#I had a dream I wrote something with ramon so I had to make it a reality lol

[loveydoveylex]

Too much is too much, and Ramon breaks down in front of his lover. AKA Lex Really Wanted To Hug And Comfort Ramon So He Wrote Fanfiction About It. ~1,7k words. I pretty much wrote this in one go, but I had a lot of fun with it! As always, please enjoy!

“Why?”

The sudden sound of a certain blonde vigilante’s gruff and scratchy voice made Lex’s antennae perk up, briefly lighting up the otherwise dark and dull alleyway the two were currently taking up as a temporary hideout. Lex tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, his gaze fixed on his conversation partner–none other than Ramon, of course–before he softly spoke up.

“Why… what?”

“Why are you still here?”

Lex swallowed a lump in his throat, unsure of how to answer, and instead chose to let the question linger in the cold, freezing air. He glanced at the ground, observing as the rainfall from above came into contact with the concrete below, leaving its mark in the form of various small puddles scattered throughout the passageway. He let out a throaty sigh, his breath visible in the cold air. No reply was given, and Lex merely looked the other way, his cheeks dusted with a faint rosy color.

“Look at me,” Ramon sneered, his teeth gritted and his eyes so focused and sharp that they could practically pierce through Lex’s skin; however, his scowl and bitter expression were quick to vanish at the sight of Lex's gaze drifting back to look at him–the corners of his mouth turned upwards–and it didn’t take long for Ramon’s tough facade to get washed away in the rain. That damn smile.

“...Sorry,” Ramon mumbled, kicking a few pebbles to the side. A couple of them stuck to his shoes, which were soaked and muddy from the weather. He slid down the brick wall he had been standing up against, letting himself fall to the ground.

“I just don’t understand.”

Lex frowned, his mouth slightly agape as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t get the right words out. He scratched the back of his head, internally cursing himself out for not knowing what to do. Eventually, after a minute or two of uncertainty, he joined Ramon on the ground, scooting closer to him. The two sat like that for a while, the only sound around them coming from raindrops that tapped against the surrounding buildings.

A long moment of eerie silence passed by, before Lex finally opened his mouth to say something; his throat–figuratively speaking–felt dry and sore, and his voice came out strained. “...Do you, um… do you need to be alone? Do–do you want me to leave?”

This caught Ramon’s attention, whose eyes widened as he felt his heart sink. But he couldn’t show it. Not now. Nevertheless, he felt a ringing in his ears begin to drown out the rain.

“...Leave?”

“Well–it’s, uh–it’s just that you seemed… you seemed… I guess…”

Lex fumbled with his words for a few seconds, repeating himself as his throat felt like it was getting more and more dry for every second that passed. For every word he spoke, he found it becoming harder and harder to breathe.

“I–I guess, uh… you seemed… uncomfortable? You seemed uncomfortable… that I’m still here. I–I can leave, no problem. I get it. Really.”

A sharp pain hit Ramon right in the chest; he barely even registered it, but before he knew it, he was clutching Lex’s gloved hand in his own, squeezing so tightly that it almost hurt. As if he let go, even for just a second, he would never get to see him again. The strength of his grip caused his knuckles to turn white, and he let out a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

“D–Don’t leave.”

Ramon’s voice was soft-spoken–nearing the same high pitch it once used to have before he had broken down from all the lies. From all the deceit. From all the bullshit.

“I don’t want to be alone again.”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go through that loneliness again. For crying out loud, in all the years that Lex had been hiding in the shadows from the hands of Eden, Ramon had thought he was dead. Now he finally had him back, and he was absolutely petrified that at any moment, he could slip away again. That he could blink and he’d be gone without a trace. And he’d have no way of knowing what would happen to him if he did. His thoughts were racing, and he didn’t even realize he was trembling until he felt the warmth of another person pressed up against his own body, wrapping him up in a comforting embrace–and it didn’t take long for him to completely melt into the touch as he felt Lex’s face nuzzling against his own. 

With anyone else, his first instinct would have been to flinch and get ready to defend himself. But with Lex… he could never even dream of even getting anywhere near close to harming him. Not in a million years. All he could do now was let all of the tension in his body get washed away, instead overtaken by butterflies in his stomach and warmth in his heart.

A hug. When was the last time he had been hugged? He’d… he’d surely hugged someone in all those years without Lex, right? He had friends. He had… he had the Board of Directors, he had his fans… those were friends, weren’t they?

Weren’t they?

Oh, fuck it. He was a sad, lonely, self-loathing sack of shit with no friends who hadn’t felt actual honest physical touch with another person for so long that he had almost fucking forgotten what something as simple as a hug felt like.

All that lost time… he should’ve been there for Lex. He should’ve protected him. He failed him. And yet here he was, enveloping him in his arms–or lack thereof–and rubbing circles on his back.

Why?

Why was he still here?

Ramon couldn’t keep it together anymore. He felt like such a pathetic low-life. And thus, the tears began to fall. What he had hoped to hold in as a few gentle sniffles turned into full-on ugly sobbing as he clutched onto Lex for dear life. He wasn’t supposed to see him like this. No one was. But if he had to let his guard down around anyone, he’d rather it be Lex.

Maybe it was okay to be vulnerable. Just this once.

Lex stayed put, his grip on Ramon tightening as he gently rocked him back and forth in his embrace, letting him cry as much as he needed to cry. He held him so close that he could feel Ramon’s heartbeat as if it were his own, and his tail emitted a low, comforting glow as it wrapped around Ramon’s body, providing just a tinge of warmth–a shimmer of security amidst the cold, hard outside world.

They stayed like this for a few minutes–Ramon seemed like he’d been holding that in for a long time–before the sound of sobbing grew quiet, eventually dying down completely. Ramon didn’t even dare move his hand to wipe the remaining tears away. Not like it mattered, anyway–the downpour was still heavy, and it really didn’t make a difference whether he was crying or not. He just wanted to stay like this for a little longer. He needed this right now.

“...I promise,” Lex began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m never letting you go, Ramon. Never. Okay?”

Ramon didn’t respond, but his expression softened, and he let out a heavy breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in.

“If… if you’ll have me, I’m yours. Forever. I know I would love nothing more, heh.”

Ramon couldn’t help but crack a weak smile at the way Lex’s words trailed off into a chuckle. He didn’t deserve him. He really didn’t.

“...Lex.”

“Yeah?”

“If… if I had known you were alive, I would’ve–”

Ramon didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Lex cut him off with a delicate kiss, gently cupping his cheeks–which only grew hotter and hotter the longer the moment went on. Oh, he had missed this. Having someone love and care for you so unconditionally. It was an incredible feeling. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment for as long as he could, before they both had to break apart to catch their breath. Lex–who was lightly shivering from the coldness of both of their chapped lips, though he didn’t mind at all–planted a small peck on Ramon’s nose, making him emit a low, genuine chuckle for the first time in who knows how long. Lex felt his own face light up in response. He wanted nothing more than for Ramon to be happy. And he felt like the luckiest guy on Earth to be able to be the source of that happiness.

“Ramon… please–don’t dwell on the past, okay? We can’t–we can’t live life like that. We’re in the present now. And we’re together. That’s–that’s all that matters,” Lex cooed, placing his hand on top of Ramon’s–who wasted no time in intertwining their fingers together. “You know, I watched you. All that time when I was in, uh–when I was in hiding. I saw every single one of your shows.”

Ramon snickered, rolling his eyes. Deep down, though, he was genuinely appreciative and flattered–even if he didn’t show it verbally. “Yeah? I’m surprised you tuned in to that stupid shit.”

“...It was kind of stupid, yeah,” Lex couldn’t help but snort. “I just wanted to see you. And–and hey, you did look really cute in that suit.”

“That thing was at least three sizes too small,” Ramon grinned, his face heating up even more at the notion of Lex having missed him that much. His snickering had turned into full-on laughter, making Lex’s heart flutter. And for a moment, he just took in the sight of Ramon in that state; actually smiling and laughing. 

God, he was lucky. 

He shook his head before he got too carried away–though a deep blush continued to coat his cheeks, despite the freezing weather–and stood up to get back on his feet, still holding Ramon’s hand in his, who hopped up alongside him. Lex's tail remained in the same position, however, still enveloping Ramon's body. Letting him know he was loved.

“And speaking of the present–we’ve gotta get out of this rain before, uh–before we catch a cold,” Lex muttered, scanning the environment for any kind of shelter, even if there wasn’t much to make out during the dark evening hours.

“Eden’s cops are on our tail, and your biggest worry is getting a little sick?”, Ramon scoffed– though it was meant lightheartedly–and after a moment, he let out a content sigh, giving Lex’s hand a firm squeeze. Despite the circumstances… he actually felt happy.

“Never change, Lex. Never change.”

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Hai^^ I love your stories so much and I was wondering if you could make one about 80s slash x reader? And how the reader’s parents and slash’s mom were friends and forced them to meet each other?

When the reader sees slash - she kinda into him and the more she stares at him the more attractive gets and slash is a bit older than her and finds her funny and weird as he notices that she’s been staring at him the whole time during dinner.

It isn’t until they’re left alone that they start talking to each other and slash makes playful gestures and teases towards her? With smut and fluff of course :P

I hope that’s not a lot^^ anyways whenever you get the time^^

A/n: I wrote this in class and barely finished so the end is kind of shit

Warnings: smut, arranged marriage trope(ish), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

I think I’ve used this before but no I didn’t bc I said so

Ever since you were young, around twelve, there was always this pressure to be with someone, relatives coming by and asking where your boyfriend was. It was annoying and you couldn’t get away from it.

Your parents only got worse as you got older, inviting friends over with suitors. Annoying old men shoving money and power in your face, none of it was ever for you they just wanted to show you what they had. They didn’t care about you.

This dinner was just like any other, you had to get all dressed up to meet some guy your parents knew. He’d be old, creepy and wasting away, just wanting someone to bed whenever he wanted, someone to beat, who he could show around town as he pleased.

You were in your room, getting ready as per usual. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, pristine and proper, white floral dress and golden makeup. Just once you wanted to do something bigger, something harsher.

The doorbell rang and you were called down to meet the guests. You say yourself at the table, ready to meet the next suitor to leave.

A woman walked through, she was gorgeous and had a beautiful smile, behind her came a man with bigger hair than his mother. He shared those big, dark eyes, full lips, but he didn’t smile. He wasn’t dressed up all fancy, he wore jeans and a leather jacket over a Ramones shirt that was torn up and well loved, to say the least.

You weren’t allowed to listen to the Ramones, devils music you were told. This man was the devil incarnate and you were certain he’d be the one to take you away.

Your mother sat down next to you and placed a hand on your knee, leaning into you. “Don’t you dare go looking at this one all puppy eyed, I gave you good men you will not be falling for this monstrosity.” She said through gritted teeth, but her warning was moot, you’d already made up your mind.

The dinner went as every other did, your mother would ask questions and listen closely to the answers, except she didn’t. She didn’t care what this man, Saul was his name, had to say.

You sat idly by and ate, gaze flickering over to him all too frequently, he was sure to notice but he didn’t bring it up or look back at you.

His voice didn’t match his appearance. He was soft spoken and only spoke when told to, he rarely looked up from his plate and when he did he didn’t make eye contact.

Saul Hudson to be wed, you could see it in the papers now.

“I play guitar in a band.” He said, it broke through your day dreaming haze.

“You-you play..?” Your mother sputtered out, unable to even finish her sentence.

Saul nodded, a wide grin on his face and he looked up at you, still not making eye contact. His gaze flicked from your lips down to your shoulders, you didn’t dare guess where else he was looking. “Big band, Guns N’ Roses.” He clarified. “Playing stadiums now.” His mother smiled proudly over at him.

You wiped your mouth on a napkin and stood, quietly excusing yourself from the table. The food was gone and what was left needed to be packed away now anyway, you were just leaving it for other people.

You went to your room and sat down at your desk once more, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something new filled you, you wanted his attention, all of it. You wanted to run with him, to venture with him. He’d take you all over with his band and he’d love you. He was gentle and he wouldn’t hurt you, he wouldn’t flaunt his money, only buy you jewelry for your birthday and flowers when he loved you, just because.

You dug through your drawers and tried to find something… big, a statement piece for your face. Your attention snapped to the door as it opened and Saul walked in.

He was hesitant at first, staring at you bent over a desk drawer and digging through it like a mad man. He came over and stood just beside you, placing a hand on your lower back as he looked through the drawers for you.

Saul pulled out a deep red lipstick. He brought a finger under your chin and tilted your head for him to see you properly.

You were struck, in your core a pulse came with a heat, a desire, but you snapped out of it quick enough to wipe the gloss you already had off your lips so he’d have a bare canvas to work with.

He smiled down at you and got to work, using the tip yo outline your lips before filling them in.

You looked back at yourself in the mirror, Saul now stood behind you with his hands on your hips. He didn’t look in the mirror, he stared at you in front of him, the side of your face and how pleased you seemed with his work.

You turned back to him. “Do more.” You asked, drawing a chuckle from him and he shook his head, by god you made him laugh and you wanted to hear it again and again for as long as you lived.

“I don’t know anymore.” He said, bringing his hands to your shoulders and turning you around again. He leaned down to you, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “You do it, you can’t mess up when it’s just gonna be running down your face in a minute anyway.”

You paused a moment and looked back to him. “Why? Will you make me cry?” He nodded confidently, you looked back to the mirror. “Why would you do that? Will you leave?” You asked curiously.

“More than one way to make someone cry.” He said, rubbing your shoulders. He inhaled deeply, taking in your saddened expression, you clearly didn’t get what he was referring to. He’d just have to show you once you looked the part, well enough the part anyway, you didn’t have the clothes.

“Heavier on the eyes.” He said as you tapped on a bright red, something to connect the lipstick while still being different. You picked up your pencil liner but he took it from you and had you turn towards him. “Gimme a second.” He said with a smile, being careful to not poke you in the eye as he worked.

He was giggling when he turned you back to the mirror. You had a leopard print on your eyelids and whiskers on your cheeks. The print on your eyes was pretty, neat and well done, the whiskers were an afterthought he was enjoying much too much.

You stood up and turned to him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s perfect!” You exclaimed, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, he couldn’t say no to that.

He wasn’t a gentleman, not by a long shot, he was just sweet. The first chance he got his hands were on your ass, pulling your dress up over your head and not caring if he smudged it, not one bit.

Your arms went around his neck and he lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist while he carried you to your bed and laid you down.

He was laying over you, an arm holding him up by your head, his other hand moved down between your legs, rubbing through your folds and catching your clit, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” He asked, already starting to trail kisses up your jaw towards your ear. You hesitated before slowly shook your head, hoping it wouldn’t make him stop. Luckily he didn’t and just sucked his teeth. “Well, I don’t feel like slowing down for you.” He said sitting back up and undo his jeans, pushing them down just enough for his dick to spring free, of course he didn’t wear boxers. “Just tell me if it hurts.” He said as he pushed into you, groaning as he did.

Despite his words he did give you a minute to adjust to him, running his hands up and down yours sides until he felt you were ready and he started moving, slow at first but he couldn’t keep that pace for long.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, tugging you closer to him as his hips slammed into yours, each thrust bringing you closer to an edge you’d never seen before.

He was perfect above you, full lips, bruised just like yours, parted ever so slightly in soft, low grunts and groans. Sweat clung to his curls just around his face, the rest of his mane framing his sharp jaw. His teeth were crooked and he didn’t look right at you, focusing on feeling good, making you feel good.

You didn’t have anything to compare it to, but this was definitely the best you’d ever felt. Free, and it felt so good. You reached down and found your clit, rubbing it in circles.

Saul chuckled over you and nodded in approval. “Just keep doing that, keep doing that.” He said. You could feel him inside you, veins dragging against your gummy walls, cunt pulling him in for more, every time he pulled away you sucked him back in.

You melted into the mattress, vision going white and when you came doing from it you felt something warm spilling out inside you, Saul’s face tucked into you and he kissed over your chest, latching onto your nipple and swirling his tongue around it.

Finally he pulled away and pulled away and sat up, fixing his pants before heading out to your balcony. You saw he was smoking, he just looked so… you couldn’t even describe it.

You got your dress back on and went out to stand with him.

He smiled at you when you came out, he held the cigarette out for you but took it away before you got the chance to get it. “No way in hell am I letting you do that.” He said with a laugh.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. He glanced down at you as he took a drag from his cigarette. “It’s pretty tonight.” You said.

He nodded, looking out on the cities lights below. Your house was up on a mountain, giving you a good view all around. “I bet it’s a pretty night for you every night.”

You smirked up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you live here, you see it every night.” That’s not what you were expecting.

You looked back out to the city. “I want to see more… with you, Saul.”

He let out a heavy sigh, he wanted you with him too. You were intriguing to him, you needed a chance to rebel and he knew you would never stay with him, not after growing up like this, but he could be the one with you to see the world and that was enough. “Slash.” He said. “If you’re coming with me you call me Slash.”

“Slash.” You repeated. “Slash Hudson.” He might regret this, but he didn’t care. In that moment, he didn’t care about anything.

[atalho-s]

Light Up The Dark

Part 1 | June

pairing: bartender!tom x famous!reader

warnings: some smut +18 (in this particular chapter it’s nothing TOO explicit, but miniors be aware), swear words?, drinking, let me know if anything else!

words: 4.9 k

summary: y/n is a famous horror writer. Her books are on the lips of the people and her face is on all the magazine covers of promising young people.

She has just moved to Los Angeles, the city of celebrities and luxury, when she starts to get a writer's block as she starts writing her newest book. A way to distract herself and seek inspiration leads her to have her destiny mapped out with a simple waiter named Tom who has a delicious british accent.

What happens when her inspiration comes back only after she spends a night with him and she only manages to write after being in the company of that guy she just met? Maybe he'll become her newest addiction.

a/n: english it’s not my first language, so i’m sorry for any mistake! this is a series i started writing a while ago, i hope y’all enjoy :) the reader it’s from brazil here, but you can replace from any country you want lol And obv i’m not from LA and never been there, so if i say something out of reality it’s bc of that 😂

"June arrived at the restaurant, sat down near the bar and looked around vaguely. The strange people's faces made her think better and maybe drink a shot of tequila too.

She opened his folder with the horrifying photos of the mysterious case. She felt sick to her stomach.

People said that by then she should have been used to see this kind of thing, but that was repulsive.

She wish the nightmare she had the night before was a way to solve that puzzle, but believing in the afterlife now wouldn't help her... If...If..."

- Damn it... - Y/n slammed her fist on the table. - Writer's block sucks. - She said and took the last sip of her tea.

It s been a week since she couldn't write anything. She would write maybe two paragraphs, maybe even three if she got lucky, but she always ended up erasing it, because she always turned into something meaningless or too cliche.

Damn the time she had promised to deliver something to her editor by the end of the month. But she hadn't counted on the lack of ideas when she agreed to that.

She got up from her chair in frustration and crossed her arms, pacing, as if her creativity had gone out for a walk and she was waiting impatiently for it to come back.

Why had she agreed to write a new book in the first place? She didn't need money. Their previous four books were already making huge profits, and they were going to make a new television series based on one of them.

So why writing another one? Maybe because, she had been having too many nightmares lately. Many family and friends told her to see a psychologist, see if she didn't have some hidden trauma. But looking for a psychologist? Admitting your weaknesses and personal things to a stranger? Never. That would be horrifying.

Writing helped. Transferring his fears to pages was hers gift. When she wrote she didn't have nightmares, didn't see things, wasn't sad. It was like a drug, a calming medicine.

Maybe fame was also making her restless lately. She hated being the spotlight, being the magazine cover of promising young people. She hated to see her name highlighted. But she loved having readers, yes. She loved when someone felt good reading her books or in the good sense of the word: terrified by her stories.

At the height of her 25 years, he never thought her books would become famous at that point. She had always enjoyed writing since she was a child, but working with it was just an unattainable dream. Until, at age 19, she quit her hideous job as a hotel receptionist and decided to publish her first story.

Obviously there were many rejections, until a publisher agreed to publish their work. From then on, her books became more and more known. They called her the new horror genius, the mystery queen, and sometimes even "Stephen King's lost daughter."

She didn't think it was all that. But she accepted the descriptions gladly. No wonder her books didn't come out of the top spot on the best sellers.

Another thing that motivated her to continue with that story, was a phrase from her own idol mentioned, Stephen King: "good stories are those that stay in the head for a long time". And God only knew how that story had been with her for far too long. She always wanted to put it down on paper, so here she was trying to put into words what her head brought up as random thoughts.

But now she was having one of his first creative blocks. Obviously she had already had it with previous books, but nothing as frustrating as this one. She had been trying hard for days, which was exhausting.

She looked at the clock on the wall: 11pm. Who knows if she took another break before starting writing again? Maybe it would help to come up with more ideas.

She thought about watching a show or movie, but he wasn't in the mood. She looked at her long polka dot pajamas under her favorite warm robe and snorted. Go out? On a Thursday night? On a cold night? No way.

But what if it helped her have more writing material? Watching people on the street really helped. If June, the character in her book, was in a bar, maybe if she went to one too it would help to have something to build on.

Writers did it all the time. Describe places that already existed, situations similar to which they lived. So, it wouldn't be new. Maybe she'd even put the location in her tribute if helped she got out of her creative block.

She took a deep breath and went to take a shower. It was decided, she would go out. She put on her best jeans, a Ramones T-shirt with a leather jacket. It wasn't a fancy outfit, but she didn't intend to go somewhere fancy anyway. Her stylist would have been dying to see her now, but she didn't care one bit.

She went out pressing the bottom of the elevator. Y/n had lived on the top floor of a building for 2 months, right in downtown Los Angeles. Sometimes she didn't even know why she chose to live there, she hated the big city and what came with it: paparazzi, celebrities, crazy people who feel superior, wealth and luxury. She came from a humble family, so she always felt like an outsider.

Y/n arrived downstairs and left the condominium calling a taxi that was passing in the street just in time. She walked in and closed the door, crossing her arms, trying to ward off the cold.

- Good night miss, where are you going? - the driver asked looking at her in the rearview mirror.

- Good night... Actually I don't know, do you have any suggestions for a bar around here?- she asked looking out the window. She didn't even bother to look for suggestions for places nearby.

- Well, it depends on what you're looking for... Something luxurious or something fun? - He said and a smiled played on the corer of her mouth. Luxurious was the opposite of fun indeed.

- Something fun, of course.

- So, I suggest the new Seven Devils bar, it's less than 20 minutes from here... - he said.

- Interesting name... Could be. - She said shrugging.

- The name is kinda creepy, but the place is cozy and welcoming, I went once. - the driver said starting and entering the street that was practically empty for being a weekday.

- Cool... - Y/n said looking at the city lights through the window.

After nearly twenty minutes the taxi stopped in front of what appeared to be a small door with a security guard in front of it. The neon sign indicated the name of the place, it seemed a mysterious place for those who passed by without knowing it.

- Thanks. - Y/n said handing the driver the money.

- You're not the Y/n Y/l/n? I didn't want to say anything, but I'm a fan of you, I love your books, they help me pass the time while I wait for passengers. - the driver asked turning a little with one of the Y/n books in his hand. - Could you sign this for me?

- Sure! - Y/n spoke excitedly taking the book from his hand and leaving a message along with her signature. - Thanks for the tip of the place. Have a good night... - She said opening the door.

- No, thank you, have a good night miss. -he said and she smiled closing the door and the taxi left leaving her alone looking at the door in front of her.

She approached the security guard who wished her good night, giving her room to enter, after she showed her ID. Y/n entered a little afraid of what she would find. The door behind her closed and she looked around. It was really cozy as the taxi driver said, it had a part with several tables, which were a little empty and a bar with stools around. The place had a good atmosphere, one of those that people go there to meet and chat with friends, in the background there was a kind of pop song that she wasn't sure if she knew or not.

He slowly approached the bar and sat down on one of the stools. A woman with several tattoos appeared behind the counter and came to serve her.

- Good night! How can I serve you?- she asked with a smile.

- Good night... Hm... Maybe a martini? - Y/n said taking a look at the drinks on the shelf behind the attendant.

- Okay, I'll be back with your order, anything else?

- That's it for now, thanks. - She replied smiling and the attendant walked away.

