#I know approximately one lyric here and that's good enough for me.

[ellabsweet]

[ੈ✩] 𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 • 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐒

synopsis: in which you’re fooled.

pairing: rockstar!ellie x reader x rockstar!abby

warning: mentions of cheating and drug usage but i believe that is all ! let me know in case there’s anything i just wanted to put this out already because of the traction this is getting which is making me sososo happy thank you everyone i love you <3

authors note: ——

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐑.𝐈.𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇

approximately two years earlier…

“Who’s the pretty girl?” Ellie asks after snorting a line of powder from the small bathroom’s sink, a banging to the door from an urgent adult being dismissed by her and the dealer.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that”

“Oh c’mon you know the one. Sad eyes girl who watched the whole show from her seat at the bar like we were a band worth shit, like we’re going to be someday”

“They call her bunny around here. ‘Cause you know, a cute shell for a sex addict, y’know some misogynistic shit. She’s a regular to all The Deadbeats show on this shitty bar, you only want to fuck her now? Get on some fan service?”

“You’re fucking gross, man. I just digged her vibe, is all”

What Ellie meant by that was, she saw her soul reflected in your eyes and it scared her shitless but not enough to go untouched by the exchange, drowning in curiosity and magnetism the drugs made sure to intensify your face in her mind as though a printed sticker inside her brain. What Ellie meant was, she thought God was a girl with sad eyes and skimpy top watching her band in the corner of a loud bar piercing right through her like a Heaven and Hell collision midst a guitar riff.

Daniel took one last sniff of cocaine before he slammed the door open, the yell in his throat setting off a headache in Ellie: “Bunny! Come meet your rockstar!”

“I like your songs-“

“We’re gonna get married” You errupt in laughter with that, the sad eyes Ellie had attatched to the memory of you suddenly disappearing in bright amusement, she felt as though she could use your happiness as a new kind of high “I’m not joking, I would carry you in my arms straight into a chapel right now”

“Does that line usually work with the girls you go for?”

“I don’t know, you’re the first I tried it on. Is it endearing enough to convince you to elope?”

“You know every single person in this goddamn bar wants to get in your pants after that guitar riff, right?”

“I’m gonna be fully honest with you right now. I’m fucked out of my goddamn mind today, if I stare at you too long from the mix I took you’re gonna start having two heads and still I might dig it. But God, even then you look so fucking sad”

“Jesus” you scoff “alright junkie well I’m gonna go now-“

“You look so fucking sad and I see you. It’s like I’m seeing an angel cry, like I’m watching God in a party outfit wandering around and listening to my band, like a little bunny eyed daydream fucking painting on a museum wall that makes critics bawl into tears listen, shit, what I’m saying is you’re a fucking tsunami and I feel like I’m flooding and we haven’t even kissed and you don’t even seem to like me all that much right now but when I was up there?” Ellie pointed at the stage “You felt it too. My lyrics. You felt my stuff I know you did, like some soulmate shit like you feel my pain too like we’re both just trying too damn hard. I’m not insane yet, you’re something let me be something to you, I think I can be”

You didn’t answer her. You just kissed. Crashed your lips into her like you were coming up for air because something in your booze made something about her nonsense make sense. You thought you saw her in a dream when she first went up on stage, thought her to be one of those blurry faces in good nights of sleep that passed right through you, familiar in a mystical sense, in the stupidest way. Her lips on yours tasted of pure alcohol and it made you dizzy, weak in the knees. She knew her way around your body, waist and neck like a map engraved itself to the palm of her hands and you melted straight to them.

For two months you believed she was right that day, onto something. Talked about grief and music and love and death and space and leace and thought you knew her forever. Then The Deadbeats got more traction, moved to the spotlight. Then you caught her fucking a fan in the studio.

“All of Ellie’s girls think they’re special”

“Listen Abigail I don’t want to fucking hear it so you can fuck right off” You grabbed your bag, tears prickling in your eyes as you did so before the blonde grabbed hold of your shoulder, instinctively having you look back at her, perhaps the first time you truly looked at her all this time.

“But you really are.”

taglist: @abbysvictim @lottiematthewsceo @sadeyedsugar @digit4lslut @r0ckgoblin @machetegirl109 @scatapple @elliesgirlll @madelynie @emothurman @p1llowthoughtss @scottstre3ted @thatonementallyillsimp @rockyroad-is-bomb @spaceshipellie @toesorhoes @callmewhenyoukan comment to be added!

[fili-urzudel]

Wildflower Ch. 1 - The Beginning

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.1 k

Dear Reader:

The following events have been amalgamated from multiple sources and translated to a language you can understand to the best of our ability. We can only approximate the exact gestures, actions, and emotions of the characters involved, but hope we have done them justice. Songs have been the most heavily changed to make them more lyrical in your preferred language. However, the sentiment remains the same.

Thank you, and enjoy.

The sun rose earlier than expected, and Kíli thought it made the Shire look rather nice. The rolling green hills and wide dirt paths were no match for Ered Luin’s sharp peaks and impressive bridges, of course, but they were nice all the same. 

“Ye cannae stare at the dew all day,” Dwalin said gruffly, almost running into him as he exited the Hobbit hole, hauling yet another bag of garbage from the Baggins home.

“I know, I was just coming out to help you,” he smiled easily, and Dwalin huffed in reply. 

“Gettin’ the ponies ready is a bit more pertinent.”

“Ah, I see we’ve brought out the advanced vocabulary this morning.”

Dwalin shot him a look that could kill, and if his hands were free, he might have tried.

“Kíli,” a deep voice warned from around the bend.

“I was getting to it!” Kíli exclaimed quickly. “Where’s Fíli, anyway? He’s supposed to be helping me with this.”

“Your brother is writing a letter to his dear wife to let her know he’s safe,” Balin said, already standing by the ponies, loading maps and parchments into his saddlebags. 

“Oh,” he said simply. Normally, he would stick his tongue out or something of the sort, but he was rather concerned about his sister-in-law as well. 

Thorin nodded gratefully in Balin’s direction—he always seemed to know how to get the two of them under control, much better than he could, anyway.

The company was underway just before daybreak, and Kíli found himself squinting against the sun as they left. 

The morning was too quiet. 

“Anyone care to make a bet or two?”

* * *

“Wait! Wait!” The cry came from behind them. One by one, the dwarves reigned in their ponies, turning to see the aforementioned potential burglar running up to them rather comically, waving the contract as he did. “I signed it!”

Kíli smiled broadly—he had won his bets. He had seen a peculiar look in the Hobbit’s eye. That, and Gandalf betted that Bilbo would come to his senses. The young prince figured it would be pure foolishness to bet against a wizard.

Balin glanced at the Hobbit skeptically as he pulled out his reading glass, carefully inspecting the paper.  “Everything appears to be in order; welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

The company cheered; they had a burglar! Maybe not a very good one, but at any rate, a burglar. After a small fuss concerning the use of ponies as their primary mode of transportation, they were once again on their way, now a company of fourteen.

“Stop! Stop! We have to turn around!” Bilbo’s calls did indeed cause the company to halt.

Kíli could see the look on his uncle’s face without looking at him; he had seen the man exasperated often enough, and he was beginning to feel the same way.

“What on earth is the matter?” Gandalf asked before either of them had the opportunity to.

“I forgot my handkerchief,” Bilbo complained.

“Here!” Bofur called helpfully, tearing off a portion of his rather soiled outer coat. “Use this!’

“Bilbo?” At the call, the entire procession stopped in their laughter, turning to see another Hobbit coming up to their trail.

Kíli immediately noticed something different about the Hobbit, not in her appearance—though, that may have been a factor—no, but rather in the effect she had on him. She was beautiful in a way he had difficulty explaining: her hair long and fastened back with several clips, save for the curls on her forehead; her long, pale green skirt and loose white blouse; her blue eyes that shone in the sunlight.

“Where are you going? Who are these people?” Kíli was jerked out of his reverie by the question, momentarily panicking as though it was he who was expected to answer.

“Who is this?” Thorin grunted, and the Hobbit simply glanced at him curiously before returning her gaze to Bilbo.

Kíli wished her eyes had not simply flicked over him.

“Oh, um, gentlemen, this is May Bramble, my cousin, who happens to live just west of this path we're using,” Bilbo explained, his hand awkwardly fiddling with the reins of his newly acquired pony.

At Gandalf's lightly confused expression, May chuckled. “It's very distant, but, somehow, we're both Tooks. One more than the other.”

The wizard nodded thoughtfully and went back to his pipe.

The dwarves gave each other looks of barely disguised humor—these Hobbits and their family trees!

“A bit far out of town, is it not?” Thorin asked, eyeing the maiden with a kernel of suspicion.

“My great-great-grandfather was one of the more... eccentric Hobbits of his generation,” she answered seriously. “He thought it better to rely more on the land, as our ancestors had, and it has served us well. Now, Bilbo, are you going to answer my question or not?”

Before Bilbo could answer, Gandalf took it upon himself to explain the journey, and its reasoning, despite Thorin's protests—“We do not need everyone in the Shire knowing our business!”

“Oh,” she furrowed her brow seriously. “That sounds... very noble. And exciting.”

Thorin stared at her, hoping that would be the end of it and they could be on their way.

“Would you mind the addition of another to your company?”

“We don't need any dead weight,” Thorin said bluntly. “This is hardly a jolly quest.”

“We could use an extra pair of hands, always,” Kíli argued, and Thorin raised a brow at him. “And I hardly think she's so eager to join this company for gold when no payment has been offered.”

“No, no, I would never assume that I was entitled to any of your gold,” she shook her head quickly. “I'm only joining for the adventure.” She smiled at Kíli, a bright grin that was easily returned.

“And we do have an extra pony,” Fíli pointed out, seeing the look on his brother's face. It was certainly one he had not quite seen before.

“Have both of you gone mad? We cannot—”

“Let her come!” Gandalf interrupted. “I have a wizard's intuition about this one.” He gave a not-so-subtle wink in her direction.

Thorin spared her another glance.

“Fine. But we will not be waiting; we've wasted enough daylight as it is.”

May jumped excitedly, running back to her front door and grabbing a large leather bag before jogging back to the company that had indeed already begun to move on. 

“Here’s a pony, lass,” a red-haired dwarf offered kindly. 

