hours Later

Tim finally emerged from his room, propelled by thirst and a craving for juice. He walked past Jason in silence, retrieved a bottle of pomegranate juice from the fridge, and sank heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. Jason glanced up from his phone, noting how worn out Tim appeared.

Jason: Hi, Tim.

Tim grunted, uncapping the bottle and chugging from it. Jason eyed him, puzzled by his behavior.

Jason: You okay?

Tim: I feel nothing.

Jason (nodding): Mm-hm, you look like a crazy homeless guy outside my apartment.

Tim (deadpan): That’s pretty spot on.

Jason: Have you taken a shower? Because you—

Tim (insulting himself): Smell like I bathed in skunk juice and then doused myself in air freshener? I'm aware.

Jason nodded, picking up the empty juice container, astonished that Tim had downed it entirely, and taken aback by the stark change in his demeanor from bright and lively to this despondent state.

Tim’s gaze remained fixated on the ceiling.

Tim: The bright bulbs in the ceiling hurt my eyes.

Jason: That happens when you’ve been hiding in your room for too long.

Tim: I deserve this isolation... I wish I’d died twice to save them. Now all I have left are dead parents, depression, ADHD, and anxiety. What’s the point of being productive?

Jason (feeling awkward but trying to be civil): You’re not wrong.

Tim: There’s no point... in anything. I couldn’t save them... I’m not a hero.

Jason grabbed Tim by his shirt, pulling him up firmly.

Jason: I can’t deal with this. We’re going outside!

Tim (somber): I want to lie here in my sorrow. At least feeling mentally dead brings me a little closer to my parents.

Jason pushed Tim into the back seat of his car, where Tim slumped against the seats, whimpering softly.

Jason: We can deal with that where I'm taking you.

He started the engine and drove off leaving the Wayne Manor.

Jason (cont’d): By the way, dude, you’re channeling more emo than Bruce on a good day. We need to change that. Fresh air and—burning those clothes.

Tim (muffled due to his face buried in the seats): Uhhhhhhhh.

Jason: Glad you agree.

Gotham Park - 20 Minutes Later

Jason strolled down a path, Tim trailing behind him like a shadow through the park. Tim longed for the solitude of his room, where he could wallow in despair, but Jason had ventured out of his own gloomy comfort zone to reach out. They had a rocky history, but that was in the past.

When they reached the top of a hill, Jason Jason stopped at the spot, turning to face Tim.

Jason: This seems like a nice spot. You can—

Tim flopped onto the ground.

Jason: I meant you could sit down, but that works too.

He took a seat next to Tim and awkwardly patted him on the back of the head, not very skilled at offering comfort.

Jason (cont’d): Hey kid, um, how… how are you feeling?

Tim (face in the dirt): Dead inside.

Jason: That… makes sense. I’ve been there. I was dead once, and I understand what it’s like to feel that way.

Tim: Mm-hm.

Tim rolled onto his back, shielding his eyes from the sun with a heavy sigh.

Tim (cont’d): You forced me to shower, change clothes, and currently I’m touching grass. Can I just go home and be sad there?

Jason: A few years ago, I would have laughed at that, but sometimes it’s better to distract yourself when you’re feeling down. I never really got that chance, but now you have me to help you out.

Silence settled between them, prompting Jason to poke Tim’s arm to check if he was still awake.

Tim: I’m not asleep. My way of distraction is reminding myself how I failed in life. They’re both gone, and I’ve accepted that life is meaningless.

Jason (shrugging while plucking grass out of the ground): I mean, life isn’t completely meaningless. Most times it's a bitch, but you keep going. The fact I’m saying that has to mean something.

Tim (matter-of-fact): That you’re good at lying.

Jason: While that may be true, I mean it this time. Life is unfair, but you shouldn’t wallow in pity on your dad’s birthday.

Tim (voice trembling): I… just want to go home. I just want to go home. Why won’t any of leave me alone?

Jason frowned, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him.

Jason: Honestly, I’m terrible at comforting people and… we’ve had our issues, but I want to be here for you. You don’t have to face this alone, even if it feels like the world is against you.

He hesitated, recalling past grievances.

Jason (cont’d): I made jokes about your mom and then your dad, and that’s probably why you don’t want me around right now.

Tim: You’re not wrong.

Jason (apologetic): And I’m sorry for that. I’m setting aside my resentment to help you get through days like this until you can find the strength to get out of bed without feeling hopeless.

Tim (sniffling): Why? I don’t deserve it.

Jason: You don’t deserve kindness while you grieve? I may not be your biggest fan, but you're not that bad. You’re young, smart, a decent fighter, and… a good person. You shouldn’t shut yourself off from the world. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re too strong to give up, Tim.

Tim uncovered his eyes, but they remained closed. Jason waited for a response, allowing silence to linger as he gazed over the hillside.

Tim (finally speaking): I couldn’t save them… Either of them. I never got to say goodbye to my mom, and my dad’s last call was to tell me he loved me before he was murdered... Now I’m alone. It's all my fault.

He covered his eyes again, letting a cascade of tears fall.

Tim (cont’d): I wasn’t there to save him. I thought things would change when he woke up, but the last image I have of him is his bloody corpse. They're both dead... They're both dead. I’m a failure… a bad son. I'm the reason they're gone.

He wept softly, releasing the guilt he had buried beneath indifference. His heavy breaths echoed in the quiet space.

Jason remained by his side, awkwardly patting Tim's shoulder for comfort.

Jason: Don’t blame yourself for things beyond your control. I swear, everyone in this family has blamed themselves for their parents' deaths.

Tim (between sobs): Not you.

Jason: I shielded my mom before a bomb went off and killed us both. Believe me, I’m just as crazy as the rest of you.

He attempted to ease the tension with a joke, but Tim merely whimpered and gritted his teeth. Jason sighed but refused to give up.

Jason (cont’d): Come on, sit up.

Jason helped Tim sit up, positioning himself closer.

Tim kept his head down, a frown clouding his face.

Tim (sadness in his voice): Now I’m crying like an idiot.

Jason (cont’d): I’m not judging you for crying.

Tim: Yeah, but... I couldn’t save them!

Taking a deep breath, Tim said something he had never wanted to confess, especially in front of Jason.

Tim: I remember when... when I thought it sucked they weren't around that much, but they were still in my l- life. Then my mom died and my dad is gone. I don't have them to talk to or hug or tell them I love them.

Tim clutched his hair sobbing harder. Jason patted him on the back. He wasn't lying about not being great with comforting others, but he would be there for Tim.

Jason (sympathetically): It's tough adjusting to that at a young age. Sorry to bring Bruce and Dick into this, but they've been through it... Fuck I went through it. It... gets easier.

Tim whimpered wiping tears from his eyes.

Jason (sincere): You keep saying you couldn't save them and you're a failure... you’re many things to me, but not someone who wouldn't want to protect others.

Jason gently nudged Tim.

Jason (cont’d): I’m not letting you go home feeling like Bruce. By the end of today, you will feel a little better. We can sit here, grab some food, hit the bookstore or library, or even go to a rage room—whatever you want, the day is yours.

Tim: What’s a rage room?

Jason: It’s a place where you can smash things. You pay to enter, get a bat or a golf club, and for thirty minutes or an hour, you just let loose on some broken stuff. It’s oddly therapeutic.

Tim: That actually sounds fun… I think. Or maybe I’m just losing it.

Jason: Probably both. Want to go?

Tim lifted his head, considering the idea.

Tim: Why are you doing this? I thought you hated me.

Jason: Um… I did, but now I think I tolerate you. I can see you’re hurting, and I don’t want to act like I don’t care. You deserve more than that.

He admitted, patting Tim on the shoulder supportively.

Jason (cont’d): I thought you were just this annoying rich brat who stole my mantle— which you are—but you’ve grown on me.

Tim: This feels like a trick, like you’re going to toss me in your car and drive off a bridge or something worse. Which I'd deserve…

Jason: I’m not going to kill you; that’s out of my system. But for the rest of the day, drop the self-hate—that’s my specialty.

Tim wiped his nose, a dry laugh escaping him.

Tim: Maybe you are the best person for this. Plus, you dragged me out of the house, and I’m too depressed to drive or walk home. All right, take me to the rage room first.

Jason nodded, helping Tim stand to his feet.

Jason: That’s the spirit, let’s go. Then we can hit the Waffle House.

Tim: Is that place dangerous?

Jason: I have a gun. We’ll be fine.

As they walked, Tim hesitated.

Tim: Did Dick tell you to do this? If he did, you’re not obligated to pity me.

Jason: Yeah, Dick called me about what you were going through, but he never asked me to step in. I wanted to help… myself; this is too important to hand off to someone else.

Tim managed a weak smile, appreciating the gesture.

Tim: I still have my doubts, but I appreciate this—for now.

Jason: Just don’t expect this from me all the time. I do feel bad for you, but against my better judgment, I'd rather make you feel less dead inside than laugh at you.

Tim (deadpan): Or send me a Christmas card with you next to my mom’s grave?

Jason laughed.

Jason: That was a fun Christmas card, wasn’t it?

Tim rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he let out a dry chuckle.

Tim: I can’t believe this is happening, but your jadedness is lifting my spirits.

As they continued toward the car, a small weight began to lift from Tim's heart.

Tim (cont’d): If you have a picture at my dad's grave though, I'm beating you with a wiffle bat.

Jason chuckled, feeling lighter himself.

Jason: That’s the Tim I remember! No worries, I’m not that much of an asshole anymore.

Tim: We’ll see.

They climbed into Jason’s car, the atmosphere lightening.

Jason: All right, let’s get to that rage room. No crying there; you can do that afterward.

Tim nodded, giving a thumbs-up while resting his head against the window as they drove away. His guilt and depression wasn't gone, but Jason's support was a good start.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Melodic Memories | Track 5: If You Gotta Go, Go Now - Bob Dylan

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak, high school breakups, estranged parent/strained parental relationship, depression, high school drama, anxiety, mentions of drinking, drinking, mentions of hookups/one night stands, unrequited love, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation, PTSD mentions/explanations of reactions and behaviours due to PTSD, mentions of addiction/drugs, smoking, swearing, best friend fluff, sorry if i miss any!

Hi everyone!! Sorry this took so long—took a much needed break from life for a few days. Finally had some time to write this weekend. I hope you guys like it!! 🤍 as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

Also a special shout-out to @gretavangroupie and @gretavanmoon for always keeping me on track, putting up with my craziness, and for the unwavering support and encouragement 🤍 melodic memories wouldn’t be what it is without you 😌

Her POV

“Listen to me, baby

There’s something you must see

I want to be with you, gal

If you want to be with me.”

“Jake, please turn that off. I can’t stand it.” You laughed, covering your ears as you tried your best to disappear under the pile of blankets on his bed.

“What?” Jake asked, freezing in place as the words reached his ears. Slowly, he turned from the record player sitting atop his desk, his eyes landing on you with an unfamiliar expression on his face. “Did you really just say that?” His voice was low, challenging you to see if you would say it again, or if he misheard completely.

“Yes.” You groaned, pushing your head further back into the fluffy pillow as you tried your best to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry, I love you, but I can’t stand Bob Dylan.” You stood your ground, knowing it would cut deep but unable to hide it any longer.

“Are you insane?” Jake’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape with shock as he processed your unruly confession. “How can you not love Dylan? Are you deaf?”

“No, but right now I wish I was.” You mumbled, tuning out the grating harmonica echoing through the room. The crackling of the needle in the groove paired with the irritating pitch of the instrument was making your head ache, and even if you loved him more than anything, you didn’t love him enough to suffer through another song.

“Y/N, I-I… I can’t believe you.” He laughed, his tone airy and uncomfortable as he cranked the volume knob down a little bit. “Sunshine, he’s one of the greats—a literary genius, a folk-rock icon, a fuckin’ mastermind. How can you even say that?”

“I dunno, guess it just isn’t for me. Never really liked him.”

“You’re breaking my heart, baby.” His lips turned down into a frown, his eyes glancing at the vinyl record spinning as he debated turning it off. “You know what? No, I won’t take that as an answer.” He shook his head, turning the knob up again so the sound of the harmonica could be heard clearly again.

“Jake.” You groaned, wishing he would heed your request to change the record. He restarted the song, a hand on his hip as he observed the needle glide over a divot in the old vinyl. Then, after a particularly intense scratching sound, the song started from the beginning again.

As the lyrics began, he started to hum along, ploppping down on the bed beside you. His company made the song a touch more bearable, and staring at his face made it easier to ignore the noise he was trying to pass off as music.

“Seriously, sunshine? None of it?” He asked, still trying to wrap his head around your dislike for the musician.

“It just isn’t for me. Is that a crime?” You giggled, finding his overbearing approach entertaining.

“Usually no, but in this case, absolutely.” He laughed. “Only thing worse than that is if you said you hated B.B. King… or Hendrix, maybe.”

“Okay, well I don’t hate B.B. King, or Hendrix. You can’t let this one slide?” You grinned, shimmying down on the bed to be closer to him. He almost gave in to the temptation, forgetting the topic at hand momentarily as he reached out to brush the hair from your face. Then, he snapped out of the lovestruck trance and remembered why he was sitting next to you in the first place.

“If I let this slide, what’s next? You’ll tell me you hate rock, or blues, or worse, music all together?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing but still very petty over your dislike of the artist.

“Okay, bug, you’re being ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his in another attempt to distract him.

“I’m being ridiculous?” He repeated your words, his tone accusatory yet still playful. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Okay, I get it. Dylan is great and I’m crazy. Is that what you want to hear?” You leaned forward, your hand connecting with his bicep as you gave him a gentle shove. He barely moved from his position, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked over your face.

“No, that’s not what I want to hear, because I know you’re lying.” He said, his thumb drifting over the back of your hand. “What about I Shall Be Released? That’s a great song by him.” Your cheeks tinted red in embarrassment as you averted your gaze.

“Don’t think I’ve heard it.” You whispered, unsure how he would take it.

“Okay…” he hummed, raising his free hand to his chin, running his fingers over his skin as he thought. “No, that’s good. I can show it to you, and you’ll like it.” He deducted. “Like a Rolling Stone?”

“That one’s okay.” You emphasized the word, ensuring he understood it was bearable, not enjoyable to you.

“Tangled Up In Blue?” He tried again, met with another blank stare as he listed off a song you didn’t know. He let out a huff, nodding as he made a mental note to show you that one, too. “Alright, then. Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door?”

“Yeah, but I’d much rather listen to the Guns n’—“

“No, I’m going to stop you there.” Jake cut you off, forcing a smile on his lips. “Not sure I want to hear the rest of that.” A silence fell upon the two of you, leaving him to ponder all of the information you had given him. After a while, your stomach was twisted in a knot, worried you’d driven a stake between you because of a simple dislike of the artist.

“So, what now? I don’t like Dylan, which is clearly troubling for you. Is that it for us?” You were joking, even if there was a slight hint of genuine concern behind your question. He looked at you, appalled that you would even suggest such a thing.

“Are you crazy, woman? F’course not.” He replied, a frown tugging at his lips just from the thought alone.

“Been called that once or twice… few times today, actually.” You grinned, easing the tension between you.

“I’d never break up with you over that, sunshine.” All of the humor in his tone disappeared, assuring you that leaving was not something that ever crossed his mind. “But, I won’t quit until you’re a fan. Lots of opportunities here, babe. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be his biggest fan.” You rolled your eyes ever so slightly, but nodded along with his words, knowing he would try even if you objected. Arguably, the worst thought was not hours of listening to Bob Dylan, but the idea of him ever being ‘done’ with you, in any sense of the word.

“Y/N, that is enough.” Mel snipped, rushing into your bedroom with a cloud of dust trailing behind her. In two quick strides, she was beside you, reaching over you to smash the pause button on the CD player. “It’s been three days—I’m done watching you cry, I’m done sitting in silence, and I’m done listening to this fucking Bob Dylan song.” As much as she cared for you, everyone had a breaking point, and she was undoubtedly long past hers. If you were less miserable, you would have recognized how insufferable your actions were, but you were too busy drowning in tears to care about how anyone else felt. “I’m one more bottle of wine away from an intervention, and I’m sure that’s the last thing you want right now.”

“God, why can’t you just let me suffer in peace?” You groaned, burying your aching head in your knees as you sunk further into the leather desk chair.