Y/n kept looking around, watching people, maybe looking for some inspiration. Something that would turn the key in his mind. Many who were there were in groups of friends and were talking animatedly, laughing. Some young and some older, in suits and ties, perhaps coming out of work.

Until one guy in particular caught her attention. He wore the black uniform with the name of the place, with an apron tied around the waist of the same color, and was picking up some glasses from some empty tables. He had dark brown hair slicked back and eyes the same color, very expressive and large. A boy's face from the outside, but on the inside had a mysterious and confident air.

He balanced a tray full of things with an greatest skill in one hand and smiled at some people, he seemed charming because everytime he left a table he left people whispering and giggling embarrassed behind his back.

He walked over and entered the bar placing the tray behind the counter, came close to the other attendant who already had the Y/n martini ready and she could hear him talking, soon realizing he had a perfect accent.

- Sally, you can leave it to me, go take your break. Whose martini is it?- he asked taking a look around.

- Oh thank you, my feet are killing me. It's the girl over there. -she said indicating Y/n with her head and he looked at her, making Y/n realize that she was staring at him for too long, so she looked away embarrassed.

- Okay. - he said looking at where Y/n was sitting and stopped in front of her with the glass. - Good night miss, here is your order. - He spoke with a british accent. Only at that moment did Y/n realize that his accent was well loaded and God only knows how much she loved that accent.

- Oh yes, thank you very much. - She said raising her eyes to look at him and smiled then he blinked with one of his eyes and gave her one more look, before going to deliver another order to a man who was sitting a few benches away.

Y/n felt a shiver all of a sudden, that boy had made her legs a little weak and she didn't really know why. I mean, he was handsome, very handsome and he had a special charm, but it wasn't that much, was it? Maybe it was because it had been a while since she'd dated anyone. When was the last time? Two months ago? Since she had moved in she hadn't gone out with anyone, she had locked herself in her apartment and was writing like crazy. She didn't have time to go out, not even with her friends when she was working on a new book. Which brought them dissatisfaction from time to time, not just because she didn't hang around with them, but because she didn't even go out on one-night stands.

She never been the one that going out with a guy just for sex, she had to have some good first dates and maybe she would take him to see her apartment or go to his apartment. Friends of hers thought she was too old in her spirit, but what can he do? If she couldn't be bad girl once in a while. For a moment she thought, "For this english guy I would be" but shook her head away from the thoughts. She went back to analyzing him, dammit why did he have to be so fit? She could see that the T-shirt he was wearing highlighted his muscles that were only left to her imagination, she found herself biting her lip a bit and snatching her martini off the counter, taking a big sip.

The attendant approached again, drying some glasses with a towel, and took one more look in her direction where she looked away quickly making him smirk. He stopped in front of her again, bracing her arms on the counter, making her swallow hard. He didn't know why she was so nervous, he was just a guy, no biggie.

- I like the shirt. - He pointed with a smile, which made her think he had a beautiful and endearing smile. She looked down and then looked at him smiling too.

- Thank you... Ramones is everything... - she said and drank the last sip of her drink placing the empty glass in front of her right after. - Can you serve one more?

- Sure...- he said, still smiling, took the bottle and filled his glass again. - Trying to distract yourself on a thursday night?

- Yeah... you could say yes... - she said taking another sip. - Have you worked here for a long time?

- In fact, it's been almost six months since I moved to the United States and I've been working here for four months. -he said putting the towel that was in his hand on his shoulder.

- Hm... You're from London?

- I am, wow how did you find out? - he asked raising an eyebrow playfully and she smiled.

- Yeah, your accent really doesn't give out anything ... - she said and he gave a low laugh making her have more goose bumps.

- You also have a different accent, have you lived here for a long time? - he didn't know who she was, which was good. But it also wasn't like she was recognized all the time, despite her face being on magazine covers, she was still a writer, so she was only recognized by those who liked to read or who vaguely remembered her face.

- I was born in Brazil actually, but I've lived here for years, lived in another city for almost five years and now I've decided to come to Los Angeles two months ago...

- I see ... - he said organizing some drinks that were on the counter. - Do you like it here?

- More or less... It's a busy city, isn't it?

- Yeah, it's not for anyone. - He said shrugging. - I like it, I like the rush, but the glamor part really isn't me. - the attendant said and she smiled.

- You're right... I mean, I don't like the glam too much either... - She looked away at her nails.

- What do you work with? - he asked and she looked at him again.

- I'm a writer...

- Nice! What do you write? - He asked curious looking at her with attention.

- I write horror and thriller books.

- Interesting... I would never read, actually I'm not much of a reader anyway, but I wouldn't, because I'm terrified of those things. - He said crossing his arms and she laughed.

- Oh, it's not that terrifying, it's just stories. - She said leaning her elbows on the counter.

- Still, I prefer to have my good night's sleep intact. - He said and she laughed making him smile looking at her.

When she was about to say something, a customer signaled for him and he excused himself going towards the man who was furthest away.

Y/n sighed. She still didn't have any new ideas about her story, but she was entertained by that conversation. She liked not being recognized, she liked him not being interested in her books, for a moment she felt oblivious to anything, liked feeling disconnected from her world.

He returned shortly after and they started talking again. They talked about bands, movies, superficial celebrities and even politics (an important topic in Y/n's vision, who was very firm with her ideas, thankfully he had passed the test). She found out that he was the same age as her and that he moved to the US to look for something that would give him money or a perspective on life, ended up getting that job and intended to stay until he found a different area. The hours passed and they kept finding subjects to give their opinion or questions to ask each other.

- Did you go to college? - she asked after a while.

- No, I don't think I'm smart enough for that, or have the patience. What about you?

- Everyone is smart enough. I started going to business school, but I dropped out when my books started to pay off...

- Wow, your books should give you a good amount of money to be able to drop out of college and dedicate yourself to them...

- Yeah... You could say that. - She shrugged.

- You know looking at you closer like that...- he said getting a little closer and she held her breath for a moment. - I've seen you somewhere...

- Really? - She said raising her eyebrow and drinking from a straw, now with a different drink.

- I don't know, you're not strange to me... - he said putting his hand on his face thoughtfully.

- Well, I hope it's from somewhere nice. - She smiled and he smiled back looking at her. - Do you have a girlfriend or are you married? - Y/n asked and regretted a little, what was she thinking? He wasn't married, as he didn't have a ring on his finger as she'd noticed. But what was her intention by asking that question? She didn't even know, she just knew it had escaped her.

- Neither darling. - He replied smiling a little mischievously and she felt butterflies with the way he called her by that nickname and with that accent. - How about you?

- Neither ... - She replied avoiding looking at him, those eyes hypnotized her and she didn't like to feel at his mercy of a guy she had just met. She took the cell phone disguising but paid attention to the time. - My God, it's already 2:00 in the morning! I completely missed the time.

- I think the company ended up distracting you. - He said still not taking his eyes off her and she felt her cheeks heat up.

- Yeah, the chat was really good... But I have to go... - she said getting up.

- If you wait I can take you home, I'm already leaving, the bar is already closing. - he said and Y/n looked around seeing that some waiters were already collecting some things from the tables.

She thought for a moment, take a ride home with him? It didn't make sense, she had just met him, but at the same time she had enjoyed talking to him so much. He didn't seem like a bad person, but even so you would never know for sure. At the same time she never took any chances, why not let that pretty boy take her home? Finally, she thought: you know what? Screw this.

-Erm, ok...- She shrugged. - I'll go to the cashier to pay and wait for you outside?

- No need to pay darling, it's on me. - He spoke winking and she smiled.

- Oh no, I'll pay no problem...

- Your company has paid off your debt, it's ok. - He replied and she took a deep breath rolling her eyes.

- If you insist...- she said giving up.

He came out from behind the counter and motioned for her to follow him, arriving at the front door where the security was.

- Tuwaine, you can let her pass, it's on me. - He told the big guy and he looked at the english man, sawing his eyes suspiciously and smiling right away. Making Y/n laugh inside.

- Meet you outside? It will only take a few minutes - the attendant said and she nodded, leaving in the cold night.

She leaned against the door with her thoughts. She had come here just to get inspiration and to have her creative back, but she was coming home with an english guy. She didn't even recognize herself anymore, but to say she wasn't anxious (in a good way) was a lie.

She was lost in her thought, until minutes later he came out wearing a denim jacket, which made him look even more handsome.

- Let's go? - He said and she followed him to an old car parked right in front of the bar.

He opened the door for her to get in and she thanked him by sitting in the passenger seat, pulling on her seat belt as he closed the door. He sat down next to her right away, also putting on his belt.

- Hey, before we go: I didn't ask for your name! If you're going to take me home at least I have to know that- she asked realizing that she didn't even know that yet and he looked towards her smiling.

- Tom Holland. - He said stretching his hand. - Nice to meet you.

- Y/n Y/l/n- she said, squeezing his hand. And you can't deny that she felt butterflies in her stomach as she felt her skin on hers.

- Your name is not strange to me, I must have read it in one of your books in some shop window. - He said starting and leaving with the car.

- Yeah, who knows ... - she said and he turned on the radio leaving the volume low.

They were exchanging a few words until she indicated that they had arrived at the building where she lived. Tom parked and looked up in a daze.

- Wow, you really have money... - he said and she took off her belt turning towards him.

- A little bit...- she replied crossing her arms. - Well, thank you so much for the ride...

- You're welcome darling. - He said turning his eyes to her. Again that nickname that sounded perfect on his lips.

She turned around, but when she was about to open the door, she turned back to Tom, who was leaning with one hand on the steering wheel and watching her with attention. The next words escaped her again and she was afraid she'd regret it.

- Tom, do you want to come in? - She spoke still holding the door and the boy smiled.

- Sure ... - he said taking the key from the ignition and she shook her head slightly leaving.

He followed her and they entered the building. Tom looked at everything admired which made Y/n smile a little to herself. They entered the elevator and she pressed the penthouse button causing him to raise an eyebrow.

- You really must be a great writer. - he said and she laughed.

He leaned his back against the elevator wall, putting his hands in his pocket and looking her up and down, making her shy. He kept looking at her and it was making her nervous.

They were silent until the elevator opened after a while and they got out. Y/n put a password on the door and it swung open with a small click, she took held the latch and motioned for Tom to enter.

After the two of them entered she closed the door again behind her and watched Tom standing further on, looking around.

- Nice apartment...- he finally said.

- Thank you... - She leaned against the table at the entrance. She didn't know what to do next, maybe it had been a bad idea to bring him here. Why was she so impulsive that night? -Tom, I don't know why I invite you in, sorry...-she said a little nervous looking at her feet. He turned towards her, approaching and stopping in front of her.

- Are you sure you don't know? - He asked and she raised her head, seeing those brown eyes. She bit her bottom lip watching him closely. Damn he knew how to hypnotize her. He took another step and placed a hand on either side of her on the table, cornering her - Your body says otherwise, love... - he said softly feeling her breath hitch slowly and approaching his face to hers, alternating the look of your eyes to her lips. Y/n found another nickname that was perfect when he say.

He finally closed the distance by pressing his lips to hers. His lips were soft and warm, as if they were meant to be kissed. She returned the kiss willingly and when she laced her fingers in his neck, he licked her lower lip slowly asking for passage in which she opened them letting his tongue explore her mouth.

His hands gripped her waist and roamed her body greedily. As he kissed her, he caught her from behind her legs and sat her down on the entrance table, biting her bottom lip shortly after, provoking a low moan from her. He smiled against her lips and trailed kisses to her neck, attacking her skin with desire, making her throw her head back a little.

She grabbed his hair and pulled him back so she could kiss him. Which he gladly reciprocate. His kiss was urgent, but without being rude, he tasted like mint, making her want him even more.

His fingers found the button of her pants and he undid them quickly pulling them out, tossing them aside. When he came back he took her calf and kissed her leg up to her thighs, making her sigh. He moved up the kisses until he caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it up a little, kissing her stomach as well. Y/n didn't know what to do but feel goose bumps with every touch he gave. He then hiked up her shirt and she lifted her arms where he pulled her off, tossing along with her pants that were also on the floor.

She was just wearing her underwear in front of him, it made her a little excited and embarrassed at the same time, but the way he looked at her made her feel confident. He went back to kissing her body, this time kissing each covered breast in turn and reaching for the back of her bra and opening it. She helped him out tosiing to the side and he stood between her legs just watching her for a second, making her feel her cheeks heat up.

- Perfect... - he said with a low voice, as it was for himself and bent down to her breasts kissing each one of her nipples and then sucking them deliciously. Y/n moaned and bit her lip to keep her moans from getting louder, tangling her fingers in his hair again. He looked into her eyes for a few seconds and smiled slightly lowering his kisses to where she wanted him most.

He reached the hem of her panties and pulled them out slowly, kneeling between her legs and she looked at him with expectation. He returned the look and gave that smirk again.

- Look at you darling.... - That damn nickname. - Extremely wet and I haven't even touched you yet... - he said approaching and devouring her right away making her throw her head back with pleasure, biting her lips again to not sound so pathetic with her moans that insisted in wanting get out. - Oh, please don't drown out those wonderful sounds you make, I want to hear how good I'm making you feel. - He said in a husky tone, returning to his task after and she parted her lips letting her moans spread through the apartment.

****************************************************************************************

Y/n woke up the other day in her bed. She didn't even know how she got there, she just had flashes of the night before and how good she felt in each moment. She stretched and looked to the side seeing she was alone. She got up and put on a robe who was on the side of the bed.

After going to the bathroom and doing her morning hygiene routine she walked around the apartment looking around to see if Tom was somewhere else in the house, but found nothing. Which was understandable, it wasn't like she expected him to stay there and have breakfast with her and all.

She arrived in the kitchen and made black coffee and lean against the countertop. What that simple waiter had done to her was ridiculous, in a good sense, she felt great and kept remembering that accent that was stuck in her mind. He had consumed her in a way she had never imagined it she could be.

Taking a deep breath she set down turning her notebook on. Then opened her book and started writing.

[sparrowofdawn]

Gilded Dreams

Part 1

You had auditioned for what felt like a thousand roles. A few times you got callbacks, and even once there was a second callback, but to no avail. You sighed, scrolling through your phone when you get an email from the casting site you subscribed to.

OPEN AUDITION

FEMALE 20-25 FOR LEAD ROLE IN INDIE FILM

REQUIRES SINGING AND BASIC MUSICAL KNOWLEDGE

1970S L.A., FOLLOWS THE STORY OF A WOMAN STRUGGLING TO BECOME THE NEXT GREAT ROCK STAR

TUESDAY, AUGUST 25 9AM

539 W BLUEBIRD AVE 33022

You had read worse audition descriptions that you actually went in for, this didn’t sound too horrible. It was exciting to see a female based rock music story, usually everything revolved around The Doors or The Ramones.

Shrugging to yourself, you wrote down the location and time, deciding if this role didn’t work out you would take a break from auditioning. Rejection after rejection had started to weigh on your ego and it was getting harder to keep a positive attitude going into the cold rooms with four men staring you down as you shifted in your shoes.

You tucked the note of the audition into your pocket to show to Charlotte at work later. Tugging on your non-slip shoes, you gathered your bag and keys and started out the door while blowing a kiss to your cat Paul. He blinked back at you and settled back into his curled up position in the sunlight. Over the months of living here, Paul had finally grown accustomed to your frequent disappearances as you left for either of your jobs.

Charlotte greeted you with a grin as you entered the cafe, giving you a quick wave before going back to brewing the espresso shot she was working on. You shuffled to the break room to put your belongings in your locker and grab your apron and nametag.

“So,” Charlotte said, already excited to hear about your not-so-exciting actress life. “Any good prospects today?”

“I got a notification for this indie project,” you responded shyly. “It sounds halfway decent, girl rocker in the 70s trying to make it. The listing said it requires singing so maybe I’ll get to actually perform something I would listen to myself.”

“Oh please, you love all those oldies you sing at the lounge. You have an old soul and you know it.” You chuckled back at Charlotte’s teasing, she wasn’t wrong. You loved crooning into the late hours of the night even if it was a little slower than you had dreamed of as a child.

“I guess I am always humming some Sinatra tune while we work, aren’t I?”

“Humming is an understatement,” Charlotte said more to the customer she was serving. The man, a regular face in the cafe, smiled back at you and nodded while taking his drink and walking off. “Tonight should be fairly slow,” Charlotte continued, deciding to take on her manager role that came and went in spurts. “You good to close up? Ryan will be here with you to walk out but I need to leave right at 6:30.” You nodded back and told her everything would be fine. You breezed through your shift with daydreams of feathered hair, tight leather pants, and platform shoes.

The day drifted by in a relative blur. You double checked every station for any last minute cleaning, locked the doors behind yourself and Ryan, and walked together to your cars waving goodbye until tomorrow.

The day of the audition, you woke up early to prepare. The listing hadn’t mentioned if you needed a song for the audition, but you had selected Heart of Glass by Blondie in case they asked you to sing. You sang through it a few times while curling your hair and getting dressed, trying to look the part without overdoing the image. Every girl was sure to be wearing a band tee with bell bottom jeans, you opted for head to toe black and a shock of red lipstick.

Gazing at your reflection, you repeat to yourself the mantra of confidence you had adopted while struggling to land a role.

“You are talented. You are worthy. Break a leg.” One final fluff of your hair and you glance at your watch, running to the door to grab your things and rush out. Paul sleepily mewed from his spot on the couch and you giggle to yourself imagining him wishing you luck.

The building was small and nondescript, only a flier on the door directing you to a room near the back to wait for your turn. There was a smattering of actresses, every type of woman present. You signed in with a cheerful girl named Rachel who introduced herself as the director's assistant.

“There are only seven people ahead of you, go ahead and wait with the girls in the chairs over there,” she pointed to a group of girls who glared back at you. “We’ll call you when we’re ready for you.” She handed you two packets of scenes to read through while you waited.

You nodded and slunk over to an empty seat next to a girl wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and flared jeans. You bit back a smirk, not wanting anyone to know you’d guessed their outfits for the day. Scouring the pages and testing out different emotions in your head, you tried to grasp what character they could be looking for. After what seemed to be an eternity, Rachel finally called your name and led you back into the audition room.

Two men sat behind a table littered with headshots and copies of scripts for various scenes. They looked up as you walked in and you felt your chest tighten. They had the same face, framed by drastically different hair. One of them wore a beaming smile with rosy cheeks, topped with a mess of curls. His counterpart smiled softer beneath his cascade of brown hair that he tucked behind his ears. Their identical honey brown eyes stared back at you, without the usual feeling of disdain you got.

“Welcome!” Curls nearly shouted at you. “I’m Josh, the director. This here is my producer and, yes, twin brother Jake.” Apparently, they were asked about their relation frequently, you smiled at Josh’s joke. “You’ve met Rachel already, our assistant. How are you feeling?”

You paused for a moment, surprised at how energetic he seemed to be after such a long morning. “Hello, Josh, Jake, and Rachel of course,” trying your hardest to match their enthusiasm. “Thank you for having me today, I’m excited to be here and audition for you all.” Even after all your practice, you hadn’t quite gotten the hang of introducing yourself without feeling a tad awkward. You handed the twins your headshots and stepped back to the marker they had placed on the floor for everyone.

“We are elated to see you here today,” Josh proclaimed. His voice seemed to warm the air in the gray room, a pleasant change from the usual lifeless environment. “Why don’t you begin by just telling us about yourself? Any roles you’ve had, musical experience, the works.” He leaned forward in his chair, bouncing one of his knees beneath the table.

“I’ve done a few commercials,” you began, wondering why Josh didn’t just read your credentials from the back of your photo. “One student film that was entered in a festival. As for musical experience, I sing twice a week down at the Golden Lounge on Franklin.” Josh’s smile grew as you listed your work and you fought the urge to wring your hands.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed once more and clapped his hands together. Standing, he handed you some pages of a scene, a long white beaded necklace clacking against the table as he leaned towards you. “I trust you read the description of the picture, considering you came in today. This is a project I’ve had on the backburner for a while, but it’s time to realize it and bring it to fruition.” Josh clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Jakey is helping with the music, our resident rock god.” Jake’s face flushed with a hint of pink, brushing his hair back again.

“Let’s jump right in, starting with the argument between Lucy and her manager. Pick up from ‘I told you, I’m not doing this anymore.’”

“I told you, I’m not doing this anymore,” you huffed out. “I’m better than these chicken-shit gigs in grimy bars. Get me on a real stage, let me fucking shine!”

“And I told you,” Josh threw back with venom. “Until you get an audience that is there for you, I can’t get you on a real fucking stage, Lucy.”

“Steve, you’ve seen me, you know I can do this. I have more talent in one of my eyelash strips than half the guys you put on at the club. I belong in that light, you’ve seen me blow roofs off places. There has to be something you can say to the owners, you’ve worked with them for years they trust your judgment. At least get me in a room with them so they can see for themselves what I can do.” You paused and ran your hand through your hair, sighing and gritting your teeth. “This is all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can do it, you know I can. I haven’t spent the last 15 years writing and fighting to settle for Thursday nights at The Shake. I can’t get the audience I need there, just get me a fucking shot.” You stared into Josh’s eyes for a moment, pleading for yourself and for Lucy. “I will not let you down.”

Josh’s expression softened from his temporary role as your character’s manager, melting into another toothy grin. “Great, thank you.” He turned to Jake and mumbled something that made Jake glance up at you and match his brother’s smile. You attempted a smile back at him while Josh turned back to Rachel and handed her your headshot. Willing yourself not to shift in your shoes, you said a silent prayer that this wasn’t the end. “Let’s do that one more time.”

You read the scene once more, tapping deeper into your own desperation for an opportunity to shine. The three of them huddled in together to whisper for a minute, then Rachel excused herself to go back to the remaining hopefuls in the lobby.

“That was great,” Josh said, returning his attention to you. “I think we’ve seen what we needed, we have your information, we’ll be in touch.”

You painted a look of appreciation on your face to mask the disappointment you felt inside. It wasn’t the response you’d hoped for, they hadn’t even bothered to ask you to sing. You shook hands with both of them and thanked them again for the opportunity. You kept your head high and your face even as you exited and passed the last few girls in the waiting area.

It wasn’t until you got into your car and pulled half a block away before you allowed yourself to cry. Lucy’s character begging for her chance resonated so deeply with you, acting was all you’d ever wanted since you were 7 years old in your first school production. The tears continued to fall as you drove home, slower than you needed to but the thought of going directly home only made you feel worse. Once you got back into your apartment, you poured yourself a glass of wine and pulled out your phone to text your mom.

“Audition went great. Call you tomorrow.”

Lying to her felt wrong but you hated making her worry about how you were doing out in the city alone. She responded a few minutes later with a smiley face and congratulations. You sighed and opened another text to Charlotte, telling her the truth that you blew it and she called you immediately.

“Honey, it’ll be okay. You’re an incredible performer, they’re insane for not recognizing that. You’ll get the next one!”

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “I’m gonna take a month or two off from auditioning. I’m tough, but hearing ‘no’ constantly isn’t exactly what I need to keep going. Just need some time to recoup.”

“Of course, I know it’s hard. Did they actually say no?”

“They said ‘We’ll be in touch’ which is a no with pretty packaging.” The tears stung your eyes again. “It’s fine, honestly. The director was loud and boisterous and I’m sure I would have hated working with him anyways. I’m gonna go, Paul is wanting some attention.”

Charlotte offered a few more words of encouragement and let you go. You tossed your phone off to the side and poured yourself another glass of wine. You spent the rest of your night laying on the couch watching Pride and Prejudice to get your mind off the day’s events.

You pulled up to the lounge and gripped your steering wheel hard enough to turn your knuckles white. Squeezing your eyes shut, you mumbled “You are talented, you are worthy, break a leg.”

You changed in the dressing room, sipping your water as you waited to go on stage to sing for the evening. Your setlist was gloomy and rougher tonight, wanting to match your brooding feelings. You fluffed your hair in the mirror and repeated your mantra once more before heading out into the light. The pianist threw you a few questioning glances as you punched through Let It Be, avoiding his eyes and keeping your attention on the lights blinding you from seeing the audience. You finished your set sometime after midnight and sauntered back to the dressing room, feeling a little cathartic from belting out your woes.