“I’ve always wanted to ride one,” she cheered, quickly moving to ride sidesaddle. 

“Did you just… have a bag of your things ready for a journey like this?” Bilbo asked as she rode alongside him. 

“Did you not?” Her quick response was followed by the brightest laugh Kíli had ever heard. 

He was in trouble.

[this-loser]

Through the Motions

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Author's Notes: I deleted my last story. Main reason: I had no idea what I was doing and where I was going with it. I'm gonna rewrite it but it will take me some time. So I'll start this little chapter work instead. I'll be updating slow so please don't be upset. You can also read on my AO3 account! HERE is the second chapter!

────────────────────

「WC: 1,464 」

「Summary: It took one mistake of going to a party and another with you being in an alley watching utter chaos unfold with a guy that's called, Red Hood.」

「Warnings: Cursing, some mentions of alcohol and drugs with slight mentions of an abuser. Nothing too in depth just minor mentions is all.」

────────────────────

「Chapter 1: Two Mistakes」

───────────────

God, the music was loud. Too loud. Being able to feel the bass in your chest and body is not entirely fun, and the fact that you had only come to the party was because your best friend had guilt-tripped you into it. For now, one mistake has been made that was coming to this party.

Second mistake was about to happen in approximately 35 minutes.

Voices, men and women. Laughter and the stench of sweaty bodies close together, alcohol, and- Christ, that guy does not know how to keep his hands off that girl's ass. You bring your cup up to your mouth at the sight, mind now pulled from the depths of thought before you glance down at your drink, half tempted to chunk it at the guy and then leave. I’m going home… You thought. Quietly, you made your way past people. Sometimes, needing to push by them and given the occasional annoyed glare or scoff from someone.

It did not take long for you to make it to the kitchen, dumping your drink into the sink and then tossing the red plastic cup into the trash before rushing out of the kitchen as a woman walks in, her friend behind her, and she passes her a lighter. Really? You could hear the thought bouncing around in your head like a ball in a pinball machine, the little "ting ting" from it hitting the sides of the machine echoing in the depths of your mind.

The music started up again. Rock. Loud and causing more people to be hyped up.

Stupid Girl

The irony of the song lyrics that could be loud enough to make out. How that alone made you roll your eyes, moving past more people and unable to find your friend. Your ride for the night is now gone.

Annoyance had started to build along with a headache as you finally made it to the door of the room, grabbing the knob and twisting it open, then letting the door slam shut behind you. The loud music muffled along with all the people in that damn party. You spared a glance at the door once more before letting out an exasperated sigh then taking the stairs out of the building.

Best place to hold a party where cops or nosy people could not be found. Find a relatively quiet and isolated abandoned building in the worst part of Gotham City. No. Scratch that. Any city, but especially not Gotham.

This place was not that good. Too many wacked-out loons running around. Some dressed as clowns, a literal scarecrow, and that weird guy- Mad Hatter? Was that the name he went by? Who cares; stay away.

You shook your head as your feet hit the first floor. Somehow, you could still hear the bass from the new song playing; maybe those people needed a doctor to poke around their ears. Make sure that nobody's eardrums get busted. You crossed the room, footsteps echoing throughout the empty room before making it to the backdoor of the building, the same one you and an asshole of a friend came through.

There was practically no noise outside that could be annoying. The downtown streets busy with the nightlife of Gotham, while here in this more isolated area was the breeze and-

Your head turned to the left, eyes widening as a man was thrown, hard, against a wall. A loud cry left him as his back came in contact with said wall. He slid down the brick wall, grunting and breathing deeply, trying to regain balance.

“No, no, shitbag. You’re not passing out on me yet.” The voice carried throughout the alley before a guy took long strides to the other man. Dim lightening aside, you could at least make out his height, and this guy could easily punt you across the damn city.

Your stomach dropped, and you swallowed saliva, sweat gathering on the back of your neck. Yet your feet stayed planted on the ground. Keeping you there and forced to watch the whole scene play out.

He leaned down, grabbed the man's shirt collar, pulled him up, then slammed him against the wall. Compared to the last time, it was not as bad, but it did knock what air the man managed to catch out of him. “Keep those eyes peeled. Ears open too. I’m giving your worthless ass a chance to live,” He leans forward. The light from the street lamps made the red on his helmet noticeable. “If I ever see or hear that you can’t learn to keep your hands to yourself, then you're going to have to learn the hard way.” He reaches a hand to his side, out of your view, pulling out a pistol and pressing it against the side of the man’s head. "Ever hit your kid again, and I won’t be as merciful.”

The man struggles before going still as the gun is pressed to the side of his head. Any retort he had was gone as sweat started to roll down the side of his face before he nodded. “Okay! I-I swear! I won’t-” “Not a won’t. Make it never.” The guy interjected. “NEVER! I’ll never do it again!” The man blurts out without hesitating, voice shaky and filled with dread. “Good. Now,”

He doesn't waste another second, dragging the man off the wall then shoving him towards the alley exit. “Get your worthless ass out of my sight.” The man stumbled, nearly falling on his face but scrambling to his feet and rushing off.

You still stood there. Next to the backdoor. Eyes wide and mouth gaped open. Not only did you watch a man get the shit scared out of him, but the same guy who tossed said man now turned. He was standing straight, head facing in your direction.

You had made jokes before. A six-foot tall man is something you would swoon over, but this? Maybe under different circumstances and not in an alley while he’s still got his gun out. Well, it’s at his side but the point still stands.

There is a silence that fills the alley. And for a brief moment, you could have sworn he’s just hesitant now. Unsure of how to address the fact that you were just standing there, staring at him while he did the same. With a shake of his head, a clear sigh - what sounds like one with how scrambled his voice sounds in the helmet - as he puts the pistol back into the holster before turning his body completely to look at you. “How much…” He trails off, thinking before taking a single step forward. “Did you hear?” He took another step.

You watch. Forced to since your whole body is frozen and your feet feel like someone trapped you in cement. Your mouth moves, nothing coming out. In an instant, your body betrayed and abandoned you.

His body was tense, shoulders and upper body hunched slightly. It’s like he was getting ready to pounce at you. Whatever god was watching, if any, you were already praying to. Every fiber of your being torn between screaming at your body for being stupid and just standing there like a deer in headlights while the other was already making a last will.

“I’ll ask again,” His voice lowered. He wasn’t aiming to hurt, but simply figure out, yet that still was not comforting by any means as he took more steps to you. "I-I saw the guy fly against the wall!" You finally managed to get out, mind racing as the world was almost spinning. He stops. About less than half of the way to you and making the alley feel like it had shrunk around you and is forcing him to be closer.

It’s like he’s thinking about what to say or do next. Maybe he isn't that scary because he's just standing there. Then he straightens his stance, arms at his sides, looking at you. “What’s your name.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking.

Your brain short-circuited as you stare at him, bewildered.

It took you three minutes before you finally blurt out your name next. He simply stares at you before turning around, pulling out a smaller gun from the belt that hangs tightly around his waist, the ends of his jacket moving with his movements. “Go home. Last thing you need is getting into trouble.”

That’s all he said before aiming the gun at a rooftop, a hook, and line shooting from it while another line wrapped around his wrist, dragging him up from the ground floor and into the shadows of the buildings.

Second mistake of your night. Staying in the alley, then telling the guy, Red Hood, your name.

[icantbelieveiusedtobereal]

Hi Absolutely (probably) no one ever.

My name is MasterTuxedo, well it was 20 years ago. Yes, it was a reference to Sailor Moon and no, I had never watched a full episode of the show at the time, it just seemed like a good idea. If it didn’t I guess I thought it sent the right signals? I don’t know. You’re probably already getting the right idea about past, present, and future me. Maybe. Like the anime profile picture? I have no idea what that is and I’m fairly confident I didn’t know then either. I probably heard the name of an anime while my brother was watching adult swim and just typed it into the AOL search bar. Cool. I do know the tagline, its from SoundGardens song rusted chain. It feels like it means something, and maybe is does now, but then it felt vague enough to be similar to the non-sequitor emo lyrics adorning my friend’s profiles.

Coming of age in the early 2000’s nothing strikes fear in the heart of my generation quite like the idea that someone you might know may have gotten a glimpse into who you used to be. Fortunately most of us had our Myspace nuked, but we’re going on a journey one step back. A journey to a time where we thought it was a good idea to utilize a platform where we could make our most private thoughts and feelings public. I’m talking about internet journaling, and if you didn’t delete it long ago it seemingly will exist in perpetuity, so I’ll own it.

I’ll spare you any form of personal introduction, maybe we will get to it as time goes on, but for now I leave you with the basics.

Here it is: August 31, 2004. I was 14 years old, my first week as a sophomore in Catholic School. I had probably heard my brothers friends at school talk about each-others livejournals. Back then I didn’t really know how to have friends, but I wanted them badly. Having spent approximately 90% of the prior 4 years of my life grounded for what I can only describe as “underperforming parental expectations” I didn’t know what people did when they weren’t at school. I guess I didn’t think about it, and as it turns out most kids don’t just stare at their bedroom ceilings making up alternate realities where they’re doing literally anything more exciting than nothing.

Lets see; in my head there was me from Canada, me who knew how to skate board, but only in work boots so I could not demonstrate my skills in front of my friends, me who had a girlfriend back in my old town, and me who knew how to play almost every Metallica song on Bass. None of these version were real, unless you think any of them are cool.

So here it is, this was my first chance to impose myself upon anyone I had access to, and this was my first best attempt. It’s really difficult to go back and read some of these, but ultimately it’s a little funny, sad, strange, and beautiful.

[nightengale82]

Healing Messy Mommy #10

To quote the lyrical genius Immortal Technique:

“If you go platinum, it’s got nothing to do with luck, it just means that a million people are stupid as fuck.”

There are approximately 334 Billion people in America today, in 2023.

How many people know what the actual definition of Feminism is? How many people are afraid to say that word? How many ignorant women have been unwilling to educate themselves on the topic for fear of being labeled a “man hater”? What does internalized misogyny look like, and how does it show up in our lives- as mothers? What is this new wave- this “modern day feminism” all you youngsters are all talking about?

Look I’ll be honest. I don’t know the answers.

I’ve been stuck in a happy little bubble: of love, nurturing and educating my children… and allowing myself the honor and joy of being loved and respected by a man, a REAL man: for their first time, ever, in my life.