“I’ve been letting you suffer, dumbass.” She reminded you, plopping down on the edge of your bed. “But I’d hardly call it peaceful.” She continued, placing her hand on the arm of the chair and spinning you to face her. “You’re a mess. You’ve been drunk since two, you haven’t eaten, you’ve barely slept, and you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the words of encouragement.” You muttered, reaching for the wine bottle on your desk to finish off the last of the strawberry flavored heartbreak medication. Before you could place the bottle to your lips, Mel snatched it from your hands and placed it on the floor just out of reach.

“You smell like a distillery. Think you’ve had enough.” She chirped, her expression stern and her voice curt. You scoffed a reply, irritated at the world as you reached over to press play so you could listen to the same harmonica melody that had become an anthem of your sorrow once again. “Stop.” She pulled your chair a little closer to her so you couldn’t reach the desk. “I love you, but I cannot listen to that song again. I can’t fucking stand Bob Dylan.”

“What?” You hissed, whipping your head in her direction. Finally, an emotion other than sadness plagued you; instead, you were filled with anger that she could say such a thing. “Bob Dylan is a great musician, one who wrote absolute masterpieces. Watch what you fuckin’ say.” A slight slur followed your words, making you realize you were much more intoxicated than you previously believed.

You weren’t sure if you actually grew to like Bob Dylan and his music, or if the fondness happened because of the boy who was so adamant about changing your mind on the matter.

“God, you’re impossible.” She seethed, frustrated with your behavior and even more upset that she couldn’t break through the wall you built up.

Mel had spent years perfecting the craft of being your best friend; you were a confusing, closed off vessel of constant anxiety. You hated talking about your feelings, unless it was over a mixed drink or a shared blunt, and you were your own worst enemy. You second-guessed every decision, talked yourself down from taking leaps that would better you in exchange for mundane familiarity, and you loved routine. Despite that, you loved deeply and with a fervor not many could understand, which ultimately always seemed to leave you with a broken heart when nobody could match the same energy.

In six years, she climbed mountains not many would ever venture. She memorized your quirks and habits, just the same as you had done for her. More than anything, she put it to good use and learned how to help when you couldn’t find it within you to help yourself. Every wall you built up, every deflection and every distraction was never a match for her counterpoints, and she had never faced a situation where she felt helpless.

Never, until three days ago, when you returned from your date with Jake Kiszka more heartbroken and miserable than ever before.

In six years, she learned everything she could about you, but she never understood why. Once she stepped foot in Michigan, learning about a life you’d sworn to keep a secret forever, it all began to make sense.

Days before she met you, you faced the biggest obstacle of your entire life, and you left your heart in the back pocket of someone you never expected to see again. You didn’t talk about your problems because you knew they could never amount to the struggle of leaving Jake, and because you got through that on your own, you believed you could do everything by yourself. Not only that, but you kept your feelings locked up in fear all of it would come out, including those in which you swore to never speak aloud. You closed yourself off from everything because you couldn’t bear the thought of getting hurt like that again, and routine was favored over risk-taking because your last risky decision left you near death and you never fully recovered.

Though, no matter how hard you tried, you could never love less than what you were programmed for, and it was biting you in the ass as you sat and forced yourself to listen to a song you couldn’t bear to hear again.

When you stormed through the front door, twenty bucks down from the cab ride and suffocating on your own misery, you had intent to tend to your wounds silently, to slap a band-aid over the largest injury you’d ever sustained and move on as if it never happened at all. You’d done it once before, and you trusted in yourself to do it again, but six years of suffering in silence had taken its toll and you were beginning to crack under the weight of your mistakes.

Difference was, this time, there was someone there to catch you before the fall, someone who was committed to your wellbeing and a voice of reason you never had before.

At first, Mel took a step back, understanding that whatever happened wasn’t good, and you needed time to process it before you spoke of it. If not, you would explode, and neither of you wanted to clean up that mess. So she did; she sat by and watched you nurse a bottle of wine as you listened to the mixtape that started (and ended?) it all, waiting until you had enough courage to speak. When you dozed off for an hour or two of broken sleep in the desk chair you drank yourself to oblivion in, you woke up and started all over again.

The next day, she thought that maybe you would have come to terms with it enough to at least tell her something, but she received nothing. Well, nothing except for the same Dylan song played on loop and a few more empty bottles of strawberry wine you’d silently left the house to buy. When you refused dinner, she started to really worry, and when you neglected to sleep for a second night in a row, she began to stress. In the early morning, she started to gently coax you into telling her what happened, which was met with a blank stare and a rude hand gesture. Before noon, she pried a little further, to no avail. At lunchtime, she was frustrated, and now after dinner, she was long past the point of no return.

Coddling you clearly wasn’t an option you were open to, so instead she settled on tough love, which would either break through to you or ruin your friendship entirely.

She was distraught enough to take the risk, and loved you enough to work through the consequences.

“Tell me what happened, or I’ll call him and ask him myself.” Mel warned, unrelenting as she continued to try and force the truth from you.

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, tears pooling your eyes at the simple thought of someone speaking to Jake, someone who was not you. “Just let it go, Mel. It’s over—don’t have to talk about it, don’t have to think about it. It’s over.” You repeated the word, feeling a separate stab in your chest each time the word passed through your lips.

After everything the two of you went through, how could it just be over? How could the time still not be right?

“No, you don’t have to talk about it, but clearly you’re thinking about it.” She countered, her lips pursed as they dipped down into a frown. “And you won’t stop thinking about it unless you talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You grumbled, feeling the pressure behind your eyes increase tenfold as you spoke. Your throat was dry, scratchy despite the constant flow of liquid into your mouth. You were dehydrated, the effects in full force as your eyes throbbed and your stomach twisted with nausea. You were a mess, and you weren’t sure how to clean yourself up this time. “After all the pain, after all of the hope and the luck, it meant fucking nothing. I guess it just isn’t meant for us, and I have to get over it.”

“What happened, Y/N?” Mel pried, wondering what could have caused the state you were in, especially after spending all night with him.

“What happened?” You scoffed, a sour taste in your mouth from her words. “What happened was that I spent six years dedicated to moving on, to forgetting and letting go, to heal from the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I spent weeks thinking it was luck, that the stars alligned perfectly for us to end up together again, but I was fucking stupid. I let you convince me to open myself up again, and I got hurt worse than I did the first time.” You spat, vindictive and angry at her despite it being nobody’s fault but your own.

“Woah,” Mel straightened up, defensive and ready to correct you on the matter. “Whatever happened, is not my fault. You can be sad, or angry, or whatever the hell you are, but you cannot blame it on me.” The two of you shared another bout of silence, fuming with stony expressions as you awaited the other's next move. “Are you going to be an adult, or do you want to keep acting like a baby? Completely up to you.”

“You wouldn’t get it, anyway.” You brushed her off, turning to face the CD player as you resumed the music once more. She let out a huff of annoyance, knowing she was bluffing as she sat and listened to the intro of the same song for the millionth time, refusing to leave until you gave her something other than blame.

“What, did he end it? Not what he wanted after all?” In a lapse of judgment and slightly hurt feelings, she retaliated with something that would bruise your already aching heart even further. Deep down, she understood Jake was not the one who put the relationship on pause, and she knew you well enough to recognize the guilt embedded in your tired features. You ended it, and you swore yourself to silence so you could beat yourself up over it.

“Oh, fuck you.” You shot back, slinking further down into your seat as tears stung your eyes. “You really think I’d be this upset if I knew he was okay? You think I’d be this miserable if he was happy?”

There it was; the admission of truth she’d been so patiently waiting for. With that, she had more ground to stand on, this time without a fear of falling.

“Why’d you leave, babe?” Her voice was softer, but still erring on the side of caution and defense.

“What else was I supposed to do?!” You exploded, the gates crashing open as the flood of emotion you’d been guarding so hard finally escaped you. “Leaving is the only way I can make sure he won’t throw away everything he’s worked so hard for! He can’t be what he wants if I'm there—or here, holding him back!”

“Okay,” Mel whispered, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Start from the beginning.” She continued, utilizing the briefest moment of time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable to get the full story from you.

You let out an exasperated huff, feeling sick from what you tried to pin on the liquor whilst knowing that it had everything to do with your broken heart. She was your person, just trying her best to help while you did all you could to be miserable and impossible to be around, and you knew that you needn’t be so cruel towards her. Even so, the hurt that only ever seemed to grow larger made you want to be cruel to everyone and everything, convincing you that you could never be happy or feel good again. Projecting it outwards was your best way of showing how you felt on the inside, especially when words seemed impossible to come by.

You felt like you were drowning, whether it be from your tears, your sorrow, or the excessive alcohol consumption, you did not know. What you did know was that everything hurt, every breath, every blink, and every single beat of your heart led you to believe it would be your last, yet you somehow persevered through the process another time, wondering if it would be easier to give in to the pain and let it all go.

You did all you could to protect yourself, keeping your distance for so long because you knew how it ended, yet you fell into the same situation you faced when you were barely eighteen and still naive. You were listening to living proof of your greatest heartbreak—hell, it was the very thing to convince you to take another chance along with the woman sitting across from you. Why did you ever think that it could be different, that it could be so easy, that you deserved anything Jake could give you?

You were so angry, so cynical that it was making your head spin, and you couldn’t get any of it to make sense. In lieu of a better option, you swallowed your pride and prepared yourself to confess to your mistakes. Even if it was the last thing you wanted to do, it was better than letting the pain get the best of you. Six years ago, you survived it on your own, but it had left you completely depleted of any kind of energy, and you knew you could not do it a second time.

“It was perfect. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he planned. It was like he fit three whole years of dating into one night—or at least the best parts of it, I guess.” Your tone was weaker than before, more defeated as you let the misery seep through the walls of defense you’d built so high. “Got dinner at the same spot we had our first date, ate in the park where he asked me to be his girlfriend, went to the bar we snuck into on one of our last nights together. He played our song on the jukebox, and we went back to his hotel. It was perfect, Mel. So perfect that I think it scared me.”

“Why did it scare you?” She softened up too, less intense now that you were cooperating. She had a wicked need for control, a wicked desire to help, and it made the two of you bump heads sometimes, especially with your abrasive nature.

“When he was far away, it was so easy to pretend that this was all lighthearted, that it was as simple as old high school sweethearts rekindling, just to see where we were at in life. It was easier to swallow back those feelings, to pretend he didn’t mean that much to me anymore. When I saw him, there was no more pretending, and when he did all of his sweet little gestures, it was harder to ignore the fact that he felt the same way I did.” You explained, low and slow as you turned down the volume knob so she could hear you better. With every word you spoke, your eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “For a while, I lived in this bubble of happiness that nothing could touch. Six years of misery finally ended, and I was okay again, I could breathe again, without the weight of the entire fucking world sitting on my shoulders.”

“What popped your bubble?” Mel asked, growing more comfortable with the conversation as she kicked her legs up on the bed and leaned against the wall behind her. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at her words, knowing nothing was funny but still able to find humor in the childlike question.

“Reality.” You responded, your lips dipping into a frown. “Nothing changed, Mel. The reasons we broke up are still just as prevalent, and I was so high on his company that I almost forgot all about it.” She was quiet for a moment, taking in your half-told story as she waited for you to continue, but you didn’t. You felt as though your point was clearly across despite never actually getting into it.

“What popped your bubble, Y/N?” She repeated, her eyes trained to your face as she pressed a little further. You swallowed hard, knowing that what you did was wrong and unwilling to divulge into it. Eventually, her stare became impossible to ignore, and she silently forced your hand on the matter.

“I went through his phone.” You rushed out, your eyes closing as the last syllable left your lips, knowing you were bound to be chastised because of your invasion of privacy.

“Nosy, much?” She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on her lips. You expected much worse—no, you wanted much worse. You wanted someone to hold you accountable, to be as angry at yourself as you were, because what you did was wrong.

“Am I crazy for wanting you to yell at me?” You asked, leaning your head back on the chair in defeat.

“No.” She shook her head, giving the honest answer. “You know it was wrong, but you’re beating yourself up enough for the both of us. I don’t need to make it any worse.”

“I guess I didn’t really snoop, per se.” You felt a small smile cross your face, the only joyous expression you’d adorned since leaving Jake’s hotel room. “I looked through his notifications. I didn’t go through all his texts, or anything.” You defended yourself, less so because you were trying to justify your behavior and more so she knew what really happened.

“Clearly you found something. Does he have a secret family, or whatever?” She was trying her best to sound disinterested, but you knew she was itching for an answer.

Leaving Mel in silence for three days was equal to torture, and you feared she genuinely might go crazy if she was left in the dark for any longer. Mel was overbearing, annoyingly so at times, but it was always with the best intentions. She was your person, even if you tried to fight it, and she was the only one in the whole world that could help. Whether you were open to her advice or not, she always had at least a single good idea to give. If not an idea, then always some food for thought.

“I wish.” You gave a solemn smile. “I think if I hated him, it would be so much easier to get over him.”

“So what is it?”

“Exactly what I thought he would do six years ago; dropped his entire life for me. Moved meetings, rescheduled photoshoots, canceled interviews… completely neglected every responsibility just to drive to Michigan to take me on a date. Then I saw a weird but not super incriminating message from a girl named Amelie.” You pronounced her name with a poor French accent, a bitter taste on your tongue at the thought of her meaning anything at all to Jake.

“Okay.” Mel breathed, giving a curt nod. “Let’s start with the easy part. This Amelie… you said Jake’s not the type, so what do you think it is?”

“Sounds like a beautiful French woman he met on tour that I can’t begin to compare to.” You grumbled, swallowing back a lump in your throat as you confessed to the fear.

But Jake’s not like that.

He had never been the type to entertain two women at once—he had never been one to lie.

Why would he say all of those things, the romantic and emotional tellings of his heart that were all directed at you, if he did not mean them in the truest and most genuine ways?

Why would he wait six years just to break your heart?

“Right,” Mel hummed, not agreeing with your statement but instead trying to gauge whether you were ready for her input or not. Your eyes flickered to her, silently telling her you needed her input, that you needed her to confirm you were crazy for believing so. “Want to hear what I think?”

‘Yes, please. God yes, tell me I’m wrong.’ You thought to yourself, your lips staying shut as your eyes continued to bore into her. Behind the rigid exterior, she could see it—she could feel your desperation for help.

“You’re going to tell me anyway, so why not?” God, what was wrong with you? Why had you always taken the defense, never letting yourself show too much and never giving up on your own stubbornness? Why couldn’t you just be truthful, tell her you needed her and you couldn’t do this on your own?

“I think Amelie was the excuse you were waiting for.” She said, her voice quiet as she treaded carefully. Never faltering in your physical form, you felt everything inside of you spiral into one, horrible pit of despair. “You don’t think Jake is fucking her, and you don’t think he’s in a relationship. You just wanted an excuse to run, to feel justified in leaving.”

You wanted her to tell you that you were wrong, but now you were pissed off because she called you out. More than that, you were pissed off because she was right.

“So what?” You snapped, your gaze falling back to your hands crossed on your lap. “Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t change the rest of it.”

“It does, though.” She corrected, already privy to your innermost struggles. “You’re scared to have that conversation, to tell him how much it hurt the first time. You’re scared to open up, and you’re scared of hurting him. You don’t want to go through the same thing all over again, so you think that by walking away, you’re avoiding it.” She explained. “Amelie was your excuse to run before you had to tell him all of that.”

“Stop that.” You recoiled at her statement, choking on the words she was shoving into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Open your eyes.” She implored you to digest the information rather than throw it away.

“Get out of my head!” You argued, angry not because she was missing the mark, but rather because she seemed to pluck the thoughts straight from your head and put them on display for everyone to see. “I hate it when you do that! You trick me into talking just so you can solve it all for me.”

“If I didn’t, who the hell would?” She snapped back, her eyebrows furrowed as she navigated your rebuttal. “You?”

Silence hovered over you again, uncomfortable and thick as it weighed you down. Breathing was hard, the strength of her stare mixed with the heaviness of your sadness combining into one, lethal force.

Of course you wouldn’t fix it; you weren’t a fixer—you were an ignore-er. It was your best trait, the only reason you’d survived the bulk of your life’s misery. You would shove it so far down that you would forget it existed, then carry on as if it never happened at all.

“He didn’t drop everything to go on some pathetic little date with you. He didn’t abandon responsibilities for a meaningless one night stand. He rearranged his schedule to find time to rekindle the relationship with the love of his life—with you. Those are two drastically different things, and you need to get your head out of your ass. He waited six years, Y/N. Six years for you to come back, six years of hoping and praying that you would change your mind. I know you like to be right, that you think you get to call all of the shots because you think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to make decisions for him.”