“You okay, kid?” Rob asked as he poked his head in after knocking. “Tonight seemed a little more real than other nights. Sounded great as usual, though.” Rob never let a performance go by without letting you know he was your fan, it made you smile through your gloom.

“Yeah, just lost an audition the other day. I guess I just needed to wail about it on stage for a night,” you laughed half-heartedly at yourself.

“Well,” Rob said through a smile. “There’s someone here who wants to talk to you. Got a minute before you head out?” You nodded in response and he stepped out. The door opened again a second later and a familiar head of curls entered.

“Oh!” you stammered at Josh’s appearance. “I had no idea you would be here.” You were suddenly very unsure what to do with your hands, so you clasped them together in your lap.

“Yeah,” he chuckled to himself. “I called the other day to ask when you’d be performing, I wanted to see you totally in your element without outside influences. I told you I’d be in touch.” He glanced around the room and sat himself on one of the velvet chairs. “That was some performance, very moody. Not really what I was expecting from a gig like this.” Acid crept up in your mouth, annoyed that Josh would show up in secret and no one gave you any form of warning. You thought back to your attitude on stage, you’d been sad and pissed off and exhausted of doing your best only to be met with rejection each time.

“A little notice might have been nice,” you muttered. “This wasn’t my best night.”

“Nonsense!” Josh smirked, you started to resent his smugness. “You were iridescent tonight. Your presence was commanding, exactly what I see for Lucy.”

“Wait,” you huffed. Was he always so cryptic? “Lucy?”

Josh’s smile grew wider than you thought possible for anyone. “Lucy. There was a fire in your reading the other day, I could see the spark then and I wanted to see the flames on stage. She transforms when she performs and I knew you’d be the same way.”

You sat, dumbfounded. A glimmer of hope threatened your heart and you did your best to stifle it, not wanting to be let down once again when it seemed the goal was within reach.

“Well?” Josh said after a few moments of silence making you grit your teeth. “Will you be my Lucy?”

“Oh!” You got the role. He offered it to you. This was it. “Well, I-”

“Let me stop you there,” Josh interjected. “Of course you will. You were born for this role, I know it.” He pulled out his phone and typed something in, sending it off before tucking it back into his pocket. Your own phone pinged with a notification, making you jump after all the quiet discussion thus far. “There’s my number and the address for our first read-throughs. The first day is Monday at 10AM. I’ll see you there, Lucy.” He stood and reached out to take your hand, shaking it once, planting a small peck on the back, then showed himself out of the room.

You sat there, frozen for a few minutes before you could bring yourself to check your phone. Finally, you reached out and picked it up, watching the message light up on the screen.

“Excited to work with you, ‘Lucy.’ 10am Monday, 48 S Terrace Dr 33019”

[killjoyhistoryarchive]

Mike Milligram: The Lost Killjoy

Edit: On July 21st 2020, a Mike Milligram comic by Gerard Way and Shaun Simon was officially announced. However, I’ll leave this post as it is for future reference.

—

In 2009, while My Chemical Romance fans were eagerly awaiting news on their upcoming album, Gerard Way had another surprise in store: the announcement of a new comic series called “Killjoys.”

Co-written by Shaun Simon and illustrated by Becky Cloonan, Gerard told CBR that the series would “deal with much more mature and controversial themes, such as hate crimes and homophobia, the homogenization of American culture and American life.” Unlike “The Umbrella Academy,” which was set in a fantasy world, “Killjoys” was set in modern-day America.

But what nobody realized was that even after an album, two music videos, and a six-issue comic series, Gerard’s original conception would never see the light of day.

In 2008, Gerard Way and Shaun Simon developed the Killjoys universe in a frenzy of inspiration. Gerard’s original sketch features Mike Milligram on the left–named after Gerard’s brother Mikey Way–with a host of other characters that accompanied Mike on his journey. The comic was announced a year later at San Diego Comic Con, with a release planned in 2010.

With My Chemical Romance wrapping up their fourth album, Gerard and Shaun were ready to start writing. Becky Cloonan drew concept art for Mike Milligram, as well as promotional artwork that they planned to use at the Comic Con announcement. However, the Mike Milligram art was scrapped and replaced with a simple image of the Killjoy spider–a move that could later be seen as prophetic.

In 2009, “Killjoys” was an entirely different concept. There was no Party Poison, no Dr. Death Defying, no Battery City, no girl with special powers. The original comic involved a surreal road trip through America that reunited offbeat characters and confronted harsh realities along the way. In 2013, Shaun Simon offered this description in the introduction to the special hardcover edition of the comics:

The old version of the story focused on Mike Milligram, a late-twenty-something living in a desert trailer park and working a crappy job at a supermarket. Mike’s teenage years were a blur. He couldn’t tell if the things he remembered had actually happened or not. Part of him believed he was part of a gang called the Killjoys who fought fictional things in the real world. The other part of him believed it was all just a dream. Music was the only thing that kept Mike going, so when the music was erased from his Ramones tape, it sent him over the edge. He went out and got his old teenage gang, who were now living normal lives, back together because, yes, it was all real. Other members of his gang included Ani-Max, now a high school history teacher; Code Blue, a rabble-rouser who was a working girl in Vegas; Monster, a new young member they met on the road; and Kyle 100%, who was a B-list actor now. They all had strange powers based on objects. Halloween masks and costume accessories, puffy jackets, toy ray guns. It was a story about a group of old friends getting together and discovering what America really was. Reaching deep inside its pretty facade and pulling out the ugly guts. (It was semiautobiographical. I toured with Gerard and his band for a couple of years before realizing I needed to find my own path.) The gang would have found out that another former gang had now become the largest health care corporation in the country and were hell bent on making the world a safe and clean place by removing all that was dirty, like the Ramones. It would have been a great story, and I’m sure parts will end up in Gerard’s and my’s future work.

Of course, we all know what happened after that announcement. After Gerard took a fateful week-long trip to the desert, MCR decided to scrap “Conventional Weapons” and fueled their energy into writing “Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.” But even as Gerard delved into this new post-apocalyptic version of the Killjoy universe, the comics remained the same. As late as 2011, Gerard claimed in an interview with Artrocker that the comics hadn’t changed at all:

No, none of the characters, even our characters, are in it. It is a completely separate thing, even almost a separate setting. It shares all the ideals behind the record and the theories and the commentary but it is nothing like the videos you have seen. I think the car is probably the only thing that’s the same!

But as the band took on more responsibilities–filming music videos, promoting the album, going on tour–the comics kept getting pushed back. First the release planned for 2010; then it was pushed back to 2011. And while the era had kicked off without a hitch, MCR eventually hit one of the first of many roadblocks: they didn’t have enough money to film the third video. So as Shaun Simon told CBR, the original story featuring Mike Milligram was scrapped, and replaced with the story of the girl and the Ultra Vs:

[A]fter the record, Gerard had built this whole world around the Killjoys. When it came time for the comic, Gerard called me up and said, “We ran out of money. We wanted to make the third video, but we don’t have the money. So do you want to make the idea for that video into a comic?” We started talking about ideas, and we had so many that it turned into this whole series.

In an interview with Paste (2013), Gerard went into more detail about the process:

The deal is that I had written three videos (“Na Na Na,” “Sing,” and “The Only Hope For Me Is You”), and the third video had never gotten made. By the time we had completed the second video, we just ran out of budget money. At the time, somebody was managing us and not keeping an eye on this stuff. Long story short, there was no budget. So I wrote a video, and of course it ends up being the most expensive one, as the last part would usually be. But we couldn’t make it! Killjoys started its life as a very different comic. It was heavily-rooted in nineties Vertigo post-modernism. There’s a lot of very cool, abstract ideas in it; I wouldn’t even call it a superhero book. That (comic) was a visual and thematic inspiration on what would become the album Danger Days. It was pretty loose, though. This was going to be my interpretation of the story, so there’s way more science fiction involved. And what I need to say to the world needed to be a little more direct, so I boiled it down to something that’s still very smart and challenging, but I thought was definitely easier to understand through song or visual. Then (Killjoys artist) Becky Cloonan drew a 7-inch for “The Only Hope For Me Is You,” which was going to be the last video single. I realized I was out of budget, so I said ‘just make this the girl from the first and second video at 15. And have her shave her head or chop her hair off like in The Legend of Billie Jean, because that’s how the video was supposed to start.’ So (Cloonan) sends this drawing over and I’m on tour with Blink 182 in a hotel on an off day. I get this drawing and I’m so immediately blown away by it. I call Shaun, my co-writer and co-creator, and I say ‘open your email, I’m going to send you something.’ I ask him ‘how does this image make you feel?’ We talked for two hours. By the end of the conversation we both realized that that image was the comic, and the third video was basically the comic. So we figured how we were going to make this interesting and exciting for six issues and complete the story. And that was the final direction. It was pretty obvious to us.

In a way, Mike Milligram’s spirit lived on, as fans noticed the similarities between Mike Milligram and Party Poison. But it’s inaccurate to say that Mike Milligram became Party Poison, though “Party Poison’s real name is Mike Milligram” became a persistent rumor in the fandom. Mike’s story was not Poison’s; he wasn’t a post-apocalyptic rebel, but a teenager searching for his identity in modern America.

Will Mike Milligram’s story ever be told? At this point, it’s not likely. But his tale offers a glimpse into the creative minds of Gerard Way and Shaun Simon, and makes us ponder the fact that with a few changes–the comics being released earlier, for instance, or MCR having the money to fund the third video–the comics could have been entirely different.

[baddly-well-done-translations]

Who is (and who was) who in Marilyn Manson | by Lala Toutonian (Madhouse magazine N°84, year 1997)

A very normal family

  Stop with the Reverend, for Satan’s sake! It’s the turn of the rest of the band, those relegated who maintain a lower (although not less controversial) profile. It’s difficult growing behind the shadow of such a character as Marilyn Manson, because of that is essential to maintain a spiritual strength and a fire-proof constancy. Here, an article (with the most solicited data) about the members and opus of the group which has most given to talk in this time.

Twiggy Ramirez: androginous (but sexual)

  The second place in the category which refers to a visual phenome, is undoubtedly for the androginous bassist. Twiggy Ramirez is only one step away from taking the name of Antichrist Superstar, as his mentor. 

  “I pretend trying to break that barrier between what’s femminine and masculine” says the one who insists with dresses; “I think I had my first erection the day I put on my mother’s undergarments. It’s a part of me which feels comforted with that, as so many other people. Obviously I’m not a hermaphrodite, although people believe so. There’s a very thin line between hetero, bi, and homosexual”.

  His thing is terminant. “We’re here to change today’s mainstream because it’s very mediocre. There was a time in which music wasn’t exciting anymore, there wasn’t a single one rockstar, it depressed me. I’m proud of being part of the mainstream now, somebody had to change it, turn it more exciting”. 

  He asegurates his thing was there since his mother’s womb. “She danced in a cage for the Kinks and Leslie West’s band”. His father could be the legendary guitarist West or Ray Davies from the Kinks: “I grew up surrounded by music. I lived with an aunt who was a groupie and very friend of the Ramones. I remember she hung up with one from the Bee Gees too”. If he hadn’t got success with music, he assegurates he’d be a prostitute. 

  And he continues with polemic themes: “I was raised without religion, I’ve never been cristian or satanist, I’m nothing”. He’s a rockstar: “Our music is so straight forward… There’s a group of idiots who simulate they don’t want to be rockstars, like if they felt pity for themselves. We’re the exception. The last time I talked with my mother, she told me little boxes with pubic hair were arriving at the house. I thought it was spectacular. Someone has to raise and care for those children. If their parents raise them, they’ll be just like us”. 

  Twiggy’s musical career started in primary school. He started playing violin because of a Star Wars film. In secondary school days, “Shout at the Devil” by Mötley Crüe and “Stay Hungry” by Twisted Sister were the albums which had most amazed him and the ones which ended up being decisive in his career. “Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show” was his first band: “A blend of country-wester disco with rockabilly bits”. 

  Ramirez met Manson in a Shopping Mall. “We had a band called ‘Mrs. Scabtree’ in which I dressed up as a black woman and sang. Then we started ‘Satan on Fire’, christian death metal group. I also sang and played guitar while Manson played the bass there. All these projects were while the creation of Marilyn Manson was taking place. He (Manson) played drums and bass, mostly so I could improve with guitar”. 

  Attracted by most dark metal genres “because of its message and rage”, Twiggy realized there was a lot of limitation, you couldn’t go further and the audience was minimal in this type of events. 

  He was invited to join the band after the recording of “Portrait of an American Family” and after two rehearsal weeks, they went on tour. “First album was recorded as a live band. In ‘Smells Like Children’ most of the material were covers. Scarcely in the song ‘Scabs, Guns and Peanut Butter’ I could give my own musical idea”. 

  Until that moment nothing could prevent the path the “Antichrist Superstar” would take, although the creepy version of “Sweet Dreams” deatheached a rotten smell. Ramirez assegurates that while in the “Smells..” tour, Marilyn and him had the same dreams, so they started composing together because it seemed that inspiration had the same start point in common: “In those days we talked about telepathy. We knew what the other was thinking and what we pretended for every song”. 

  The recording process of “Antichrist Superstar” ended up being pretty stressful for Twiggy since the moment in which Daisy was fired out of the band: “I don’t really know what was up with Daisy, but I was feeling alone, I wasn’t contributing in anything. I was lucky that there was Trent (Reznor)” Twiggy, with Marilyn Manson, plus Madonna Wayne Gacy’s contributions, were some of the pillars that helped “Antichrist Superstar” being the success it is.

God’s chosen one

  The last thing the group’s members needed after the recording of Antichrist Superstar was having to search for a replacement for Berkowitz. But in the face of Daisy’s inability to get into the Manson family, they had to search for a six string player. This was in May 96’, and after a year they crashed into Zim Zum. While dozens of musicians paraded around Treznor’s house, the trio Manson-Ramirez-Gacy was acting as a judge while watching auditioning aspirants. 

  Although his name doesn’t derivate from a sex simbol and a murderer, the nickname has a particularity worthy of emphatize: the idea was taken from Hebrew. Zim Zum was the angel God had chosen to do the dirty work at the start of times; the same function was given to him by Mr. Manson while including him in the band. There are other dark sides in his ambivalent personality too: Tzimtzum refears, in cabbalistic terms, to the place God left for giving place to humanity. Also his name could be attributed to the serial assassin from the 60’s, called Raymond Zum. 

  From Illinois, Chicago, he worked for a long time in a guitar factory (In fact, three guitars of his are self-made). Apart of LSD (Life, Sex and Death), he had never participated in a band before. He debuted recording the live version of “Irresponsible Hate Anthem”.

A simple guy: Olivia Newton Bundy

  Brian Tutunick is an original member of the Spooky Kids, after the initial project of Marilyn Manson, he continued his career in Collapsing Lungs and now he plays in Nation of Fear: “Nation of Fear started in 1995 after the dissolution of Collapsing Lungs. This project really was in my plans before that Marilyn Manson thing, as something more industrial. But some members of the bands preferred hip-hop. Then I met DJ Grinch, who was a Collapsing fan, and we started Nation together”.  He assegures his thing is industrial, goth, alternative and a bit of rap and hardcore, everything blended with computers. 

  How was his history in Marilyn Manson? “Perry (Zsa Zsa Speck) and I were working on the Collapsing thing, and we were very friends. We had never made music before, but we wrote a lot of poetry. He started hanging out with Scott (Daisy Berkowitz) and recorded something like six tracks. That way they started Spooky Kids and I was asked if I wanted to be part of the project.  I joined them, although I always pretended returning to Collapsing. Everyone gave ideas about performance and the visual part, but Manson already knew what direction we had to take. Between 1989 and 1990 we had only five shows. Madonna was bizarre. When we quit off the band because we wanted to keep up with Collapsing, we told him to take charge of the samplers. He was an encyclopedia of bizarre acts”, tells Olivia. 

“I basically left the band because Manson and I have our own messages, someones in common, others not (...) I’m not on the musician's side. I hate musicians. I’m with entertainment, because of that I have more in common with a stripper than with Billy Joel”, concludes Wayne Gacy like if he wanted to make clear his mental lucidity. 

  Olivia practically doesn’t see the members of Marilyn Manson anymore, unless they met in a club or pub in the city. “Marilyn Manson is a shock rock band. They’re what they’re because they’re very controversial. There’s a thing I find particularly funny: religious groups which attentate in it’s shows. I consider that threatening a stadium full of kids with a bomb is a lot worse than a simple guy who’s trying to play his music”.  Simple? Guy?...

Leafing the Daisy

  When Daisy Berkowitz said goodbye to his peers in the middle of Antichrist Superstar’s production, fans were left totally shocked. After desperate searches by the press hand, he finally appeared, only to present Three Ton Gates, his new aggrupation. Now he’s heading towards the trial Manson initiated because of his composition’s rights. 

  “I wasn’t fired. I felt like I didn’t have credit for what I was doing and certainly not the opportunity of doing my music, while that was all I did between the first album and Smells Like Children. Manson didn’t accept any of the compositions I had for Antichrist Superstar. He only wanted ‘Wormboy’ and I felt deceived. He didn’t respect me. He changes opinions every five minutes, I’m not exaggerating. He was always searching for a sonorous personality and I contributed a lot in that field. When you write, you cannot simply transmit what you have in your head. He isn’t a musician, so he doesn’t understand that. He never appreciated my effort in creating a big sound unity”. 

  He assures Manson wanted to work with Twiggy and not with him, because the bassist took charge of the guitars after Daisy’s departure. “When I noticed I had only participated in a third part of the album, I decided to go away. They didn’t even include lots of guitars! They literally didn’t let me enter the studio, I only entered two times per week to do the basics with guitars. I played in five tracks: ‘Warmboy’, ‘Tourniquet’, ‘Mr. Superstar’ and ‘Antichrist Superstar’. Then they told me ‘Now you can leave’ and they hadn’t even ended the album. I realized I had to leave...“ laments Daisy. 

  He criticises the Reverend saying he had never had a band before and he doesn’t know what professionalism is. He doesn’t hang out with any of the band members now: “Nobody has even invited me to a show”. What does not being “Daisy Berkowitz” anymore feel like? “A bit better”, he tries to convince us. 

  The ones who want to contact the ex-Daisy, can do it at http://www.spookykids.com/threetongate (It’s a magazine from the ‘97, I hardly believe the page even exists now)

[hollenius]

Talking Heads: Are These Guys Trying To Give Rock A Bad Name?

Having fun trawling the internet for more old interviews and things with different bands & musicians. Here’s a Talking Heads one from 1977.

Talking Heads: Are These Guys Trying To Give Rock A Bad Name?

Nick Kent, New Musical Express, 25 June 1977

TALKING HEADS: it's a term they use up in the high-rise skyscrapers that house all the cogs in the corporate machinery cranking out network television for the American people.

The big-wigs in the boardroom – the William Holdens and Robert Duvalls of Network land – have a name for the lowest common-denominator programme non-personalities – the newscaster, weather-reporters, and other old warhorses who sit head and shoulders directly on camera mouthing out their obligatory tasks. These are the "talking heads" of American TV land; utterly boring, but necessary.

Talking heads with greying hair, dabs of make-up and dandruff removed from the shoulders of their suit-jackets, they sit austerely informing the public of the nation's daily occurences – the rapes and murders, the military campaigns abroad, the latest government manouevres. No opinions, no subjective slant to their reports – they simply precis it down, feed it out to those millions of tubes and when it's over they go away, back to the bar or to the suburban home, wife and kids.

David Byrne, guitarist and singer for the Talking Heads, an American rock group, has a song that he wrote and performs entitled 'Don't Worry About The Government'. It usually gets played early on in the set, with no prefacing explanation – just Byrne's reedy high-pitched voice almost stammering "This next song is called..."

And every time he introduced it to an audience in England, certain factions would snigger or boo or howl derisively because Talking Heads after all are a NEW WAVE group and if you are a New Wave group you must write direct anti-status quo, sloganeering songs of dissent. Just like The Clash or Chelsea or...

But Byrne's song isn't like that at all.

It's about an ordinary man who owns an apartment in some American suburb and who lives a quiet, fairly inconsequential existence, going to work in the morning and returning in the evening, who gains pleasure from life simply through drinking wine with friends or reading a book. There is no hint of moral castigation, no hint of cynicism, Byrne just places himself in his character's psyche and explains himself through his song.

It's a rare talent this, something much closer to the art of the very best short-story writers, a talent that only Ray Davies and Randy Newman before him, out of all the thousands of post-war song-writers, have bothered to identify with and explore perceptively.

"I just thought," said Byrne, "that lyrics could be used to strip down conversations, just normal day-to-day converstions and dialogues, and strip away all the phoney embellishments and posturing right down to essentials so that they would actually say something directly, without having to throw in all the 'Oh yeah, baby' or 'Hey, bitch I'm coming to get ya right now' or...

"Pa-a-arty," chips in Jerry Harrison, the Talking Heads' keyboard player.

Everybody laughs.

NOT AN easy band to write about, these Talking Heads. They mystify arid confuse simply because they so patently lack any dint of the arch brand of mystique that forms a patented cloak for the rock star enigma. Four intelligent, straightforward individuals, the very straightforward nature of their music and their image is somehow unique to the genre they have chosen to work within.

Not that the press haven't attempted time and time again to write about them, almost always in flattering terms.

They emerged as a live attraction in the hot summer of 1975 when Manhattan's CBGB's had suddenly been designated the centre-point of all new-wave rock activity, and were immediately slotted in with the likes of Television, Patti Smith, The Ramones, and Heartbreakers as the pace-setters right there at the vanguard of this brave new scene. Convenient tags like 'punk' and 'art-rock' found themselves strange bed-fellows in numerous articles consummated by the inevitable bandying of the term 'minimalism'.

New York rock critics, having witnessed the ugly death of the New York Dolls brand of gashed-up rock, latched on fast to this new austerely dressed-down form of the music, and the Talking Heads, suddenly caught in the swell, found themselves holding down the cover of the prestigious Village Voice with a photograph taken at only their third gig. Inside was a rave-review of said show with an extensive article.

Since then, coverage has been as extensive as it has been perplexingly unforthcoming in regard to mere bottom line info on what the band were actually all about.

What was disclosed was that the band was a trio then, led by the angular, neurotic-looking Byrne who carried all guitar, vocal and composing chores, while the bass-player was a slight blonde-haired girl called Tina Weymouth whose basic feminist features were undermined by a slightly asexual manner. Drummer Chris Frantz was baby-faced and pleasantly effeminate.

Their music, though, seemed incapable of being pigeon-holed and continually presented reviewers with a daunting problem.

Having witnessed the band on four separate occasions over this last highly successful European tour, it became at once apparent that the care of Talking Heads' repertoire – principally Byrne's songs – is not something that casual acquaintance can unveil. At first, they intrigue as much as they bemuse, but the deeper you dig the more you uncover. Like Television, Talking Heads must be divorced from pigeon-holed surroundings because there is nothing currently existing in the rock context that they can be favourably compared to.

Byrne's melodies are so insidious that they often totally by-pass the conventional quarters that rock music usually attempts to stimulate, instead going deeper, often lodging themselves in your subconscious. One song, after I'd witnessed the band only once at the Rock Garden, somehow kept manifesting itself in my dreams – this strange, utterly disarming descending chord motif would haunt me until I'd wake up desperately trying to recall it. It was only later that I even got to learn the song's title, 'The Book I Read'.

THIS IS how the band's music works – in a way that transcends conventional avenues of 'rock criticism' where parallels to established musical forms become redundant and trite. When one has finally achieved some intimacy and contact with the repertoire, the music alone is overwhelming at times. One song – Byrne's 'I'm Not In Love' – twists and turns, its twined guitar rhythms chattering and spitting like snap-dragons with sudden unsettling changes, its chorus brash and pointedly announced – before it charges off, climaxing in a devastating one chord richochet of sound. Each song takes on a personality of its own as one becomes more and more acquainted – the jagged paranoid thrashings of 'What Is It?' full of technical malevolence, the richly textured abrasive changes of 'No Compassion', that utterly disarming motif to 'The Book I Read'.