Whatever y’all are going around calling “feminism” today… I want no part of. To be perfectly honest.

You can have your online dating, your only fans, your pronouns, your bare minimum “survival mode” mentality, your “independence”, your denial, your toxicity, your reality television, all that.

No thank you… I’m good!

I am awake.

Here’s the kicker: I have two daughters. I am not at liberty, not to care.

The reason that I care: is because of love.

God delivered a man to me that I don’t have to make excuses for. A man that I can trust. A man that has provided me a safe space, and absolutely refused to abandon me, when all of MY messy broken-ness got projected on to him, and I blamed him for it all of it: MY demons, MY trauma, MY lack of boundaries, MY inadequacy, MY inability to love, take accountability, and to forgive, trust, and let go…

When honestly, he was just doing his best. And guess what?

HE taught me how.

How to love: he taught me what it looks like: when you make a commitment to love a woman, and a family that you created, and SHOW UP everyday.

Embarrassingly enough, I didn’t know that,

that was a thing. 😅

I am so grateful that we found each other and that we have been able to choose each other… to have and to hold, in this lifetime, to share a family and build a life, and an empire, with each other.

By no stretch of the imagination do I believe that I have done anything remotely close to deserving this kind of love.

But you know who does? His daughters. My daughters. Our children.

And so I am very lucky, that I had enough sense to open myself up enough to love, just one last time and to take the chance.

Of course, now I see it wasn’t luck at all, but rather fate, and of course destiny.

Today, I create a new version of a word I am not willing to abandon: Ascended Feminism.

This is the kind of Feminism where I will respect what has been done, honor our accomplishments, but also examine what has gone horribly fucking wrong.

MEN AND WOMEN FUCKING NEED EACH OTHER.

We gain NOTHING by putting each other down.

Ascended Feminism demands that you honor the differences with in the masculine and the feminine, and do not deny any facet of either!

Ascended Feminism is doing the work to preserve, create and sustain healthy families, in order for society to evolve, and to raise the vibration of the collective, as a whole.

The American Family Unit is so rapidly deteriorating, so many of us are splintering into a million different pieces because we aren’t willing to talk about it, to get uncomfortable, to get to the bottom of this shit.

We have to do something about this!

We need each other! Boys need strong dads that can express the full range of their emotions, self discipline and self mastery without running away. Girls need mothers that can model healthy boundaries, value themselves beyond their appearances, and who feel safe enough to be in, and express their feminine nature.

That is my story, and I’m sticking with it.

More will be revealed.

#HealingMessyMommy #AscendedFeminism #AwakenedMasculine #DivineCounterpart #AwakenedFeminine #DivineMasculine #DivineFeminine

[arsonmiss]

haiku | kazuha x reader

been having 5wirl brainrot lately (namely kazuha heizou n’ xiao) so expect fics of them!

content/charas: kazuha, gn reader with they/them pronouns, aether, xinyan, beidou, some alcohol, drunk reader, accidental confessions

You slumped over on your table at the tavern in Liyue, groaning into your food as you held your head in your hands. This was the what, fourth time this week you had avoided going on an expedition with Beidou and her crew? And it was namely all cause of one person.

Kaedehara Kazuha, the object of your affections. The (no longer) fugitive from Inazuma who caught your eye the minute he appeared, and had slowly been catching your heart the same as he stayed. The longer you two spent together, the stronger you felt, and you hated it.

You didn’t want to make things weird between you two. Kazuha was a nice person to have on the ship, and was even nicer to talk to when the rest of the crew was too drunk to form coherent sentences. He’d calmly listen to you vent or ramble about whatever you wanted, and that carved him a special place in your heart. A little too special, for your liking.

And that’s why you were at the tavern. You were trying to eat and drink your problems off your mind, something that usually worked for you, yet isn’t working at all now. As you were trying to think about what to do next, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Hey y/n! What are ya’ doin out here? I thought for sure you’d be with Beidou n’ her crew!” Xinyan called, walking over to your table with Aether behind her, yet no Paimon in sight. Guess he was off babysitting duty for the day.

“Oh. Hey Xinyan, hey Aether,” you said, looking up and trying to force a smile on your face. Obviously enough, it didn’t convince the two, as they looked at eachother and then sat down in front of you, Aether reaching a hand out towards you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, you blowing out a breath through your lips, sitting up and leaning your head on one hand, drumming your other on your forearm. You mused a way to answer without telling them exactly what’s wrong, because even though you trusted then to keep a secret, if Aether let even the tiniest think slip to his flying companion, may Morax help you.

“M’fine, it’s just… have you ever had super strong feelings you don’t know what to do with?” You asked, tilting your head a bit to put emphasis on your question.

Aether gave a nod, while Xinyan placed a hand on her chin in thought. “Yeah, all the time. Sometimes commissions are a lot for me, and the asking for help can get a little annoying… But I never mind it, so I just clear my emotions out whenever I need to fight monsters,” he said with a shrug, as if it was the most nonchalant thing in the world.

“…Okay, ignoring your borderline homicidal tendencies, I don’t think I have the stamina to fight anywhere near as many monsters as you do,” you said, waving on the thought without as second thought, Aether cocking his head at his “homicidal tendencies.”

“Hmm… Well, I normally just get my feelins’ out whenever I preform. Or if it’s somethin’ calmer, when I’m writin’ my songs,” she said, twirling her pick in her hand.

“Writing a song… maybe that’s not a bad idea…” you mused, rolling the thought around on your tongue, an idea coming to mind. Were you the most lyrically inclined? No, but you could write a poem. Kazuha’s rubbed off enough on you for you to be able to do that, right?

“Maybe it’s not! I’m glad I could help ya out, y/n. In exchange, you should come to my show later! I’ll be sure to get you a good spot! And Aether too, if he wants!” Xinyan exclaimed, turning to Aether and giving him a small nudge as she winked at you both.

Aether gave a small chuckle and turned to you, waiting for your response. “Well, I’m down to go either way. You, y/n?”

You thought it over for approximately four seconds before going “Ah, what the hell? Sure, I’ll go. Maybe some loud music is what I need to turn my brain off for a bit,” you said, smiling at the small cheer Xinyan gave.

“Great! Well then, I’ll see y’all at the show later! 9pm, don’t forget!” She said, standing up and waving. “I’ve gotta go practice, but I’ll see you two later!”

You and Aether waved at Xinyan as she left, before you turned back to the blonde, pushing your food to the side.

“So, I noticed you’re off babysitting duty. What’s up with that?”

“Huh…? Oh, Paimon! Well, it’s a long story…”

“Kazuha? Kazuha!” Beidou called, the boy in question snapping his head towards her, almost falling off his place on the edge of the ship. “What’s up with you, man? You’ve been distracted for the past couple of days,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, her body language showing slight annoyance but her face full of concern.

“Oh, have I? Sorry, just… thinking about some things,” he said, brushing off her words as he readjusted himself, moving further back on the edge of the ship, pulling a leaf out of his pocket.

“Hm… If you say so. Just remember, you’re welcome to drink with us any time if you need to get your mind off something. Make sure to tell y/n that too, if you see her. I haven’t seen them in a couple days,” she said, crossing her arms as she turned, preparing to walk off.

“And I’m sure they’re fine. You don’t have to worry about them so much, y’know? They’re a strong person, that’s why they’re on my crew,” she said, holding back a chuckle as she walked off, Kazuha’ face going red. Was he that easy to read? And if he was, did you already know? He tried to brush the thoughts off, playing a tune with his leaf. Xinyan had a show later, right? Maybe he’d go himself…

You were drunk. Not completely hammered, but definitely past the point of tipsy. Aether was trying to keep a close eye on you in the crowd, but man were the attendees as loud and rowdy as the music. He had managed to grab hold of your wrist a couple times, but you got separated by another show attendant almost immediately after. Maybe he didn’t completely get the day off babysitting.

Xinyan, on the other hand, was having the time of her life on the stage, as usual. She was belting her heart out to the music she was playing, sweat rolling down her forehead as fire blasted from the sides of the stage, curtesy of her own pyrotechnics.

Kazuha was off to the side sitting in a tree to get a view of the show and stay away from the crowd. He had learned before this was his preferred way to watch her shows, getting a good view and staying out of the way of any sudden mosh pits that might happen. He nodded his head to the music, closing his eyes and letting the guitar entrance his thoughts.

“Alright, everyone! Thank you all for comin! I hope you all enjoyed the show, and please be safe on your way out! I hope you’ll come an’ see my next one soon! Until then, rock on!” Xinyan exclaimed, striking a cord on her guitar as the crowd cheered one final time, before starting to exit the venue. Kazuha jumped down from his tree, before heading over to the stage, slipping around the back to where Xinyan was.

“Oh, Kazuha! I didn’t expect to see you here!” She said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, wiping her face with a towel while simultaneously drinking some water. “Ah, give me a sec, please…” she mumbled, hurrying to make herself presentable as he waved a hand, giving her a smile.

“No, don’t worry about it, I showed up unexpected. I just remembered you told me about this earlier, and I didn’t have much else to do, so I thought, why not?” He said, giving a small shrug as she laughed, stretching her arms out behind her.

“Well, I’m glad you did! Hey, Aether and y/n were here earlier too! I think they’re still here, and we’re supposed to do somethin’ together after this! Maybe you’d wanna come with us?” She asked, tilting her head at him as his eyes widened a bit.

You were at the show? And he’d get the chance to see you after your absence on The Crux? Well, maybe a little after party wouldn’t hurt… Besides, he could ask you where you’d been the past couple days. Everyone was worried about you… especially him.

While he was thinking of a response, Aether came running in a panic, calling your name frantically. “Y/n? Y/n! Kazuha, Xinyan, have you two seen y/n? They were with me in the crowd and at some point we got separated and now I can’t find them! Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have let them drink that much!” He rambled, clutching his hair in his fists as he paced, Xinyan going over and holding his shoulders.

“Aether, Aether! Calm down! Panicking isn’t going to help whatever’s happening! Now calm down n’ speak clearly, okay?” She said, nodding slowly as the blonde followed her movements, taking a deep breath and letting go of his hair, clenching his fists by his sides instead.