“I’m not making decisions for him—I’m making decisions for me, for what’s best for both of us.” Your argument was weak, and you knew she had you beat, but you never went down without a fight.

“If that was true, you think maybe you would be happy? Or at least okay?” She forced you to think about it again, to reconsider your thoughts and look inwards from a new perspective. She was right; if it were for the best, you wouldn’t be so miserable. Worse still, he wouldn’t be miserable, and you knew he was. The pile of unanswered texts told you he was anything but happy with your choice. “Was he happy when you left? Did he want this, too?”

“No, he didn’t.” You swallowed hard, your head throbbing as you thought back to his pain stricken face. Reliving the moments before you left, both times, was agonizing, yet they seemed to be the only memories you could think of as of recent.

“See?” She leaned forward on the bed, forcing you to look at her. “You know I’m right.”

“I just… fuck, Mel! I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I had my life figured out, but I never did. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a place to live yet. I can’t subject him to that. I can’t force him to put up with all of this. It’s better if we’re friends, at least while I get everything figured out, but it’s not as easy as you say it is.”

“Do you love him?” She asked, ignoring every point you made. You caught her gaze, your stomach twisting with anxiety as the word echoed through the room. It bounced against every corner of your skull, furthering the migraine and making your palms break out into a sweat.

“Yes.” Finally, you breathed the response, relieved to finally confess it to her. “I love him more than anything else in the world. I always have. I never stopped.”

“Then nothing else matters.” She hummed, the sweet tone easing the ache in your chest. Damn her for always knowing what to say, and damn her for always making you feel better. Most of all, damn her for not being able to mind her own business. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Nobody else has ever made you feel like that, not since I’ve known you, and I’m sure even way before that. If you still feel this way after so long, it means something, Y/N. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared. If he loves you like this too, you can make anything work.”

“I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for him, Mel. Want to see him happy, see him succeed, and I can’t get over the thought of me being the reason he doesn’t.” You confessed, your mouth dry as the truth scratched your throat raw. “That’s why I left the first time. That’s why I left this time. Our lives aren’t that different than they were back then, and the reasons we broke up are still very much alive.”

“You’re not the same, and neither is he. Stop thinking you’re still eighteen and stupid. You’ve grown up, you’ve lived life without him, and you came back. No matter how pressing those reasons were, clearly they weren’t strong enough to keep you away for good.”

“I hate you, you know.” You muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“No, you don’t.” She chuckled. “You hate being wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.” You huffed, still believing your reasoning was correct.

“You sure as hell ain’t right.” Mel laughed, the sound uplifting and refreshing compared to the misery you had been stuck in. “Try, Y/N. Said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. If, in the end, I turn out to be wrong, we’ll take it as it comes, but you don’t know that’s how it’ll end. You can’t live your life always wishing you ended up with someone you wouldn’t let yourself have.”

Instead of responding, you reached out, pausing the Dylan song amidst a particularly intense bout of harmonica. In an instant, your blinding headache eased and your sick stomach rumbled with hunger. In a moment of clarity, you finally let yourself feel what you’d been holding back for so long; the largest, most pressing issue of the entire ordeal.

“I fucking hate Bob Dylan.” It felt like a million pounds were lifted off your chest as the words passed over your tongue.

“Thank god.” Mel fell backwards onto the mattress, utterly exhausted from pretending to tolerate the song.

Funny how missing Jake blinded you enough to believe you enjoyed it, like it was your last, desperate attempt at feeling close to him. You didn’t need to pretend, and you didn’t need to look at things from the same perspective all of the time. Life wasn’t black and white—it was a million different colors all at once, some so beautiful you couldn’t even begin to comprehend them. You could hate Bob Dylan and still love Jake the same, just the same as you could feel close to him without clinging to the time-worn memory of him. You didn’t have to view everything through a single lense, because sometimes things had to be looked at differently every time you encountered them.

You and Jake, were in fact, something that needed to be taken from every different angle possible. The twists and turns you took to get where you were, the surplus of emotion and the lack of action, the abundance of love despite there being no reason for it could not be justified from one single point or train of thought. You were everything all at once, and after six years and a damned mixtape later, you weren’t destined to end the same way all over again.

There had to be something else for you—it had to be different. After all this time, your commitment to his heart had to be worth it, rather than a painful bump in the road to remind you and make you relive your worst failures.

You were confused, nervous, and frustrated. You wanted it to make sense, for the answer to splay itself in front of you, so obvious you would trip over it and become one with it, but you knew it could never be so easy. You had to force yourself to learn how to take a step back, to stop being so close to a situation that it skewed your perception of what was in front of you. You needed to learn how to see it from Mel’s eyes, and most importantly, Jake’s.

You didn’t know anything, nor how to do it, but the fire under your ass was forcing you to figure it out. You couldn’t live the rest of your life this miserable, and you knew misery was the only thing in store for you if you forced yourself away from Jake.

Facts made sense to you, so you had to look at it logically; you had to learn, to understand, which had always been your favorite thing to do.

It wouldn’t be that hard, right?

You hoped not, because feeling so out of touch with reality was ruining you, and not knowing was killing you. No matter how hard it was, you had to do it, you had to know for certain.

Though, no matter what you did, you were certain one thing would always remain true; you would never, not in a million years, grow to love Bob Dylan, even if the man you loved most was his biggest fan.

And now that the song had finally come to a long overdue halt, Ozz found it within himself to join the two of you in your bedroom, free to keep you company amidst your sadness without being scared off by the high pitched harmonica on loop.

Jake’s POV

“God, you are a fuckin’ mess.” Your hotel door swung open, a voice ringing through the empty air after a brief moment of calm. You closed your eyes, not responding to the noise in hopes he would take the hint and walk away. For the first time ever, not even Josh could make the hurt ease. For the first time ever, you believed he had no advice to give you.

The whole world was burning, but you were so caught up in it that not even a hand to hold could reassure you, and he could not talk you through it.

If anything, you feared talking would only make it burn so much worse.

“Jesus, Jacob. Have you even gotten out of bed yet?” He was by your bedside, peering down at you with a mix of concern and disgust on his face. You were shirtless, the sheets strewn messily across your lower half as you prayed for the mattress to open up and swallow you whole. “Hello?” Josh spoke again, his lips decorated with a frown as he awaited a response.

“Fuck, what do you want?” You groaned, running a hand over your face. You wished he would take the hint, but you felt ridiculous for even thinking he might. In your long lifetime spent with him by your side, you noticed that Josh had never once acknowledged a hint, let alone taken one.

“I don’t know, maybe a ‘hello’? That would be a good start. Or, better yet, an explanation as to why I haven’t heard or seen you since I was here yesterday, when you were in the same position?” He had a hand on his hip, his stare accusatory as he refused to back down.

“Never should have given you that damn spare key.” You grumbled, pushing your messy hair away from your face. Your eyes were burning, puffy from crying, and even if he could clearly see the state you were in, you would never admit it to him.

“Well, you did, so get the fuck over it and tell me what your issue is.” He brushed off your snide comment, sitting next to you in the bed despite his lack of invitation. “Been three days, brother. Something happened—just waiting for you to tell me what.”

“Do you know how to mind your own business, or is that completely lost on you?” You huffed, still tipsy off the whiskey bottle you nursed to completion the night before.

“If you haven’t noticed, you are my business, asshole.” He snipped back, unscathed from your harsh words. He knew you, and all too well; this behaviour was nothing new, and even he knew what it was about, but he wanted to hear it from you instead of assuming. “I’ve only ever seen you like this once before. Trouble in paradise… again?”

“Do you have to try and be so condescending, or does that come naturally?” Your eyes shot open, more energy coursing through you now as you made a move to sit upright. As you did, your head throbbed from the grievous hangover, but you pushed it to the side as you focused on your irritation with Josh.

“Sorry I’m late—lost my fuckin’ key. Went to find Daniel for the spare, and he lost that one, too! Go figure…” Sam joined the crowd, ranting about his days minor inconvenience as he kicked the door shut behind him. He didn’t seem to notice the disarray you found yourself in, nor was he able to read the emotion hanging heavily in the room.

“You really outdid yourself, Josh.” You rolled your eyes, half tempted to roll out of bed and dress yourself just so you could run away from the awkward encounter. “What is this, a brotherly intervention?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s an intervention,” Josh shot you down, tapping his fingers against his khaki-clad leg. “More like a concerned conversation?” He offered an alternative, trying to explain himself before you jumped to conclusions.

“You said intervention in the text.” Sam countered, confused and adding little to Josh’s efforts. You raised a hand, motioning to Sam as you turned your head towards your twin. With a raised eyebrow, you waited for the confirmation you wanted, even if all it would do was drive you further away.

“Sam—ugh, you know what? Fine. Intervention, as the two of you would have it.” Josh threw his arms up, shooting the youngest of the group a glare.

“Right.” You muttered, throwing the sheets off of you and straightening the band of your sweatpants as you climbed out of bed. Your joints ached from days of lazing in the same position and your eyes hurt as you faced the sunlight pooling in through the sheer curtains. “Good thing I don’t need an intervention. In fact, don’t need anything. I’m fine.” You slipped a shirt over your head, stepping towards the door with hopes of escaping the burgeoning intensity of their stares. “‘Preciate the concern, but you’re wasting your energy.”

Josh sent a pointed look at Sam, silently commanding him to step in front of the door before you could leave. This time, he understood the hidden message that Josh was desperately trying to convey, and he took a step backwards to block the exit. You let out a huff of frustration, closing your eyes as you raised your thumb and middle finger to your temples, gently massaging away the migraine the two were causing.

“Sam, please.” You breathed, wasting little effort in speaking as you tried to focus it all on standing upright. You could smell the alcohol on you, seeping through your pores as your liver tried to recover from the previous night's binge. You were a mess, and they were right, but you did not want to talk about it.

“Sorry, brother.” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the wood grain as he shot you a sympathetic smile.

“So what, we’re leaving Daniel out of this? Pretty poor intervention if you ask me, ‘specially if the panel is ran by two idiots.” You felt your fuse reach the end, your temper getting the best of you as the frustration pulsed underneath your skin and behind your eyes.

“Jake, man, I love you.” Sam reasoned, pressing his palms together in front of his torso as the tips of his fingers pointed in your direction. “But could we lose the attitude? Just this once, could you grow up and be an adult about this? About her?”

“Don’t you dare—“ you seethed, cutting yourself off as a prickling sensation filling your entire body from the mere thought of him speaking about her. He had no right to speak her name, no business talking about her or placing his own notions and judgements on the situation. She was your sunshine, your entire world, and right now you were hurt enough to know that if he spoke ill of her, you wouldn’t be able to swallow your words. “Don’t talk about her, Sam. It’s not your place.”

“Okay, he’s right.” Josh nodded, standing and taking a hesitant step towards the two of you, not quite between you but ready to be if the situation warranted intervention. “No sunshine talk, Sammy boy. We’re here to talk about Jake.” Josh sent a careful glance at Sam, speaking with only his eyes. You were a ticking time bomb the two had faced explosion from many times in their life, and this instance happened to be one they were overly familiar with. To them, it seemed the fuse was the shortest when it had anything to do with her.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam cleared his throat, taking the step back and getting a handle on his own frustrations. “Let’s talk about you, Jake.” A twitch of anger contorted your expression at his tone of voice, but you took a deep breath instead of letting it slip into something bigger.

Why did it seem that the two people you loved most were always the ones who made you the angriest version of yourself?

“What about me, Sam?”

“Well, Jake… we’re concerned about your wellbeing, considering you’ve spent the last three days locked in your hotel room. Any reason why, or just making the most out of our vacation?” You squeezed your eyes shut, your teeth clenched tightly together as you listened to his words.

“Okaaayy—good start!” Josh chimed, trying his best to ease the lingering tension. “We are concerned, Jake. Thank you for starting us off, Sam.”

“You two are insufferable, you know.” You gave a tight lipped smile, ignoring the main topic at hand as if it were no big deal.

“‘Cause we love you. That’s all.” Josh shrugged, imploring you to understand where they were coming from. You let out a sigh, knowing they did love you, but it was not even enough to take away the ache in your heart. Nobody could love you enough to take that away.

Well, nobody except for her.

“Fine, you want to know what happened?” You asked, running your fingers through your tangled hair. “Date went great—better than I thought it would. Came back here, spent the night together, she said she loved me, and she fucking left! Again!” At that, your fist slammed down on the high end wooden desk beside you, the legs shaking under the pressure and your bones aching from the contact.

Your two brothers, dumbfounded and worried, stared at you with wide eyes, unbelieving that you found yourself in the same situation all over again. Why, after reaching out in the first place, would she leave you again without hesitation? Why would she let it go so far?

Confused and less than angry, Josh was in search of an answer.

“Why?” He asked, his face softening as he understood the torment you were enduring.

“Same thing as last time. She doesn’t want to stand in the way of anything, doesn’t want to distract me, or whatever the fuck—“ you felt your chest constrict at the thought, the pain coming back in an entirely new fashion as it tore through your entire body. When your brothers stormed in, they pissed you off enough to distract you from it, which means they served some sort of purpose. Now that you were talking, more specifically about her, it was back with a vengeance. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand that this doesn’t mean anything if she’s not here with me. Christ, I did the damn thing because of her! She was the whole reason I had the courage to try, a-and she thinks that she’s a nuisance? A hindrance? To a dream that only came true because she loved me?”

Josh stepped forward, a gentle hand extended in your direction. Softly, carefully, cautiously, it landed on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was here and he was listening. Sam approached, less annoyance on his face as he stood beside his eldest brother.

For some reason that you could not explain, the simple contact between you and your twin, the unspoken support and solidarity from both of them made the murky skies clear and allowed for fresh air to fill your lungs. It didn’t feel so heavy, so overwhelming.

“She said she loved you?” Sam asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his ass resting against the edge of the wooden desk you’d assaulted only moments before. Even though it just happened, it seemed blurry, hazy as you tried to recall it. Everything was so messed up, so much more confusing now that she closed the door on the two of you.

Although painful, the last few years of your life did not feel as haunting as the last three days had. You tried to blame it on the wound reopening, but in truth, it had little to do with that. Every day, each grueling hour and every painstaking second of the last six years, beneath all of the misery, one thing remained true; hope.

Although time passed, and the longer it dragged on the harder it became to remain optimistic, you never gave up hope that she would come back, that the two of you weren’t finished. Deep down, there was a guttural sense of expectation that led you to believe she would show up, walk through the door with that awe-inspiring smile on her face and love in her heart for you.

Finally, after six fucking years, she did.

Then, she tore it away from you in an instant, without even thinking twice about it, with a measly promise of friendship that both of you knew only added insult to injury.

You were willing to settle, to be friends so you never had to live a life without her in it again, but she couldn’t even hold up that end of the deal. She left, storming out of your hotel room the instant the cab driver parked in front of the entrance, barely looking back over her shoulder as she held her heels in her hands and blinked away tears pooling in her eyes. You heard the door slam, but you were somewhere completely different—a dark abyss in your mind you’d only visited once before, when she drove down the long winding road set out for UPenn, never even glancing at you through the rear view mirror.

Then she disappeared.

Every call went to voicemail, every text went unanswered, the bold letters of the word ‘delivered’ taunting you every time you closed your eyes.

She was gone, and this time, so was all hope.

Why did you let her leave? Why did you let her jump to that conclusion, to run before she got the full story? Why didn’t you run after her?

You were stupid, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—she made up her mind, and she wouldn’t fucking listen. She never did, and you knew it would be a waste of breath.

“Sure did.” You cleared your throat after you spoke, your words raspy and sorrowful. You hated looking like such a mess in front of the two, but it was nothing they hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was the only thing they’d seen in the recent years that had come to pass. It only changed that fateful day in Europe, when her name graced your screen and the seemingly permanent cloud of misery finally floated away.

They enjoyed it for the few short weeks it lasted—it had been a long time since they saw that version of you. Happy, carefree, comfortable.

You only ever felt that way when she was around. The world only felt right with her by your side.

Now you had no idea where to go or what to do. The world didn’t end, the days still passed by in one never ending, haunting cycle of despair, and the sun was still in the sky, albeit it could never compare to her. You didn’t die when she walked away, although part of you felt like it did. You survived it once, and you could again. You had plenty to look forward to, so much to accomplish still, but it lost its sparkle knowing that you couldn’t share it with her.