Similarly the lyrics make themselves apparent in this same insidious fashion, via sudden dazzling couplets or single lines that grab you as Byrne's introvert-gone-psychotic delivery tortuously builds up and up, eyes reeling like wild horses in a flood, his pitching often totally awry but his sheer intensity galvanising because this man is truly grabbing hold of his songs, each and every utterance, like a drowning man grabbing straws.

Byrne's performance is, in fact, full of the tortured passion and gut-commitment that many of us were hoping for and found so disappointingly lacking in Tom Verlaine's recent shows in Britain. Like Verlaine, Byrne is totally the master of his chosen medium, yet there is an edge to Byrne that is so much more human.

Where Verlaine is oh-so calculatingly distant, Byrne's thrashing desperate need to communicate his songs grants his music a whole other dimension of sheer humanity and warmth a million light years removed from the cold arch-romanticism of Television's guiding light.

OFF-STAGE, sitting with his cohorts in Talking Heads, Byrne exudes all the cooped-up mannerisms of a caged bird. He seems to be suffering from some arch nervous defect that would need a constant ingestion of valium to assuage. Twitching almost, he sits hunched up in a chair, ungainly like a parody of look-alike Tony Perkins. When he talks, his voice is weak and reedy and often his attempts to explain certain facets of his songs – particularly his lyrics – lead him into weird tangential awkward ramblings that cause other members of the band, Tina Weymouth in particular, to open displays of ridicule which make him even more edgy. He looks embarrassed and bows his head slightly.

Observing him, I can't help feeling concerned for his obvious discomfort, as if any form of socializing causes the man to undergo real psychic pain. He later admits to the gross discomfort of what is really just a fairly casual conversation, and claims that performing affords him infinite more relaxation.

"I can express parts of my personality on stage that I would never dare do in any other context."

Byrne's past remains obscured by the haziness of his own recollections. He talks about working in art galleries in the past, though he didn't in fact paint, while he claims his previous vocation while in college was to write up detailed questionnaires, until song-writing became an infinitely more agreeable pastime.

In contrast, the other three members of Talking Heads carry themselves in this social set-up with an ease and general open-ness.

Tina Weymouth appears fairly disinterested at first, more concerned with scanning the pages of the latest Oui, but is suddenly forthcoming when a question is either directed her way or else grabs her attention. Chris Frantz seems perfectly in sync with the whole interview routine, lavishing over most of his answers with great and entertainingly 'camp' detail.

And then there is Jerry Harrison, the newest member in the group, a veteran of only six months or less, but who has already obviously orientated himself into the consortium with great alacrity. Harrison is the most locquacious of the band and, with Frantz, the most forthcoming. His history as a musician is already full of worthy fodder for discourse, since he started his career as an integral founding force with Jonathon Richman in the Modern Lovers, about whom his reminiscences are nothing if not extremely witty.

"Well, you probably know that we started the Modern Lovers as a real cause – y'know, we were anti-drugs for a start, due to the fact that at that time in the States all the kids were just oohing themselves on quaaludes. So we'd go onstage and start our sets with this number called 'I'm Straight' which would immediately cause all the audience to start throwing things – oh, rotten fruit, bottles, cans, anything – at us."

The Lovers' history was short due firstly to their corporate snooty attitude to playing clubs of the ilk of Max's Kansas City – "We didn't want to be associated with the N.Y. Dolls or this or that...so we never played anywhere" – plus the traumas that followed the band being signed by John Cale to Warner Bros, who after financing an album (produced by Cale – it was finally released last year by Beserkley) decided to drop the band, leaving them penniless in Los Angeles.

Even when the album was being made, Harrison claims there were problems.

"Well this was around the time when Jonathan was starting to want to write and sing only happy songs (laughs). So there'd be continual arguments between Cale and him over how we should sing certain numbers. Cale would be saying 'Now, Jonathon, I want you to sing this in a mean way. And Jonathon would just look at him, y'know – 'Mean? I won't sing mean! I don't feel mean!"

"And he (Richman) kept going through changes of direction. Like one time he'd be totally into the Velvet Underground and early Stooges, and then he was suddenly enamoured with Van Morrison's Astral Weeks and he'd want to alter his whole style. Also he's a total astrology freak. You know that song, 'Astral Plane'? Well he was always having these visions – or so he said – and writing songs about them. Things like....oh God (he starts laughing again) 'I saw you by, the waterway, the waterway, the waterway' – just on and on. We'd have to tell him to forget it."

After the Modern Lovers broke up, Richman briefly went onstage backed only by a bunch of kids beating rolled-up newspapers in time to his songs, before disappearing altogether for a long spell to (according to John Cale) lock himself in his bedroom.

When Harrison is asked whether he feels more comfortable being in Talking Heads than Richman's motley crew he simply sighs, "Infinitely."

MUCH OF the conversation is taken up with the subject of the British New Wave and how the remarkably civilised T. Heads have found themselves having to cope with the more agressive elements at their concerts, particularly as they've been supporting the head-banger's friend, The Ramones.

Seems the atmosphere has never actually soured and that circumstances have been pretty agreeable all the way along.

From the other new wave bands of this country, T. Heads claim not to have incurred any particular animosity.

"Only Rat Scabies has caused a scene," claims Weymouth. "He appeared backstage at the Greyhound in Croydon and tried to get one of us to fight him. When we showed ourselves to be totally disinterested in that course of action, he contented himself with spitting on the floor and walking out. I felt rather sorry for him."

Meanwhile back in New York, the band have yet to break out of the New York club circuit set-up they've been working in for at least the last two years.

A record deal with Sire (whose head, Seymour Stein, is the only executive to have fully committed himself to the New Wave, having also inked The Ramones, Richard Hell, and now, apparently, The Dead Boys, – a Cleveland pastiche of England's punk excesses) has produced the single 'Love Goes To Building On Fire', an addictive though comparatively slight song from the band's repertoire.

A Talking Heads album however is scheduled for September release produced by Tony Bongiovi and with five backing tracks already in the can. Ten tracks are scheduled – all Byrne originals including 'Pyschokiller', 'The Book I Read', 'No Compassion', 'Happy Day', and 'I'm Not In Love', the only unfortunate matter being the probable exclusion of the band's brilliantly terse rendering of Al Green's 'Take Me To The River'.

The band are still a guaranteed sell-out at C.B.G.B.'s on any given night, a not inconsiderable feat as many other similarly prestigious local bands are unable apparently to do the same – and on their own minor league waterfront they've gauged a strong cult audience.

But then there is something extremely addictive about this band's music – potent enough to make Byrne an object of paranoid fear in the eyes of Tom Verlaine (who according to Weymouth is very nervous of Byrne's status on the New York scene – as perverted a compliment as anything that can be divined from Verlaine's psyche one supposes). Meanwhile Byrne is also considered the most singularly brilliant new songwriter currently in the States by John Cale, and even Lou Reed has lent a sizeable quota of suspiciously paternal advice.

Weymouth: "Yeah, I'd say he was actually genuinely trying to help us. I wouldn't say he was trying to rip us off, for example."

Byrne: "That's not true."

Weymouth: "How can you say that, David? I mean..."

Byrne: "Because he told me he ripped some of my ideas off. Not that I'm angry or anything."

How did the...uh gentleman go about this paternal business then?

"God...he'd invite us round to his apartment and insult us for a solid hour, particularly me. He'd always insult the clothes I was wearing, or my shoes. Then after that, he'd start to be more reasonable and actually have an agreeable conversation with us."

Byrne goes silent for a minute and then, for the first time, he seems calm and relaxed.

"Do you want to know...I'll tell you how much we've come on in the last two years, the real symbol of progress in Talking Heads, Now I can go round to Lou Reed's apartment and I can be rude to him!"

[aures-rose]

Dear Diary,

I've been having these weird dreams. The world is green again, like the summer. But everything is too green. There's moss and vines and green leaves and mushrooms but it's overrunning everything. I don't realise at first and I'm trying to walk through it but I get stuck in the mud and then vines start to creep towards me and my face is hot and wet with tears and there's a lump in my throat but finally I get free and I start to run through the brush but there's pine needles and vines and it's all reaching for me. And then I wake up. I think I'm longing for summer and feeling trapped.

I guess a lot has happened since the last time I wrote but also seems like very little has. I found Lars, since Jamie had told me he'd been looking for me. I found him by the Winged Horses reading. I came over and we talked some and he said the fox agreed to meet me! I just have to wait for him to tell me he's ready. He gave me a coin that he did some magic to. He also let me interview him for the Owl Post but I haven't seen Tom to finish it! Though, I haven't seen Magnus either, at least, not alone without a girl with him. Anyways, I interviewed him but I upset him, I guess. I asked him if he thinks the French Champion was trying to make him fall in love with her- because of what they put in Witch Weekly- but that upset him because he says it's a silly question. He got angry at me and it… I don't know why but it kind of hurt. He said he was mad at me when I asked him if he was. I left to go back to the castle but when I told him I was sorry and asked him to please not be mad at me, he sort of smiled and said as long as I learned my lesson. And I said I had.

Next, was Professor Macauley's class. When we all entered his class, Professor Macauley and Professor Blightly were there and they had all these goblets laid out on our desks. Professor Macauley told us it was a very dangerous potion and let us guess what it was. A bunch of people thought maybe it was a bunch of potions I'd never heard of, but also someone said truth potion. Anyways, we all ended up taking the potion before Professor Macauley told us the potion would make us confess our deepest secrets. Some people got really upset and left or tried to leave and then… everything went wrong. Everyone was saying or shouting their secrets and Talula said she was afraid her yabos were too small and I went to try and help her but then I just said what came to my head and that was that I thought she was mean and I didn’t really like her. Then she yelled at me about how I never want to grow up and that I’m bigger than everyone else and that my bum is too big! Eventually after I told Professor Macauley that he’s my favourite professor, he revealed that the potion really didn’t do anything and that we were all spilling our secrets just because we thought we were going to. A lot of people got really upset about that and Talula even screamed and ran out. I get why they were upset but… It was kind of… Well, it’s something the Fae would do, isn’t it? 

Next was the Gryffindor House Meeting which was… I think everything has been pretty weird this week. Well, anyways, Andie and I went together and I thought that maybe Dumb Vicky would yell at her for having pink hair but he didn’t. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because he never does anything. Anyways, Jamie was there but I didn’t go sit with them because I didn’t want to leave Andie or make them be around each other. So Andie and I sat down and we learned we were playing a game where someone draws something and everyone else has to guess what it is. I wanted to play a prank so I let loose a jellybee and it stung Dumb Vicky which was great! Or it would have been but then one of the prefects started yelling at me and Andie. She threatened to keep me from going to the Hearty Party with Jamie! Luckily Dumb Vicky woke up and told everyone to calm down. Andie almost got into a fight with Ramon though and Jamie stormed out and so Dumb Vicky lectured us all about being Gryffindor and working together. He was all blah blah work it out or come to me if you can’t. I’d rather go to Professor Mac though, at least he helps with things so I left.

Then another day, I went into the Great Hall and found… Jamie and Andie fighting again. Everyone says it was Andie’s fault and… I know it probably was because she’s… well… Andie. I didn’t run after Jamie because I know sometimes they need space and everyone looked like I was the bad guy because I didn’t run after them! I just asked Andie what happened but… I think she lied to me. Anyways, I went to go find Jamie and… well… Nora was talking to Jamie and… said that she wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who was friends with someone like Andie. I tried to explain to her that if everyone’s mean to Andie, she’ll never learn how to be nice. I don’t really think Andie will ever learn to be nice and I don’t really think I can teach anyone to be nice, but I don’t think I’m a bad person because I want to be Andie’s friend. No one else paid me attention really until Andie was nice to me. Anyways, I found out Andie told Nora to “shut her fat gob” when Nora was inviting Jamie to the Hufflepuff… talent show like thing they were doing. And that Andie told Jamie the reason Jamie didn’t like her was because I like Andie better. Andie won’t admit she said that, but Jamie’s too good to lie. Jamie and I talked about everything for a while, about how she and Andie don’t have to be friends for me to still like them, they thought that I wouldn’t like them if they couldn’t be friends with Andie. We talked for a while and eventually… they asked me if we were dating now. Apparently someone asked them if we were and so I asked what dating would mean. Jamie says in the movies, dating means spending time together, going on dates, and deciding if we want to be a couple. I figured, we are spending time together and we were going on a date, so that we were dating. It’s kind of scary, really. Dating. I don’t why, but it’s… Scary.

I ran into Jamie in the library a few days later and we sat and talked. We talked about them being a Seer and my being a veela. And learning things about what you are. We also talked about Everlina. She talked to Jamie about me, I don’t know what all they talked about, but some of it was me. Jamie says they think Everlina’s a real friend to me. She gave them the ‘don’t hurt my friend or I’ll kill you’ talk, which I didn’t know was a talk people gave but I guess it must be. I haven’t had a chance yet, but I want to find Eve and talk about it when I can. Well, talk about stuff, not that talk.

After we talked about stuff, Jamie and I went back to the common room because I asked them if they wanted to hear me play. I felt pretty happy so, I wanted to play something like that for them. I played for them and they seemed to really enjoy it. We talked about anger some too. About what it feels like to lose your temper and… How they deal with it. They walk away so that they don’t say or do something they’ll regret, which makes sense I guess. I told them that Eve would always pull me away from whatever it was that upset me and they said they’d try that if I was getting upset.

Mother wrote back to me the next day. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. She basically told me to keep my eye hidden so that no one makes fun of me and that she’d send for me to attend the St. Mungo’s outreach. She also told me not to try to be a famous musician. She says I should focus on other studies so that I can get a job that will make money when I'm older. It made me so angry but I thought I'd talk to Professor Macauley about it after his next class.

After his class, Jamie kissed me on the cheek and left me to speak with Professor Mac. I told him about Mother's letter and he said that maybe, if it really is a curse, she didn't tell me because she's embarrassed. He says I should be easy on her. I was trying to listen to him but I just kept getting more and more angry so I took my calming draught. Professor Macauley though said that he didn't think I should take Calming Draughts. He says that if I swallow down all my anger that I'm meant to feel, I'll end up losing my temper and hurting someone, maybe with a dark spell! And I mean Professor Mac would know, right? He teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts!

Anyways, the next thing that happened was the Hearty Party. I told Jamie that I wanted to look like a Princess and so I took the whole long way from the common rooms so that I could come down the stairs like they do in all the Faery Tales. I didn't expect Jamie to look so… charming! I came down the stairs and they were at the bottom, dressed like a Faery Tale prince! There were so many buttons on their coat and they had a crown and everything. They gave me a rose to wear on my wrist and we went to see the Great Hall. It was beautiful there! It was like a big garden with statues everywhere. Everyone looked so beautiful, like they belonged in a Faery Tale! Jamie and I people watched for a bit and Andie even told Jamie and I we looked nice! She was in a hoodie and it had a bunch of pink on it and we told her pink suited her. She'd never got to find Artie to ask him to go to the party with her so she left to go find him. Jamie and I went to get food then. There was cheesecake and it was delicious. I saw Eve with Bobby and waved to them but then Jamie and I started to dance. They kept saying all these sweet things that made my face feel all hot while we danced and I asked them to be my Valentine. They agreed and we said we'd have a picnic. I'll have to write about that later, I'm getting very sleepy, Diary. I ended up having to run away, which also felt like a Faery Tale, but I gave Jamie a kiss on the cheek before I did! I think that's everything. I'll write to you about the picnic later, I think I'd like to play something sad before I go to sleep. Good night!

[oldies-enthusiast]

She’s A Sensation: Ch. 1 | Marty McFly x reader

A/N: Hey guys! So basically, I’m in the middle of one of my many BTTF marathons & since I’m clearly In The Mood™️, I decided to bless your feed with some Marty McFly content.

The name of the band in this story is inspired by my favourite band, Psihomodo Pop from Zagreb, Croatia & their song Sexy Magazin.

Have a great day! —Ally xx

Chapter 2

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved music with inexplicable passion. Some of your earliest memories involve blasting out The Sweet’s Ballroom Blitz on your old radio & jamming out to it with your dad. Your parents noticed you had talent when you would sing or hum absent-mindedly while dressing up your Barbie dolls or playing outside.

You got your first guitar at the age of 13, but your parents couldn’t afford guitar lessons as well. You spent that whole summer saving up for the lessons & finding all sorts of ways to make money, which sounds easier than it was for a 13-year-old, though. Most of the time you would walk dogs for other people, mow their lawns or babysit little kids when needed. Old ladies were especially fond of you & made sure to pay you a dollar or two extra when you carried groceries for them. It wasn’t the hardest work, but it definitely was a fair responsibility given how young you were.

On the other hand, you’d been dreaming of playing the guitar for years beforehand and that’s why you were so determined.

When the day of your first lesson arrived, you were ecstatic. Playing the guitar turned out to be a lot more difficult than you’d thought it was going to be, but your enthusiasm never subsided. It required talent, patience & hard work, and you had it all. You got better and better with each day.

Sophomore year of high school you made friends with some cool guys who liked punk and glam metal and you started playing together soon after. At first, it was only for fun. You would goof around on your instruments pretending you were Iggy Pop or Joan Jett; at parties people would sometimes ask you to play something & that was when you first realized that as a group, you sounded really good. By the end of the school year, you were officially a band.

Your main influences were the Ramones & Alice Cooper. First you started as a cover band and soon began to write and play your own stuff. You’d been searching for a proper band name for weeks before you agreed to be called Sexy Magazine. The main theme you represented combined proto-punk style with shock rock elements. What you actually were was intimidating, and that’s how you chose the name—you really wanted to shock people.

One morning, you saw the announcement for the rock band audition at your school. You knew that with the name you had and songs you played you wouldn’t even stand a goddamn chance. After all, the school was looking for a group that would play at the upcoming dance and there was no way in hell a bunch of punks singing taboo shit would win—which was exactly why you signed up. All four of you thought it would be hilarious to walk up on stage and see how long it would take the judges to cut off the ultimate atrocity that you were.

On the day of the audition, you arrived somewhat early because you wanted to take a look at other bands. While you were hanging around, checking out the music and waiting for your name to be called, some cute guy in denim brushed hurriedly past you, slipping his guitar strap over one shoulder and heading to the front. His bandmates were already onstage. He walked up to the microphone, cleared his throat and said:

“We’re, uh... We’re The Pinheads.”

The Ramones’ Pinhead immediately started playing in your head and within an instant, all your attention was on those guys.

You were surprised to find out they weren’t going to play any Ramones. Instead, they started playing a thing you quickly recognized—it was The Power Of Love by Huey Lewis & The News.

And actually, they sounded amazing.

If this was a fair, honest-to-God rock band audition, these guys would make for some serious competition, you thought to yourself.

To your complete and utter shock, the judge stood up with a loudspeaker and cut them off within the first guitar riff. You couldn’t believe your ears.

Too darn loud?? It was a rock band audition, for crying out loud! Since when’s rock ‘n’ roll supposed to be soft?

The guy in denim looked disappointed. He quickly gathered his stuff and descended.

You honestly felt sorry for them because they sounded great and didn’t even get a proper chance. After that, it was almost final: you weren’t going to make it past five seconds on that stage, but you decided to go for it anyway.

You had agreed to play a song you wrote together called The Midnight Hour, which was basically the Cinderella story full of more or less subtle dirty references. You did have butterflies in your stomach despite the fact that you were there just for kicks. But as soon as you grabbed the mic and started singing, the feeling faded away—it was like an instant transformation.

You didn’t even notice how far into the song you’ve come and before you knew it, it was over and people were cheering, their voices snapping you back to reality. You exchanged incredulous glances with your friends, your breath caught in your throat. Even the judges seemed impressed. In fact, you saw the one with the glasses whisper something to the guy next to him, who nodded and immediately turned to the rest of them.

You thought it was all a joke. You couldn’t believe they’d let you play in the first place! This was the exact opposite of what you’d planned on doing. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt a wave of excitement wash over you as you watched the audience applauding with joy.

You sticked around for a short while afterwards and pretty soon the judges arose from their seats and signaled for everyone to gather around. They’d apparently decided on the winner.

“All right, everybody. Thank you all for participating. Your effort is appreciated. To be fair, we had a tough time choosing among so many great groups...”

A couple of kids exchanged amused looks and you heard faint snickering somewhere behind you. This guy talked like he was an actual game show host. It was ridiculous.

“...Congratulations to...”, he trailed off, taking a breath. When he spoke at last, it seemed as though he didn’t say, but spat out: “Sexy Magazine!”

Your bandmates started laughing in disbelief. You couldn’t seem to wrap your mind around what had just happened.

We won? Us?! We are going to play at the dance? 

A couple of kids came up to you to say congrats and tell you they’d really enjoyed the show. Some dude you recognized from earlier who looked as if he was high all of the time, the lead singer of some mediocre blues rock band, gave you a slow nod and a high-five and then proceeded to disappear somewhere in the crowd.

You turned around, searching the room for a specific face, but not his. You were trying to spot the one in denim, the Pinhead.

He was standing on the other end of the hall with his back to you, packing up his guitar. You pushed your way through the crowd, trying to reach him before he left. He unexpectedly turned around just as you were going to tap him on the shoulder.

“Hi”, you said, pulling your arm back.

He started, his brows furrowed. “Oh, uh... Hey.”

You wondered how come you hadn’t realized he had such beautiful eyes. Up close, he looked much more handsome than you’d thought at first.

“So, uh, I guess I just wanted to tell ya that I saw you play and you were really good. I mean, you sounded almost like Huey Lewis himself!”

You swore you saw a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he scratched his head nervously, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well, thanks, but, uh... We didn’t play much, to be fair.”

“I know! I was really pissed when they cut you off like that. And then they let us play!”

He smiled uneasily and you thought he didn’t believe you.

“I’m not trying to sell you that fake modesty bullshit, I really think you guys were awesome. I was so angry they made you stop before the first verse. I wish I’d been able to hear you sing.”

His smile now grew bigger and more sincere as he locked his eyes on yours.

“Thank you”, he said, “it really means a lot. And, well, uh, congrats to you... I mean, you rocked that stage for real!”

You chuckled, feeling your cheeks redden all of a sudden. “Thanks! My name’s [Y/N], by the way.”

He shook your hand with a grin. “Nice to meet you, [Y/N]. I’m Marty, Marty McFly.”

The warm look in his eyes made your heart flutter. He was clumsy in a cute sort of way. He’d almost dropped his guitar case when he took your hand, which made you both laugh awkwardly.

“I ought to join my friends now, but it’s been real nice talking to you. I guess I’ll see you around, then”, you said, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, sure thing. Thanks again. See you around, [Y/N]!”, he smiled and waved before he left.

You turned slowly and walked back over to your bandmates, trying to hide how flustered you were. His eyes and his laugh were the only things you could think about at that moment.

Marty? Such a nice name...