“Okay, okay… So, y/n got drunk before the show, right? I told them they should probably just go home and sleep it off, but they insisted they didn’t want to miss your show. I tried to stay close to them in the crowd, but with everyone pushing their way to the front, I lost them. I thought I could find them when everything started leaving, but I couldn’t see them anywhere! I don’t know where they went and they’re gone and I don’t know what to do!”

Both Kazuha and Xinyan’s eyes widened. You were drunk? And lost? That was most definitely not a good combo. Especially if you had gone outside of the city in your state. Kazuha spoke up immediately, blurting the first semi-thought through plan that came to mind.

“Okay, how about we split up to find them? If you find them, take them back to The Crux or Wangshu Inn, if they’ve managed to get that far. We’ll meet back up later to tell each other if we’ve found them, okay?” He suggested, the other two nodding almost immediately. It wasn’t like they had any other plans.

And so they split off, racing off into the night in different directions, shouting your name into the distance.

Kazuha went to the cliffs just next to the path towards the entrance to Liyue Harbor. It was a place you had showed him before, somewhere where you could see the whole city from above. It was especially nice during the Lantern Rite, where you could see all the lanterns float above the city into the night sky.

But he wasn’t here to think about that, he was here to find you. And his heart almost dropped once he saw your form crouched over in a ball at the place you were sitting. However, as he got closer, he heard soft snores coming from you, and he let out an audible sigh of relief.

That’s when he saw all the crumpled papers near you. What? He picked up a couple of them, attempting to make out the scribbled out messes, before eventually giving up, and looking at the one you had fallen asleep on top of.

It was an unfinished haiku. And from the looks of it, a confession. A blush covered his face, before an adoring smile grew, going over and picking up the scrapped pieces of paper surrounding you, placing them in his pouch, and gently lifting you sleeping form onto his back. You were a little heavy, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d have to be sure to tell Aether and Xinyan he found you later. And also make sure Aether wouldn’t start groveling at your feet for forgiveness. That would be awkward.

You groaned as you opened your eyes, still quite a bit tipsy from all your wine tasting earlier that night. You closed your eyes immediately after from exhaustion, and held on tighter to whatever was carrying you. It smelled nice, and warm, and familiar…

“Y/n? Are you awake?”

Hey, that sounded like Kazuha. And it smells like Kazuha.

It is Kazuha, isn’t it?

“Kazu…ha…?” You slurred out, opening your eyes again, now focusing on the white hair and partial view of his face.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? Does your head hurt?” He asked, your brain swirling to catch up. What was he doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be with Xinyan and Aether? Last thing you remember was her show and…

The memories came flooding back in. After her show, you resolved to take her advice from earlier and write a poem to express your feelings. After many failed attempts, you eventually settled on one haiku that needed a final line, but you couldn’t remember it.

“Kazuha, do you… my… poem…?” You attempted to ask, words falling from your barely coherent question. He nodded, looking forward again, attempting to hide his blush, not that you would notice in your state anyway.

“Yeah, I found it. It wasn’t quite done yet.

I love him so much.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

And that’s all you had, right?” He asked, you nodding in agreement.

“Yeah… couldn’t think of another line.”

“Well, I think I have one.”

“Huh?”

“And he loves me too.”

He finished your haiku with a blush, the only thing keeping him grounded being the humming you were doing right next to his ear.

“Hmm… Maybe… Wait…”

And your drunk brain finally clicked.

“Wait, Kazuha…? You really…?”

“I do, y/n. I have for a long time now.” He said, holding you closer to him, letting out a sigh at the huge weight that was off his chest.

“Man, really? You should’ve said something earlier… This wouldn’t have happened if you had…” you pouted, Kazuha giving a small chuckle at your reaction.

“Maybe not. Well, at least I know you’re safe now. Now c’mon, let’s take you back to the Crux. Everyone’s been worried about you, and there’s a nice warm bed waiting for you there,” he said, your eyes lighting up at the thought of a bed.

“Oh, a bed sounds really nice… Thanks, Kazu,” you said, leaning over and kissing his cheek, before nuzzling back into his neck, preparing to sleep the rest of the way back.

He blushed at the sudden contact of your lips, letting out a small cough, before shaking his head, forcing himself to focus on the walk ahead of him. He was glad he had finally gotten those feelings off his chest, and even more that you had reciprocated. He couldn’t wait to see your sober self’s reaction to everything in the morning either.

As for the discarded poems, he’d probably just throw those away. But he’d keep that haiku you had finished together for the rest of his days.

end note: my pinky fucking HURTS

also I don’t think this was very good but fuck it we ball

[nedlittle]

Top 5 MCR songs? Also, top 5 Gerard Way Looks?

beginning to think i didn't think this through because i have so much love in my heart that choosing favourite songs feels illegal. they're all my favourite (except for blood which I think is hilarious as a concept but would never voluntarily listen to it) however

vampires will never hurt you - they immediately peaked with this one i genuinely think it's in top 3 songs they've ever written on sheer technical creativity. the first 30 seconds send a spike of pure adrenaline through my body. i could lift a bus if vampires was playing in the bg. absolutely deranged choice for a first single yet absolutely in character for them. love that half the songs off bullets don't even feel like songs that are verse > chorus > verse > chorus > bridge > chorus. they're just stories set against the sicknastiest guitar you've ever heard. but vampires in particular feels like everyone is performing until they pass out the energy doesn't flag for half a second. perfect song. i could listen to it every day and not get tired of it

boy division - iconic from start to finish. the amount of time tourists walked in one me going absolutely sicko mode to this one on slow days is at LEAST 3. love how tongue-in-cheek the lyrics are wrt to legacy and image love that i have listened to this song approximately 4000 times since mid-july and yet i do not know half the lyrics bc someone will not enunciate. putting it after foundations on setlists is such a fun choice because it really doesn't give you a second to breathe. going straight from the healing and awe and resilience of being told to fix your heart IMMEDIATELY into IFALLMYENEMIESTHREWAPARTY--

the foundations of decay - i know i'm prone to exaggeration and hyperbole but this one is dead fucking serious. the first time i listened to foundations i was like oh wow new music! and i liked it well enough but didn't seek it out or really think about it that much the first few times i heard it and then during the summer i saw some fanart and thought oh hm maybe i should give foundations another listen and that time i heard "you must fix your heart" clear as a fucking bell like a bolt of lightning clean through down to the centre of me right when i was experiencing such intense existential dread about turning 25--an age i never thought i'd reach--and not having a stable job or future that i thought i would lay down and die from it. you must fix your heart!! and you must build an altar where it swells!! i just had such a profound experience hearing that lyric and i listened to just the bridge over and over again for a week until i could hear it like static in my ears even when it wasn't playing. you must fix your heart. if i remember and get over my fear of appointments i'm going to get this tattooed on my human body. i mean this forever.

mama - do not need to explain this one. ray toro i would fight god for you thank you for taking a dare to write a rock polka 100% seriously and as a result transgenderizing millions of people across the globe on a daily basis. also up there in top 3 songs they've ever written. screaming YOU SHOULD HAVE RAISED A BABY GIRL I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER SON with thousands of people would both fix me and make me worse. LIZA MINNELLI is there

our lady of sorrows - the childhood catholicism really jumped out with this one but in my defense stand up fucking tall don't let them see your back and take my fucking hand and never be afraid again. gay-ass epic of gilgamesh-ass punk song. i know the point is that it's short but also i wish it were 10 minutes long

okay jesus christ we're putting the looks under a read more because i'm going to end up writing a phd thesis on each of them and the good people who followed me for other things shouldn't have to scroll 10 km uphill in the snow to see other posts

i am limiting these looks to recent tour fits because otherwise we will be here for the next 7 years and i will end up burning all the hair off my scalp in another bad dye job SO let's watch me get embarrassing

gerard of arc

protestants invented the rapture so they could describe mcr. we knew this one was coming the only question was when a joan outfit was coming and boy howdy did they deliver. i don't know if this one would have been as impactful if there wasn't already a mini-joan canon within their discography but because there have been years and years of build up to gerard going full joan, waking up and seeing this was pure vindication. also helps that i'm a big fan of the og joan fit at voodoofest in 2008 (2007?). love the change from the red skirt that's often associated with joan (especially in millais' painting) to a red cape so that instead it's chainmail all the way down. also there's something so striking about a chainmail gown. apart from the arm braces and the piece at the breastbone there's no real armour, even regular textiles that look like armour--i mean, practicality. you don't wanna pass out midway through na na na. also the BLOOD post-stake joan and the big ass buckle boots! i'm so glad someone got a visual on the boots bc the shoes often make or break an outfit for me and i was trying to figure out wtf they had underrneath the gown without sounding like a perv. the little joan sticker on his wizard noise tower. saints for girls. give this bitch a sword. if i talk about this too long i will be fully insane. moving on

2. high school english teacher who you homoerotically imprinted on but specifically with the jacket + glasses

feel like i do not need to explain this one. best they've ever looked unironically. it was all over for me the second i saw the pearl bracelet. the day after this happened i went to the heterosexual wedding of a high school friend in what i can only describe as a slightly more masc version of this fit which was likened by my friends to both a dead victorian child and a medieval knight. this look was my lockscreen until joan happened and genuinely my life has not known a single moment of peace since. i am not exaggerating when i say that on nights i knew there was a show i had trouble sleeping because i was tormented by the idea of gerard way out in public wearing a cunty little outfit. one night i genuinely woke up in a cold sweat and the first coherent thought was "what if an outfit happened" because i am Extremely Normal. i invented a brand new emotion looking at this and that emotion is 'gender horny' and no i do not know what that means. someone needs to take me out back and old yeller me i can't keep living like this. next

3. cheergate original flavour

i wasn't following the tour rabidly or having Hot Kit Emo Summer yet so the morning after cheergate og i was innocently scrolling through tumblr, saw fanart, and went wait. WAIT. and then mine eyes were blessed by images and the little gay people in my phone going from awe to horniness back to awe at breakneck speed. if this hadn't been on my day off i'm not sure how i would have coped. you think i would have been able to balance a cashbox in the wake of cheergate? i can barely do that under normal circumstances. sometimes gender is a horseshoe that swings back around to you with someone else's euphoria, sometimes it's contagious like laughter. the delicately puffed sleeves are what does me in specifically. puffed sleeves pristine white sneakers tiny little socks smooth ass legs. if i think for more than three minutes about the possibility of the cheerleading dress being the defining outfit of the return era i immediately get a tension headache. there are kids who got into mcr during the break up and this is going to be THEIR gerard....i need to put my head into a blender.