So, no. The world did not end, but it definitely became colder, darker, without her light to shine upon you.

“Wonder if she meant it, or if it just felt right in the moment.” You scoffed the words out, sickened at the idea of her saying them but not truly meaning them. When you said it to her, it was the most sacred statement to ever leave your lips, the most genuine and soulful of words, and the only thing in the world that would forever remain true.

“Jacob,” Josh rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where your head was at. “Stop that. Take a second and get out of your own head. Let’s look at it through her eyes, together.” He offered. The muscle in your jaw tightened, your teeth pressed together with enough strength to cause an ache in your head.

From her eyes.

Her beautiful, alluring, calming eyes that always saw the world differently than anyone else could.

Why didn’t you do that before?

Maybe it was too painful for you, or impossible to see a different perspective without someone else to guide you through it. As of late, you had a knack for overthinking, jumping to conclusions that weren’t even genuine possibilities. Josh was always the one to guide you through it, and maybe you needed him more than you realized. He brushed you off, trying to get you to find your own conclusions when it came to her, but it was because you were asking for help in the romance aspect. In truth, you’d never needed much help there, especially when it came to her. Over the past few weeks, you just needed a pat on the back and reassurance that you could do it. Now, you needed help, you needed it to make sense.

“Now I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Y/N, but I have never known her to be a liar. I’ve never known her as anything other than selfless and sincere, and for you Jake, she’s all that and more.” You swallowed hard, his statement hitting you with force and knocking the air from your lungs. He was right, and you were so heartbroken it managed to taint your view of her.

She meant that she loved you, so why did she leave?

None of it made sense, and it all fucking hurt. You wished to have the level headed outlook that Josh had, but it failed you every time her name was brought up. The feelings she evoked within you, the intoxicating effects of her company and even just her memory was enough to drive you mad. You were completely smitten for the woman, and she never even had to try. You knew that nothing could ever compare, nobody could come close, and you were near insanity just imagining a life without her.

“There was this brief moment, the smallest amount of time where everything felt right, like it was supposed to all along. It felt like she felt it too, like we were on the same page, but I walked away for a second, and it all changed.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes bloodshot and stinging with tears.

“Something must have set her off, right?” Sam offered, hand on his chin as he found himself lost in thought. Yours and Josh’s eyes turned to him, curious about his input.

Josh was a shoulder to cry on, sharing words of wisdom to help you see a different perspective, but Sam? Sam was critical, always finding an answer even when it seemed impossible, always piecing it together when there were seemingly no pieces in sight. Josh was wise, but Sam was a fixer, and you needed this fixed.

“Like what?” You asked, beating yourself up as you heard the same breath of hope in your tone as you had once before.

“Well, I don’t know.” Sam fought back an eye roll, knowing you were hurting but frustrated by how obtuse you could be. “You said you walked away—did you leave her alone in here, or was that metaphorical?”

“No, I literally walked away.” You confirmed. “We were laying in bed, not really talking, but so comfortable that it didn’t matter. I thought for sure it was it, that we were gonna talk it out and work it out, but then I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she was so different. There was that look in her eye, like when she left the first time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the bed that you’d left in a mess. Thoughtfully, his eyes scanned the scene, as if he could see it in front of him, like it was happening in real time. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, his lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath. Then, his arm raised and his index finger extended outwards, pulling the two of you in the same direction he was going. He was pointing at your phone on the bed, screen facing upwards and lit up with incoming notifications that were insignificant to you.

To you, though.

To him, it was more than insightful.

“You always leave your phone like that?” Sam asked, his eyes flickering to you as he awaited a response.

“Yeah? Fuck does it matter?” You grumbled, unable to correlate the two. He bit his tongue as he breathed a long sigh of annoyance through his nose, stepping towards the bed and snatching the phone off the mattress.

“It matters because you’re an idiot with no passcode, and anyone can see any notifications as soon as they come.” He snapped, tapping the screen to light it up.

“So?” You couldn’t find the same wavelength he was on, unsure if it was because you were too upset or he was being too vague. Maybe, it was a combination of both. “Nothing incriminating on there. Would have let her look through it if she asked.”

“To you.” Sam clarified. “You said she felt like she was holding you back, that you were still in the same situation as last time. Where do you think that came from?” Sam implored you to think a little further, scrolling down the notification bar you never bothered to clear.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“She saw your notifications.” Sam stressed his point, his eyes reading over all of the worrisome details that likely sent her running. “Outlook: meeting canceled. Outlook: request for rescheduling. Aaron said: sent you the outline for the interview we put on pause. If you get a chance, please look it over in advance.” Sam listed off, flashing the screen towards you so you could see for yourself. “There’s about twenty more just like it.”

“Fuck sakes.” You groaned, placing a palm to your forehead as you let your eyes fall shut. Of course she saw it, and of course she took it personally. Had you realized it sooner, maybe you wouldn’t be where you are now, maybe you could have explained.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” Josh shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clearly feeling guilty on behalf of the situation. “Did you tell her it was my idea? That I was the one who canceled everything?”

It was true; coming to Michigan, coming home to her was Josh’s idea. He handled the scheduling conflicts, assuring you that this was much more important than another interview that would pertain to the same fifteen questions you’d been asked since the very beginning.

“F’course not—I didn’t know that’s why she got cold feet.” You mumbled, your eyes flickering towards the floor. “Besides, wouldn’t blame that on you, anyway. Doesn’t seem fair since it was because of me in the first place.”

“That’s not the point.” Josh urged, shaking his head at your stupidity. “If she knew it was me… if she knew how badly we all wanted to see you two together, maybe she’d get it. You have to tell her, Jake. This is all probably super overwhelming for her, to be back with you and to think that you cancelled everything to be with her. No doubt she loves you, but no doubt she’s terrified of messing things up for you. She’s always been afraid of that—she was there since the beginning, when all this was just a dream. She doesn’t see what we see. Make her see it, Jake.”

“Yeah, and maybe you should also tell her Amelie is our photographer, cause this message does seem a little bit flirty taken out of context.” Sam said, clicking on the text and showing you. Confused, you grabbed the phone from his hand and read over the words for what seemed like an eternity, noticing she’d attached four pictures of your last show, ones that you’d been begging her to share. You couldn’t see them from the notification bar, which would have made it seem all the more worrisome to her.

“Great timing, huh?” You grumbled, tossing your phone on the bed as you tried to process all of the new information. “Didn’t budge for a week, but finally sent them at the perfect time.” The sarcasm was dripping from your tone, your stomach upset as you understood how much those series of events would have bothered her.

You were so cruel, believing she did so because she didn’t care, because she wanted an excuse. It wasn’t true, and she did what she did because she cared so much, more than anyone ever had, and more than anyone else ever would. She took the burden of heartbreak because she cared more about your happiness than her sadness. If the roles were reversed, you would have felt the same way, maybe even worse. She loved you so wholly and completely that she would rather let you go than stand in your way.

Josh was right, she was a selfless, kindhearted person who would do and be anything for you, even if the best for you meant she had to be nothing. You were an idiot, and you accused her of lacking love when in reality, she was suffocating on the abundance of love she held for you.

You had to fix it. You had to make it right, to show her that no matter where you were or what you were doing, she was the very thing that made it possible to do it. You needed to tell her that she was all you ever wanted, that the life you lived was good, but only fantastic when she was there to stand by your side.

You needed to fight, to chase after her instead of letting her walk away. She meant too much to you to let her go. You couldn’t waste another six years hoping the situation would fix itself. This time, you were older, wiser, albeit still stupid, but you knew that she was worth it.

“I have to make it right.” You announced, looking between the two.

“You have to tell her the truth. Don’t let her go, Jake.” Sam agreed.

“After all this time, she’s still yours. Don’t take it for granted.” Josh added.

“Okay.” You breathed, giving one curt nod. “I have an idea, but I can’t do it by myself.”

“Whatever you need, brother.” Josh assured you, knowing just as well as you did that she was the one. They couldn’t bear to see you lose her for good. Sam nodded in agreement, a silent show of solidarity without a second thought.

A small smile graced your lips, and a breath of hope filled your lungs. It wasn’t over, and you would make sure of it. When it came to her, you would never let it be over. You would work until your last dying breath, committed to her and her alone. She was everything, the whole world and more. She was your sunshine, lighting up the darkest days and making the brightest ones better.

Six years ago, you gave her eight songs to show her how much you would miss her, how sad you were about letting her go.

This time, maybe all she needed was eight songs to tell her exactly why you needed her to stay.

TAGLIST: @anythingforjtk @highway-tuna @klarxtr @hollyco @thetroublegetssoloud71 @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @raceb14 @watchingover-hypegirl @starshine-gvf @do-it-jakey-baby @gretavansara @jakesbeloved @woyayaofdreams @jakeyt @kiszkas-canvas @gracev0609 @josh-iamyour-mama @musicspeaks @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon @gvfmarge @takenbythemadness @fleetingjake

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 12

Hey guys! Sorry it's been a bit since the last post! I ended up with a bad case of strept throat and I'm just now feeling up to do my stuff. Anyway. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None I don't think? Some drinking. Mihawk gets a little dark. A little gaslighty. It's all for your own good tho! Next part? It's finally Smut time!

I forgot to say! The song that they dance to HERE

Begin Again is HERE

Masterlist

Breakfast is already done by the time Dracule finally decides that he is done, not hiding per se, but procrastinating. You greet him with a blinding smile, and his thoughts flash back to the portrait of a younger you. He shoves the image away and brings you in for a quick kiss before he sidesteps you and an excited Hank for the stove. He plies his plate and joins you at the table. 

“I brought you another gift, dear one,” Dracule begins and you roll your eyes at him. He huffs and sips his tea before continuing, “Don’t pout. I think you’ll enjoy this one.” 

“I enjoy all of your gifts, Mihawk,” You point out gently and toss Hank a piece of grilled fish, “But I’ll need to start getting rid of some stuff if you keep bringing me such nice things.” 

Dracule casts his eyes around your humble home. While there wasn’t anything wrong with the things you have drug up from the shore from shipwrecks, It was far less than what you deserved. Especially since he knew about your past.

“Not everything is meant to be kept forever, Darling,” Dracule says right back, and you sigh but nod. The older man does have a point. Out with the old and in with the new, and all that. You catch the smug twist of his lips at your concession and roll your eyes. He was such a priss. 

“Finish your breakfast, and then I’ll bring it in,” Mihawk orders gently after a moment and stands to place a kiss on your brow. He leaves with a lingering look your way that has your cheeks pinking up. 

Down at his ship, Mihawk hefts two large crates with ease and carries them back up the beach and to the cottage. One is filled with a variety of fruit and vegetables that you did not have, and Dracule hoped that the more exotic ones would take to the soil of your island. The other crate held the real gift to you, one that he was far more excited to share. 

The dishes have been cleared by the time he makes it back to your home. Mihawk leaves the crate of seeds and sprouts outside for you to investigate later. Hank is lounging in the sun, and Mihawk rolls his eyes at the big lug as he trudges back inside. You have made them fresh cups of tea, and Dracule gladly takes his with a quiet thanks after setting the crate aside. 

“You'll need a clear space for this one, Darling.” Mihawk points out, and you escape to the living room to clear off part of one of your many bookshelves that line the walls. He follows after you and sets the crate on the floor, then kneels to flip open the lid of the box. You peer inside, brow furrowing at whatever was inside. 

“This is a gramophone. It's an older model, so you'll have to crank it here for it to power itself.” Dracule lifts the record player and sets it on the spot you've cleared for him. He dusts it off and then dives back down to retrieve a large metal horn that he attaches to the back of the box. While he is screwing the horn in, you crouch and look through the crate, carefully pulling out several very thin square objects with art on the front. 

“What are these for?” You ask and hand them over to Mihawk when he reaches for them. He opens the square and pulls out a shiny black disk that he sits in the middle of the gramophone. You watch in growing fascination as the vinyl begins to spin and jump out of your skin when noise blurts out from the horn. 

The static mellows out, and soon your cottage is filled with the delicate notes of classic music and the sound of a man and a woman singing in beautiful harmony. It's in a language that you don't know, but it isn't any less beautiful. You step closer to the machine, awe on your face. You've never heard something so beautiful before, and you close your eyes to better lose yourself in the changing notes. 

Mihawk watches you, eyes softening as he takes you in. You sway side to side, your long hair dancing around your waist, completely entranced in the classical tune. He steps behind you, hands settling on your waist as he gently leads you away from the bookshelf and to the middle of the living room. He sways with you, keeping to the slow beat of the song. 

One of Dracule's hands finds your own, and he twines your fingers together with a hum, bringing it up and around to wrap around his neck. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, “This is one of my favorite pieces. It's a recount of a young man and his affection for his first love.” 

You shiver when he speaks, his tone sinful and dripping with intent. You wonder if he is trying to tell you something in his usual, difficult, roundabout way. Did he love you? You were pretty sure that you loved him. 

Mihawk holds you close, and as you close your eyes, it is him you hear, humming quietly in your ear. You cock your head up and bring his head down, kissing him as best you can in the odd angle. He twists you around not a second later, untangling his hand from yours so that Dracule can slip it into your hair and hold you just the way he wants as he kisses you senseless. The song comes to an end just as he is pulling you away, leaving you staring up at Mihawk like he was your everything. 

Dracule gently untangled his hand from your hair to smooth his knuckles across your cheek, then shifted down to rub his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Would you like to listen to more?” Mihawk asks softly and breaks whatever tension that had built around the two of you. 

You nod, an eager smile breaking across your lips, “Yes, please. I didn't understand what they said, but it was beautiful.” 

“Not many would, Latin is a dead language to many,” Dracule informs you helpfully and then crouches to investigate the rest of the records inside the crate, “I made sure to bring you a variety of genres.” 

You thank his kindness with a kiss on his cheek and giggle when the stoic man looks inordinately proud of himself. He flicks your forehead when you go in for another, “You've made your point.” 

You pout at him briefly before you become distracted by the records again. You choose one at random and hand it to Mihawk, and then rise so that you can watch how he changes the disks. 

For the next two days, the two of you went through the music that Dracule had brought for you. While you enjoyed the classical music that the warlord favored, you found that the more upbeat jazz genre was more your style. Dracule would smile to himself whenever he caught you humming one of your favorites and pat himself on the back for doing such a good job on his gift. 

On the third day, the weather turned for the worse, casting your usual tropical and nice weather under dark clouds and raging winds. Rain pelted the island while you and Mihawk took shelter inside, Hank lay in front of the fireplace, drying his wet fur from his run inside. You sat curled up in the corner of the couch, a small glass of wine held in your hand. Mihawk had assured you that just a small bit would not hurt and would help to warm you up. 

Dracule sat in the armchair across from you, feet kicked up as he sipped from his own glass and paged through one of your waterlogged books. Vera Keys crooned in the back, a song about starting all over to begin again. You hum along to the sad song, frowning a bit at the words.

 Could you ever do that? Let go of your life here? Begin again somewhere else? The thought sent fear shooting down your spine, a voice echoing in the back of your mind that you could never leave this island. 

Dracule glances over to see you frowning and can tell that you have delved into your thoughts. He wonders how much of your past that you recall, but he doesn't dare ask, would hate himself for bringing you any unnecessary pain. There was no need for you to know right now, not when it kept you safe. 

“Something wrong, Angel?” Dracule rumbles and sets his book away to focus on you. He stands and steps over Hank to sit beside you on the couch. 

Your lips screw up even more, and you debate on telling Dracule your thoughts. You'd already spilled enough on him the other morning about your dreams. 

“I just…wish that I could leave sometimes,” you admit quietly and sit your glass aside. Your hands pick at themselves, a nervous habit over the years, “But everything I think about it, there is this voice telling me how I shouldn't. How it isn't safe.” 

Dracule is silent beside you. Panic had shot through him for half a second when you mentioned wanting to leave. He could understand why. You've been trapped here all your life, but the thought of Big Mom somehow finding out about you? That was unacceptable. You needed to be kept safe, and Dracule would be the one to take up that role. 

“While I understand your desire to leave, to explore the world,” Mihawk begins softly and draws you close to him, manhandling you a little so that you sit on his lap, legs on either side of his own, “I would listen to that voice. The world is vast, and there are people out there that would destroy everything that makes you, you.” 

You find yourself nodding along. Dracule sounds so serious, and you wish he would tell you what had wronged him in the world for him to feel this way. For him to want you to stay here. 