[mausi-shan]

I turned my Spotify 2020 playlist into lyric prompts

1.       “Show me a grey sky, a rainy cab ride Babes, don’t threaten me with a good time.” – London Boy, Taylor Swift

2.       “I’ve never been in love before, I don’t know what I’m doing I’ve never been too worldly in the ways of woman wooing I know how crazy lucky I am to love you.” – Get This Right, Jonathan Groff

3.       “Lights out, I found out my fallen star Goodbye, the sun rises and there’s no more you and I! Tell me how can you sleep? How can you breathe? Baby, tell me how, how you love me now?” - How You Love Me Now, Hey Monday

4.       “North is south, right is left when you’re gone I’m the one who sees you home but now I’m lost in the woods And I don’t know what path you are on” – Lost In The Woods, Jonathan Groff

5.       “Promise I’ve already learned my lesson, but right now I wanna be not okay” – You Don’t Know What It’s Like, Katelyn Tarver

6.       “This is falling in love in the cruellest way This is falling for you and you are worlds away” – Come Back… Be Here, Taylor Swift

7.       “From coast to coast I’ll make the most of every second that I’ve been given with this crowd Without a doubt, you’re all I dream about At night we lie awake with stories taking us back to the nights we felt alive” – Vegas, All Time Low

8.       “He doesn’t want to bang you Somebody hang you!” – Don’t Lose Ur Head, Six

9.       “I thought this time was different Why did I think he’d be different? But it’s never, ever different!” – All You Wanna Do, Six

10.   “If I said I want your body, would you hold it against me? Seven in the morning, wanna listen to Britney? Anything you want, baby, that’s okay with me now” – Sleeping In, All Time Low

11.   “My heart, my hips, my body, my love Trying to find a part of me that you didn’t touch Now I’m looking for signs in a haunted club.” – Death By A Thousand Cuts, Taylor Swift

12.   “And I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation Never said I wanted to improve my station” – Bad Reputation, Joan Jett

13.   “This distance tears me apart God, I need to see you So when the homesickness starts and you’re missing me too I’m gone too long, but when you’re here it’s worth it So just hold on” – Fall To Pieces, Junior

14.   “Lyrical smile, indigo eyes Hand on my thigh We can follow the sparks I’ll drive” – I Think He Knows, Taylor Swift

15.   “I’m a user and abuser so I don’t need no accuser To slap me down ‘cause I know you’re right” – When I Come Around, Green Day

16.   “He’ll never fall in love he swears, as he runs his fingers through his hair I’m laughing ‘cause I hope he’s wrong” – I’d Lie, Taylor Swift

17.   “I’ve been in love and lost my senses Spinning through the town” – I Wanna Dance With Somebody, Fall Out Boy  (Whitney Houston cover)

18.   “I’ve been first class, spent cash Been broke, no joke, nothing good ever lasts Been sued, been screwed, been chewed up Been loved, been lost but never used up This world’s not big enough for us You hate but you’re singing that chorus We’re kings you can’t ignore us” – Anti-Anthem, Sumo Cyco

19.   “She didn’t stutter, my chest flutters Cardiac attack in the cradle of the summer Superstitious, the kid’s vicious Bubblegum smile, taste the cherry on her lips” – Birthday, All Time Low

20.   “Got my heart out on the table And you didn’t walk away Love me if you’re able” – I Guess We’re Cool, Cassadee Pope

21.   “I can make the ground shake, Winds blow, Earth quake, Rain, snow Mountains, I can move mountains” – Move Mountains, Sumo Cyco

22.   “I wore the crown, I sold the lie I lived the life and paid for every crime.” – Some Kind Of Disaster, All Time Low

23.   “You can’t get under my skin But I get stuck in your head In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been living in it since I left” – With Or Without Me, Sainte

24.   “We’re bound to break And my hands are tied” – Rewrite The Stars, Zac Efron & Zendaya

25.   “Lovers dance when they feel in love Spotlight shining, it’s all about us” – All About Us, He Is We

26.   “A drowning will grasp at straws, a willing man drowns for a cause The blood will spill as cigars blaze and great white jaws will be your cage” – Sleep Tight, Sumo Cyco

27.   “Tell me that we’ll be just fine Tell me that you’re still mine Even when I lose my mind” – Afterglow, Taylor Swift

28.   “All this time, I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) Never turned things around (You never turned things around) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs. So many signs)” – exile, Taylor Swift & Bon Iver

29.   “What a shame, what a shame Beautiful scars on critical veins” – Kids In The Dark, All Time Low

30.   “Here we are, nearly strangers From two worlds that have rarely met But somehow you have made me someone new” – In A Place of Miracles, Hunchback of Notre Dame (but pheeble)

31.   “I give my hand to you with all my heart I can’t wait to live my life with you I can’t wait to start” – From This Moment, Shania Twain

32.   “I forgot that you Got out some popcorn as soon as my rep started going down Laughed on the schoolground as soon as I tripped and hit the ground And I would have stuck up for you Would’ve fought the whole town for you” – I Forgot That You Existed, Taylor Swift

33.   “The debt I owe, got to sell my soul ‘Cause I can’t say no No, I can’t say no Then my limbs all froze and my eyes won’t close ‘Cause I can’t say no No, I can’t say no” – Bury A Friend, Billie Eilish

34.   “Take a breath and let the rest come easy Never settle down ‘cause the cash flow leaves me always wanting more” – Dear Maria, Count Me In, All Time Low

35.   “I’m dizzy from jealousy And you’ve got something to lose But darling, don’t let that stop you” – Girlfriend, Best Ex

36.   “I’m your number one with a bullet A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it” – Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down, Fall Out Boy

37.   “When everyone believes you What’s that like?” – The Man, Taylor Swift

38.   “This is the last time I’m telling you this: Put my name at the top of your list” – The Last Time, Taylor Swift & Gary Lightbody

39.   “Do you have the time to listen to me whine?” – Basket Case, Green Day

40.   “Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost” – Wake Me Up When September Ends, Green Day

41.   “It takes a lot of courage to hold your own against the tide The wind is blowing, bar the doors, it wants to get inside It may seem hopeless, may seem like it’s the end In order to be broken, first it has to bend” – Run With The Giants, Sumo Cyco

42.   “No wonder your heart feels it’s flying, your head feels it’s spinning Each happy ending is a brand new beginning” – Ever Ever After, Carrie Underwood

43.   “There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen She had a marvellous time ruining everything” – the last great american dynasty, Taylor Swift

44.   “Hey ho, let’s go Shoot ‘em in the back now What they want, I don’t know They’re all revved up and ready to go” – Blitzkreig Bop, The Ramones

45.   “You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong Now every February, you’ll be my Valentine” – Teenage Dream, Katy Perry

46.   “If you want someone to save you, save yourself If you want someone to heal you, heal yourself If you want someone to save you, save yourself” – Free Yourself, Sumo Cyco

47.   “I wrote the gospel on giving up But the real bombshells have already sung” – This Ain’t A Scene, Fall Out Boy

48.   “I’m here on the kitchen floor You call, but I won’t hear it You said no one else How could you do this, babe?” – Babe, Sugarland & Taylor Swift

49.   “Sometimes I get the feeling she’s watching over me And other times, I feel like I should go When through it all, the rise and fall The bodies in the streets” – Welcome To The Black Parade, MCR

50.   “I knew you tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy” – Cardigan, Taylor Swift

51.   “But she’s so rock and roll And out of my league Is she out of my league? I hope not” – Trouble, NeverShoutNever

52.   “Do you see my face in the neighbour’s lawn? Does she smile, or does she mouth fuck you forever?” – mad woman, Taylor Swift

53.   “Diamonds, pearls and rubies all swoon Can I offer you a little salt for that wound?” – Don’t Make Me, Malinda

54.   “The night we snuck into a yacht club party pretending to be a duchess and a prince” – Starlight, Taylor Swift

55.   “I know I said some bullshit on the phone I never leave well enough alone” – ME! , Taylor Swift & Brendon Urie

56.   “Give me therapy I’m a walking travesty, but I’m smiling at everything Therapy, you were never a friend to me And you can choke on your misery” – Therapy, All Time Low

57.   “And I scream: For whatever it’s worth, I love you Ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard? He looks up grinning like a devil” – Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift

58.   “Nobody tells me I need a rich man Doing my thing in my palace in Richmond” – Get Down, Six

59.   “We were something don’t you think so? Rose flowing with your chosen family” – the 1, Taylor Swift

60.   “And you call me up again just to break me like a promise So casually cruel in the name of being honest I’m a crumpled up piece of paper lying here ‘Cause I remember it all too well” - All Too Well, Taylor Swift

61.   “Run baby, run Don’t ever look back They’ll tear us apart if they’re given the chance” - Check Yes Juliet, We The Kings

62.   “Does he watch your favourite movies? Does he hold you when you cry? Does he let you tell him all your favourite parts, when you’ve seen it a hundred times? Does he sing to all your music while you dance to Purple Rain? Does he do all these things like we used to?” – Like We Used To, A Rocket To The Moon

63.   “There I go, so dishonestly Leave a note for you, my only one” - Only One, Yellowcard

64.   “Caution, police line, you better not cross! Is it the cop or am I the one who’s really dangerous?” – Warning, Green Day

65.   “You’re not quite Satan but I really think I hate you” – Both Sides of the Story, We Are The In Crowd

66.   “Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? Will it patch your broken wings?” – betty, Taylor Swift

67.   “Nicotine and faded dreams Baby there’s no one else like me” – Say You Like Me, We The Kings

68.   “That smile that made me believe But you were lying through your teeth” – Is She Better, Caitlin Hart

69.   “So every day now, you brace for the sounds you only heard on TV You go to class scared, wondering where the best hiding spot would be” – Only The Young, Taylor Swift

70.   “Soon I’ll have to go I’ll never see him grow But I hope my son will know My love is set in stone” – Heart Of Stone, Six

71.   “Been trying to cover this hear out on my sleeve Been set on playing this down but I think you’re catching onto me” – Lie A Little Better, Lucy Hale

72.   “I used to believe, in the days I was naïve That I’d live to see a day of justice dawn And though, I will die long before that moment comes I’ll die while believing still, it will come when I am gone” – Someday, Hunchback of Notre Dame

73.   “I close my eyes and all I see is you I close my eyes, I try to sleep I can’t forget you” – I’d Do Anything, Simple Plan

74.   “Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the idiot nation Everything isn’t meant to be okay” – American Idiot, Green Day

75.   “Somehow something gave you the nerve to touch my hand It’s nice to have a friend” – It’s Nice To Have a Friend, Taylor Swift

76.   “Stop fucking around with my emotions” – The Irony of Choking On a Lifesaver, All Time Low

77.   “If you can just explain a single thing I’ve done to cause you pain I’ll go” – No Way, Six

78.   “Don’t listen to the voices in your head Listen to your heart” – Listen To Your Heart, The Maine

79.   “If you wanna piss of your parents Date me to scare them Show them you’re all grown up” – 18, Annarbor

80.   “Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor?” – I’m Not Okay, MCR

81.   “Please leave me stranded It’s so romantic” – New Romantics, Taylor Swift

82.   “Not for us, we made a pact Death meet fear” – Love You Wrong, Sumo Cyco

83.   “Shade never made anybody less gay” – You Need To Calm Down, Taylor Swift

84.   “You push my love away like it’s some kind of loaded gun But you never thought I’d run” – Better Man, Little Big Town

85.   “You’re walking suicide You make me lose my heart and lose my mind” – Loose Cannon, Sumo Cyco

86.   “Every year when October comes around and it gets colder out I grab my favourite hoodie There’s still a hole from when you borrowed it You used to sleep in it ‘cause it reminded you of me” – Nostalgic, Simple Plan

87.   “I will be brave I will not let anything take away what’s standing in front of me” – A Thousand Years, Christina Perri

88.   “But I feel so alive with these phantoms of night And I know that this life isn’t safe but it’s wild and free” – Beautiful Ghosts, Taylor Swift

89.   “Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet Now I’ve read all of the books beside your bed” – Paper Rings, Taylor Swift

90.   “It’s nice to know we had it all Thanks for watching as I fall And letting me know we were done” – My Happy Ending, Avril Lavigne

91.   “And do you still think of me when I’m not there? Oh how could I still feel this way after all these years?” – Sleepy Kisses, Candy Hearts

92.   “Jaw breaker, you got the kiss that I wanna savour” – Candy Store, Faber Drive & Ish

93.   “As I walked out on the ledge Are you scared to death to live?” – Still Breathing, Green Day

94.   “Write me off, give up on me Darling, what did you expect? I’m just off, a lost cause, long shot Don’t even take this bet” – A Little Less Sixteen Candles, Fall Out Boy

95.   “Barefoot in the kitchen Sacred new beginnings that became my religion” – Cornelia Street, Taylor Swift

96.   “And I still talk to you When I’m screaming at the sky” – my tears ricochet, Taylor Swift

97.   “Now that I’m losing hope And there’s nothing else to show” – Pressure, Paramore

98.   “And if I open my heart to you Will you show me what to do?” – A Way Back Into Love, Hayley Bennet & Hugh Grant

99.   “Stopped running, started walking instead It was all in my head, nothing’s against me This war was more civil, I realised I had to secede from both sides” – Arrows, Fireworks

100.           “I like when you get mad I guess I’m pretty glad that you’re alone You say she’s scared of me? Well, I don’t see what she sees but maybe it’s ‘cause I’m wearing your cologne.” – Bad Guy, Billie Eilish

[writeyourownlifestory]

L I GH T S  U P

Chapters: 1/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time  Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @bi-gemini1983

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

One: Cruel To Be Kind: Nick Lowe

Oh I can't take another heartache Though you say you're my friend, I'm at my wit's end You say your love is bonafide, but that don't coincide With the things that you do And when I ask you to be nice, you say

You've gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign Cruel to be kind, means that I love you, baby (You've gotta be cruel) You gotta be cruel to be kind

Richie Tozier didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life.

That wasn’t a very unique statement but Richie wasn’t a very unique person. An average guy who was as blind as a bat, born in bumblefuck nowhere and eventually making it out of there and into the big wild city, making a living working at a big-name magazine.

Okay, the last part was pretty impressive, but he didn’t actually work very hard for that job.

He used to dream of writing comedy. Of telling jokes or writing for amazing shows like Saturday Night Life or something on Comedy Central. He wanted to be a comedian. To make people laugh. Sure, he is seen as the funny guy around the watering tank, but thats just because the rest of the people he worked with were a bunch of yuppies with impressive college degrees and no real personalities. They’re no better than the robots who work for Buzzfeed.

They had paperback covers and an app for people who didn’t want to go to the store to buy an actual copy. They had their own YouTube channel that hit millions of hits thanks to interviews and other shit that Richie took part in.

When Bill decided he wanted to make this into a real thing, he wanted it to make some sense. It wasn’t some balls to the ball insanity mag that people read for juicy gossip. It was real. The people who subscribed were real and the people featured in it were real.

Richie’s writing, not so much.

He mostly did puff pieces. Little things that didn’t take a lot of effort but were mostly filler in between the larger stories. It was something Bill had done for them after the magazine got big. You see, he and Bill had been buddies in college. Both young and naive about the world. Neither really knew what they wanted, but they had dreams and that was all that mattered back then.

It was Bill that had the real talent with writing and despite publishers being interested, he never took into account just how much time, effort, and money went into getting a book published. Richie, always believing in his best friend, decided to give him all the cash he had saved up for spring break so he would make the first move on getting his novel out.

He didn’t mind much as he found that he could eat, sleep, and drink on the couch the same way he could out on the beach.  

That novel ended up being a best seller and skyrocketed Bill’s career. Bill always remembered that, so when his second and third books became such a thrill, he decided to take the chance and create a magazine and brought Richie along for the ride.

It was easy work and he made good money for doing very little, but he found that was the main cause of his quarter-life crisis. He wanted so much more than he had been given that Richie was actually feeling guilty for wanting more.

He had done stand up in the city and even took an improv class, but nothing seemed to stick to him. Now he was over thirty and found himself in a rut. He lived alone in a small apartment filled with things he didn’t need but purchased because he thought they would bring out a sense of excitement.

He was single, though that was a whole nother issue as it took Richie an embarrassingly long time to come to terms with his own sexuality. Growing up in a small town where people were cruel and the world didn’t understand left marks on an impressionable kid. It wasn’t until he was halfway through college that he did anything with a guy and well-passed gradation that he realized that it was more than okay to be gay, it was normal.

So yeah, he was open and fine with it, but still lonely as hell. He had been with people in the past, but he found that he mostly just shut himself off from the world. He wasn’t happy about anything anymore and it seemed the only thing that got him by was that ending it all would have proved his teenage bullies right; that he was better off dead.

And if there was anything Richie wanted to live for, it was spite.

And also music.

Despite not being musically inclined at all, Richie loved music with all his heart. He spent a good portion of his time listening to records as a kid. He used to go around carrying a walkman and CD player and Zune throughout his life. He paid for the mom's gigs on his phone because he needed to have all his favorite songs ready to blast at the tap of a finger.

While they already had a guy that wrote specifically about music for the magazine, he had always been able to sweet talk Bill into allowing him to have a few moments to shine and write something about some artist. Those were the pieces that really mattered to him. The ones that gave Richie the chance to dive deep into the thing he loved.

Sure, he had written a whole expose on Street Fighter and perhaps he did make a big deal out of the Star Wars franchise, but it was the moments when Richie could reel back and listen before writing that got him going.

They rarely did full-length articles on performers as the magazine was something of a clusterfuck of topics. Bill Denbrough never wanted to settle on just one thing. Paper Boat was more than just one specific topic. It was everything and they would be damned if they ever settled on its something.

But of course, now and then something would come along and the whole team would be scrambling to put together a magazine dedicated to that one specific person. It wasn’t always a celebrity. Bill meant what he said when he wanted to keep the magazine aimed at the everyday people.

Their biggest seller to date had been when they put out issues all about Ben Hanscom the architect. Richie had no idea why anybody would want to read about the guy other than to enjoy the pictures that were taken of him, but low and behold, the world wanted to know.

As it turned out, Ben was a decent human being who just wanted to make the world a better place and he also happened to be extremely hot while doing it. Who knew that was possible!

The physical copies sold out everywhere and the website crashed thanks to all the promotions they did on it. Like, what the actual fuck?

Bill was that good at what he did and it also helped that he was writing his books on the side. He had people from all over coming through wanting to see what they could do and it only proved to be more impressive as time went on.

Now the magazine needed something new, something fresh and it seemed Bill had it all planned out.

“Here at Paper Boat, we don’t choose a good looking celebrity because we want to make money. You know, I’m not going to call up Jennifer Aniston and ask her to do me a favor -- I could, but I won’t -- because that isn’t what we do here.” Bill explained as they went over the board meeting for the next issue. “The people featured on our cover are interesting. People who want to bring the world together and make a change. Or maybe they’re just batshit insane and look good while doing it. Who knows.”

A small array of laughter came over the place. Richie leaned back in his chair, half paying attention. He knew how these things went. Bill made a big, exciting speech before revealing who or what they’d be focusing on. The assignments would be passed around and Richie would be given something soft and fun.

He got the dumb shit that got the people who didn’t want to read involved. Sometimes he’d do interviews while vlogging. They’d try food they never tried before or do something stupid. One of the most interesting had been when he got assigned to interview Kristen Wiig while bobbing for apples. Certainly interesting and the flow to the website was wonderful.

Richie was the writer they went to when they wanted it to seem kitsch and gimmicky. Enough for it to garner actual attention, but nothing worth anybody's time.

He tossed his stress ball up in the air, catching it as it followed the natural path and came back down. He got bored easily as meetings like this and he waited for Bill to just get on with it and assign everybody their respected jobs.

Bill hit a button on his computer, revealing a picture that Richie was all too familiar with. It was of a punk rock band that he had followed since he graduated from college. Trashmouth was one of the greatest bands that had ever come into Richie’s life. They were like if Queen and the Ramones were put together, had a baby, and then that baby had a baby with Green Day: that weirdly insane combination would be Trashmouth.

There were five members, but the main focus was and always had been the lead singer and guitarist Dr. K. Nobody knew why he went by that nor did he ever give an answer. Richie had googled him a couple of times, wanting to find out more, but the guy was a fucking mystery. It was like he just appeared on the scene, completely out of his mind with cut off sleeves and steller vocals.

It was safe to say Richie had a big gay crush on Dr. K.

And that was fine because Dr. K was just as gay.

He had never been seen with anybody, always choosing to keep his personal life private, but his songs were obvious enough even if most of them seemed pretty genderless. He had done one interview where the person asking the questions kept using the term ‘she’ or ‘her’ until finally, the guy replied that he writes songs about guys.

That took the world by fucking storm and Richie Tozier had never been the same.

“Some of you may be familiar with Trashmouth. Multiple Grammy noms and wins. Always in the top 40 listings despite repeatedly being told that punk rock was dead.”

“Please tell me we’re going to be featuring the band,” Mike, the music specialist for the magazine, piped up eagerly.

“I can’t because we won’t,” Bill replied. “Our focus is on him.” Bill hit another button and a solo picture of Dr. K popped up.

Richie’s mouth was watering and he sat up straight. He had the same picture in a small poster in his apartment. It was set up alongside some other pictures in what he called his “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Wall” because he was just that big of a fan. He looked at it often, always finding himself thankful for all the music that had been created and got him through some pretty dark days as a kid.

Did it also help that Dr. K was incredibly attractive and gave Richie a little bit of encouragement just by looking so good? Yes, yes it did.

“It seems Dr. K will be going off on his own. My sources tell me he’ll be putting out a solo album by the end of the year and I want to know everything about it. Mikey, that’s your job. Speak to whoever you have to to find out what is going to be on that album. Audra, speak to the rest of the band, find out how they feel about the ending of an era. Georgie, get your camera ready because we’re doing a photo shoot with him in three days.”

“Who is doing the main exposé?” Greta asked, popping her gum as she spoke.

Bill smirked, turning back to his computer. “I’ll pick someone later. For now, you’re all dismissed.”

The group got up from their chairs and left Bill’s office. All except for Richie, who was too fucking flabbergasted to do a damn thing. As Bill began to head out, he finally scrambled to his feet to follow him. His long legs led him there quickly, though he mostly sidestepped around his coworkers to finally reach their boss.

“Bill! Big Bill! Wait up.” He called, following him to the elevator.

“What's up, Rich? I’m about to head out for lunch.” Bill said, turning to face him. “You hungry? We could check out that new sandwich place that opened across the way.

“Oh, no. I’m time. Stuffed.” Richie patted his stomach lamely, offering a large smile to his friend and boss. “Hey! So, just checking in to see about that latest pitch.”

“Oh right,” Bill paused, hitting the elevator button. “You were a fan of that band, right? Oof. Sorry about the breakup buddy. Haven’t you seen them like six times?”

“It’s sixteen, but that’s not important right now.” Richie corrected. “Bill. Buddy. You have to listen to me.”

“You got it, Rich.”

“I know you only trust me with the puff pieces because I’m not as talented as Mike or even Greta, but I need you to trust me on this.”

“You can do the exposé, Rich.”

“I have gotten better over time and I swear, if you just give me the chance, I promise. I won’t do a single embarrassing voice or anything to get Paper Boat blacklisted.”

“I’m sure you’ll embarrass yourself in one way or another, but that’s your issue. You have two days.”

“Until what?”

“Until your interview with Dr. K,” Bill said, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened. “If you’d stopped rambling you would have heard me tell you that you’re going to be the one doing the expose. You’ll be meeting him in two days, so you better come up with some good questions.”

“Holy shit,” Richie muttered.

“Holy shit, indeed Tozier,” Bill smirked. “I know you’ve been in some sort of funk lately, so I hope that this will shake you up a bit. Better keep your fanboy boner under control.” Bill warned, smiling as the elevator doors closed between them.

Whether Richie realized it or not, Bill believed in him and his writing ability. He may not have the raw talent like himself, but he knew what Richie was capable of. He has a way with people that allowed them to loosen up and relax and nothing was better for a good interview than someone comfortable with the person asking the questions.

Bill couldn’t think of a single person who would be better for this specific project and having Richie be an uber-fan of the artist was just a bonus. If Richie made an ass of himself, that would be his problem, not the magazines.

Richie stood there, not knowing what to do next. He looked to his watch, realizing he had less than 72 hours to come up with a buttload of questions for his idol. He ran back to his cubby to brainstorm.

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

When I was quite young, there was a cabinet at the house of some relatives that contained their books. From this space, I would always draw a volume of short horror stories, written by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell---not that these details meant anything to me then. It contained tales of the sort older kids would tell around campfires to scare younger kids, even if they secretly scared themselves, as well. If you are of a certain age range, you wouldn’t need to be told the name of this book; you would certainly already know it. The film adaptation must of course insert an overall plot---the book had none---but it stays faithful in tone and execution, and I even found that after all these years I remembered some of what I was seeing. Whether I was still tempted to sleep with the light on, I will not say.

In the film, the titular book is an actual book. We are introduced to this fact when the film’s teenagers tell the requisite story of a young woman who was once kept confined in an old house. The children in town would come talk to her through the walls, and she would tell them horrible things, and some of them would never be seen again. After a Halloween prank that serves as revenge against a school bully (Austin Abrams), this house is retreated to by nerdy-but-of-course-still-attractive Stella (Zoe Colletti), ghost-story-obsessed Chuck (Austin Zajur), skeptical, rational Auggie (Gabriel Rush) and the new kid in town, mysterious drifter Ramon (Michael Garza). It is the most logical thing in the world to go inside and check it out, of course. If you are in a horror movie, what other choice do you have? The movie has been set in 1968, both for plot reasons and so that it still makes sense for 15-year-olds to be wandering around town by themselves and poking into old houses.