4. cunt dragula/count fagula

99% perfect recreation of bela lugosi in dracula 1931 HELLO?? (1% imperfect because the tailcoat is cut weirdly high both for a beat-by-beat recreation and 1930s evening wear in general and i cannot stop looking at it) i love this one bc it's just so Fun and the details are so theatre kid-y that i am reduced to self-recognition through the other. tinted hair gel. white foundation. drawn-on eyebrows. the way the cape swishes. we love to have fun here this one looked so fun to wear. even though i am not a big fan of dracula 1931 i am Not Immune to dracula 1931. glad there was a gud evening 9 years in the making :)

5. pool boy at the vampire mansion

fully-fledged character in 6 words. pool boy at the vampire mansion is like a mother to me. this falls into the category of outfits that i have deemed in my Big Spreadsheet of Tour Outfits (i am extremely mentally healthy thank you for asking) 'camp counsellor fits'. looks EXTREMELY comfy and even though it's so simple, everything works together so well even the clear face mask which i always forget exists. i love you tiniest shorts on planet earth. i love you crooked hand-lettered t-shirt handmade with love. i love you black converse. i would say more about this but the thing about living with your parents at 25 is that if my mother comes upstairs to drag me to the dinner table she will see me being extremely abnormal about gerard way online.

bonus points to: nurse (made me reread hanif abdurraqib's extremely wonderful black parade essay also gave me insane emotions re: my own concepts of health and chronic pain lol), lil ghostie (my close personal friend :^)), fruit bat drag queen (newark 1, would have been #4 if not for dracula)

[lonelyasawhisper]

Records

Creem, 1st March 1979

The Royal Screw, Part VII

QUEEN Jazz (Elektra)

by Mitch Cohen

For a few weeks in 1978, an FM radio station in New York City was trying, earnestly and imaginatively, to create rock ’n’ roll counter-programming. A ratings turnaround didn’t happen fast enough, so it changed its format to something called “the Rock Champions” (i.e., more AOR elitism). This was around the same time that every film clip of The Yankees on television was scored with “We Are The Champions,” and the movie FM attempted to pass off “We Will Rock You” as the “We Shall Overcome” of the rock revolution. I started to despise Queen; a two-sided platinum single of aristocratic, pompous, triumphof-the-will arrogance in 4/4 time (if marches are to resound over the .airwaves, better Ace Frehley’s “New York Groove” any day) summed up for me the worst in royalist rock, and I couldn’t remember more joyless, numbing, contemptuous music reaching a mass audience. Frankly, I was wary of the implications.

I needn’t have been. I still despise Queen, but their music is so absurdly dull on Jazz, so filled with dumb ideas and imitative posturing, that it’s impossible to feel threatened by a barely competent rock group singing “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” (real 70’s-think: can you imagine a Queen Army, a pack of mascara’d lounge lizards walking in lockstep?). “Fun It” is their disco number for Christ’s sake, and it still sounds like a funeral march, with lyrical babble about dynastic movements. And no lead singer who evokes Joel Grey’s slimy Cabaret smarminess and who writes “the first Moroccan rock ’n’ roll song” (it sounds more like his haftorah) can truly be scary, just genuinely awful.

Queen used to make enjoyably ludicrous records like “Liar” and “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and Roy Thomas Baker gave their music an entertaining art-rock veneer that he adapted so successfully for The Cars. But now, even their best jokes—“Let Me Entertain You”, a parody of their own worthlessness; “Dreamer’s Ball,” an extravagantly condescending jazz-blues—are pummeled by the approach to the material. All four of Queen’s writers seem to know what a song is (they’ve learned and stolen from the worst of The Beatles just as Cheap Trick have absorbed and adapted the best) and when to stop, qualities lacking in many of their progressive competitors, and stripped of their pretentious overlays, the tunes on Jazz turn out to be swipes from The Cowsills, “Holly Holy,” Magical Mystery Tour, Disraeli Gears, Mott The Who-ple. If only Queen could lock into the simplest formula without attaching dead weights, if Freddie Mercury weren’t such a screeching bore (even his cock-rock, like “Don’t Stop Me Now,” is flaccid), if their arrangements weren’t on the basic level of Mel Brooks’ “Prisoners Of Love,” then Jazz could be studied as a catalog of pop-rock sources.

Mercury, surprise of surprises, may have turned into the weakest link of the quartet (although the rhythm section does plunge to deeper depths, it does so less frequently); his compositions dominate side one and they are, without exception, earsores: “Mustapha” (the weirdest lead-off track in the history of rock albums?), “Let Me Entertain You” (a pure rocky horrorshow). Guitarist Brian May handles all the jazzing up around here, with his rollin’ and tumblin’ “Dead On Time” and “Dreamer’s Ball,” the only song that even approximates the LP’s title (if Queen pulled a Kiss and released four solo albums, May’d be the best bet (o be their Ace), but as he is also responsible for the sniggery “Fat Bottomed Girls,” it would be a misrepresentation to exempt him from blame.

Maybe Queen thinks all this is funny, that their undisguised condescension (“rock ’n’ roll just pays the bills”) and operatic mannerisms atop a beat more Rockette than rock is entertainment, but it’s not my idea of a good time. For me, their snappiest one-liner is on the inner sleeve: “Written, arranged and performed exclusively by Queen.” As if anyone else would want to.step forward and take credit.

Bonus:

Mail

Creem, 1st May 1979

FAT-MOUTHED BOYS This letter is dedicated to some guy who calls himself Mitch Cohen,' they sapling who dares take credit for the review of the LP Jazz by Queen. (CREEM, March 1979)

The review he presented to us CREEM readers finally solved the mystifying question that has been baffling us since the beginning of time. The question being: Does listening to hours of shit (some assholes prefer to refer to it as "music") performed by such tirds (Or "musicians" as those same ball heads call them) as the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Kiss, Dead Ted Nugent, and other similar assorted nymphos deteriorate the brains and eardrums of rock critics? For those of you who are suffering from the listed ailments (Or worse. You could be trapped in a closet with a hi-fi crooning Black Sabbath shit), the answer is Y-E-S. That spells yeah.

One of the few remaining remedies for those conditjons is Q U-E-E-N. That spells excellency.

Disco is dying.

Punk is putrid.

But QUEEN is KING.

Fun it.

All Hail Their Majesties,

Fresca A. Randazzo Dover, NH

(And this month's winner in the Critic Hatred Sweepstakes is Mitch Cohen! Previous record holder Billy Altman distinguished himself with the hate mail received after his Who Are You review. Queen fans: we wanted to run some representative of your many amusing letters, and this is it; unfortunately the rest concentrate on what you see as Mr. Cohen's sexual and medical problems, and are hopelessly rank with spittle, with nary a defense of their music. Instructive, no?—Ed.)

THAT'S NOT A BANANA... Hey! RE: Your review-putdowns of Queen's latest, Jazz in your March issue:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE SO DAMN RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You told 'em!!!!!

Baby Face Toronto, Ontario

P.S. And that's not an opinion. That's a FACT!

Retrieved from The Creem Archive

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy getting hitched day! 1.9k, (sort of) ft. this

Most days of the year, Sam's the optimist.

It doesn't usually fall on Dean to keep the spirits up in times of war anymore. Or worse, loss. And Dean, well, he thinks himself as enough of an in-the-moment kinda guy to not wallow when everything's not going to shit, right friggin' then.

Sam, on the other hand?

Beacon of light when there's a little Hell to raise, harbinger of hope when there's a God to defeat.

And losing his shit entirely when there's an aisle to walk down, leading to the girl of his dreams and the best decision of his life.

"Dean."

Dean fusses around Sam in compact little semicircles fixing his already perfect tux, while his brother panics in a way Dean only remembers from before the kid stopped having to look up at Dean.

But he's looking down at Dean now, wide-eyed and sweaty like the very first time Dean saw him off on a date when he was fourteen — with supple, bullshit eighteen-year-old advice, he bets — and thirty eight year old Sammy is, clear as day, losing his shit.

"Yeah?" Dean channels all the calm he's got into it.

"What if I forget my vows?"

"Well," Dean lifts his eyebrows, and picks up a linen thread from Sam's shoulder that caught his eye. "First of all, would kinda serve you right for writing six pages worth of them."

"Stop being a —"

"Front and back, Sammy. Front and back."

"Dean." Sam glares, more indignant than mad. Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam continues, replacing the look immediately with a troubled one that reflects the dilemma in his voice. "I mean, I've learned them, of course. At least I think I have — I practised twice last night, once this morning — but what's to stop me from fumbling, or forgetting —"

"Your gigantic nerd brain?"

"This is serious." Sam frowns, levelling another look at Dean like he's the one with the stellar proverbial cold feet. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean throws back immediately, and pauses in his shuffling around for effect. "Also, no. No, it isn't." And Sam goes to argue with a bitchface already surfacing, but Dean keeps going, sterner, more confident. This is something he's been doing all his life. He can probably talk the kid down from a panic high like this in his sleep. "And you're going to stop being a dumbass, and listen to what I'm saying."

"'M not a dumbass." Sam mutters.

"Yeah, you are." Dean shrugs, completely nonchalant, and Sam laughs in spite of himself, nervous, but a welcome improvement as he waits for Dean to proceed. (Big brother voice never lets Dean down.)

He's still got it.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to get out there," Dean continues, smiling now. "You're going to hold Eileen's hand while the minister marries you. And approximately ten to fifty minutes later, when he asks you to, you're going to look into her eyes, and you're going to say your vows. All stupid six pages of them, verbatim, 'cause I know you, and you're going to that's why."

"They're not stupid."

Dean hums in consideration, then smirks. "There's bravery in acceptance. They probably are."

"Cas called them exquisite." Sam crosses his arms, and Dean uses the opportunity to pick up a hair from his sleeve with a disapproving look.

(Dean had offered to give him a haircut seventeen times and gotten turned down, and now Sam was shedding.)

"Yeah, well, he's a walking-talking scrabble board with good manners, what is he supposed to do?" Dean rolls his eyes but instead of the expected response of Sam snarking back at him, bitchfacing him or something, Sam sighs.