“What kind of people?” You ask, and Dracule frowns harshly, looming far more frightening than you have seen him since the first time he stepped foot on your island. You aren't sure if his answer brings you comfort or not. 

“People like me, Darling. Pirates who take what they want when they want. I'm where I am for a reason, and I want to keep you away from anyone else who might wish you harm.” 

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

[lolitakirstein]

Tender!Levi

bro, i came up with these insane headcanons for Levi while I was listening to Lana Del Rey.

CW: One is slightly nsfw i guess

Tender!Levi enjoys soft indie music because he can't stand loud sounds. He playfully scolds you when you crank up your heavy rock music

Tender!Levi owns a record player and has an organized shelf with TONS of vinyl, in alphabetical order of course

Tender!Levi he likes deep female vocals because they remind him of his mother. He can't recall what her normal speaking voice sounded like because too often as a child all he remembers is her cries for help. But he remembers her singing voice. How she would hold him to her chest, how he could feel the vibrations of each note as she sang to him.

Tender!Levi loves breasts. But not in a sexual way, more in an admiring way. How amazing his lover's body can be to be able to provide for his offspring. He often stands in amazement as he watches his child fill its tiny belly and fall 10x more in love with his you. it's one of the most beautiful things he's witnessed. How comforting it is for him to nuzzle into your breast. Another reminder for him of his mothers warm embrace in the cold world they had been put in.

Tender!Levi also loves hands and caresses. He loves to trace your palms with his fingertips and up along your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He loves grazing your delicate collarbone, your soft stomach, your curves, and your scars.

Tender!Levi speaking of hands, the man is constantly moisturizing his and keeps a tube of it in his pocket

Tender!Levi also carries chapstick (cherry flavored just for you ;))

[hanjisick]

— ESPRESSO

order #5 of the coffee shop series: an espresso shot.

ingredients. barista!jisung x y/n. strangers to lovers?? night shift worker jisung who’s obsessed with music.

allergies. contains: semi-public making out. almost sex in a café bathroom but interrupted.

size. 2.3k

special add ons. jisung loved his job working the night shifts at yellow wood café. he would jam out to music and yell at college students to wake up and do their work. and occasionally flirting with pretty girls, unless they ask him to sing— then he becomes a mess.

“jisung, the shop is all yours.”

“i won’t let you down, chan.” his boss let out a lighthearted laugh, pushing open the door. 

the bell chimed, announcing his departure. his wide eyes followed chan through the glass door, waiting for him to disappear. 

jisung’s shoulders slumped once chan was gone for good. now it was him, the customers, and the music.

there were only a few minutes until the night rush started. college students would pack the shop soon with laptops and notebooks out, eager to stay up late enough to get work done if they consumed more caffeine than their bodies could handle.

yellow wood café was always the busiest at night since it was the only coffee shop open for almost twenty-four hours. jisung was always on the move because of it, with the rest of the boys valuing their sleep too much to help out, other than occasionally chan.

he didn’t mind being alone though. jisung almost felt like the owner of the shop at these times. he could make his own rules.

the espresso machine was on, the tables were clean, and the dishes were out, ready to assist the students. the only thing left— the only thing he was ever scolded for— was the music. 

he cranked the volume up as high as his ears could handle, carefully selecting a vinyl out of his collection.

he selected enough to queue for the next few hours, carefully stacking them next to the record player. 

the bell chimed— right on time. 

autopilot kicked in as he began to prepare drinks into the night, one espresso shot at a time, making sure to down a few himself. 

his body had gotten used to being practically nocturnal, but a kick of caffeine never hurt anyone. 

“welcome in!” he yelled over the music as you walked in, hands deep in the pockets of your jacket, your cheeks red from the cold. the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries immediately hit you. 

“hi,” you shouted back, “can i get an espresso shot? i have some homework to catch up on.”

the barista’s infectious laugh caused your lips to curl into a smile, noticing the way his lips took the shape of a heart. “you don’t need to explain, baby, everyone here is in the same boat.”

you would’ve cringed at the endearing nickname if he wasn’t as cute. “do you always call your customers baby?” 

“it’s part of my charm.” 

“are you also always this stuck up?”

“do i need to repeat myself?” 

“whatever. how much?” 

he leaned against the counter, resting his face against his hand, a little too close to you. again, you let it slide. “cute girls get coffee for free.“

this time you couldn’t help but cringe at the shameless flirting, crossing your arms and huffing. 

“what’s a good name for your order?” 

“y/n.”

he watched you take a seat at the bar, pulling the laptop out of your bag to begin your work just as everyone around you had done.

the sounds of your typing were drowned out by the loud music. you caught your head nodding to the upbeat music. 

did he play this so that the students didn’t fall asleep? you glanced around the room, half of the students drooling on their keyboards. it didn’t work.

you felt your own eyes begin to droop, your hands getting lazier, and your breathing was heavier…. 

“more espresso please!” you shouted before it was too late, staring at the essay that was only half complete.

your ears didn’t even register the way that the barista was singing along to the music, loudly at that, until he paused to answer you.

“coming right up, baby!” 

you groaned in fake annoyance, waiting for him to slide the small cup your way.

downing the caffeine, your face contoured from the intense bitterness, but it worked. soon, you were back to writing your essays.

the clock soon hit one. then two, then three. 

there were barely any people left, and the ones that were still around were dozing off, with jisung occasionally running to wake people up, reminding them of all the work they need to be doing.

“don’t give up now!” you’d hear him yell out, shaking someone awake, “remember that chemistry quiz? it’s tomorrow!” 

over the night, you’d grown quite fond of the boy, finding it endearing how enthusiastic he was, willing to learn about all of his customers, keeping the energy alive through music and shuffling his feet around the café. 

through one of the conversations you overheard, you found out his name was jisung. jisung, the barista who works the night shifts. you heard a nickname for him that seemed to stick. the music man. 

“we can do it, you guys! just a few more hours!” 

you shook your head, waving him over to your direction to ask for another shot. 

“y/n! you’ve been awake for so long, what’ve you gotten done?” 

“actually, i finished an hour ago,” you confessed.

jisung grinned, leaning over your shoulder, “why are you still here then? shouldn’t you be asleep for class tomorrow?”

“i don’t have a class tomorrow,” you nudged him back with your shoulder, “to be honest, i’m just enjoying the music. what’s the song that’s playing right now? i want to add it to my playlist.” 

there was a moment of silence before you turned to face his direction, only to find his grin widening even further— you didn’t know that was possible.

“you’re asking about the music?”

“yes, i am,” you confirmed as if he hadn’t heard you, “what’s the song?” 

“oh my god. nobody asks me about the music.” for a moment, you were afraid that he was going to explode. 

“i run all of the music here. i have a collection of vinyl and there’s this small spot at the back of the store-“

“can i see?” you grinned, and you didn’t have to ask twice before he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the back of the store.

jisung’s most prized possession— a white shelf in the back of the shop that chan, very reluctantly, let him keep. it was slightly hidden by messy vines and plants, behind every table in the store. records filled the shelves, a few spilling out to the floor in a messy pile that jisung couldn’t be bothered to pick up. 

you let out an audible gasp at the sight, squatting down beside him as you picked up a couple of the records.

“this is one of my favorite albums ever!” 

“really?” you watched him light up, “i love it too. the production is just amazing.”

“i don’t know anything about production, but i love the music.”

“funny story,” he let out a small laugh, “me, chan, and changbin, my coworkers here, used to try and produce songs. it didn’t work out though, we never took off. that’s when chan opened this shop.”

“i’m sure you’re good. what did you guys do?”

“mostly rap,” he took a few of the vinyl covers into his hands, placing them back in between the shelves, “but i can sing. i like to play guitar too, and the piano sometimes. i’m also a dancer.”

“the singing behind the counter didn’t sound all that promising. maybe you should stick to rapping.”

“i wasn’t doing it justice! i was singing tone deaf!” he argued back as if he were annoyed.

“you should let me hear you sing, then.”

“no way!” he stood back up, “there’s too many people here. i’ll get shy.” 

“weren’t you supposed to be all flirty and cocky?”

“not in front of everyone. only pretty girls.”

“then serenade me, and maybe i’ll fall for you.”

“after my shift.”

“promise?”

“fine.”

“i’ll wait here until you’re done, then.”

“no fair! aren’t you supposed to sleep soon? it’s almost five in the morning!” 

“what time do you get off?”

“what time can you get me off?” he smirked, avoiding the topic.

“that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“you win some you lose some,” he shrugged, beginning to walk back to the counter. the shop was as good as dead by now. 

“you aren’t getting out of this. i’m committed now,” you continued as you followed him, taking your seat back at the counter.

“my shift is over at five thirty,” he replies with a sigh, “then we can belt out until seungmin gets here while i clean the place up.” 

“seungmin?”

“early morning shift. annoying, mean, loveable,” he smiled to himself, cleaning off a dirty cup.

“so just like you,” you teased.

“more mean, less loveable like me.”

the last two customers had left, “have a good day!” 

“now its just us,” you commented, reminding him of the promise that he had made you.

“wait until a really good song comes on,” he groaned, refusing to let you see his burning ears.

“stop making excuses. pretty girls will never want to kiss you if you do that.”

“kissing is on the table?” jisung’s eyes widened, “you should’ve said something earlier!”

“you’re that desperate?” you watched him scramble to his shelf, shuffling through albums.

“are you gonna kiss me if i sing to you?”

“only if you’re good.”

that was enough confirmation for him to switch out the vinyl. 

“listen to this, baby. it’ll blow you away.”

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the counter and smirking in amusement. but when he began to sing, your sly smile turned into wonder, intensely paying attention to his voice. 

he could feel your gaze burning into him, and he refused to meet it for fear of rejection. instead, he simply continued to wash dishes with shaky hands and a red face.

then his voice cracked. 

he closed his eyes, leaning down to yell out in embarrassment, “i can't sing in front of pretty girls!”

the song continued in the background, but jisung fell silent, clutching a wet metal straw in his hand.

you ignored his fuss, “and you’re telling me that people didn’t die for your voice?”

he fell silent. “you sound like an angel, jisung! you’re better than the guy on that track!” 

“he’s really good though,” he tried to change the topic from himself. 

you sighed, standing up from your stool and going behind the counters— nobody was here, and jisung wouldn’t mind, right?

grabbing his shoulders gently, you turned him around to face you, having to bite your lip to stop yourself from poking fun at his beet-red face. 

standing on the tips of your toes, you leaned up to match the height added from his platforms and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

his eyes widened as if he didn’t expect you to follow through with your promise.

“did you just kiss me?”

“no, i just sold your soul to a demon and the only way to do it is to touch my lips to yours.”

“can you do it again?”

“you’re so romantic,” you teased, leaning in once again as his hands met your waist.

“can i kiss you, like, a lot?” jisung stammered. 

“sure.” you had to admit, it was adorable watching him act so shy compared to how he flirted with you so effortlessly earlier. 

he pulled you out of your thoughts, lifting you onto the counter with muscles that you didn’t even know were behind his loose hoodie. 

you let out a yelp, but he quickly shut you up with a longer, more passionate kiss. 

his hands tightly held your waist and your own met his dark, messy hair. you tugged on it, making him groan as he deepened the kiss, tasting the espresso in your mouth. 

the two of you pulled away for air, taking in a deep breath, but jisung had every intention to continue.

“about getting off?” he joked, in a quiet, raspy tone from the kiss. 

the next thing you knew, you were being dragged into the bathroom, the mess of the café disregarded behind you. 

he slammed the door, then pushed you against it a little too desperately. 

“is this actually happening?” he thought out loud.

“whatever, let’s just do it.”

he nodded, pressing his lips against yours for the third time. you closed your eyes, losing yourself in his lips. you could hear the music faintly from behind the door, noticing the ringing in your ears from how loud it was. 

his hands traveled from your hips to your hair then back down to the hem of your shirt. he played with it for a moment, before snaking his fingers up to your bra, right about to unclasp it.

“han jisung!” both of you jumped at the screaming voice, snapping out of the moment as the bell from the store rang.

“tell me this is a fucking joke!” 

“shit, seungmin’s here,” he pulled away from your lips, out of breath. 

his hair was a mess and his black jeans were noticeably tight around him. he tried to pull himself together before seungmin would come barging into the bathroom. 

jisung tumbled out of the door right as the other barista turned the music off. 

you stalked behind him, readjusting your shirt with a face just as flustered as his own.

the boy massaged his temples, “look, i don’t care if you turn this place into a bar for your night shifts. that’s for you and chan to worry about, but you left me all of this mess with only thirty minutes until we open again.”

jisung glanced back at you, watching you contain your giggles as he got scolded.

“hell! we’re still open! you never even bothered to flip the sign! or shut off the lights! or turn off your music!” 

jisung turned back to meet seungmin’s frustrated face.

“i got carried away, there was this really hot girl and we both,” he stopped his story there, sighing. 

“just please don’t tell chan.”

“chan won’t hear about it unless you get to work immediately and clean this place up!”

“on it!”

you watched the boy scramble to work as you finally let your laughter spill from your lips.

“if i were you, i wouldn’t get involved with that guy,” seungmin turned his attention to you, “he’s a mess.”

“but he’s kind of cute,” you defended, “do you, by chance, have his number?” 

[genericsfan]

Death the kid headcanons cause he’s my favoriteee 💕💕💕💕

There’s a piano in Gallows manor , i bet good money kid knows how to play it. He probably had a lot of free time growing up so he learned.

Please let soul and him play a duet it would be so real and true omg

Gothic literature. His favorite book is “The Portrait of Dorian Gray”

As for music he likes a lot of things. I mainly see him listening to The Smiths, The Cure, Don McLean, Lesley Gore, The Mamas & The Papas, Nancy Sinatra..etc. He likes anything

He has a super old record player that’s his prized possession. It’s a crank handle one and he has all different vinyls from modern music to old jazz

I think he understands his status as an immortal god and would be scared to become attached to anyone romantically. The thought of losing his friends scares him too, even though he knows they can’t cheat death.

Okay wow sorry anyway I think he’d love old horror movies too “Little Shop of Horrors” is his favorite

I HC him as AroAce but he definitely favors men. I just don’t think he knows it.

Due to not being a real human his body temperature is super low. Which is how he’s able to wear a full suit in Nevada in June.

Definitely the social one of the group. Is able to small talk with anyone.

Owns an n64 (he plays smash bros with the group , he mains yoshi)

I LIKE TO THINK HE GETS THERAPY TO MANAGE HIS OCD HES A GOOD BOY HE JUST NEEDS HELP.

Patty asked if he’d still be her meister if she was a worm he said no

Okay that’s all I have please share with me..if you even care…

[jakeysbuttsheeks]

Dancing with your ghost.

Warnings : mentions of Ed , mental disorders, anorexia, alcohol use , crying, sobbing, angst , fluff , cringe but I need to cry , grammar mistakes, etc .

Parings: Jake X reader

Another day of frustration as you throw your front door open after fighting with the lock .

Just when you thought your day couldn't get any worse , the first thing you smelt when you entered your apartment was Jake .

You tried everything to get rid of him from your life . But nothing could remind you more about him that your house where the two of you stayed for years .

He dumped you over text . You had been arguing with him for not making time for you when he was on tour and you assumed he got high with his brothers that night and decided to text you and end it all .

You blocked him on everything and gave him no way did him to contact you . But you did wait for him to come back home everyday after that, and he never did .

Everyday you came home you wished your door was already unlocked to find Jake inside , ready to get back together but he never came .

It started to tell yourself he actually meant it when he dumped you and didn't just say it because he was drunk . The thought pained you.

There wasn't one day where you didn't cry yourself to sleep and wonder if he ever missed you or just moved on . In your head you were still his and no one else's.

You stood at the entrance of your apartment, staring blankly at the lifeless living room . Jake gave it the light and now that he was gone , every started to give out.

You couldn't help the gut wrenching sob that choked out of you as you began sobbing unconditionally. You were tired of not being able to get over him as easy as he did . You wish you hated him but you loved him more than anything. Everything would be so easy if you just hates him .

The dismal events of your day also led to your breakdown. You decided to treat yourself to numb out the pain . Drinking yourself to sleep was an alternative to crying yourself to sleep .

You sat balled up on the couch with the neck of a huge bottle of jack Daniels in your fist . You took a sip ever few seconds, replaying all the moments you and Jake had had .

This one time when you gifted him a vinyl and he loved it so much he would play it every evening and force you to dance with him .

You startled up when you realise you still had that vinyl somewhere and you hadn't played it since Jake left .