I need to preface, before going any farther, that I love stuff like this. Creepy mansions owned by the only rich family to ever live in a small town? Check. The family had a horrible secret which no one can either confirm or deny? Check. Someone locked in a mysterious cellar, whispering cruel words through the walls at unsuspecting children? Sometimes, if you do it right, checking the boxes is enough, and the movie zeroes in on, and nails, that unreal feeling all good campfire stories should have---everything in it is just a little ridiculous, but not too silly to scare the pants off you. Stella, whose bedroom walls are adorned with movie posters for everything from the Creature in the Black Lagoon to the Wolfman, finds the old book in which Sarah Bellows, the captive girl (Kathleen Pollard, though she’s mostly unseen), wrote her stories, but it is blank.

One of the unwritten rules of horror movies is that the people in them do not inhabit a world where horror movies exist, no matter how many posters they have on their walls, so of course Stella takes the book. Later, stories begin to appear in it, seemingly written in blood, and it becomes clear these stories are explaining what is actually about to happen to the kids. I find the horrors that are unleashed---a scarecrow that creates more of its own kind out of people, an inexorably advancing woman who looks squashed and wrong, a fast-paced beast whose bits are in all the wrong places---are taken mostly from the first Scary Stories book, and happily, I find they are inspired visually by Gammell’s original illustrations and not the more watered-down versions of a controversial later edition. I did not remember most of them until I saw them, whereupon vague memories were stirred of being unable to sleep in my relation’s dark house (there were trees against the window in my bedroom, and that did not help). I did, however, remember the one about the spiders growing inside someone’s face quite well, having thought about it often over the years, which ought to tell you where my personal fears lie. I also remembered one about a bride whose head was attached with a scarf, but to my everlasting sorrow the writing team could apparently find no good excuse to work that one in. I’d like to put in a formal request for the sequel. The best sequence is the climax, in which Stella is chased through something that may be a dream and may be the past, and in which the real monsters are entirely human.

The movie could have gotten away with a lot less care than it was given. Fortunately for fans, it has landed in the hands of people who know what they are doing. The stories were transmuted into a form suitable for being linked by horror-and-monster master Guillermo Del Toro, whose influence may be why some inherently silly monsters feel so believable. It was then scripted by Dan and Kevin Hageman and directed by Andre Orvedal, with all four men being bound by having worked on the Trollhunters franchise that Orvedal originated. Except for Del Toro, none of the group are household names even in horror circles, but they’ve managed to both capture the feel of these beloved stories and change them enough to work in a an overall plot. I laughed at some of the intentional silliness, but the scares did their job: I still checked to make sure nothing was behind me after I finished this review.

Verdict: Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

You can follow Ryan's reviews on Facebook here:

https://www.facebook.com/ryanmeftmovies/

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https://twitter.com/RyanmEft

 All images are property of the people what own the movie.

[horansqueen]

BabyGirl 5.0

NOTES:

♥ this is based on a concept i received a few weeks ago and ppl asked that i made a story with it. ♥ i planned 3-4 long parts but i think it’ll be 8-10 short parts ♥ 3.8k. fluff. ♥ there may be smut but i doubt it and IF it happens it wont be as explicit as my other smut works. ♥ i didn’t proofread and if you read my stuff you know i never do because im a lazy ass. ♥ i am not totally happy with this chapter, but i hope you guys like it. Thank you so so much to those of you who still read this story. It means so so much that you gave this a chance and stuck to it as readers. thank you times a million! btw im sorry this is a bit late!! ♥ if you have any questions please dont hesitate.

♥ PART 1  // PART 2 // PART 3  // PART 4

                     5.0  ♥ GUILT TRIP & FIREWORKS ♥

HIM

"Mommyyyyyy!"

The yell coming from the living room made my lips curl and I  took my hand away slowly, looking up in her eyes. She chuckled and we left everything behind to walk to Chelsea who was searching through the dvds. I glanced back, not liking the fact that we didn't clean anything, but I tried to put my attention back on my daughter as she pulled on a movie, making a few others fall on the sides. She quickly turned to us, her messy hair flying around her face, and held out the dvd to her mom who took a step closer to grab it.

"It's movie time mommy!"

I noticed her face immediately change and I frowned as she looked back up and tilted her head, clearly torn and unsure of what to say.

"We normally watch a movie on Christmas morning." she just explained without sending me a glance. "You're welcome to watch it with us, if you want."

I slipped my hands in my pockets and nodded slowly, a bit unsure of what exactly was happening. All I knew was that this whole morning had changed me. I couldn't believe what being there with them made me feel, and at the same time, I couldn't really explain it. I wanted to stay, and I was happy when she proposed me to. I walked to the couch and took a seat right before Chelsea jumped next to me, making the whole couch shake. She leaned her head against the back of it, a large smile on her lips, as she looked at her mom put the dvd in.

I looked down at her and chuckled at her excitement before I noticed her shirt again. It was an old Ramones white shirt and it made my lips curl into a fond smile, this time. I didn't even look for it, I knew exactly where it was, and i didn't mind. It was not the only thing I forgot at her place and I didn't know if she kept the rest of my stuff but knowing this particular shirt survived through the years was endearing.

I remembered it was my go-to shirt during our lazy sundays, and even if i was always the one who'd put it on in the morning, she was always the one who ended wearing it during the afternoon. The first few times were coincidences, but after a while, I did it on purpose. I loved the way she looked in my clothes, but this shirt in particular meant lazy weekend sex and although it felt a bit weird to see it on a kid, it was also an incredible memory I cherished. And it suddenly hit me. That time we actually 'made' Chelsea was probably one of these mornings and seeing her wearing it now had an even deeper meaning.

"Have you ever listened to the Ramones?" I asked my daughter, grabbing the shirt between two fingers, near her shoulder, pinching it up slightly before letting it fall back.

She looked down at her shirt and then back up in my eyes, shaking her head slightly as she stared at me. For some reason, it made my heart twist and I sent her a smile.

"I didn't know what it meant." she admitted, tilting her head.

I chuckled low and licked my lips, bending down slightly.

"It's a good band." I explained.

She stared at me a bit longer and frowned.

"Are they on spotify?" she asked, making smile more. "Mommy and I, we have a playlist with our favorite songs."

"They are." I answered with a laugh.

The movie started and we both turned to the television. Chelsea let out a loud "Yes!" and I glanced at the dvd box on the coffee table. I felt my heart skip a beat when I read the title and licked my lips as a bunch of questions appeared in my mind. "Smallfoot" was clearly visible, even upside down, and when I finally looked up, my eyes met my ex girlfriend's. She sent me a shy smile before getting up and sitting on the other side of me. I didn't know why she didn't sit next to our daughter but I was too surprised by my daughter's movie choice to ask about it.

"It's Chelsea's favorite movie." she explained in a low tone. "Louis brought her to see it at the movies and when she came back, she begged for me to buy it."

I turned to her and noticed her lips curl immediately into a fond smile. I did the same and just nodded as I heard the movie play near us. Chelsea laughed and then talked with the characters, quoting them before laughing again.

"Did you tell her..."

"No." she cut me in a whisper. "I didn't tell her that her father wrote and sang a song in it. I just... I didn't know how."

I nodded slowly, not really surprised, but kept staring at her. She was close, almost too close, and I was suddenly aware of her arm and thigh pressed against mine. I cleared my throat and swallowed, trying to think about something else.

"For someone who doesn't like getting into other people’s business, it seems like Louis gets in ours a lot." I pointed out, making her laugh.

"Tell me about it." she agreed, raising her nose up in a grimace.

"Hush you two!"

We both jumped and turned to Chelsea who sent us an annoyed look, frowning at us. We waited until she turned back to the tv and looked back at each other, holding a laugh. I couldn't believe I was laughing with my ex girlfriend after so long and I enjoyed it more than I wanted to admit to myself.

"I'm gonna go wash the dishes, you can stay here with Chelsea." She murmured, getting up.

It only took me half a second to get up too and follow her to the kitchen. I glanced at Chelsea who was singing one of the songs in the movie and looked at the screen, smiling slightly. It was making me happy that my daughter enjoyed that movie, even if she didn't know her father had something to do with it.

I grabbed a towel and started drying the dished she finished washing. We remained silent, glancing at each other from time to time and trying to ignore it whenever our fingers would touch. It still felt electric, and I started thinking that if it was not from that big fat lie she managed to keep for five years, we could have a chance. This time, I wouldn't be so stubborn. This time, I would really give her all of me. The problem was that every time I thought about telling her how I felt, I remembered the fact that she robbed me from over four years with my own daughter, and that was something hard to forgive.

"So, that's what it would be like."

I turned to her, getting out of my own thoughts, and frowned. She sent me a sorry smile and tilted her head slightly as I put the towel on the counter, moving my body to face her without really realizing it. She did the same and leaned her hip against the counter, licking her lips. Her eyes met mine again and she sighed in a sad way, making my heart twist.

"That's what it would be like to be a family." she explained in a lower tone, as if she was ashamed. "You, me, and Chelsea."

I felt myself tear up at her words but swallowed my pain quickly, my eyes roaming quickly on her face. I hadn't thought about it but it was true, that's what our life would be like if we had gone through all of this together, as a family.

"Well right now we'd probably be with my family in Ireland, and we'd have a break at being parents because my mom would definitely take care of Chelsea and entertain her for as long as we'd be in her house." I added, smiling fondly at the thought. "And I'd lock the door of my old room and make love to you lazily on Christmas morning."

I watched her as her face changed and she held her breath, probably imagining it the same way I was. It was more of a memory from a few years back but somehow, I had the feeling it would be even better than it used to be. After a few seconds, she blinked a few times and took a step back as if she was trying to push away the thoughts, and me at the same time.

"Well, I guess we'll never know." she just said, turning her back to me and putting the clean dishes in the cabinets.

I watched her for about a minute but when she walked past me, I stopped her, putting myself in front of her and holding her arms gently. She didn't dare to look at me as I let my hands slide down until her hands before finally letting her go.

"I loved you, you know."

It was extremely hurtful to admit it out loud. I had spent years trying to convince myself I didn't have those type of feelings for her, and that losing her hadn't been the hardest shit I had to go through, but here I was now, admitting to her that what we had was more than a fling or some light infatuation. It was real, and she needed to know.

I was just not sure I was telling her for the good reason. Did I want her to know she broke me and that I would have done anything for her? Or did I just want to bring her into a guilt trip she may have deserved?

"I know I ruined it, Niall." she finally apologized in a whisper. "I know it's my fault. But I promise my intentions were good, at first. I didn't want you to give your dream up, and-and I thought you would resent Chelsea and I for holding you back. I-I thought you deserved to do what you like, and to become famous. I knew you were talented, I knew you were meant to succeed. I just... I didn't want us to be what would end it all."

No matter what my intentions were, I had managed to make her feel guilty, and for a reason I ignored, it made something stir in my stomach. Her words were genuine, and although the result was horrible, I knew she didn't mean wrong.

"It still hurt, you know." I pointed out, looking away. "When you wouldn't answer my phone calls and text messages I thought.. I thought it was the only way you found to let me know you didn't care about me, that you never really loved me."

I was bitter, I knew it, but I couldn't help thinking I had every right to be.

"I loved you." she quickly confessed, shutting her eyes tight. "I was... I was in love with you. And leaving you was torture. It was probably the most hurtful thing I had to do in my whole life."

There were so many things she didn't know, and I couldn't tell her. The words were stuck in my throat and I ended up trying to swallow them.

"I'm sorry we misunderstood each other so much that it ended up this way."

We remained silent for a few minutes and I finally sighed, closing my eyes for a while and finally opening them again.

"There's some sort of funfair, for Christmas." I explained, nibbling on my bottom lip. "There are games and shows and it ends with fireworks."

It seemed to take her an incredible amount of courage but she turned her head my way and her lips curled a bit.

"Yea, it's okay, you can bring Chelsea."

My heart was heavy when we looked at each other and I licked my lips, nodding.

"Thanks, but I thought we could all go. The three of us."

HER

I was sorry too, so fucking sorry that it all ended up like this. So fucking sorry that I cheated him of so many memories and time with his daughter. So fucking sorry that I made him think I didn't love or care about him. So fucking sorry that what I thought was the right choice turned out to be a fucking big mistake.

When he proposed we'd go all together, I felt guilty and almost refused, but the way he looked at me brought into me a sensation I hadn't felt in a really long time, one I didn't think i'd ever feel again.

I wanted to be close to him, I wanted to know if he could forgive me one day, and I was ready to do anything to get it.

For once, Chelsea and I were ready on time and when the doorbell ranf on the next afternoon, we both rushed to the door. I was glad my daughter hadn't asked any question about Niall, because I wouldn't have known what to answer. I didn't want to lie to her but at the same time, I wasn't ready to tell her who he really was, and I think he wasn't ready either. Besides, i felt like he deserved to be there when she would find out

The door swung open and Niall's eyes met mine before a surprised expression appeared on his face. He looked good, his hands in his pockets and a long scarf around his neck. He was wearing a beanie and I couldn't stop my heart from skipping a beat. He was dressed casually and It made me feel better for dressing up the same.

"Wow, you guys are ready?" he asked, an amused smile appearing on his lips. "If my memory serves me good, it's not in your DNA to be on time."

I raised my nose in a grimace but sent him a smile, knowing he was right and that I clearly couldn't defend myself. Chelsea rushed to Niall and wrapped her arms around his leg. The look on his face was priceless as he looked down at her, holding his breath in. I was endeared by his reaction and I took a step back to give them more space, even if it was useless.

It was not surprising from Chelsea to hug people, but I could see Niall hadn't expected it at all. When she pulled away, he quickly crouched to her level and sent her a genuine smile that she returned.

"So, Chelsea, are you ready?"

She nodded quickly, her eyes getting bigger with excitement.

"And, is your mommy ready too?"

With a glance at me, she quickly looked back at Niall and nodded again, jumping slightly, barely containing her enthusiasm.

The car ride was quite short and we ended up walking in the streets alongside other people trying to enjoy the fair. The first thing Chelsea asked for were fries but after eating a few, she handed the rest to me and begged for a ride on a carousel.

Niall and I leaned against the fence, both of our phones out, taking pictures every time she would pass in front of us. We hadn't really talked much, and with the discussion we had the day before, I was scared it would become awkward between us.

"Chelsea really likes you." I finally just said, waving back at our daughter again.

"She's incredible." he simply answered, not looking at me. "I know It may sound crazy, but I started loving her as soon as I found out she was my daughter."

I felt my lips curl, understanding the feeling a bit too much. Niall was going to be an amazing father, and I swallowed the guilt invading me once again.

"D'you think it's crazy?" he asked, turning to me, his arms crossed on the top of the metal fence.

His eyes seemed to shine and I shook my head slightly, sending him a smile. I moved a bit closer to him and tilted my head, my hair falling on both our arms.

"No, not at all." I admitted in a whisper.

I felt his fingertips brush gently on top of my hand and hold my breath, staring back at him. These moments seemed to happen so often between us that it was starting to drive me insane. Were we cursed to feel that way around each other forever without being able to get anything more? Was I going to lose him a second time? Once again, by my fault?

"I'm amazed that we actually created... her..."

He sighed and looked down, lost in his thoughts, but all I could focus on was the shivers that ran all over my back as his fingers still grazed on my skin. I wanted to answer, but I just didn't know what to say. He looked back up in my eyes and i licked my lips.

"It's a part of you, and a part of me, and now we will always be linked, you know?" he added, this time taking my hand in his and turning his body gently in my direction.

I nodded again, trying in vain to calm the beatings of my heart. He was close again, so fucking close I could feel his warm breath on my face, and I desperately wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to find out if he tasted the same way he used to, if our lips fit together as well as they used to.

He smiled at me and sighed, finally taking a step back, and watching him back away broke my heart. I tried not to show it but it hurt more than a slap in the face. I don't know what I was expecting anyway. Niall and I have been over for years, and although we had both admitted that what we had back then was real, it didn't mean the love we both felt for each other was still alive. The fact that I lied to him probably didn't help things, and I couldn't blame him for wanting to focus on Chelsea. But I was scared. I was scared to fall in love with him again, and realize that he didn't have these feelings for me anymore. I was scared to see him with an other girl, to suffer from having him so close without being able to really be with him. I was scared I could never find someone else like him, someone I would love as hard and as deeply as I loved him.

"Mommy! It was so cool!"

We both turned to watch our daughter step down from the carousel and run to us. She grabbed my hand with both of hers and shook it hard, making me laugh.

"I want to go again! Please!"

I laughed again but Niall quickly bent down to look in her eyes and answered before me.

"There are many more rides to try, do you want to try this one?"

He pointed behind her and we both looked at the ride with hot-air balloons of different colors that seemed to fly. Chelsea's eyes got bigger and she turned back to Niall, nodding quickly and making him laugh. She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her as I followed them, eating a cold fry.

When Chelsea was sitting in the ride, Niall stood next to me, one of his hands in his pocket as he dug his free one in the punnet i was still holding, grimacing when he noticed how cold the fries were.

"She's so happy to be here." I pointed out after throwing the rest of the foor in the nearest trash can.

"I'm happy too." he pointed out. "I'm happy we're all here together."

I sent him a fond smile. He didn't have to add me, but he did, and it meant more to me than I could explain. I tried to push away the fears threatening to invade my mind again. I had to take it day by day, or else I was going to drive myself crazy.

After winning a pink unicorn for Chelsea in a game, Niall brought us near the river. I held Chelsea's hand tight in mine, a bit scared to lose her in the mob of people surrounding us. I noticed she had gripped Niall's hand too and it made me smile. I felt like things would be easier now that i knew she liked him.

Niall crouched down again and immediately, Chelsea gave him all her attention.

"The fireworks are about to start." he pointed out. "Do you want to get on my shoulders?"

I saw her lips curl and she nodded slowly, waiting for his next move. He placed his hands under her arms and pulled her up easily, moving her so she straddles his neck. She held herself on his head and it made me laugh. His hand grabbed her legs and her head moved back to look at the sky. I felt like a simple witness of a new relationship growing right in front of me and i loved it, every seconds of it. I took my phone out of my pocket and took a picture of them together just as the fireworks started. My lips parted when I looked at the picture, barely believing I got to take a picture like that, especially with a phone. I sent it to Niall quickly and started a video to keep a memory of this moment.

I had no idea how i managed to stay so far away from Niall for so long, but having him around in the past two days had made me feel happy in a way I thought I never would again, and seeing him so kind, patient and sweet with Chelsea was an incredible bonus I hadn't expected. If I could go back in time, I wouldn't hide my pregnancy to him. It brought more bad than good. Unfortunately, it was impossible to start over, and I would never find out what would have happened between Niall and I. We could still save the relationship between Niall and Chelsea, and I intended to do anything I could do to make this work. Chelsea deserved a father like Niall, and Niall deserved to be in his daughter's life. I just hoped that somehow, somewhere, there was also a place for me.

[rattycattyfanfic]

stroke by stroke

Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Regina/Emma, Alice/Robyn, Regina & Henry, Regina & Zelena Genre: Family/Fluff Rated: T Words: 2,255

Once upon a time, Regina paints.

5 times Regina struggles with her secret penchant for creativity + 1 time she finds her muse.

Read on AO3

this grew out of the plot in the regina rising book, where regina takes art classes for a bit. if you haven't read it, it's not crucial for this, just the inspiration. purely wrote this because art school has been kicking my butt recently and i must live everything through the cathartic distance of fictional characters. enjoy!

warnings: suggestions of childhood abuse, swearing, bit of brief alcohol use.

Once upon a time, Regina paints.

She’s not good, not by a long shot, but she loves it all the same. Loves to paint the horses, the tall, breathing trees and the horizon with its promise of freedom always just out of reach. The thick oils feel luxurious in an unfamiliar way, a far cry from the extravagance of corsets and jewels and feasts. They feel sumptuous, soulful, vibrant as she lays down rich colour, and she delights in it, escapes into the stables through her mind every time she picks up the paintbrush.

Her tutor, Jasper, is handsome and smiles when she masters a new technique or finishes a work, and Regina blushes all the way down to her toes. And therein lies the problem; because mother rarely allows her daughter the distraction of hobbies, let alone friends or boys not specifically approved by her, and she’s eagle-eyed looking for any excuse to put a stop to this. The excuse comes in the form of Jasper hovering at her shoulder, guiding her hand gently and his breath in her ear, and that’s that.

Jasper is ordered to leave, banned from the estate, and mother gets her digs in about Regina's poor painting skill, and the pressure to find an eligible prince to wed heats up. She no longer has time for frivolities between other lessons and dances and tea with suitors, so she gives it up.

When Henry is little, he’s a prolific little artist. He scribbles and scribbles as she works at her desk, and they’re the most beautiful thing Regina’s ever seen. She laughs and kisses his cheek as he proudly holds up his latest masterpiece, and gently takes it from him and puts it up on the fridge with the other favourites, cooing praise all the while.

She remembers, sometimes, well, we can’t all be good at everything, Regina, and feels her stomach twist in humiliation even years later, and promises herself this is another way she will never allow herself to be like her mother.

Seemingly chaotic spirals of waxy colour become slightly messy colouring book pages – delightfully disordered as Henry colours inside the lines as best he can but takes creative liberties: blue Spiderman, green sky, pink dog, all boldly unapologetic like happy children are. “Mommy, help,” he pipes up one day during one of their Saturday Granny's breakfasts, and spreads out his crayons across the table and Regina freezes for a half-second before picking up the red.

She puts the new art up on the fridge with alphabet magnets and puts the old ones carefully into a box. Later, she’s grateful she had the foresight to save everything, because during that awful year she returns to it on the worst nights. After he finds out about the adoption in the worst way possible and gets stuck on fairy tales, Henry demands she takes everything off the fridge in a fit of anger and pre-teen embarrassment, and so those go in the box too. Between snarling fights with his birth mother and shaking panic, Regina spends all too much time gazing over those pages of childish shapes until her vision is swimming and all she can see is a garish blur.

• 

• 

They never pick up their comfortable colouring sessions after everything gets better again. Henry gets too old, too preoccupied with being a hero or the author or college or adventures, and Regina mourns it.

She fills her house with expensive paintings, artisanal prints of mythology, illustrations of plants in an attempt to fill the hole, make it warmer on those nights he’s gone. Her favourite is a huge horse painting that hangs above her fireplace and Regina imagines maybe she would have painted something similar if she’d been allowed the time, the encouragement to learn.

And once, in the Underworld after trying and failing to sleep curled up on one of the couches, she tries. The injured horse from earlier had stuck in her mind, had looked so much like her Rocinante but wasn’t, and the loft is dim, silent but for soft snores of Snow and Charming close by. Beyond a few minutes in the bathroom here and there it’s the closest to privacy Regina has had since they got here.

Enough for her to pick up a scrap of paper and pencil and hunch over the coffee table to draw. Regina tries to remember the arc of her steed’s neck, the angles of his muzzle, the soft fuzz at his chin, and sketches until her hand aches and her eyes grow tired.

It’s bad, but it’s not awful. She feels calmer, in the dark where no one can see her failure, mother long gone. She stares at the dark shapes meant to be his eyes, the glint and it’s off but she feels sixteen again, bringing the outside inside with her. And she feels tired, at last. Slowly, Regina lays back down under the soft blanket and allows herself this small ounce of serenity.

• 

• 

In Seattle, she is Roni and owns a bar and dresses in leather and old denim. She has pain – a failed adoption, an uncaring mother, an absent father, streetwise beyond her years and more loneliness than she knows what to do with, oh yes, she has pain. But the curse has taken away specific old agonies of forced marriage and murdered lovers and a mother who abuses and shames, and she might be relieved if only she knew that she’d forgotten anything.

Roni doesn’t remember never being enough in any way at all, being groomed for marriage and marriage only, denied the simple pleasures of hobbies or friends, and she’s something of a fixer-upper – handy enough to maintain the pub, physical and creative in a way Mayor Mills hadn’t ever been. Not to mention financially fucked. She can’t spare the cash for Regina’s extensive designer wardrobe even if she could stomach the idea of fast fashion.

So she does the next best thing – cuts up her tees, alters the fit with simple stitching, and one day when she has a spare few hours after a relatively slow shift, she picks up a set of cheap paints and goes to town on a jacket sitting in the back of her closet. After hours hunched over the jacket, a couple of cold beers, and a few loud spins of the Ramones, her mind is clear and her body pleasantly tired. The paint dries, and she marvels at her newly personalised jacket, adorned with tasteful flowers, unique to her, and for once, there’s no insecurity.