The air thickens with something that's probably a bigger deal than having to wing a couple paragraphs of page three of the vows.

Dean watches Sam fidget with the buttons on his cuff.

"How did you know, Dean?" Sam asks, subdued, after a pause. "How did you know that Cas wasn't — that Cas wasn't making a horribly wrong decision."

Dean's almost halfway to making a joke about the other shoe but he stops himself.

Because this?

This, he gets.

This feeling of thinking — knowing — you're not good enough, that you aren't right for the one you love, that you're somehow deceiving everything that your life has stood as proof of, in allowing someone else to bind themselves to you, forever, when you know that everyone who's ever meant something to you has lost, and died, and hurt.

And that is exactly why he also knows what to say.

"Because I trust him, Sammy."

Sam's eyes start glazing over. "I trust her too. I just, I'm just so scared —"

Dean winces at his words.

(That's Sam, but it's Sam in Dean's shoes. It was Dean's job — for better or for worse — to keep him safe. And he's failed, failed repeatedly, and now Sam — well, he's as broken as Dean.)

"I love her too much for anything to go wrong, Dean, and something — no, everything, always goes wrong." Sam grits his teeth, and Dean puts his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Squeezes. "I get it. I swear to you, I do. But I also promise that you might regret the things we've done, and the things that have been done to us, but you're never going to regret this."

Sam nods jerkily, eyes downcast.

"And I get being scared. Hell, I was more scared than you the entire week, dude. But you know how — and why, I pushed through?" Sam looks up again. "Because at the end of all of this, there's something more important than the promises of eternal happiness, and forever, and the Celine Dion lyrics I know you've stuffed in your vows. There's them. The ones we love."

Dean swallows.

"And who love us too, because our fucked up heads be damned, I've seen the way she looks at you, Sammy." Sam's face breaks into a small, wet smile. "So you better believe she does."

"I do." Sam slowly nods, again, eyes brimmed with tears.

(Probably about to start spilling. The only consolation for Dean is that at least his tears don't fall. Means as long as he doesn't mind a blurry view of everything, he might as well ignore their existence like he means it.)

"There, was that so hard?" Dean laughs instead, although it's weak until Sam joins in, surprised, and only then registering the words he just spoke.

"Thank you, Dean."

Is all he says, and anything Dean might've wished to say (or wisecrack) back at him is dismissed immediately because he's being pulled into a full Winchester hug by his door-sized little brother, and all he can do then is hold onto Sam as tight as he's holding him, and hold on.

(Because they made it.

They found free will, they found love, and they found their happy ending.)

Because Sammy's getting married today.

And they don't just get to be okay anymore. They get to be happy.

Sam doesn't pull back from the hug for at least a whole minute, but Dean doesn't mind, because the tears welling up in his eyes are gone when he finally smiles at Dean, earnest. "I'm —" He starts to say, but gets interrupted by Cas walking up to them with a cluster of carnations in his hand, wearing a rich navy blue tux (the same as Dean's) and a wide smile.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Cas beams, knowing exactly what he walked in on, and Sam shakes his head courteously while Dean battles the weirdly overwhelming need to kiss him right there — Cas is almost ridiculously beautiful when he's happy.

(He doesn't, though.

Cause he and Sam may've just had a moment but it's not like that means he'd be any less likely to be a pain in the ass about urgently requiring brain bleach and therapy, if Dean did.)

Cas carries on.

"Actually, Eileen's friend, Cara, brought her flowers and she suggested I should bring some to you."

"A corsage." Dean realizes out loud, beginning to grin at once, while Sam resorts to ducking his head like an overgrown teenage girl on her way to prom. Doesn't mean that Dean absolutely doesn't put on his best chickflick Dad voice (after he's taken over pinning the flowers to Sam's pocket from Cas, cause he was doing it wrong) and pat the corsage when he says, "Get 'er home by ten."

"The dynamics of that are all wrong." Sam points out with a traditional Sam smirk, and yeah, he's okay.

"The dynamics of your face are all wrong."

"Great comeback, yeah." Sam snorts, and Cas smiles. "Points for effort. I think."

"Whatever, you're the one wearing flowers right now."

"Dean, you wore an ascot on our wedding day."

"Ascot trumps flowers!"

"No, it doesn't." Sam bitchfaces, and Dean turns to Cas, and —

"No, it doesn't."

And Sam lets out a victorious "Hah!", and high-fives a (only slightly) confused looking Cas before pulling him into a sasquatch-sized hug as well, while Dean rewards the entire ordeal with a heartfelt eyeroll and absolutely doesn't look on at two of the most important people in his life while he pretends to be bristled about being ganged up against on his special day as Best Man.

Cas and Sam separate sooner than Dean and he did, and just in time for Jack to poke his head out the church door and remind them they're ready.

Then, Cas leaves to get Eileen, with another big smile and a signed Congratulations at Sam, and a fleeting cheek-kiss for Dean.

Then, Sam and Dean get in position behind the door and Sam refixes his tie.

(Then, Dean has to stage-whisper "Jack!" about seven times before the kid realizes he's being cued — the band had just started playing, he makes it a point to try to explain to Dean afterwards — and the great, wooden doors finally swing open to reveal a beautiful white aisle, and dozens of their friends and family smiling from both sides of it.)

And then, Dean finally walks the kid he's raised and the brother he's saved the World with countless times, down the aisle.

*

(Sam only messes up once in his vows. It's the last verse of Thank You, by Celine Dion.

Rumor has it, it was intentional.

Something about the first time they met.

Dean tells Sam, "You're welcome", the next time he sees him.)

[secretaryunpaid]

Prompt Time!!

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Shut up and kiss me already”

“You don’t have to be gentle. I won’t break”

@munstysmind I immediately thought of Sam & Dahlia for these! I love these! They remind me of Mr. He used to love it when I wore his shirts but teased me like he didn't... Truth is, I just wanted to lay in his scent until he made me take it off, lol... You know... Put on his favorite TAPOUT tee-shirt knowing he'd want or take me out of it, lol... Such the little devil I used to be...

Okay, enough with the TMI... Let's get down to this fic!!!

Loving Me on You...

Rating: Mature/Explicit, not intended for minors

Warning(s): Sexual lingo/lyrics, sex act

Word Count: 1,210 approximately

(Love to help ... I prefer my skin on yours!)

“Babe, have you been in my wardrobe because-?”

Thoughts left lingering in the air, Sam almost salivates over the scene before him… “Are you wearing my shirt?”

The naughty grin on her face dares him to come take it if he wants it… the shirt, I mean. “Don’t get cum on that, but definitely keep going… Slide it up so that I can get a better view… And I mean it, that’s my lucky shirt… I have a meeting today, and I need THAT shirt.”

“Shut up and kiss me already”, said just before she shivers over hitting her g-spot. “I warned you that I would make you not want to leave me here… all by my lones-…”

“Mhmm,” she moans through his deep-throating kiss. “I’d rather have something else in your throat, but I can’t be late for this meeting, babe.”

“Then use your hand, I’ll be quick… Pleeeeease!!!”, she pleads, taking his hand and placing it where she needs it. “You don’t have to be gentle. I won’t break.”

The momentary stare says he is contemplating brushing off this meeting, but he knows that it cannot be postponed. She had schmoozed Miles Houston into meeting with him, he was going to seal this partnership. “Oh, I know just how well you handle me, pretty, how flexible you are, and as always just how you need it.”

“Then get rough with it Dalton, the clock is t-” As his finger thrusts increase, Dahlia loses her words… Bucking into his rhythm, she starts to clench and quiver. Her head lulls back, eyes tightly pressed together, breaths becoming deeper as she feels his tongue circle her clit, she moans his name.

He doesn’t want to hear moans, he wants her screaming his name… Lowering further, he flicks his tongue against her opening as his finger strokes quicken. “Ahhhh! Yes, baby! Faster!” He intensifies his finger strokes, tongue teasing her insides. Noting the moment her breaths deepen further and her pelvic floor muscles pulse, he grips her thighs to still her movement… lapping wildly at her walls, sucking at her clit, until she trembles involuntarily…

Releasing his hold of her thighs to allow her to ride out her orgasm, he hums in pleasure to let her know just how much she has him turned on… loving that she isn’t afraid to let him know just how much she loves what he does to her.

“Oooooh,“ groaned out through a tightly pressed but open pucker.

“SAM!!!!!,” screamed out as she rips the sheets up in her grip.

Her orgasm breaks with such force that her entire body jerks upon her release, causing Sam to gently press her abdomen until he has licked every drop her body offers. “That’s a good girl,” he praises… “You know that I hate to stop at one, but I need that shirt… I promise to top you off as soon as the meeting is done.”

She arches to slide the shirt free, her hardened nipples catching Sam’s focus in the process. “Oh, baby. I wrinkled your shirt!” He smirks, nodding towards his crotch, “That’s okay, look at what you unwrinkled, though.” A very satisfied giggle escapes her, as she moves quickly to him, giving him a long-handed stroke of his erection as he buttons the shirt barely on before this much-preferred distraction.

“Hurry, Sam. The quicker you get to this meeting, the quicker it ends!” He shakes his head, laughing at her statement, “Now you rush me out!” With a quick kiss, he heads towards the door. Just as he exits, she has a thought, “Babe, brush your teeth!” To which she hears a distant reply, “Listerine strips, I’m good! I want to savor this taste all the way there! I love you!”

“Love you, too!”

As she hears the doors to the elevator close, she comes up with a plan, remembering the dress she’s purchased to wear to dinner over the weekend. “I got him the meeting, let’s see if I can’t hurry this deal along. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Dalton Enterprises…” With an impish grin, she rushes to the shower.

She calculates the time of his arrival and when she should enter the meeting as she dresses, running through the rehearsed proposal the two had brainstormed together, prior to him dressing for the meeting… Well, before stealing his shirt, that is… all a part of her plan to get his adrenaline going, knowing that he would stay riled up until he had the opportunity to finish their foreplay session.

Sam hears a knock on the office door, apologizing for the interruption just before answering. “This had better be important!” Before he could think further, he swung the door open expecting to chastise his executive assistant, only to see Dahlia standing before him with that same look from before.