You hurry your way to find it in the mess of your house . Digging through some old papers and files you had lying around and looking through all your other vinyls .

You start to cry again in frustration when you couldn't find it until you realised it must've still been in the record player.

You head over to it and find the vinyl still there in the record player collecting dust . You take it off and wipe it before hurriedly putting it back , cranking up the volume before turning it on .

It only broke you down even more . Your remembered this one time you really didn't feel like dancing but Jake pulled you into his arms and swayed you to the song , kissing your cheek and talking to you with his lips pressed against your ear .

You could almost feel him holding you and guiding your body to sway to the music as you stood empty in the middle of the room with tear streaming down your face .

The room was spinning and you knew you were really drunk. You trip over to your phone and grab it , falling down on your knees by the couch as you open your phone .

You unblocked Jake's contact and immediately called him , your brain foggy and you didn't even realise the extent of what you were doing ,calling him after almost a year.

"fuck you" you scoff as you toss your phone back into the couch when he didn't answer.

You rested your upper body against the couch , your eyes heavy as you started to pass out , until you phone started buzzing.

"oh fuck" you look at your screen to see 'jakey' calling you .

You let it buzz as you stared at it , your thumb grazing over the answer button, just itching just to hear his voice just once .

You didn't even know when you had answered the call . You were started by Jake's voice faintly helloing out . You turn the phone on speaker and you hear him again , loud and clear.

"hello?" He called out . You tried to swallow a sob , hoping he wouldn't hear it but he definitely did .

"y|n?" He said, his voice went soft when he heard you cry . You couldn't bring yourself to speak .

"a-are you alright? Do you need help?" Jake speaks , he was worried you could tell by his voice.

You immediately cut the call and finally cry out the sobs you'd been holding in . You thought hearing his voice would help but it only made the hole in your heart bigger .

The phone buzzed again and again. You decided to pick up the third time and turned the phone on speaker again .

"y|n? Are you there?" He sounded more panicked.

"jake-" you choke out he immediately recognises you were just high and you weren't in any trouble of any sort.

"are you okay?" He still asks anyway.

"why'd you go away Jake?" You ask , your voice tearful.

"I'm still your girl" you continue knowing he didn't have an answer.

"baby-" Jake's voice strains, seeming to break down at your words .

"do you really not love me anymore?" You slur , your eyes staring to get heavy again as you play with the fibres of your couch .

"not even a little bit? Not at all?" You ask.

"I will always love you, even if I never see you again" Jake says and you pause everything.

"what the fuck does that mean!?" You yell . If Jake actually still loved you why did he never come back ?

"you know what it means" Jake says , his voice sounded heavy .

"then why did you leave me!? Why did you never come back and leave me to think-!?" You scream but Jake interrupts you.

"because I made a mistake! I thought we would never work and I still don't think we will!" He answers.

"but I can't seem to want anything more than to just be with you again" he continues.

"and when you blocked me and cut all contact I thought you didn't want me to come back- i- I thought you wanted me gone" he explained as you stayed quiet and listened.

"I miss you so much jakey i-" you couldn't finish your sentence as you continue to cry .

"oh baby" Jake's heart clenched and he wishes he was with you just as much as you wanted him to be with you .

"I miss you too y|n. So much" he speaks , his voice trembles with an exasperated sigh of sadness . He sounds like he's on the very of tears and it only makes you cry harder .

"come home" you sniffle, your tears seeping into the couch .

"I am honey I am. I got into the car as soon as you called I thought something had happened to you" Jake spoke and you immediately picture him drive to you while he talked to you the entire time.

You could believe what you were hearing. Jake was actually coming over ? He was already on his way? He still loved you ? This had to be some sick dream .

It wasn't long till you slowly passed out with your upper body lying on the couch , still kneeing in the floor , unable to keep your consciousness any longer .

You were woken when you felt strong hands scoop you up by your underarms , temporarily bringing you to your feet before carrying you up.

"Jake?" You speak in a daze . Still wondering if it all was a dream or if you were just going completely out of your mind .

"I'm here baby it's me" Jake speaks and you can hear him , loud and clear , his scent and his warm body . You couldn't be dreaming it felt too real .

You could barely keep your eyes open as he set you down into your bed. You barely caught a glimpse of his silhouette bending down to you . You wished your weren't so drunk.

The last thing you could interpret was his fingers intertwined with yours and all you could do was squeeze his hand before you were gone. Passed out cold .

You woke up frantic, turning around in your bed to find it empty and cold. What kind of sick joke was your mind playing on your for you dream of something so real.

Tears pricked your eyes and your head spun from your hangovers and the remains of the 'dream' you had .

The room door suddenly opened with Jake walking in with a cup in his hand . He stopped in his tracks when he saw the expression you had on your face like you'd just seen a ghost .

So it wasn't a dream then?

He just stood there waiting for you to say something with a worried face but you were in tears wondering if you were going out of your mind to the point that you were imagining him .

"do you want me to leave?" Jake asks nervously. The expression you had probably gave him the wrong impression.

"what? No-!" You answer rapidly.

"okay" he sighed , a smile almost forming on his face. "I thought you were just drunk last night and didn't mean to call me over" he continued.

"I thought I was dreaming" you speak and his shoulders drop . You didn't know they were tensed up until he dropped them and walked over to you .

"that's understandable. You were passed out drunk on your knees by the couch with our song blasting on the record player when I reached" Jake sat down on the side of your bed , turning at you . You frowned , not remembering being on the floor .

"I made you coffee" he hands it to you but you don't take it from him . You can see he gets hurt from the look in his eyes but he tried to hide it .

"I'm guessing your anorexia is back" he asks , resting the cup on his lap as he looks down at it .

"I just don't feel like having coffee" you say apologetically.

"since when do you lie to me?" He turns at you .

"there's nothing in your refrigerator or pantry . Nothing in your cabinets either . Not even a cereal box" Jake speaks .

"I- I was supposed to restock today" you explain and he sets the coffee cup down on your side table and shifts himself on the edge of the bed , facing you with his palm on your knee.

"let's go shopping then" he says . He knows you're lying. He didn't want to push it if you weren't comfortable.

"okay" you nod and he reaches for your hand and squeezes it .

"do you remember what we spoke about?" He asks. "On the phone" he elaborates.

You pause to think back , trying to remember what exactly you had said to eachother .

Vaguely you remember the excitement of hearing his voice . But it was a blur . You just knew he said exactly what you wished to hear from him . But you don't remember what he said exactly or what you told him .

"I still love you y|n" he sighs, like he wished he didn't. "I always will" he adds .

"I'll always loved you too Jake" your voice cracks as you suddenly remember Jake telling you he missed you over the phone.

"I should've come home to you. But I didn't because I thought-" he stops mid sentence and looks into your eyes. "I'm so sorry y|n" he breaks down and it makes you emotional .

You immediately pulled him into a hug and he wrapped his arms around you tightly as you caressed his hair and felt his body shudder as he cried softly.

"it's okay" your chest ached . His body was warm and his hair smelt fresh . His embrace was euphoria , it was the only place you wanted to be.

"ahh" jake let out an embarassed groan as he lifted his face off your shoulder and wiped his eyes "I'm sorry" he breaths , apologizing for crying.

"it's okay" you soothe , petting his hair as your own heart breaks watching him cry .

"I'm sorry too Jake. I wasn't a good girlfriend. I didn't trust you and I fought with you all the time and you didn't deserve that" you start and he just stares at you .

"but" you look down nervously "I realised that now , and I would do anything to go back and do it all differently and have a more mature approach to things" you finish and then look back at him and his eyes are still on you . You couldn't read the expression he had on his face tho .

"unless it's too late" you say as your body tensed when Jake didn't say anything.

"are you saying to want to get back together?" Jake asks , like he just processed what you had said.

You nervously nod and his hand moves to your face, rubbing a tear from your cheek with his thumb as he cups your face before tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I'd like that too" he confesses , suppressing his feeling of overwhelm.

You smile uncontrollably, though the sad expression still on your face as his eyes fall to your lips before leaning in . You press your lips against his and gently kiss him as the world around you crumbles. He almost made you forget if you ever loved anyone else. You didn't think you could love anyone else after Jake anyway.

You feel his fingers gently hold the back of your neck , seeping up onto your scalp . You can feel the blood rushing to your face and your heart thumping so hard it made you giddy. You were sure you were red as a tomato. But more , you were at the tip of your cup with overwhelm.

He breaks the kiss by resting his forehead against yours "oh I've missed you" he breaths, his eyes still closed as he recovers from the kiss.

"don't leave again" you say could help the tears as you held him tight and he opened his eyes and looked at you , his forehead still against yours. You could feel his energy.

"never" he responds, noticing your tears and lifts his forehead off yours and pressed his lips right under you eye , and then doing the same for the other , kissing away your tears .

You couldn't help it tho . Jake's embrace, his voice, his scent , his lips , his touch. Everything overwhelmed you .

"I promise" he adds , a murmur to himself as he pulls you into him , you buried your face into his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist as he swayed you slightly, coaxing you to feel better.

[niphredil-14]

Heyhey!! Can u pls write a fluff story about Brahms Heelshire x f!reader who suffers from migraines? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I rly wanna see the gentle caring Brahms worrying about the reader at such moments uwu

This is my first time writing for Brahms, so I decided to do a drabble/hcs just to get myself accustomed to his character. I hope that's alright c:

Brahms was rarely bratty. Usually, so long as they followed the rules, and did everything as he liked, he was very well-behaved, if not a bit playful and mischievous. When he started noticing that they were straying from the schedule, even though it was only by a little bit, he decided the best course of action was to remind them just how much of a pest he could be.

It started with moving their things around, only slightly though. When he noticed that it hadn't changed their behavior, he moved on to flickering the lights on and off. That obviously bothered them, yet it only made their tardiness worse, and so begun his musical tantrums. At all hours of the day and night, he began cranking his record player's volume all the way up.

His shenanigans came to a close, however, when they burst into the music room, absolutely fuming, where not only the music was extremely loud, but the lights were flashing. Rushing to turn the music player off, they shouted at him, demanding that he stop. He had no intention to, until he noticed them swaying, and then, almost in slow motion, collapsing to the ground.

When they awoke, they found themselves in their bed, with the Brahms doll sitting in a chair by their bedside, glassy eyes staring at them. A residual headache throbbing when they went to sit up, they resigned themselves to a high-reclined position against the pillows. Only moments later, Brahms walked into the room, carrying a tray with a glass of water and some nearly burnt toast on it. Pulling up a second chair at their bedside, he placed the tray at their feet and gently moved them into a sitting position. He gave them the tray, muttering a small apology in his little voice. The toast was far from good, but with the way he was watching them expectingly, they forced it down regardless. He continued to stare at them, standing opposite of the doll, even after they finished eating. Catching on to the curiosity and worry behind his silence, they began to explain. “Brahms, Honey, it was a migraine. I’m gonna be fine.” Brahms stayed silent, still staring. After a few moments of his silence, they vaguely explained migraines to him, and how they affected them. A rare feeling of guilt crawled it way into Brahm’s chest, scraping and clawing at his insides. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, please don’t leave me.” He practically whined. The sight of such a large man, that was usually such a brat, so easily submitting and apologizing was endearing, but they knew the importance of structure and rules to him. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Brahms. And it’s okay, you didn’t know any better. But you need to understand that if you do that again, there’ll be consequences, alright?” Slowly and gently crawling into the small space next to them, he pressed his masked face into their neck. 

“Alright, just please don’t leave me.” 

“I won’t leave you, I promise.”

[forestknifefight]

Blupjeans Week Day 4

Wow, I'm early today. Prompt for today was Duet, and I wanted to be a little emotional with it. Listening to the song adds to the experience, I think.

Also I'm putting this chronologically before that one live show where they go treasure hunting on Davenport's ship.

Everyone is gathered around a record player: a tall, winding gramophone made by Magnus, bespoke for Lucretia following the day of Story and Song. The sound horn of the machine was crafted specifically to look like a floating jellyfish and then painted to look like Fisher. It was a Candlenights gift, and it made her cry so disgustingly that Taako couldn’t take it and had to leave the room while Lup laughed at the display of emotion.

This gift has been of so much use since its creation. Lucretia has taken the time to artifice, from memory, various songs from the Legato Conservatory, so they can all hear the music again.

Especially Lup and Barry’s song.

That’s what has brought them here today, though none of them know it. Lucretia has finally perfected the song, ready to show them all before passing it on to the couple.

Taako, Magnus, and Merle are settled across a long couch. Davenport has settled alone in an armchair. Angus is perched on his knees in the middle of the room. Lup and Barry, both physical and alive, are squeezed into a single armchair together.

Lucretia stands in front of the gramophone, a small black record balanced between her fingertips.

“Alright, Creesh!” Lup shouts from her seat. “Slap that bad boy on that…” She waves her hand in the air. “Thing! And let’s get this party started!”

Lucretia sends Lup a withering stare. “It’s a gramophone,” she says. “You know, you will be so thrilled that I have taken the time to create this.”

Lup mutters two quiet Yeah, yeah’s and turns to Barry with a roll of her eyes. Barry chuckles and presses his forehead against her shoulder.

“Please, get a fucking move on,” Taako says. “I’ve got a date to binge this new Queer Eye show, and I nee-eed to get to that.”

Lucretia lets her eyes slip shut and she sighs. “Fine.” she turns around and sets up the record on the gramophone, slipping it over the pin. She turns the hand crank on the machine a few times, enough that the record will play properly. Then, she drops the needle.

The second the first note passes Lup’s ear, she grabs Barry’s hand and squeezes. The sweet whine of the violin layered over the harmony of the piano is somehow simultaneously ingrained in both of their memories, yet also lost to them. They remember it so clearly, as if it were yesterday, but at the same time feel as though they are hearing it for the first time today.

The crescendo in the middle of the song comes, and Lup’s eyes well with tears. During the small lull immediately following it, the tear slips down her cheek and is immediately wiped away by Barry’s thumb.

The song ends. Lup and Barry look up at Lucretia, who is smiling at them.

Lup takes a deep, shaky breath. “You did this to get back at me for laughing at you when you got this fucking thing, didn’t you?”

[cringywhitedragon]

Another random TC headcannon: Little Guy and Rock music

Had this series on the brain again and why not share another HC.

We all know Navel went crazy over the blown up guitar, hinting he’s likely a bit of a music guru.

Namely I head-cannon he’s particularly more of a rock fan when it comes to music (Like something more on the lines of your more downtempo songs and bands since Rock is a rather broad genre)

Like I could see this guy just kinda chilling at home or in his office when things aren’t busy with the radio on while he’s working. Or even when he’s driving, Navel will crank up a classic rock station.

He also has a collection of some of his favorite artists and albums at home he’ll listen to on a CD or Record Player.

Naomi knows this. Particularly from a call where she overheard some music in the background that Navel was quick to apologize for.

And since I ship these two: Let’s just say that once these two dorks started dating, Navel one day found a CD copy of a specific album he had been struggling to get his hands as well as a little note

[astyrial]

everybody loves somebody sometime minho x thomas (fluff) synopsis: the boys find a surprise on a supply run word count: 1.7k warnings: anxious!minho masterlist | requests are open

    "this building looks shucked, there's no way there's anything in there- thomas, where are you going?" minho's shoulders drop as he runs into the building, wondering what could compel thomas to run off on his own like that. especially with so many cranks on the loose. 

  when he enters the large house-like structure, there's an array of homely goods left behind. furniture, video games from a world far left behind. minho takes a step back with his eyes wide at the array of objects filling the room. he even reaches for a jar, filled with something like a jam. 

  "tom, where'd you go? you have to see some of this stuff," minho looks at the label on the jar, turning it around in his hands in amusement. 

  when he finally looks up, thomas is still nowhere to be seen. nowhere to be heard. minho's eyebrows furrow, his hands knocking over the jam jar while trying to set it back down. he then grabs a bat from his bag, his hands gripping the handle in case a far off crank decides to pop by.

  he enters the next room over, his eyes even more amazed. it's a kitchen, a full blown kitchen. "frypan would get a kick out of this.." minho whispers as he lowers the bat, everything pulling his attention away from the matter at hand.

  minho grabs a towel from the oven, the wording in some form of cursive, completely unreadable to him. he then opens a cabinet, seeing a box of cereal, some boxes for tea. due to wicked, he knew what each of them were, but had never had the chance to actually experience any of it.

  and despite his deepest wants to try everything there (no matter the expiration date), the large clatter sounds out from the floor above. a ringing noise rattles through minho's ears, both of his hands immediately clutching the bat again for dear life. 

  the runner makes his way up the stairs, his eyes seeing thomas standing down the hall and in the last room. he has some circular thing within his hand, a small design in the center. minho sighs before shoving his bat back into his backpack. "you nearly scared the klunk out of me, i tried shouting for you. what'd you find?"

  thomas looks back at minho, his hands still holding the circular device, "i saw one of these on that thing there and figured it would work as well. from what i can remember it's called a record player? something they used a lot in the late twentieth century."