•

•

When Roni remembers and becomes Regina again, she admires the jacket hanging on the back of her door, trails her fingertips over the paint before finally slipping it on. Her cursed self had surprisingly done quite a good job and it’s hers and she won’t waste a perfectly comfortable jacket. (Zelena comments, one day, nudges her gently when she gets a closer look and sees the slight imperfections of a hand-paint job. “Never knew you had an artistic side, ‘Gina,” and Regina rolls her eyes and snaps a towel playfully after her, says “I don’t,” but has to hide her flushed cheeks.)

Robyn arrives in Seattle, tall and grown now, if a little rougher around the edges – her fault and in hindsight maybe the ticket to Amsterdam she hadn’t even run past Zelena had been a bad idea, much like the spellbook she’d passed on because we all experimented, Zelena. Robyn is brave and kind and funny, though, had never succumbed to the darkness or to vices like they both had even given the chance. She’s doing well, besides being, y’know, cursed, and some evenings, that bright-eyed, wild-haired girl Tilly – Alice – comes to visit and they exchange soft touches and warm smiles. (It reminds Regina painfully of a different blonde lost to her, and she turns her face down and pours out a shot.)

While Robyn dries glasses or wipes down the counter, Alice splits her time gazing at her girlfriend and hunching over a notebook, writing and doodling. Regina had seen over her shoulder once by accident, the pages and pages of loopy handwriting and beautiful drawings of stormy seas and far-off dream-realms (real, if only Alice would make the connection she’s so close to). And when Robyn gets off shift, they sit side by side and Alice explains each drawing with glinting eyes. “What about you? What do you dream about?” Alice asks, and so Robyn picks up a pencil and tentatively tries to illustrate a dreamt childhood filled with magic and mythical beasts.

(The curse breaks and for a short time, they all sit in Roni’s bar aware of what they mean to one another. Robyn smiles softly and says, “I remember when you and mom would colour with me, Aunt Regina,” and slides two pages across the bar counter towards the two witches. Regina’s mouth closes around a silent protest and she smiles too, exchanges a soft look with her sister, and grabs a purple pencil.)

•

•

The realms are united, and everyone is back together. Everything is good.

Regina sucks in a breath as she stands in one of the castle towers, looking over the kingdom. She still has her mansion, but occasionally, she likes to come up here and allow the treetops and winding rivers to clear her mind.

She sits down on a wooden stool near the window, brought up here especially for today. Actually, all of this had been acquired very discretely, just for her today. She could have summoned it, but she’s really trying to not use magic lazily these days and the ritual of gathering everything had been strangely soothing.

In front of her is a wooden easel and a small table laden with paints – oils, like she’d used as a girl, and fluffy brushes and spirit for rinsing. The blank canvas is terribly intimidating, but Regina keeps her breathing steady and reminds herself no one has to see if it turns out bad, this is just for her. To see if she can still, if it’s still as fun as she remembers. She picks up a brush and dips the tip in the pale blue and begins to work.

The time passes easily, and as the hours slip by the sky begins to turn pink, the sun warm and red and all the colours changing too fast to keep working. That’s about the time that the door creaks, and in comes Emma, a small quirk of a smile on her lips and blonde hair tumbling down her back. “How’s it going?” she murmurs, and Regina nods.

“I missed this,” she admits and surveys her work with her bottom lip between her teeth.

The blonde grins, and steps forward, her head tilted – “Can I see?”

Emma is tentative, always careful and considerate in these quiet moments despite her naturally chaotic state, and so Regina nods again, and breathes steadily. Arms wrap around her waist and a cheek rests on her shoulder as the blonde gazes at the painting, and for a long moment Regina is half-expecting disappointment or a stilted falsity.

Emma just makes this dragged out ohh sound though and tightens her embrace. “That’s really good, Regina, you never said you were good,” and Regina flushes deeply and shushes her, would maybe chuck something small and light at her if she wasn’t enjoying this hug so much.

“It’s just – practice,” Regina excuses, and lightly pushes away to spin and take Emma into her own arms, their eyes meeting. “But thank you.” She cups Emma’s jaw and brings her down to kiss her lightly, sweetly, awing all the while at how they finally got here. Her other hand trails down Emma’s cheek, and the woman feels slight wetness and whines, “Reg-ina.”

Regina smirks as Emma rubs at the smudge of wet emerald green on her cheek, only spreading it even more. “I’m so gonna get you for that,” the sheriff says with a childish grin and flicks a brush still covered in purple paint at her lover.

The paint splatters over Regina’s browbone and she gasps and then laughs, “Emma,” as she grabs ineffectually for the brush that Emma holds high above her head. Emma jumps back, bright laughter ringing against the stone walls, and her eyes are bright. Regina’s chest feels light looking at her, lunging for the brush again until she gives up and picks up a brush of her own. Emerald eyes widen and Emma murmurs a warning, backing up and still grinning until she hits the stone wall.

Regina closes in on her, presses against her, and then her sly smirk drops. Her hand closes around Emma’s wrist, pinning it as she leans in and brings their lips together tenderly. The kiss heats up, Emma moaning into her open mouth and flicking her tongue teasingly against red lips, and the brushes drop to the floor with a clatter.

And maybe they’ll regret this little paint fight when it comes time to clean up, but Regina thinks, this is what creativity, art is supposed to be like – serene solace, laughing with her lover over spilt paint, colouring with her son, drawing dreams with her family. They part, their breath huffing warm and unsteady, and she is contemplative, meeting Emma’s eyes and trailing her thumb over the woman’s plump lower lip. She’s beautiful, glowing in the soft sunset. Regina feels good and breathes into the space between them, “I think I know what I want to paint next.”

[killervibe]

Lux et Veritas

Chapter 1: Cisco and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Read Prologue here 

Everything was always immaculate here, Cisco thought. How the walls and floors were shining white and polished. The state of the art equipment expensive in a way that had him skittish to touch the first few weeks, afraid of being scolded for using them.

He never was.

The people around him were too busy to take his notice, in their white coats and pencil skirts with heels bustling around him, all doing their jobs, just like Cisco was doing his. And how nice, he thought, getting to do this for real, some day.

Cisco was busy scribbling his signature on the papers, finalizing his last report after the data entry he finished. The lab was near empty, and he glanced around it, committing all the details to memory. He had taken to this lab from the very moment he had been assigned to the department, it had served well this summer as a quiet safe space, a home away from home.

Immersed in his paperwork, Cisco missed the mechanic swish of the automated glass door sliding open, not realizing he had company until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He smiled up at his supervisor, The Dr. Wells. It’s been three months and he still couldn’t believe it.

“Well, it’s three-thirty. You’re done. How does it feel?”

Cisco let go of his pen and sighed wistfully. “Honestly, Sir. Kinda down. I really like it here.”

“I’m glad. You were excellent to work with. I’ve already drafted a glowing recommendation for wherever you choose to pursue your higher education.”

A flush came to his face, and Cisco glanced aside, shy from the praise. 

“Thank you, Dr. Wells.”

“No, thank you. Where are you wanting to go to school?”

Cisco opened his mouth to reply when Tess Morgan sidled up to Dr. Wells’s side.

He wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and she clucked her tongue. “Don’t stress him, Harrison. He still has plenty of time to decide.”

“Well, my girlfriend and I were always planning for an Ivy,” Cisco said. “But I’d also take MIT or Caltech.”

“Engineering, I hope.”

“Yessir.”

Cisco stood up, unclipping his ID. School started tomorrow. Somehow swapping his Star Labs keycard for his old library pass was kind of depressing.

He looked down at it, his laminated card, the serial number they gave him. The picture he had taken on his first day, how he was pretty sure he blinked and yet it still turned out better than any framed Picture Day photograph hanging on the walls at home.

He felt important here. Like he belonged, like someone finally (finally) looked at him and went Yes, you. We like you. You’re good.

Cisco knew he was good, in the back of his mind, front of his mind, whatever. His GPA said so. His report cards said so. Barry said so (Hartley didn't, but who cared about him). Caitlin used to say so. He felt he was good.

Cisco hoped he was good, but was he really? Enough?

Probably not. And still, this taste of a dream, of his future that he so desperately wants to live now already is enough to motivate him to work harder to get it again. Permanently, next time. With his own lab and a desk with his name on it. A degree, a couple of them, with his name in latin script hanging nearby next to a window.

Hold your horses, he told himself. He needed to graduate high school first.

Cisco gave up his ID, handing it to Dr. Wells.

Dr. Wells looked down at the badge, but didn’t say anything for a while.

Tess grinned, “Oh stop with the suspense, look how sad the boy is, just tell him already.”

“What?” Cisco asked, looking back and forth between the scientist and his wife, unfollowing.

“The thing is, Mr. Ramon,” Dr. Wells began, returning the ID, “I’m not sure I want this back. Because the truth is, I’ve grown quite fond of you. And Tess and I were wondering if you’d like to continue shadowing at Star Labs during the Fall. Say, twice a week after school?”

Cisco’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “You want me to stay?!”

“We’d love to have you, Cisco,” Tess finished, beaming. “What do you say?”

“—I’d have to ask my parents,” he said immediately, and he winced at how juvenile that sounded but was relieved to see the two nod in agreement, “But that would be the best thing I’ve heard all summer.”

“Come back sometime next week, schedule an appointment and we can discuss contracts with a legal consultant, and a guardian of course.”

“Thank you so much!”

Dr. Wells shook his head, shooing him out. “Go. Enjoy your last day of summer vacation.”

~.~

Cisco was on cloud nine when he parked Dante’s car in the guest garage of Caitlin’s estate, bouncing on his heels in the elevator.

He fired off a quick text to tell her he made it in, then bounded for her library where he knew she would be memorizing the course outlines for tomorrow’s schedule. He creeped up behind her where she was reading silently at her desk, still a little off guard at all the tin-foil silver in her hair.

He covered her eyes, kissing her cheek and she dropped her pen. “Guess who?” he murmured.

Cisco removed his hands and she turned her head over her shoulder. “Hi.” Her eyes shined bright and soft, blinking at him with easy cheer. He couldn’t keep it in any longer, the news near busting inside him as he rubbed up and down her bare arms excitedly.

“Guess who’s boyfriend just got offered a Fall placement at Star Labs?”

Caitlin gaped, turning around. “Mine?”

“Yours! And Dr. Wells said he already wrote me a letter of recommendation for college!”

Caitlin squeezed his hand. “That’s amazing, oh my gosh! You deserve it!”

He shared her smile, pulling her up from the chair, and turning on the lights. Why she kept herself hidden in the dark alcove with only a window was beyond him when her house was equipped with the best green energy efficient systems on the market.

Her words spread a warmth in his chest and he wanted to believe them, but still, doubt creeped into his mind. His fingers skimmed over her dark wooden desk, focusing on rearranging her gel pens.

“Do you think so, really? All I was doing was writing notes and doing small lab assignments.”

Caitlin folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Stop selling yourself so short. You’re the smartest person I know.”

He looked up at her. "You're not just saying that because I'm your boyfriend so you kinda have to, but really, secretly, like deep down next your dark chocolate obsession you think Lily Stein the smartest?"

Caitlin laughed, swatting his arm like that would smack the silliness out of his head. "I am not obsessed with dark chocolate!"

"Sure you're not," he countered, eyes crinkling when she pressed a kiss to his cheek to distract him from checking her waste paper basket to prove his point.

"Lily's intelligent. Hartley's sharp. But you're my favourite smartypants," she said.

Cisco smirked a little, “You think Hartley got the same offer? Bet he didn’t.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes at Cisco’s ongoing battle with his nemesis, choosing not to comment. “We should celebrate.”

“We should,” he enthused, offering her his arm. She took it, looking at him expectantly. “How about dinner?”

~.~

After food, Cisco took Caitlin to the little dessert shop that overlooked the river. They shared cheesecake and Sprite, clinking each other’s forks.

Caitlin kept looking over at the water, quiet.

She’d been like that, lately, off and on. Like she'd fall into moods where she was afraid to talk.

“Is everything okay?”

She took a moment to respond, scraping cheesecake off the plate. “Fine.”

He gave her a look. Maybe there were things that changed between them. But Cisco will never lose the skill of knowing when she lied. And Caitlin knew that too.

“I’m just—Worried. About school.”

“You love school.”

“I love learning,” she corrected, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t love CC High. Not anymore.”

“That’s fair.”

“I’ve been dreaming about this year since middle school. Starting it with you and applying to college. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long. What if I don’t get into a good school?”

Cisco held his tongue. There was zero chance that Caitlin would be rejected from any university, and, to be frank, there was nothing her mother’s money couldn’t buy. She was a shoo in, has been since Freshman year to all the good schools. And even if she weren't a phenomenal student, legacy alone would admit Caitlin into every college her mother’s research was affiliated with.

He thought about Tess Morgan, and echoed her sentiment. “Isn’t it a little early?”

Caitlin looked out at the water again.

He wondered if her mother was pressuring her. He wouldn't be surprised, school was ramping up soon and with that came a tremendous amount of stress after years of all talk. Maybe Dr. T had finally laid down the law, and it was daunting. Cisco assumed it would be, considering the pressure he put on himself, and he didn't even have anyone counting on him to make it. At least, not until he met the Wells family, and their encouragement had never been coercive. Maybe coercive wasn't the right word. Caitlin's mom was...Intense.

“...Is this about Star Labs? Because I can put in a good word about you with Dr. Wells or help you find—“

He watched Caitlin’s face fall, rushing to deny it. “No, no no. It’s not that. I promise. I don’t mind. You don’t have to do that. I just—I left such a mess.”

Cisco reflected on the past year. She was not wrong. But it was not all her fault.

She gave him a sad smile, “I just wish things didn’t have to change.”

Cisco frowned, sensing she was talking about something a little beyond high school. “They don’t. You’re my forever, Caitlin. Nothing has to change, I’m right here.”

She blinked back tears, shrugging. “I just miss...” she went to her locket. The one she’s never taken off since the funeral. The one with his picture in it, hiding under her dad’s.

His face softened as it clicked. He should've known.

He took her hand, kissing it softly.

“I know.”

~.~

Cisco had a Pop-Tart hanging out of his mouth as he dumped all of his things into his old school bag. He ran a brush through his hair a few times, threw on a light jean jacket, and slung the bag over his shoulder. He bit off another gooey piece before banging on the bathroom door.

“Dante, dios!” he shouted over the loud rush of water. He’s been in there for half an hour already.

“The bathroom! I have to go!”

His mom’s voice called from downstairs. “Deja entrar a tu hermano!”

He rattled on the doorknob, but it was locked. He swore under his breath again, checking his watch. “Dude!”

“Bro, calm down, what the fuck,” Dante groused, unlocking the door with a towel around his waist. The steam went billowing out and Cisco almost choked on the intensity of the deodorant spray.

He pushed past Dante, muttering, going for his toothbrush. He paused before sticking it in his mouth with the toothpaste. “Aren’t you late? Don’t you have an 8:30 class?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Chill. I’m skipping.”

Cisco’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, spitting into the sink.

“You’re skipping?”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you’re such a nerd. It’s not like high school, dumbass. Everyone skips class in college.”

“Is it recorded?”

“No.”

“Do you have friends in your class to take notes from?”

“No.”

“Are you going to work on another class instead?”

“No. I’m going to watch Netflix then probably take another nap before practice with the band.”

Cisco ran his hand through his nicely done hair. “Dante, I don’t understand you.”

Dante walked across the hall to their shared room, pulling on clothes.

“Don’t worry about it. Have a nice day at school. Kiss all the teacher’s asses for me.”

Cisco pulled himself together, breathing in deeply, reminding himself that he loved his brother and wasn’t allowed to smack him while he glared.

“Can I use your car?” he gritted between his teeth as Dante shuffled his hair some, ruining it altogether.

Dante waved him off. “I don’t use that crap anymore. It might as well be yours.”

He was already texting Caitlin that he was coming to pick her up, his eyes glued to his phone as he walked out the front door when his mother pulled him back by the strap of his backpack.

She kissed both his cheeks, pushing a sandwich into his hands. “Don’t break that attendance record. Give Caitlin a kiss for me.”

“Si,” he replied, waving goodbye at his little sister shrieking his name before he jogged down the apartment steps, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

Why’d his place always have to be so hectic?

~.~

Caitlin kissed him after she slammed the car door close, buckling in her seatbelt, grumbling under her breath.

"Mom troubles?"

"Just drive."

Cisco looked in the rearview mirror as he put the Toyota in reverse.

It was windy in a nice crisp September morning way, and Caitlin rolled down the window.

“You look cute,” he said as he drove off her estate.

Caitlin shrugged, “I wear a blazer every first day. It’s tradition.”

“I’ve noticed.”

It fell quiet. Caitlin wasn’t much of a morning person, and it was the first day of the scariest school year they’d face yet. There was too much going on in their minds for riveting conversations.

Cisco took a swig of water at a red light ten minutes later, stuck in the morning rush hour. He swished it in his mouth then swallowed.

“So I was thinking—”

“I was wondering—”

They both stopped.

“You go first,” Caitlin said.

“I was thinking that maybe you should talk to Barry before the bell. Just to get a fresh start. I can come with you.”

Caitlin curled her fingers around her designer bag, some big brand fashion company with lots of consonants like X and Z’s that Cisco could never remember.

“I don’t want to."

Cisco frowned. “But why? Barry isn’t mad at you, Caitlin. He just wants you to come back. He’s our best friend.”

She put her hand on his arm.

“You’re my best friend. You’re the only one I need.”

“So what, I’m stuck in the middle now? Homeroom to lunch with Barry, fourth period to final bell with you? How is that fair?”

“Actually,” she said. “I was thinking maybe we don’t make that big of a deal of it? Like, do people even need to know that we’re together again? Look what happened last time.”

Cisco narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like where this was going. “Caitlin. Everybody loves you. Nobody really loves me. This has already been established after what happened in April. Why does it matter anymore?”

She hesitated, tapping her fingers against the arm rest, leaning her head against the window. “I don’t want you to be a target again.”

“I don’t care,” Cisco said. “It’s just high school crap. I’m hoping we all got it out of our systems junior year. I haven’t kissed you in the hallway for how many months?”

Caitlin smiled down at her lap. “Six.”

Cisco made a disgruntled noise. “Six and a half, actually, but who’s counting?”

“Not me,” she lied.

They shared a glance.

“That’s too long. I’m not letting shitty people with nothing better to do stop me and neither should you.”

“Okay.”

She leaned over and kissed him quickly, then told him the light was green.

~.~

They had four classes together, but not homeroom, so Caitlin and Cisco split ways early on in the morning.

The bell rang, and Professor Stein cleared his throat.

“Welcome students to a bright academic year ahead!”

The class groaned, and Cisco shared an amused glance with Iris.

She leaned in, “Why does he say that every year?”

Cisco grimaced. “Fourth time’s the charm?”

Professor Stein told everyone to settle down as he took attendance, handed out the dozens of photocopied papers that needed their parents’ signatures and read the announcements. Soon enough, the bell rang, and they all got up to get to their first classes of the day.

Iris strapped her messenger bag over her shoulder. She wasn’t in the science stream, so this would be their only time together until humanities and AP English, which they didn’t have today.  

“See you at lunch?”

“Yeah,” he said, then thought of something. “Can you keep an eye out for Caitlin? I’m just—Not sure what she’s thinking she’s going to do.”

“You mean with Lexi.”

He quirked an eyebrow. Students were starting to come in, so Cisco hurried out, grabbing Iris by the hand as the hallways started to flood. “You don’t like her either.”

Iris laughed callously, and they walked to their lockers. “Hell no.”

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, trying to keep up with her quick pace. “I just don’t understand why she won't try to fix things. You haven’t said anything to her, have you? You two aren't fighting?”

Cisco watched Iris hang her coat up. “No,” she said. “Fighting? We're not even talking. Don’t get me wrong. I was pissed last year. What she did was awful.”

He felt the need to defend her, when he knew he probably shouldn’t. Iris must’ve saw the look on his face and rolled her eyes.

“No need to get all Caitlin Snow protection squad on me. I don’t hold grudges like that. I came to the funeral, didn’t I?”

Patty and Linda showed up, tugging Iris away. “Hey, gotta jet, but I’ll try, okay? I’ll do some digging for you. Shawna’s pretty easy to squeeze.”

Cisco wanted to thank her, but she was too far gone, giggling with her friends.

He sighed, standing in the middle of the hall. Without even a second longer to breathe, Jake Puckett barged into him. “Watch it, mosquito.”

“We’re back to that, Jake? Really?” Cisco yelled after him, still getting jostled as the crowd of students thickened in the tight corridor.

Puckett continued his taunting. “You look like a girl. Why don’t you get a haircut?”

“Maybe my girl likes it long dipshit,” he shot back. “Not like you’d know what that’s like.”

That sent Cisco flying into the lockers.

“I deserved that one,” he muttered to himself, trying not to wince at the way the metal hinges dug into his back. He dropped his folder when he hit the wall, his green permission slips about emergency contact information and school behavioural contracts now getting stepped on by careless idiots he called classmates.

He darted between people in the crowd to get them back, annoyed that nobody cared to help him. Then, annoyed that he expected this shit to change now that he was a Senior in the first place.

Just one more year. One more year, Cisco uttered under his breath like a mantra, falling into his ethics class’ front row seat just on time.

Their teacher started sprouting some stupid idea about going around and introducing themselves, as if everybody hasn’t already known each other since elementary.

“Hi? Um, my name is Brie Larvan. And I want to be a beekeeper.”

Cisco rubbed his temples, his mantra intensified.

~.~

By lunch, Cisco was waiting by Caitlin’s locker.

He saw her walk out of history with Lexi and Shawna. She paused at seeing him, her eyes going a little wide.

“Cisco, what are you doing?” she said, looking nervously at Lexi and Shawna, who had their arms crossed with identical bitch faces.

“Lunch?”

“Like, disappear mosquito. She doesn’t want lunch with you.”

Caitlin frowned, opening her locker. She put a new textbook into a top shelf and grabbed her lunch box. “We don't call my boyfriend that. Yes, I do want lunch with him.”

She took Cisco’s hand, and he rose an eyebrow at Shawna, a smidge too smug.

“Sorry ladies, later.”

"Your boyfriend?"  Shawna repeated, jaw dropping open.

Lexi gasped. “Caity!”

He felt her tension just by the way she held his hand. “I’ll see you in class, I’m still sitting next to you in art, just like we promised, right?”

Lexi’s smile looked a little off kilter. “Of course. Right. See you there, then. Have fun with...Cisco.”

Cisco, who had been trying to look anywhere but Lexi, eventually met her gaze.

She gave him a look, sucking lipstick off her teeth. It sent a chill down his spine, and he had forgotten (really, no, he hasn't, he really hasn't) how much he hated her.

She arched an eyebrow high in the air, like she was challenging him to acknowledge her. But Cisco didn't play her games.

He pulled Caitlin away, lacing their fingers together.

~.~

Cisco let Caitlin drag him far from Barry’s table without putting up a fight. In fact, they weren’t even eating in the cafeteria. They sat in the courtyard, watching the soccer team tryouts as Caitlin opened her packed box from her chef.

It was a nice day. Caitlin really did look gorgeous in her burgundy blazer and pleated skirt. It suited her, that classy uniform chic, and for the first time a thought occurred to him that struck odd. Caitlin belonged in a private school. One with 4.0 cut-offs, loads of legacy families, and a hundred thousand dollars for tuition. Dr. T letting her daughter stay in Central City to go to public school was a bit weird. She didn’t really belong here.

Cisco picked at dandelions as they talked, wondering why the grass was so unkept.

About twenty minutes in, Caitlin gave him a sly look.

Cisco looked up from his lunch, knowing that expression all too well. “If you’re going to kiss me, please let me finish my chicken first or else I never will, and I’m really hungry.”

She ignored him completely, prying the plastic container out of his hands. “Hey missy, I said I wasn’t— Mmmph!”

He missed this. He missed her. This Caitlin. His Caitlin.

It was like all the darkness swarming underneath her surface dissipated, and her true light was shining through.