With his and Miles’ jaws dropped open, both men stunned and gaping, she saunters past Sam with a wink to address Miles. Sam hurriedly closes the door, hearing the aroused tone of Miles’ voice, turning to see him gentlemanly kissing the back of Dahlia’s hand. “I do hope that I am not interrupting too much, but I just had to join the meeting when I learned that it would be with you.”

Still holding her hand while gently tapping it, “No! It is a pleasure. I was hoping to gain your company once again.” Sam quickly offers Dahlia his seat, explaining that he would take the seat next to Miles. “It seems that I have calculated correctly then, Miss Schuyler. If Sam is offering you the CMO seat, you must be a great asset to the company in your liaison position.”

With a secret look passing between them, she thanks Miles for the flattering compliment, asking Sam to continue from where he left off, she is a quick study and will chime in as requested. Once the meeting concludes, with a commitment to Dalton Enterprises, of course, Miles exits with a promise to have dinner with them soon.

“Sam… I know this private little corner bench up on the High Line that we should have our ‘lunch’...” Knowing exactly what this lunch will entail, he takes her hand, hurrying from the office as he briefly explains that he will be on an extended lunch. As soon as the elevator doors close, her teasing begins… “I don’t have on underwear and this dress is wrinkle-free…” Stroking his crotch she asks, “Are you?” The twitching growth against her palm provides all the answers she needs.

[pink-flame]

Promises Kept - A WFW Missing Scene

Soooo...I let it slip earlier to @mamirugbee that in my original plot outline for We Found Wonderland the scene where Luke finally wins the ring was there. I ended up not writing it because I thought that would be too much angst on top of everything else and you all would riot. But she wanted it and I love her so I wrote it. But then I got distracted with other angst on the way to that angst...so you also get the immediate aftermath of Julie leaving. Oops. It's 2 for 1 night for WFW angst! Just remember I WAS ASKED FOR THIS. Love you, Jenni. 💜

Luke held it together pretty well for approximately three days.

After watching Julie disappear right in front of his eyes, while he smiled...smiled to show her he would be ok...he had sunk to the ground, very much not ok. He had stayed there, just outside the garage doors, dizzy and sick to his stomach while the reality of the situation washed over him until finally the change in light alerted him to the fact hours had passed. He realized somewhere vaguely in the back of his mind through the haze of mental static that the rest of the guys would be home from school soon. He didn’t want them to see him like this. He didn’t want to be the one who had to tell them what had happened, didn't want to see the hurt in their eyes or even worse the sympathy. His instincts were screaming at him to run away from the situation, to escape like he had escaped his parents’ house when their smothering attention and rules became too much. The urge to grab his acoustic and walk out and never come back was strong, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side as he turned the idea over in his mind.

In the end it was never really an option.

He couldn’t leave his friends.

He couldn’t leave his band.

He couldn’t leave his parents, not again.

And most of all he couldn’t leave the life Julie had almost sacrificed everything to make sure he got to live.

He had promised her a lot of things. That they would make things work somehow. That he would win her that dumb ring. That he would help her reconnect with her dad. That it would always be him and her, Luke and Julie, in it together against nosy bandmates, and questionable record labels, and the looming possibility of being separated by thousands of miles (back when that had seemed like as far apart as they could get).

And he had promised her that he would take care of their friends, and follow his dreams and do his best to be happy.

It turned out that the one promise he had made her that every inch of him was screaming out in protest against might be the only one he could actually keep.

So he would.

Luke unclenched his palms and placed his hands flat against the pavement outside the garage doors. He took a deep if shaky breath then pressed them into the firm surface until he managed to haul himself to his feet, his legs protesting as he forced them to move through their stiffness. He just had time to drag himself into the bathroom and splash cold water on his face before he heard the telltale sounds of his friends approaching, their boisterous voices carrying from all the way down the driveway. He emerged back into the studio, purposefully turning away from the doors in a desperate bid to buy himself a few extra seconds to compose himself before he had to explain Julie’s absence.

“And then I said if a platypus is a mammal where’s their nipples cause that’s how mammals feed their kids, right?”

“Reggie, I don’t know what made you think we want to hear this conversation…”

“Oh come on, Bobby, where’s your intellectual curiosity. Go on, Reggie.”

“Right, so then Mr. Gleeson said they don’t have nipples. They feed their babies by basically sweating milk through milk gutters.”

“Ok...I take it back, Bobby was right. I now know way more than I ever wanted to.”

“Luke, will get it. Hey, Luke! Guess what I…”

Luke turned slowly to face his friends and watched their faces fall as they took in his tight expression. Apparently his efforts to school his face into a neutral mask had failed epically. Luke realized his hands were shaking and shoved the offending appendages into his pockets hoping that would hide the effects of his runaway emotions.

That also seemed to be wishful thinking.

“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked bluntly, taking half a step towards Luke before stopping short when he saw the way he flinched. “Oh.”

“Luke, I’m…” Alex swallowed hard and glanced away for a moment seemingly fighting with his own emotions. “I’m so sorry.”

Reggie was the last to speak, the panic stealing over his face like a punch directly to Luke’s chest.

“Where’s Julie?”

When Luke didn’t answer right away he asked again, shaking off Alex’s attempts to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Luke, where’s Julie?”

“Home,” He answered simply, his voice steady despite the emotions still raging inside of him.

He knew what he had to do now.

He had to honor Julie the only way he could, by helping his friends be ok.

“What? No,” Reggie protested, looking back and forth between his friends as though expecting someone to tell him it was a joke. “She wouldn’t. Not without saying goodbye.”

“She didn’t have a choice,” Luke told him gently. “The portal just appeared and she...she ran out of time.”

“Ok, ok,” Reggie ran his fingers through his hair roughly, leaving pieces standing up in all directions. “We can go to the ghost club, right? We can get Willie to help us get into Caleb’s dressing room and we can go find her.”

“That’s a good way to get killed by an evil ghost,” Bobby pointed out.

“We’ll figure it out,” Reggie insisted.

“Reg...we don’t even know...we don’t know if Caleb still trusts WIllie or not. We haven’t seen him since that night.”

Luke could hear the pain in his friend’s voice and he hated it. Alex might not have had the time to develop the same deep connection with Willie that Luke had with Julie, but he knew his friend had seen flashes of that potential in their stolen moments. The fact that Willie had been missing in action since he tried to help them save Julie weighed heavily on Alex. Luke could see it. He just couldn’t do anything about it except be there for him as much as he could.

He was going to need Alex too.

He was going to need all of them.

“Reggie, even if we could do that she didn’t want us to. She didn’t want us to leave our families or our dreams or our lives here. She fought so hard for us to have them. We have to live like it’s now or never, for her.”

He managed a small, sad smile hoping it would calm Reggie’s rising agitation but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Don’t quote your lyrics at me, dude,” Reggie snapped, once again brushing off Alex’s attempts to put a comforting hand on his arm. “You’re supposed to be in love with her. How can you just let her go without a fight?”

Luke felt like his throat was closing up as Reggie’s words hit him like a slap in the face. He knew his friend didn’t mean it, not really. He was just hurt and scared and mourning the loss of the little sister he loved.

It didn’t make it hurt any less to have his own doubts and guilt thrown back into his face though.

Before Luke could come up with anything else to say to comfort him, Reggie reached up to wipe at his eyes and spun on his heels, stomping out of the garage and down the driveway.

Alex shot Luke a worried look before nodding after their friend.

“I’ll check on him. I’ll be right back, ok?”

Then he was gone and Luke and Bobby were alone in the garage.

Bobby was looking at Luke like he was some kind of wounded animal and Luke wished he would stop because the longer his best friend looked at him like that the more tempting it was to totally break down. And he couldn’t do that and keep his promise to Julie. So he would hold it together. He would.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re ok because that would be a stupid question,” Bobby said, crossing the garage to sink onto the couch before patting the seat next to him expectantly.

Luke hesitated for a second or two before sighing and sinking down next to Bobby, the urge to tap his foot or drum on his knee overwhelming though he fought it down. He didn’t need to give Bobby more ammunition about his mental state. Not that he needed it.

“Look, I’m going to miss her too,” Bobby cleared his throat before reaching out to pat semi-awkwardly at Luke’s knee. “And I know it’s going to be worse for you. But I’m here for you. We all are. So just...don’t run, ok?”

Luke could have laughed at that if his mouth had seemed to remember how. His friends really did know him too well. Still. He had already ruled out that course of action.

“I won’t,” He promised.

And he didn’t.

What he did do was dive headfirst into trying to make sure their lives would go on like Julie wanted. He was there waiting when Reggie processed his feelings enough to feel bad about his outburst and showed up at the garage in the middle of the night and pulled Luke into a tight hug that lasted a long time. He was there when Alex wanted to talk about feeling anxious not knowing for sure if Julie had made it back to her time and what she had found there. He was even there when Bobby admitted that he missed Julie but he missed Queenie too and he wasn’t sure that the band was ever going to be as close as they once were. Luke did his best to reassure them all, checked in on his mom, and started calling around trying to book them a gig even though they had hardly any songs they could use and none of the bookers he spoke to seemed particularly interested.

He forced himself to tell bad jokes, and offered to go get pizza and suggest busking so they could refill their food fund.

He did all of that for three days until it was like the adrenaline he had been running off of ever since Julie disappeared into a hole in the ground finally wore off. On the fourth day he knew his friends noticed that he was quieter than normal though none of them said anything, just exchanged mildly worried looks. On the fifth day he lost his appetite, picking at the leftover pizza that Bobby had warmed up for him and refusing the variety of junk food his friend then hauled out to the garage. On the sixth day he slept most of the day, drifting in and out of fitful dreams. He had only emerged for a couple of bathroom breaks and was back curled under the blanket he usually left unused when his friends showed up after school, their worried looks no longer mild.

The 7th day was a Friday but they didn’t go to school. Instead they staged what amounted to an intervention, hovering around the couch (he didn’t bother folding it out now that the possibility of Julie crawling in next to him was gone) and refused to stop staring creepily at him until he sat up with an annoyed huff.

“Don’t you have school?” He muttered, pulling the blanket more firmly around his shoulders despite the smothering heat.

“We’re not going,” Reggie said, reaching out and yanking the blanket away from Luke in on quick movement.

“Hey!” Luke protested.