  "we should probably gather what we need and go," minho sets his bag down onto the bed, looking around the bedroom as well. 

  just like the other rooms, it has an array of beautiful furniture. pieces from a time that neither of them could remember even if they wanted to. from the wood paneling to the matching wardrobes, it's captivating to the eye. thomas rolls his eyes at his fellow runner, his smile still persisting though.

  he then takes off the other disc, setting a new one down onto the player. much to thomas' luck, it begins to play a sound after he presses a 'play' button. it begins out slow, the player warbling a little as it adjusts to the years of no use. then a low masculine voice begins, everybody loves somebody sometime.

  everybody falls in love somehow, the music continues, minho rolling his eyes at the song. he turns to leave the room, his finger covering his ears, "i'm definitely not listening to this klunk."

  thomas leans forward, his hand grabbing minho's away from his ear, something in your kiss just told me, my sometime is now. minho turns around, his eyes rolling again as he stumbles back. his feet are sloppy, his lips pursed in annoyance, "come on, give it a chance, min."

  he readjusts his hand a little so it's clasped with thomas', his other hand resting on his hip, everybody finds somebody someplace. thomas' free hand rests on minho's shoulder, his fingers running along the seam of his shirt. "see this isn't too bad, is it, min?" there's no telling where love may appear, something in my heart keeps saying my someplace is here.

  "slim it, tom... the music is shucked, but it is nice to get away from everything," minho holds back a smile, his eyebrow raised at his running partner, if i had it in my power, i'd arrange for every girl to have your charms. 

  "so what i'm hearing is that you absolutely love this? because that's what i'm hearing," thomas smiles widely, a somewhat sarcastic and cocky smile. but minho looks at it over and over again, soaking it in because it's hard to garner a smile when cranks are hunting you. then every minute, every hour, every boy would find what i found in your arms.

  minho shakes his head, the two of them swaying with the music. despite the only dancing they ever committed to was around the bonfire, they moved perfectly in sync. everybody loves somebody sometime. it wasn't the first time, though, that the two finally faced the music and realized the feelings circling the air. 

  and although my dream was overdue, your love made it well worth waiting for someone like you. and despite the two never having danced like this, thomas initiates a spin. minho accepts it, moving through the air gracefully (or as gracefully as a runner could). "where'd you learn that move from?" 

  "instinct, i guess. i mean we don't know much about our time before the glade," thomas' hand returns to minho's shoulder, inching closer to the runner's neck. if i had it in my power, i would arrange for every girl to have your charms.

  each of them thought constantly back to the time they entered the glade. thomas, and a couple of the others, are really the only ones who could remember things from before. he always knew he was close with a couple of the gladers. he just never knew how close. but it always felt different with minho. 

  like the two of them weren't closer than anyone else, but it was another sense of closeness. then every minute, every hour, every boy would find what i found in your arms. when thomas' thoughts finally clear, he truly notices minho's eyes on his. the way they shine with the sunlight's glow. 

  everybody loves somebody sometime. "right, you do know more than me, what were we like before the glade? what were we before the glade?" and although my dream was overdue, your love made it well worth waiting for someone like you. 

  "i think we were us... just us," thomas' eyebrows lower, his forehead crinkling as the song comes to a close, everybody loves somebody sometime.

  minho lets go of thomas' hand, feeling as though he got too caught up in the things. that a crank could walk through the door at any time and ruin everything. that if he got too distracted, every moment the two ever had could dissipate in a second. 

  "we should get going," minho relents, reaching for his backpack, his bat now close by to him. before he can reach it, thomas grabs his other hand, attempting to calm him down.

  with a small twist of his body, minho looks back at thomas, his lips pursed. his heartbeat quickens, his palms becoming clammy as he tries to look away from his closest companion. thomas raises his eyebrows, yearning for minho to tell him something, because the two of them clearly know something is happening. electricity is writhing through the air.

  minho shakes his head, "a crank could walk in here at any second, you know that. we have no time, no nothing to even talk about it-"

  "so you know something is going on, and i think it's time we talked about it. because we're us. we'll always be us, and neither of us can move on until we finally understand what we're feeling. so either walk out that door now, or stay here with me, talk about it," thomas stands his ground, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  the keeper of the runner's mind races, he knows he has to walk away. but his heart wants to stay because he's never danced like that with anyone. and he doesn't want to with just anyone. minho moves his hand back to his side, leaving the backpack right where it's placed. 

  minho takes a deep breath, "i really.. like you thomas, i do. but how do we even have time for anything when this is what we're doing constantly?"

  "we make time, we run together, dance together, grow together. we're strong min, but we're even stronger together. i don't know how to explain any of this, i mean, this connection? it isn't exactly in how to be a glader, or how to survive against cranks. but i think we can learn," thomas raises his free hand, letting it rest against minho's cheek. 

  with a bite of his lip, minho leans into thomas' hand, a smile crossing his face. "yeah, we'll figure it out... but next time, don't run off from me when we're entering a potentially overrun building. we're partners now, and that means we stick together," minho grabs thomas' hand from his cheek, squeezing it a little.

  "only if you can keep up with me," thomas shrugs, freeing his hand and grabbing minho's backpack for him. without much of a word, he helps sling it around minho's shoulders. 

  minho scowls at the runner, his arms crossing in front of his chest. he knows it's in thomas' nature to be a runner, be wild. and he's finally realizing that maybe he'll have to adapt to that. "fine, but we both know i'm the faster runner," minho comments, grabbing onto thomas' hand after he gets own bag on.

  thomas' fingers intertwine with minho's, his eyes rolling in response, "sure... only one of us has the raw running talent that has truly been honed with time."

  "yeah, me," minho bumps thomas' shoulder, a laugh emitting soon thereafter, "let's grab some of the supplies and then head out. we don't want any cranks visiting us anytime soon."

[elmaestrostan]

In the refurbished gym at Aston Villa’s training ground, players are regularly put through their paces, spend time building up their strength and flexibility and develop the team bond that is such a key part of their incredible current form.

Another regular sight in the gym has been head coach Unai Emery putting in the miles on the treadmill. But unlike most people, who listen to music or a podcast while working out, the man behind one of the biggest turnarounds in recent Premier League history uses the time to watch recordings of their upcoming opponents’ games.

He’s looking for patterns, for holes, for weaknesses for Villa to exploit.

Paywall jump under the ✂️🫡

Emery then relays his findings and key messages to the players in lengthy video analysis sessions, which have been known to run up to an hour and fifteen minutes.

Focusing on and improving the small details has been the underlying theme of the 13 months since Emery’s appointment, with Villa now a club transformed. Beating champions Manchester City and their title rivals Arsenal back-to-back in the space of four days this week is a period that rubber-stamps their progress.

This is how Villa turned their form and fortunes around, including how:

Emery warned players to never make the same mistakes after previous Arsenal defeat

He compiled a dossier on each player before joining, calling on his backroom staff to put together clips

Players noted a transformation between training under previous boss Steven Gerrard and Emery

The squad were pushed through pain barriers in pre-season

A ‘best-in-class’ mentality has emerged throughout the club

Co-owner Nassef Sawiris was recently pitchside and clapped every player off the pitch

Emery takes training ground staff out for meals

Villa’s overall infrastructure has been improved.

Seconds away from becoming the only manager in Villa’s 149-year history to win 15 successive home league games, Emery raised both hands in the air and outwards, cranking the crowd’s volume even higher.

It was apt that Villa crossed into unprecedented territory against Arsenal. Ten months ago, the Gunners were the previous Premier League visitors to leave the stadium with three points.

Since then, West Midlands walls have been fortified. The successive 1-0 victories inside four days over the sides to finish first (City) and second (Arsenal) in the 2022-23 Premier League and are likely to contest the title again this season — described as “the most difficult week” by Emery — were taxing, but ultimately ended in glory.

Fortress Villa Park has proven the symbol of the club’s remarkable resurgence, establishing them as one of the Premier League’s best and most effectively-run football clubs.

The improvement from the final days of predecessor Gerrard — where only goal difference kept them out of the top flight’s relegation places — is as drastic as it is exceptional, with Villa now firmly in the hunt for a Champions League spot next season and perhaps even more, with Pep Guardiola endorsing their title credentials only last week.

Emery regarded February’s 4-2 home defeat against Arsenal as a turning point. Irrespective of what he said publicly, that showdown with his old club was one he was desperate to win. So he was consequently infuriated with his side’s manner of collapse after the scores were level until the final minutes. Post-match and across several meetings, he told his players, in no uncertain terms, that such errors could not be repeated.

Emery remarked that they had kicked the ball long on too many occasions, with his defensive players continuing to clear to safety, as opposed to retaining possession and stamping their authority on the game. He preached that seizing control would lead to the concession of fewer goals. Even after the wins against City and Arsenal this week, Emery recalled that painful loss to the latter, unprompted, in his press conferences.

“The players are more united with each other, this is their primary strength,” says one source close to the dressing room who, like others in this piece, spoke on the condition of anonymity to protect relationships.

That match almost 10 months ago was the last time Villa lost at home, and marked the start of a shift in mentality. Their performance against City on Wednesday was one for the ages and underlined just how far many of those same players who faced Arsenal in February have come in terms of composure, organisation and general quality.

Final preparations for City’s visit had been different to the usual routines.

Emery wanted his players to train on the morning of the game, keen to drill extra detail. The session he conducted was low-intensity, chiefly working on various patterns of play and team shape, ensuring the starting XI knew how to exploit the areas Emery’s analysis had told him City were vulnerable in.

A fluid, spinning midfield four overloaded City in central areas and provided additional passing lanes when playing out from the back. This proved essential in victory and highlighted the forensic lengths Emery and his coaching staff go to.

Before his official switch from La Liga side Villarreal late last October, Emery compiled detailed dossiers of each player from his home in Spain. He called on the backroom staff who would be joining him in England to put together footage of previous games and clips of individual players. He swiftly recognised the blindspots in the team he was inheriting from Gerrard, with defence a particular issue — Tyrone Mings, Ezri Konsa and Matty Cash were all concerns.

Elsewhere, Emery knew his methodology would enable specific plans for his attackers, but felt more firepower was needed. Contrary to reports regarding Moussa Diaby being his top target, Athletic Bilbao winger Nico Williams was the player Emery initially wanted.

“With Gerrard, training was just training,” says a source close to a Villa player. “But Emery is so detailed, as he was at Arsenal. He coached them (the players) and continues to coach them in every facet of football every single day, and regularly reinforces good habits on the training ground — until the point where it starts working on the pitch. The players then believe in his methods and start doing exactly what he’s asking them to do every game — confidence and belief then kick in — and this is the result.”

This included the development of first-choice centre-backs Mings and Konsa. Emery wanted both to become better on the ball and protect their zones defensively. Through detailed coaching in what Emery expected from the pair in their parts of the pitch, greater clarity and confidence have been provided.

Players noted an immediate contrast in training between Gerrard and Emery, with the content of sessions transformed overnight. It tied in with the notion that there was a completely different level of leadership between the two coaches — Emery knew exactly what he wanted, while Gerrard, in comparison, was seen to be looking for a “moment of magic” from an individual player.

Gerrard sat, a broken man, alongside assistant Gary McAllister towards the end of a 3-0 defeat away to Fulham in October last year, with neither man, realising they had reached the end at Villa, offering little direction to the players. The lack of communication became so bad that striker Ollie Watkins — usually a reserved, quiet character — took it upon himself to organise a huddle on the Craven Cottage pitch in a bid to restore some semblance of order.

By contrast, Emery is a constant presence up on the touchline, instructing his team through every passage of play. Figures close to Villa say it is a small window into his all-consuming personality, where those in his inner circle describe him as “obsessive” in wanting to extract each possible marginal gain.

In his early days at Villa, Emery would work on at Bodymoor Heath, Villa’s training ground, until as late as 10pm. His close friend, and now the club’s director of football, Damian Vidagany accompanied him and joked how their nocturnal habits would drive security staff, desperately hoping for sleep, to despair. While those hours have now slightly reduced (Emery tends to work 7am-7pm these days, but is prone to staying later to study for the next game) his intensity has not.

Emery’s exhaustive methods meant getting results quickly was important in terms of getting senior players onside. Players subsequently saw purpose in his prolonged preparations and have continued to adhere to his plans. “He’s naturally confident but he loves Emery,” said a source close to one key player. “The coach always asks him never to be afraid to play.”

The first pre-season under Emery this summer was energy-sapping. Lots of travel (including a three-game U.S. tour) with lots of warm-up matches afforded little opportunity for downtime and pushed players, in terms of physical exertion, far more than they experienced in their one pre-season under Gerrard. There were aches and pains before the final friendly away to another of Emery’s former Spanish clubs Valencia but, among players and staff, there remained total buy-in.

Pushing through physical barriers was illustrated once more in Emery opting to go with an unchanged side on Saturday, less than 72 hours after the final whistle against City. “I was thinking about changing the starting XI,” he said, “but yesterday every player said they were perfect to play.”

Emery wanted to build a best-in-class mentality throughout the club. Senior figures involved in non-related footballing matters at Villa say other aspects are having to play catch-up in matching the progress shown under Emery’s leadership. This was also reflected in Villa’s recruitment, where Emery and Vidagany made concerted efforts not to be content with signing “second-rate” players for the sake of it.

In January, Emery’s first window with the club, Villa wanted to give him one new player and sanctioned the Spaniard’s priority target — experienced Real Betis full-back Alex Moreno. With Emery having no prior knowledge of Jhon Duran and despite Villa being far down the line towards his signing from MLS side Chicago Fire — a deal pushed by their then sporting director Johan Lange — the transfer was only finalised once he’d watched footage of the teenage forward and agreed there was potential that could be refined under his coaching.

Emery’s sacking from Arsenal in November 2019 hurt him deeply, given it was a development he did not see coming. He felt blindsided by the collapse of faith in his project after only 18 months.

Therefore, in his second crack at the Premier League, Emery intended to build a structure around him that was robust enough to withstand dips in form and, more significantly, to forge the club he joined in his image. Both he and Vidagany share the viewpoint that a settled environment is more important than having money to spend.

Co-owners Sawiris and Wes Edens were enthused by Project Emery and wanted to deliver a supportive network. And having watched him guide Villa from the relegation candidates he inherited to Europa Conference League qualifiers in less than a full season, they gave Emery greater autonomy in bringing aboard more Spanish-speaking staff, including president of football operations Monchi.

On Saturday, Emery thanked Edens and Sawiris for their contributions to Villa’s historic run of home form.

The new coach’s influence became increasingly tangible in recruitment and contracts, where he pushed a new deal for Mings, having been won over by the England international after his early reservations. This was the first sign of chief executive Christian Purslow becoming sidelined, and he left the club in the summer.

Similarly, Lange moved away from the day-to-day running of the club to assist the owners in their plans to build a multi-club stable before leaving Villa to join fellow Premier League side Tottenham Hotspur in October. Although he helped to develop Villa following his appointment in the summer of 2020, current staff are so confident in Emery’s project and their standing that Lange’s exit has not been a cause for concern.

Before Emery, neither of Edens and Sawiris attended many Villa fixtures. This changed, however, because of their extremely strong affection for him and because they see a team who are winning. After a recent match, Sawiris was pitchside and clapped every player off the pitch and during the November international break, Emery, Vidagany and Monchi attended a Milwaukee Bucks game, the NBA basketball team co-owned by Edens.

In their desire to give Emery what he wants, Edens and Sawiris’ holding company, V Sports, announced a partnership with lower-league Spanish club Real Union last month. In June, Emery and his brother, Igor, acquired a controlling stake in the club from their native Basque region, who their grandfather and father both played for. Strengthening ties improves Real Union’s footballing set-up, with Villa now in a position to share ideas, including coaching and data — something that naturally appealed to Emery.