He laughed as she climbed into his lap to kiss him more. They could get demerit points for this, and that heightened the sense of thrill. If they got caught it would be so worth it.

A shrill whistle pierced through the air and the two sprang apart. There was a foul on the soccer field.

“Still hungry?” she smirked with mirth, wiping the rest of her smudged lip gloss off.  

He played with her silvery hair. “Um, yes,” he flirted, catching Caitlin’s heated gaze. “Famished.”

“Good thing I’m here then,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he agreed, inching closer. “Very good,” and slipped his tongue in her mouth.

They made out until the bell.

~.~  

Outside was beautiful and peaceful. Cisco started to understand why Caitlin brought him out there.

“Oh my god, Caitlin! Over here!” Lisa shouted at the door, gesturing wildly at her to come back into the side entrance of school. “Hi Cisco!”

“Hey Lisa.”

Lisa Snart. She was something else, that one. Cute, in a dumb like a rock kind of way.

Maybe that was mean.

Lexi appeared over Lisa’s shoulder. "Come on, Caitlin! We’re going to be late!”

He got up with a sigh, and gave his girlfriend a hand. She took it, hers slender and soft in his, and didn’t let go.

They began walking towards Caitlin’s new posse.

“Why are they so possessive? It’s unnerving,” he couldn’t help but blurt out.

“It’s not me. It’s you. They think—”

“I know what they think,” he snapped, cross. As did everybody, no doubt. Cisco kicked at a littered soda can. “Tell them I didn’t.”

“I tried! They won’t believe me!”

“Then ditch them. It’s not that hard.”

She turned to him sympathetically, kissing him one last time.

“I can’t, Cisco. They’re my friends. I like them.” She untangled their fingers.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” she insisted. “Stop saying things as if you’re me. I’m me. If they’re my friends then I’m not lying and you have to understand that.”

Cisco felt properly chastened. He took a step back, quiet. “Okay.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

Lisa and Lexi took to each of Caitlin’s sides, linking their arms together. Only Lisa looked back.

~.~

“Where were you? You dipped lunch. Iris said you’d be there.”

It was the second to last period of the day, and it just had to be gym, didn’t it?

Cisco ducked at the incoming fire of dodgeballs. “Yeah, sorry. Caitlin wanted to eat outside.”

A ball rolled to a stop beside him. He picked it up and chucked it, barely getting it past the midline.

The one class he and Barry weren’t good at. So what.

“You mean she didn’t want to eat with me.”

Cisco stopped, looking around. His team was going to lose no matter what.

“I think she’s just really embarrassed. Give her some time.”  

“Time?” Barry exclaimed, nearly getting hit in the face. “It’s been almost half a year! I miss her so bad. She’s in my geography class and she sat next to Bad Luck Becky instead of me.”

“Dude, watch out!”

“Huh?” Barry spun around in the wrong direction, and Cisco cringed as Barry got hit in the back by Woodworth, officially out.

Cisco followed him to the bench, not caring to even pretend he was playing anymore.

“What’s her deal?”

Cisco wrung his hands. “I don’t know. Her dad, I think. It shook her hard, and we weren’t there for her.”

Barry’s fingers were calming on his shoulder, unlike Dante’s, and different from Armando’s.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. She pushed us away.”

It was easy for Barry to say that. Barry the best friend, their happy third wheel. It wasn’t the same for Cisco. Cisco, who had offered to pick Caitlin up when she fell down the slide in the first grade, who she had won the regional science fair with in grade 3, who she first told when they were ten that her dad was sick, really sick, and I really need a hug.

Barry was always there and supportive and the best friend, but he had Iris. Before him came Cisco and Caitlin. They were a duo, a package deal, each other’s forever.

Even if she pushed him away, even if she hurt him. She never meant to, just as hurt and twice as lonely.

“She needed me and I wasn’t there until it was too late. Now she doesn’t know who to trust.”

Barry reached for his water bottle, taking a long sip.

“So she trusts LaRoche? She knows what she did to you, doesn’t she?”

It was humiliating just thinking about it.

Cisco shook his head. “She only knows that I tutored her for the SATs.”

Three thumps on the back was what it took for Barry to stop coughing, spluttering water everywhere.

“You need to tell Caitlin. ”

“No. Drop it. And don’t tell Iris either.”

“But—”

Coach Adam’s bullhorn blew sharply, interrupting them both.

“— Allen! Back on the court! Don’t make me give you another C!”

~.~

The last class of the day was math with Professor Stein. Cisco had it with Caitlin, and they sat in the front row, scribbling notes furiously to keep up with their teacher’s enthusiastic ramblings. When the final bell rang, Professor Stein called them both to stay behind.

“I’ve got something for my 4.0 lovebirds.”

He leaned behind his desk for two thick envelopes and deposited one in each one's hands.

Caitlin tore hers open quickly, curiosity getting to the best of her. A stack of viewbooks from prestigious schools were freshly pressed, smelling like new paper.

“Straight from the guidance counsellor's office. They’re not yet out on rotation, you see, but I figured my overachieving students wanted a first peak.”

“Oh wow,” Caitlin replied, already looking into the Harvard one. “These have the updated statistics.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Cisco leafed through the schools in his selection, pausing at MIT, eyes lingering on rolling green hills of its campus.

Professor Stein pointed at Cisco. “And how was your internship at Star Labs?”

“The greatest. They want me to continue twice after school.”

“Really now? That’s quite remarkable.”

“Isn’t it?” Caitlin smiled, proud of him. Cisco blushed. “I told him so.”

There was a knock at the door, and Shawna appeared. “Caitlin we need you right now. It’s an emergency.”

Caitlin looked to Cisco.

“I thought I was driving you home. We could look at these together.”

“We really need you, Caity. Becky’s crying. I can drive you home.”

“Tomorrow,” Caitlin promised, squeezing his shoulder, then thanked Professor Stein again for the viewbooks.

Cisco tugged on her blazer for a goodbye kiss, reluctant to let her go. She leaned in, her fingers delicate on his face, smiling against his lips.

Shawna stomped a little, rolling her eyes, “Can we go?”

“One minute,” Caitlin said, looking into his eyes. “We’ll go over our favourite schools tomorrow?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “It’s a date.”

She grabbed her bag and the envelope, then followed Shawna out the door.

Cisco watched Caitlin scurry after Shawna, who was stomping away in her spiked combat boots.

“I’m glad that whatever squabble you two had seems to be put behind you.”

Cisco turned to their teacher, unashamed that he witnessed him smitten.

“Me too.”

Professor Stein had always been perceptive and easily approachable. Cisco had gone to him in times of trouble in the past four years plenty.

Cisco sat on a desk as Professor Stein tidied up, reflecting. “Sir, how do you help someone through grief?”

His teacher took off his glasses, cleaning them with the edge of his shirt before he responded. “This is about the passing of Dr. Snow?”

Everyone knew. He supposed they had to, not only because Caitlin’s dad had been an active donor and contributor to the restructuring of Central City High’s science stream, but because Cisco guessed it was required for her teachers to take special attention.

“She’s just not the same.”

“She won’t be,” he advised, firm yet gentle. “She lost one of the most important figures in her life.”

The only figure, Cisco thought bitterly, thinking about Dr. T’s suspicious absence in Caitlin’s life. It always made him scratch his head, how two people who lived in the same house could avoid and ignore each other for so long.

If Cisco could avoid Dante, he would.

Maybe it was a matter of the size of the house.

“I want to be there for her, but sometimes I feel like she’s pushing me away. Do I give her that space? Should I be persistent? Love is hard,” Cisco groaned after his monologue, flopping against the row of desks as if he were in a therapist’s office, not his math class. His teacher chuckled at him.

“Ah, but is your affection for Miss Snow difficult to muster? It takes effort for you to demonstrate your care?”

“No,” Cisco protested. “No, that’s easy.”

Professor Stein tapped on his shoes, asking him to get them off the desks.

Cisco's legs swung over the side obediently, and he sat back up.

Professor Stein tilted his head, and Cisco was alarmed to realize how his favourite teacher’s hair was beginning to grey. 

Maybe that’s what made him stand out. After teaching as a professor and publishing his books, he came back to a high school to teach kids because he cared about them. Cisco didn't think he could do that. Lily was really lucky to have him as a dad.

“I know you love her Mr. Ramon. Patience is virtue. You’re astute for a young man of your age. Show her that love the best you can.”

That sounded about right.

“Yessir.”

“Now go home, enjoy those viewbooks.”

Cisco tucked the envelope under his arm, and took his advice.

~.~

Cisco was leafing through the glossy pages of Duke’s viewbook at the kitchen table, trying to concentrate through the constant keyboard banging leaking through the adjacent wall. He wasn’t allowed to ask Dante to be quiet, not even when he had to study and it was one of his pet peeves.

Don’t disturb him, Mama would always say, but his keyboard had an ear jack? Cisco had bought Dante a good quality headset a year and a half ago, thinking it would be a great gift to them both. 

Dante didn’t use them, Cisco bet the wrapping was still on the box, buried somewhere in their closet considering he’s never seen them and it’s not like their room was very big. So who was the one really being unnecessarily disturbed? 

How their neighbours haven't come pounding on their front door yet begging for silence was a mystery to him.

He was just getting into the gritty details of the application requirements when Rosita peered up at him on her tiptoes. Her ten little fingers gripped the table, eyes barely making it past the edge as she pushed herself up to see what Cisco was looking at.

“What are you doing?”

“Leyendo,” he said absentmindedly, showing her the bright graphs. She didn’t reply, and he looked down, how she had zero reaction, then forgot she was still fuzzy on verbs. Forgot that she couldn’t even read yet.

“Reading,” he translated. “For college. See? This is in North Carolina.”

“You’re leaving?” her voice wobbles, thick with hurt. “Like ‘Mando?”

Armando’s been gone at Cleveland State for two years, majoring in business. Cisco’s surprised sometimes that Ro even remembers their oldest brother.

“Not right away. But next year, yeah.”

Cisco didn’t see the big deal. He felt Rosita was pretty lucky, getting the apartment practically to herself. Cisco would have loved to be left alone growing up, not constantly stuck rubbing shoulders with the six people crammed into their three bedroom apartment with nowhere to breathe. But Caitlin and Barry both said growing up as an only child was lonely, wishing for siblings. Cisco wouldn’t know.

“Why?”

“Because I want to go to school, like the one you’re going to start tomorrow,” he explained. He glanced down at the entrance requirements and chuckled at his own analogy. “Except this isn’t kindergarten.”

There was just enough room for Rosita to squeeze onto his seat. He patted the space, and she climbed up with a little "oof” until their thighs were pressed together.

He read to her what was on the page just to keep her busy. It was the pictures she was interested in anyways.

“Where’s Mama?” he asked after a while. They had moved on from Duke to Stanford. Their dad still wasn’t home from work either, but he wouldn’t be, he usually wasn’t at this time.

Rosita shrugged her shoulders and Cisco rolled his eyes at himself, wondering why he expected the five year old of the house to have all the answers.

He slid off the chair, noticing the way she was droopy, her messy black curly hair spilling against the table as she leaned her head against it. 

“Did you have a snack?”

She rolled her head from side to side with a whine. Cisco took that for a no.

He pulled out a fruit roll-up from the kitchen, ignoring Caitlin’s voice in the back of his head warning about high fructose.

After seeing to it that she’s good with opening the wrapper, Cisco knocked loudly on the doorframe of his and Dante’s room. “Where’s Mama?”

Dante kept playing, ignoring him. Cisco marched right over to the outlet and unplugged the keyboard.

“Hey!”

“Yo Beethoven. Were you supposed to be taking care of Rosita? Because I came home to her climbing the curtains, Dante.”

His brother waved him off, “She’s fine.”

“She was hungry.”

Dante glanced up at the clock on the wall.

“Mama went grocery shopping. We’re going to have dinner soon anyways.”

“Not for another few hours, I wasn’t supposed to be home this early. You can’t leave her alone like that she’s too young, and Mama expects us watch her!”

Dante banged his fist against the quiet keys, and Cisco had to keep a straight face at how that looked. “Stop fucking lecturing me, I’m older than you!”

“By a year,” Cisco scoffed. “Don’t go on about being 18 if you won’t even act like an adult.”

“Yeah, because you want to be an adult so bad, Cisco, don’t you? It’s just a number it doesn’t make you older.”

Not for the first time, Cisco found himself missing Armando. Things were easier with Dante when he was around, how he was practical like Dante yet level-minded like himself.

The door slammed loud behind him, frustrated. Dante was Dante. What was he to do? At least he got his car.

Cisco took his stack of books to the living room, wiping off Rosita’s sticky fingerprints from off the Stanford cover and got really interested in Harvard’s crimson booklet.

By dinner, he was excited, sprouting out campus facts as his dad asked to pass the bowl of vegetables.

Rosita kicked her legs in her seat beside him, happily munching away on the roast beef.

“Dude, just. Shut up,” Dante said with his mouth full after Cisco went on a, self-admitting, spiel about Stanford’s aeronautics engineering program.

Cisco narrowed his eyes, defending himself. “I have to apply by November for early admissions. That's two months away. We're talking about my future here.”

His mom and dad shared a look, one Cisco couldn’t decipher. He put his fork down, sensing dread.

“What? I told you, my SAT scores are really high. Maybe not Harvard okay, but MIT, UPenn, I think I have a real shot.”

It went quiet, it was uncomfortable and Cisco felt nervous, like he was the butt of a big joke.

“What?”

“Get that Ivy League crap out of your head, we can’t afford it.”

His mother gasped, hitting his father’s arm.

Cisco looked to Dante, who had his glass paused halfway to his lips.

“What Papa means is we know you talk big plans with tu novia, but where will the money for that come from?”

The words were faint, Cisco feeling a rush in his ears as his mind began to race, trying to compute. "Mama, I don't understand.”

“Those schools sound very expensive, Cisco.”

This couldn’t be happening, he pushed his plate away, sick to his stomach.  “Two years ago you said you had money put away for me.”

“That was before Dante changed his mind about CCU music. And it was never going to be enough for what you’re talking about. We were already tight with Armando’s tuition.”

Dante coughed, nearly choking on the food, startled. “Mama,” he gaped, after a giant swallow of water. “¿Su dinero?”

“He is older, Cisco,” his dad replied, and it was condescending, felt cold like ice down Cisco’s back. “If you want a fancy college you’ll need a job, maybe two. You might have good grades for CC High, but for a full scholarship where everyone is smart? Be realistic, Mijo.”

Cisco’s eyes were stinging, blurring as the weight of their words washed over him, and he was so unprepared, so unbalanced to hear that news, it knocked him over, and now he felt like was going to drown.

"You don't think I'm good enough?"

"That's not what we're saying," his mother corrected, "But we do believe your aspirations are out of tune."

Out of tune. Giving all his college money away to his ungrateful brother, permitting him to Netflix in his room under the guise of studying composition, was out of tune.

He stood up abruptly, not able to stomach any more.

“You used my money on Dante? Dante? Who doesn’t even show up for school? Have I not been clear since I was twelve how much I wanted this?”  

Rosita burst into tears at the volume of his voice, covering her ears. His mother ran to Rosita.

It wasn’t Rosita’s fault. It wasn’t. She was just a child. She was little, but somehow the way his mother ran to her and picked her up adoringly, soothing her whimpering was the last straw, twisting something in Cisco until it bent and snapped.

“You care for everyone in this house but me!”

“Francisco.”

“It’s true!” he cried, and maybe it wasn't, but his world was imploding, and this wasn't his fault, Cisco didn't do anything to deserve this.

He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jean jacket, furious, “You never listen, you never care, you don’t know anything about what I want or am going through, even when I say it. It’s all about Dante or Rosita. You didn’t even care that I was chosen for Star Labs’ internship, how big of an accomplishment that was for me. Or that Caitlin’s papa died!”

“You were at Star Labs?” his father questioned, sliding his glasses up his nose. “Dante did you know this?”

His mother tore her gaze from his sister, stunned. “Dr. Snow?”

Even his parents were out of tune with each other. Out of tune, they said about him going to an Ivy, about becoming an engineer, he still processing it, outraged. Cisco wanted to throw up.

Dante spoke up. “Papa of course I knew he wouldn’t shut up about it. He was gone every day.”

Dante was defending him for once, probably guilty, and he should be, Cisco thought, but that wasn't enough.

He was on a roll, unable to stop yelling, “Armando got everything he wanted! Dante gets anything he asks for, no questions! A motorcycle, he goes and you're all oh, sure Dante, here you go, only pay half. Then he says, Haha surprise, I want to go to college after all, and so you go sure, let us deplete our youngest son's college funds!"

Even Rosita quieted, staring at Cisco.

"What?" she said, voice full of innocence.

His face crumpled, but he refused to break in front of them. "I worked so damn hard, and I get nothing?”

“It is not nothing,” his father scolded in Spanish. “CCU is a fine school, Francisco. You are just prejudiced. Caitlin is a fine girl, but her privilege has gone to your head.”

“That’s not true,” Cisco snapped back, switching languages smoothly. “This has nothing to do with Caitlin. Mama, tell him.”

She lowered her gaze, fussing again with Rosita’s plate, without replying.

His parents’ quietness was all the confirmation Cisco needed. A dark chuckle, more like a huff from a pushed out exhale escaped him, and he shook his head.  

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, looking at the faces of his family. He didn’t even want to be here anymore.

“Well, since I got your attention,” he spat, “I was offered a placement at Star Labs for the Fall for after school. I need a parent to sign the contract with me.”

“¿Se paga?” Is it paid? Mama said.

After all that.

Cisco choked on his answer, already imagining what they were going to say. “No.”

“You’ll have to choose then, what you want more.”

Was this what it felt like? To see his entire future hanging by a thin, loose, unravelling thread? Cisco shouldn’t have to choose. Star Labs was his ticket out of here. Out of this mess, the one outstanding point on his application which would give him those scholarships, that admission.

But his parents didn't understand, and they won't.

And that's what was worse. It was not the lack of money, or that they gave it to Dante (even though that cut deep, and Cisco wasn't quite sure it was something he could ever forgive). He knew that they weren't wealthy, that they were four kids and still not even in a house. But they made it work for their children, set up this illusion, this fake fantasy land Cisco had been living in for years and watched him entangle himself deeply there, plant roots in it, and still never bothered to come clean and correct him.

They watched him grow up and fall in love with math and science--and Caitlin, and get his glowing letters from his teachers and still think the idea of him going away to one of the country's best schools was silly. Childish, like one of Rosita's make believe stories.

How could they see him, see what he's willing to sacrifice, how hard he'll work, has worked, and still be so confident that Cisco was wasting his time?

“I’m going to sleepover at Barry’s,” Cisco announced, too upset to look them in the eye. Too angry to wait and listen to their reply. To be given permission to leave.

They were way past granting him permission to do things anymore, in his books.

Dante tried to pull him back when he passed by, uttered his name, but Cisco pushed, shoving his brother out of his path with a hard glare, poisoned with fiery pain, daring him to say another word.

He didn't wait for the elevator of the building to make it to their floor, just ran down the spiralling steps, all at once, and fled.

~.~

Cisco called Caitlin twice but it went to voicemail. He banged his head against the steering wheel in the humid, sticky old car with the rusted paint and broken AC, keys still in the engine, motor running, stalled in the apartment parking lot, and cried loud ugly sobs.

~.~

Dr. Allen didn’t question why he had to double his pancake recipe in the morning, just ruffled Cisco’s hair and called him and Barry sluggers, and for that Cisco was grateful.

Cisco parted ways with Barry on the Allen's front steps, after he got pulled in for a hug. 

"We'll look at options, okay? Jobs and stuff." Barry cracked a smile. "Maybe we can wait tables together."

"You'd do that for me?" Cisco, asked, pleasantly surprised.

Barry nodded. "I could use some extra cash, to take Iris out and stuff. You want to walk to her house with me?"

Cisco nodded to the Toyota. "Nah, I told Caitlin I'd pick her up this year now that I have the car. I'll see you in school."  

~.~

Cisco sat in his driver's seat, tapping his fingers against the dashboard, still dreary, exhausted, and weighed down, but, hopeful to see the one person who would be sure to make him feel better.

Minutes clocked by and his hope turned to worry, and he wrestled with the idea of unbuckling his seatbelt to see what was wrong.

Because something was wrong. Caitlin was late. And she's never been late in all the years that he knew her.  

She was late and so he was just as relieved as surprised when Dr. T knocked on his window, after walking briskly down her house's long driveway.

He rolled it down, frowning. “Is Caitlin sick?”

“She already left with her driver,” she informed. “She made it clear that she didn’t want to see you.”

It was like being dunked in cold water.

“What?”

“Get to school, Francisco.”

Cisco grabbed his phone in the glove compartment, about to call her, not above believing Carla Tannhauser pulling a fast one on him (she never did exactly like him, but this would've been cruel) when the text came through.

❤ Caitlin ❤ : We're breaking up.

[randomvarious]

The Nils - “Scratches & Needles” Someone’s Gonna Get Their Head to Believe in Something Song released in 1984. Compilation released in 1992. Punk Rock / Pop Punk

The history of the Nils is like that of so many punk bands: a band that was so good and had so much promise, but whose dreams of success were unfortunately dashed. Led by brothers Alex and Carlos Soria, the Nils formed in Montreal in 1978 when Alex was only 12 and Carlos, 15. Alex had a natural knack for picking up guitar concepts very quickly and assumed the roles of both lead singer and guitarist while Carlos played bass. By 1979, the Nils were playing live in Montreal and in ‘83 played with the Ramones and then with X. They were becoming a known entity in Montreal despite not having released a single.

By ‘84, they began to gain a buzz outside of their city. The song “Scratches and Needles” appeared on LA punk label Better Youth Organization’s (BYO for short) Something to Believe In compilation and was deemed by a lot of people to have been the album’s best track. This was ostensibly the beginning of something great for the Nils.

But BYO never followed up. The Nils went on release two EPs and an album between 1985 and 1987, but a confluence of corrupt and greedy people, bellied-up labels, and drugs ultimately did them in. There always seemed to be something holding them back. Sometimes it was of their own making, but a lot of times it wasn’t. There were a lot of unfortunate circumstances with people who didn’t hold the Nils’ best in mind that were controlling their fate.

The phenomenal “Scratches & Needles” was inspired by a night out between Alex Soria and three of his friends when they were 16. They found themselves at a basement party with a bunch of older, leather-clad punks who were on some serious drugs (probably heroin). Alex and his friends loved punk rock, but they hadn’t adopted its lifestyle or nihilistic ethos. Johnny C, a friend who was with Alex that night, recounts on his blog:

A young man, who from the moment we walked in struck us as really fucked up, began hurting himself. Badly. He had taken a beer bottle cap and began scratching the underside of his arm with it over and over again, his flesh turning pearly white until it began to bleed. The blood didn’t even stop this poor soul, and he didn’t show any indication of being in pain. I don’t know how many times that bottle cap went up and down that arm, but it was a sickening sight we never forgot. Not long after that we left and breathed a huge collective sigh of relief when we got outside, for once looking forward to the normalcy and safety of our suburban homes. On the following Monday at school, Alex told me he had written a song about what happened that night called “Scratches and Needles” and showed me the lyrics. Little did he know then what he wrote that weekend would ensure that we’d never forget that party. To our astonishment, it has become a Canadian punk classic.

The Nils specialized in pop punk before it was really a trendy thing. Pop punk, in 1982, when “Scratches & Needles” was written, was like power pop that used punk elements. The Nils seemed to take an inverse approach, playing punk rock with pop elements. There were other bands doing it, like Bad Religion, but the Nils weren’t aware of them back then.

“Scratches & Needles” layers a bunch of noisy and scratchy punk chords, both deep and high, and fashions them into energetically catchy melodies. Alex passionately narrates the shocking encounter from that basement party, chastising the guy who was making himself bleed as someone who was just embarrassingly craving attention. Despite its dark lyrics, the song emanates a hopeful and optimistic vibe, and Soria’s anthemic chorus, followed by his awesome solo in the final leg, only adds to those warm feelings.

A song that initially appeared to be the launching pad for the Nils’ success. They had the potential to be recognized as one of North America’s great punk bands, but unfortunately, due to a myriad of reasons, stalled out.