Even though there are concerns externally as to whether Villa’s owners are giving too much power to Emery and his Spanish appointments, their unwavering view is that he will succeed and will not be leaving.

“You don’t know how lucky Aston Villa are to have these owners,” said Vidagany. “Coming from a traditional club in Spain to Aston Villa, which is self-proud and has a very big history, the owners understand. This is not easy because the interest of investors sometimes is bigger than the understanding of the club.

“What we found here are owners who are committed financially and embrace Villa’s heritage. We knew from the first moment we were not going to be Manchester City or Manchester United, but we knew that if we are professional and explain the plan, the owners will be committed to the plan.”

One of the first phone calls Emery made before joining Villa was to Vidagany, who initially came with him as his personal assistant. Vidagany is tasked with handling the aspects of management away from the training pitch, connecting multiple departments at the club and ensuring alignment throughout. After the subsequent arrival of former Sevilla colleague Monchi, he and Vidagany take care of transfer negotiations and act as sounding boards for any queries.

Vidagany is a transparent and frank communicator in his dealings with players and agents, informing them via email and in meetings if they should seek another club. This summer, he told certain players they could leave provided they came to Villa with a buyer, outlining the sort of fees the club were looking for in each case.

Emery, Vidagany and Monchi have formed a ‘triangle of power’, and are charged with making the key football-related decisions. They have a close relationship, eating breakfast together and working from a shared office that is split into three rooms. The trio travel to games together on the team coach and although Emery will not make such statements publicly, there is a belief between the club’s three main decision-makers that Villa can be contenders, even if there is a disparity in resources between them and the domestic elite.

Emery has hired several Spanish-speaking staff whom he trusts implicitly, including assistant Pako Ayestaran, who had worked in the Premier League before, under Rafa Benitez at Liverpool from 2004-07 — when they won the Champions League. Ayestaran’s appointment is being regarded as one of Emery’s shrewdest decisions, with his experience adding an alternative voice to other trusted assistants.

Another relied-upon staff member is goalkeeping coach Javi Garcia. While first-choice ’keeper Emiliano Martinez had a close relationship with the role’s previous occupant Neil Cutler, it is understood he is working with Garcia even more. Martinez invited Garcia to the recent Ballon D’or ceremony where he was named the world’s best goalkeeper. Garcia is open to using different technologies and data to vary training and achieve marginal gains in Martinez’s shot-stopping and distribution.

Emery likes to take staff who work at the Bodymoor Heath training ground out for lunch and dinner, which has helped to foster a spirit of unity at the team’s day-to-day home on the northern outskirts of Birmingham.

The support network away from the training pitch has also been crucial in the club providing a stable base for Emery.

Phil Roscoe, who leads the player care department, is well-liked among the squad and their families and is available to help at any hour. Sofia Allen, Villa’s player care officer, speaks multiple languages and has helped new signings from overseas settle in. Diego Carlos, for instance, knew little English when he joined from Sevilla under Gerrard in the 2022 pre-season. The Brazilian centre-back then sustained a significant injury (a ruptured Achilles tendon) in just his second appearance for the club in the August, while having to help his family settle after the move from Spain and find schools for his children. But Villa were on hand to help and subsequently eased the transition.

There is a sense among senior contacts that Villa, in regards to infrastructure, have seriously got their act together in the past year, coinciding with Emery’s arrival. The club now boast a refurbished, state-of-the-art training facility, have an operational inner-city academy complex — though it’s not yet open to the public — and are pressing ahead with plans to increase Villa Park’s 42,000 capacity to 50,000.

Such growth might have not been quite as swift if Villa had been unable to offer the level of stability given to Emery, with observers close to the situation pointing to the current dysfunction elsewhere in the Premier League at Chelsea and Manchester United.

The players were given two days off in the afterglow of their record 15th straight home league win.

That historic feat is another sign of new ground being broken and of the progress being made under Emery and throughout the club.

[thebowerypresents]

Wilco Kick Off the Weekend and a Three-Night Run at the Beacon Theatre on Friday

Wilco – Beacon Theatre – June 21, 2024

Like many a Wilco fan, I look back to 2004’s A Ghost Is Born with certain fondness, not least because it was an inflection-point epoch. Before touring the Ghost material — which is to say, before Wilco rounded out the band lineup we would come to know over the two decades since with guitar sorcerer Nels Cline and multi-instrumentalist wonder Pat Sansone — Wilco had only just begun to push at the artier, more experimental edges of their invigorating, countrified indie-rock, hinting at what might come next. 

After that, Jeff Tweedy and Co. were totally indulging those edges: Ghost inaugurated an era of Wilco songs and shows that could be tightly compact or sprawling and annihilating and psychedelic, and today usually are all of those things, where even the quietest and most delicate tunes have simmering noise-rock rage just beneath them and are better for it. Wilco can be so sweetly on. They can go so wildly off. It’s all good. And as the size of their playable oeuvre has doubled since — including a prolific run of new material since the pandemic — they’ve refined what they do even further. They wear their “great modern rock” bona fides well. 

Wilco shows have a way of feeling casually epic. At the Beacon on Friday — the first of three for the band, back in the broiling city — they started out confident and workmanlike and then, gradually, both relaxed the vibe and upped the intensity. Tweedy was his usual affable, lightly sardonic self, steering them through a well-blended run of classics from all eras (“Handshake Drugs,” “Passenger Side,” “I’m the Man Who Loves You”), more recent tunes and obscurities. 

There was some deference to Ghost material — among the standouts, the sensational, Beatles-like “Hummingbird” just never gets old, and the crowd felt it deeply — but there was at least as much from 2022’s Cruel Country and 2023’s Cousin, the pandemic Wilco albums whose songs yield some of their most interesting experiments yet. “Falling Apart (Right Now),” from the former, is an actual, chicken-pickin’ country song, but one that isn’t so much a throwback to Wilco’s early, pre-millennium alt-country days as it is what the band might sound like if they took this version of the band back to that aesthetic. And yet, “Bird Without a Tail/Base of My Skull,” from that same album, has very little country at all: a woozy, jangling build that on record ebbs into rustic psychedelia but here, live, opened up, became a sonic voyage, the band all in protracted instrumental jamming at once.

When they go for it, they really go for it. Long masters of setlist construction, Wilco built on a strong first hour and then cranked up things, using the last third of the show on a run through some of their richest material: “Heavy Metal Drummer,” “The Late Greats,” the deceptively delicate, right-in-the-feels “Jesus Etc.,” the much-beloved hymn “California Stars,” the shoegaze-hypnotic choogle of “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” at the close of a four-song encore. And every time you think you’ve previously heard the best of Cline laying waste to “Impossible Germany” — a pensive tune that in fact houses a seven-plus-minute, no-holds-barred guitar excursion — it ends up feeling like the first time, with Friday’s showstopper a wiry adventure of maybe-this-feels-like-Eddie Hazel-meets-David-Gilmour-but-no-it’s-actually-just-Nels-doing-Nels-and-holy-shit.

Wilco’s individual players get plenty of love: Tweedy, Cline, Sansone, the might-be-MVP Glenn Kotche on drums, the stalwart John Stirratt on bass, the never-not-on-point Mikael Jorgensen on keys. Less talked about, and ever more apparent as they age, is how well over 20 years they’ve jelled as an ensemble and move as one organism over songs for whom this many players and this much musicality might be too much in an arena, let alone a theater. That they’ve also kept all this from becoming mechanical — that every Wilco show still feels fresh and unforced — suggests there are many more Wilco epochs yet to come. —Chad Berndtson | @Cberndtson

(Wilco play the Beacon Theatre again tonight.)

Photos courtesy of Savannah Lauren | @savannahlaurenphoto

[kloofspeaks]

The Flower Shop of Lemoore | A Bob Floyd Fictional Work

Words: 1676

Sneakpeek:

“It doesn’t always have to be your heart,” Bob mentioned, looking up to her with a small blush that looked to be dabbed on from a makeup brush.

“Oh, Floyd,” The breath in her throat fell to the cold floor below, “Is finding someone’s flower.. your desire?” 

Bob took a deep sigh, his hand reaching up and fiddling with the collar of his pink shirt underneath the apron he was wearing, “One of many,” He answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke.

Flower four out of twenty

Today's Flower: Queen of the Night - Fulfilling desires of the Heart, Motivation

Chapter List can be found : here

Dedicated to: @notyoursbutlewis

The records were spinning, Bob was standing in front of the player as he flipped it to the unloved B-side, he perked up when he noticed the familiar ding of the door. 

“Y/N!” He had a small bright smile on his face, he turned around and was met with Y/N holding a record.

“Someone seemed to be waiting for me,” She hummed, holding the worn case of the record, “I had this when I had my record player, figured I would give it to you to play throughout the shop, I also came by for my flower,” she placed the record on the table. 

“You’re a fan of Mac DeMarco?” Bob muttered, “I don’t think I’ve heard his music in quite awhile,” it had been a couple years since he remembered fondly of his friends playing Mac’s music in the car, they would sing it loudly to where his ears would pulse when he exited their cars. 

He wasn’t a huge fan, but he knew Y/N came into the shop a lot, especially since she was looking for her flower, “Well, we could play it,” She suggested.

Bob took a moment, he liked having Y/N around and this album seemed to be really important to her, “I don’t see why not,” He slipped the record out of the casing, switching it out for the one that was playing, he simply lined up the needle and gave it a small crank.

“There we go,” He looked back at her to see a warm smile when the song Let her go came over the aged player, she just loved the static sound that came with each line.

Y/N was smiling like she had been hit with childhood memories, “Thank you, Floyd,” she hummed along with the simple and relaxing tune, “What flower did you have for me today?”

She leaned against the front of the counter, admiring Bob’s uniform, there was a metallic button he had added to his apron, it was of a gladiolus, she thought of Bob trying to change his outfit because of each flower they found together, she figured she was crazy for thinking that.

Why would he do that for her? Change his whole uniform for every flower they came about, every flower he held in his warm and red colored hands, the touch that made her heart pulse and the eyes that stared at her with a warm delight. 

Bob looked at her like she was a flower, the look never changed when he had a flower in his hand, he was truly taking in every detail of her, every warm colored piece of clothing she wore, every curled hair that fell in front of her face.

She was something that was special to his heart, even when he couldn’t spill his mind, she was one of the few people that stuck around, that showed him things about himself he didn’t even know existed.

He swiftly pulled out a pink flower that sparkles underneath the jar lights, “It’s called Queen of the Night,” He held it out towards her so she could get a better look.

“Woah,” She muttered, out of all the flowers they had gone over together this one could simply take her breath away, “It’s so beautiful, Floyd,” She smiled, taking her eyes off the flower to look at his pristine face.

“Yeah, we used to have these sit in the house all the time when I was younger, my mother loved them, she used to admire flowers for their beauty more than their meaning,” He shared. 

“What is its meaning?” Y/N asked, her gaze falling back down to the pink flower, “For such a beautiful flower it’s got to have a big meaning,” 

“It means two things, but we’ll stick with one for today.. The reason I presented this flower was because one of the meanings is fulfilling desires of the heart.” 

“What did I do? I just walked in..” She questioned Bob, her desires were something that were special to her.

“It doesn’t always have to be your heart,” Bob mentioned, looking up to her with a small blush that looked to be dabbed on from a makeup brush.

“Oh, Floyd,” The breath in her throat fell to the cold floor below, “Is finding someone’s flower.. your desire?” 

Bob took a deep sigh, his hand reaching up and fiddling with the collar of his pink shirt underneath the apron he was wearing, “One of many,” He answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke.

“I thought you helped someone befor-“ Bob swiftly cut her off, “I mentioned they often got upset of the outcome, sometimes I present a flower that has a negative meaning, but.. yours have all been positive.” 

“They have so far, but not all flowers are perfect, they’re like people in a way, they’re always growing, always changing,” She reached forward taking the flower, “I wouldn’t mind having a flower that means I’m fulfilling your desires, Floyd,” She held it towards the light to get a small detailed look at the flower.

“Well, technically you’re fulfilling your own desires.. you’re finding your flower,” He mentioned, watching her closely.

Y/N looked at how focused he was, she reached forward, her hand shaking nervous, she pushed up his glasses as they were falling from the bridge of his nose, “I guess so,” She whispered, her cheeks growing a warm shade of red.

Bob seemed to back up a step from her suddenness of pushing up his falling glasses, “Y/N..” he breathed out, his eyes looking at her flustered face.

“I know, I’m overstepping,” She looked away from his harsh eyes, his brown and honey gold eyes that she loved to stare into, they just drew anyone in.

“No, you’re not, I just didn’t expect you..”

“To do such a thing?”

“Sort of..” 

“Well, I did,” She still held the flower, looking at it instead of Bob’s reddened face, she could hear the calming lyrics of the song that played on the player.

/ love is like a flower / but when the flower dies / you’ve got to say goodbye / let her go / 

“And I don’t have a problem with it,” Bob said with a bold confidence she had never seen in him, “You can push up my glasses anytime..” 

“As long as it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me,” Y/N answered with scraped up confidence she found in the back of her mind, her lips were wiggled, her eyes were looking everywhere but Bob, she was getting embarrassed, awkward, she soon enough wasn’t going to be able to carry on the conversation.

“It’s always okay with me,” Bob answered quickly, his eyes still staying on her face, her flustered and pink colored face. 

“I should probably head home, Floyd,” she answered shyly, her fingers fiddling with the weak stem of the flower that sat in her hands. 

“Really? Your bus doesn’t.. come for another fifteen minutes,” He flicked up his wrist to check his watch, “Yeah, fifteen minutes..” 

“Have you been keeping count?” She hummed with amusement, her embarrassment fading, “I have to head out early, Bubbs.”

She patted his shoulder in a taunting way, “Is that a new nickname?” Bob questioned, tilting his head, 

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll see you, Floyd,” She gave him a small wave, turning to head out to the door, glancing to the small snowflakes outside of the window, she stopped dead in her tracks, her boots making a loud noise on the clean floors making Bob freeze and look back at her right when she looked at him,

“Have I given you my number, floyd?” She asked him, she didn’t check her phone much, she was so used to being filled with work she never checked the thing.

“I don’t think you have,” Bob mumbled, his tone low and suddenly shy. 

“Well, here,” She made her way back to the counter, grabbing a sharpie from the back of the register and grabbed the case of the record she gave to him, she wrote down her number and gave it back to him, “There you go! Text me anytime, Floyd, I’ll see you tomorrow..” 

She smiled, finally heading out of the scented shop, Bob was left looking at the case that had her number on it, it felt like they were growing closer, that they were bonding over something that Bob loved.

The moment she stepped out of the door, the song ended, he glanced back at the spinning record, one that had been covered with dust and smelled like age when he pulled it out of the old case. 

He could tell it was dear to her, he just didn’t know why, she never spoke much about her life other than her poor relationships she had held in the past, the ones she had set herself apart from.

He watched her, he watched her look at the flowers he gave her with absolute love, it was just like the way he looked at her. 

He had fallen head over heels for her, but he couldn’t be open, he couldn’t share his feelings, he figured he would wait- 

wait for the right moment. 

The moment when he could tell her the truth and share his love of her and everything she did. 

But for right now, he had to let her go, had to let her walk away from him every evening after she stepped in after her boring shift at her office job. 

Her job she claimed was time consuming and boring, she didn’t do much from the looks of things.. She seemed to look forward to the days they spent together. 

He wished she could give him a flower that showed him she felt the same- or just spoke the old words that were understanding to his damaged ears, she could heal them with a single touch. 

She could heal his heart with a simple touch, but the words of love couldn’t leave his mouth.

Not yet, 

He could wait. 

Couldn’t he? 

[primeguarded]

@sweet-little-bumblebee

"Bee, c'mere, I wanna show you something!"

Kelsey peaked from the ginormous door that led to her room in the base. A home away from home for her was needed, since honestly...she barely went home anymore. She even had brought her record player from home, careful not to crank it too loudly to interrupt Ratchet at the control center all the time.

Leading her autobot brother figure into her cozy room, she picked out a record and beaming up at him excitedly, "Hey, so I brought a couple new records I just bought at the record store downtown, and I think you'd really like em! Its a genre you probably don't know about yet, but it's very cool! Its called electro swing, and it combines old swing music from the 1920s with electronic and remixed tracks."

With care, the girl places the record on the turntable and brought the needle over to it. Rock it For Me by Caravan Palace started to play, and almost immediately Kelsey started to nod her head to the best and tap her foot, looking across the room at Bee to gauge his reaction.