“We’re worried about you,” Alex said ignoring the way Luke was suddenly looking anywhere but at his friends. “You pretended nothing was wrong and then you crashed hard.”

“You’re depressed,” Bobby said bluntly, because of course he did.

He was annoyingly accurate and to the point at all times unless he was hiding his meaning in some obscure literary quote of course.

“I’m not,” Luke tried, feeling strangely exposed without the weight of the blanket. “I miss Julie...a lot, ok? But she wanted us to live and I’m living.”

“There’s living and there’s living,” Reggie countered, dropping down next to Luke to sling an arm around his shoulder. “And Julie would want you to be living, you know what I mean?”

“We don’t expect you to be ok,” Alex broke in quickly. “Just for you to be honest about what’s going on with you. You’ve been there for us the past few days now it’s your turn.”

“I’m fine,” Luke tried one last time, though his argument sounded half-hearted even to his own ears.

“You haven’t showered in a week,” Bobby pointed out, the softness behind his eyes easing the harshness of his words as Luke forced himself to look up and meet his friend’s eyes. “Come on, rinse the smell off and then we’re taking a field trip.”

Luke groaned but forced himself to stand and cross the distance to the bathroom, his bones aching like he had spent years in bed, not hours. He hardly remembered the shower but when he reemerged some indeterminate amount of time later his hair was dripping and he admittedly smelled a lot better. He still felt a bit like he was walking through a heavy fog though, like some slight, almost undetectable force was making each one of his steps just that little bit more difficult. He thought it might not be the weight of something slowing him down at all but the absence of something. It was like he had forgotten how to do everything right without Julie next to him. Walking and eating and breathing. He knew he had done them all before he ever knew her but that didn’t make them come any more naturally now that she was gone.

Still.

He had promised her he would try.

So he let his friends steer him out of the garage, let them lead him down the sidewalk, Alex and Bobby buffeting him on either side and Reggie walking in front, chattering away and peering back every few seconds as though afraid Luke would bolt if he didn’t keep him in his sight. Luke for his part just shuffled along, grunting out a response when asked a direct question and keeping silent the rest of the time. Apparently the plan was to head to Reggie’s house. His mom would be at work and she had bought him this brand new video game console called a Playstation that the boys were all dying to try out. That newly separated parent guilt was apparently good for a few things, like letting Reggie have ice cream every night and expensive gifts. Luke was pretty sure that none of them were particularly in the mood to play video games and were putting on the enthusiasm for his sake. He appreciated it. He just couldn’t match it.

But once they were actually in Reggie’s room, crowded around the little television he got for his last birthday, Luke had to admit he did feel a little more like a human being. He even caught himself laughing as he watched Alex and Reggie squabble over the second controller as Bobby clutched his above the fray. Reggie grinned when he saw Luke’s brief smile and shoved the controller they had been fighting over into his hands.

“Here, you try!”

And he couldn’t stand to see Reggie disappointed, not when he had seen him so hurt so recently. So Luke did try. And he let himself enjoy it. And he let himself tune out and pretend that there wasn’t someone missing.

He did such a good job at pretending that it wasn’t until they had left Reggie’s house several hours later in order to keep his mom from knowing they had skipped and headed for the ice cream shop that the gaping absence all came crashing back.

Because right around the corner from the ice cream shop was the arcade.

And right inside of the arcade entrance was a claw machine.

And inside of that claw machine he could only assume there was a purple plastic ring that would now never sit on his girl’s finger.

He couldn’t explain why his feet carried him towards the arcade but they did, seemingly without any specific direction from him.

“Luke....” Alex’s worried voice called after him but he didn’t pause until he was standing directly in front of the damn game that had been haunting him for months.

And there it was. The ring. Mocking him from the exact spot it had been in all along.

Apparently his friends had caught up to him by then because when Reggie spoke up it was from directly behind him.

“You’ve got to let that thing go, man,” His friend said carefully. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Luke found himself understanding Reggie’s initial reaction to the news about Julie’s departure because all of the sudden he was angry. He wasn’t just angry, he was furious.

He brought his fists down in tandem on either side of the joystick, feeling the reverberation up his recently healed arm and had just enough time to wonder if that was the smartest idea before words were bursting out of him unbidden.

“It matters,” He said fiercely, ignoring the way Reggie flinched slightly. “It matters. She matters. She matters to me and she’s gone and I said I would give her that ring and I didn’t and now I can’t and...and...it just matters, ok? It just does.”

Alex and Reggie both stared at him, eyes wide with worry seemingly unable to land on something helpful to say as they watched him finally implode. The silence stretched and Luke was just about to kick the machine just to have something to fill the gap and give him another chance to externalize the storm brewing inside of him when Bobby stepped forward calmly.

“Here,” He said, his voice calm and even. “Go ahead.”

He held out his hand and Luke instinctively stuck his out to catch whatever Bobby was trying to hand him. He folded his fingers over the mystery object to keep it from falling to the ground, before uncurling them carefully to examine it.

It was a quarter.

Luke looked up sharply expecting to see sympathy or something worse on Bobby’s face but all he saw was that look his best friend gave him when they were disagreeing on a song or when they couldn’t agree on what toppings to order for their pizza. Or maybe more like when Luke had wanted to use those fireworks for pyrotechnics or when he had suggested a book club as a viable gig. Like he didn’t approve of what Luke was doing but also like he was going to be right there behind him, letting him know he was an idiot and then helping him anyway.

Somehow it was exactly what Luke needed.

So he didn’t say anything else, just swung to face the machine and deposited his quarter in the slot before he could think better of it.

The game came to life as he swung the joystick jerkily to the right, not letting himself think too hard about the exact aim as the claw hovered over the ring in it’s plastic container. He slammed his hand down on the button to drop it probably harder than was strictly necessary but it felt good to have an excuse to hit something. The claw dropped and clutched it’s mechanical arms around the plastic container. Luke tried not to react, afterall he had gotten this far many times before, but the weak arms always released the ring long before it could actually make it to the prize shoot. But even as that hopeless thought crossed his mind the claw was rising, taking the ring with it and this time it didn’t drop back to its former spot. This time the ring remained locked in the claw’s embrace until it tumbled down into the prize shoot leaving all four boys to stare at the machine in surprise.

“Did that just…” Alex started.

“You did it,” Reggie practically whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.

Luke for his part just stared at the claw machine that had once again gone silent and still as he tried to process what had just happened. He had been so angry a minute ago and he could never win the ring and it didn’t matter because Julie was gone...Julie was gone...but it did matter and now he had won the ring and...did he really just win the ring?

Once again it was Bobby who broke them all out of their stupor, stepping forward and reaching through the metal flap to retrieve the ring, pressing the plastic container insistently into Luke’s shaking hands.

“You did it,” He said simply but firmly.

“I did it,” Luke echoed, his voice slightly choked.

“You said you would and you did,” Bobby continued. “It’s ok, Luke. You did it.”

Luke was very aware that Bobby was talking to him like a small child and he wanted to be offended, he really did, only he felt like a small child. Like nothing made sense and all of his emotions were too big for him. He had tried for so long and so hard to win that stupid ring, had seen it as a metaphor for how he felt about Julie, how he would do anything for her, how he wanted her to know that as intrinsically as she knew her own name. He had tried so hard and it had never worked and now she was gone and the very first time he tried, the first time, and he had done it.

Luke felt tears pricking at his eyes and did his best to fight them down.

“Luke…” Reggie started, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet.

Luke couldn’t bear to hear what Reggie was going to say or to make eye contact with any of his friends when he felt on the brink of breaking into sobs. He spun to face the machine again only that didn’t seem to help. His vision went blurry and his throat went tight and the next thing he knew he was breaking down into sobs. He tried to stifle them in a fit of embarrassment but there wasn’t much point. The tsunami had started and all he could do was ride the wave and pray he was in one piece on the other side.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the claw machine, the soothing temperature doing little to slow the tears rolling down his face or the hiccuping, painful sounds that were emerging from his mouth. The ache in his chest was almost unbearable but it was matched by the sharp pain in his hand as he clutched so hard at the ring’s plastic container he was sure it would leave an angry red outline when he finally uncurled his fingers.

He loved her.

He loved her so much.

He loved her and he was never going to see her again and he won her the ring and she was never going to know it.

He was so alone.

Only he wasn’t.

Because suddenly there were warm arms wrapping around him from every direction, cheeks pressed against his shoulders and the top of his head, soft words of comfort being spoken in three different voices.

“It’s ok, Luke.”

“Let it out.”

“We’re here.”

And he did.

He had promised Julie they would do their best to be happy. He intended to keep that promise. But today all he felt was pain. And that would have to be ok too.

And it was.

And they were.

Not all at once.

Not for a long time if he was being honest.

But slowly and steadily genuine smiles, and laughter began to work their way back into their lives. They didn’t talk much about Julie at first. It hurt too much. But eventually Reggie brought up a story about her over pizza and soon they were all chiming in, recounting their favorite moments with the girl who would always live in their hearts even if she could no longer live in their world. After that they brought her up often and it hurts but it also heals.

Luke took to wearing the ring around even though it was too small for all of his fingers except his pinkie and often got stuck even then. Bobby didn't comment on the way his finger was starting to turn as purple as the ring itself, simply handed him a black cord one day for him to string it on and brushed off Luke’s rush of thankful words. After that Luke wore the ring on a cord around his neck, dangling down to thump gently against his heart as he walked, the cool plastic a constant reminder of what he lost but what he gained too.

He wasn’t living the life he would have chosen for himself but he was living the life Julie had chosen for him. He hoped the two would come together eventually. He had to have faith that they would.

Eventually he sat down to write a song for her and ended up with a poem instead.

Eventually he had the idea of sending her a message through time, a box filled with all of the things she had loved and left behind, all the ones that would fit in a small box anyway. Eventually he pried the teddy bear version of himself out of Reggie’s reluctant fingers to go inside. Eventually placed all of their carefully selected polaroids inside too.

And eventually he slid  a purple ring off of the cord he wore it on, placed it carefully back into its original container and left it for her to find with a lingering kiss pressed to its surface.

Eventually.

But first.

He lived.

Tag list: @futurearchaeologyprof @moreflowersthanweeds @chickwiththepurpleguitar

[miserablesme]

The Les Miserables Changelog Part 1: Barbican Previews

Hello everyone! I'm starting out a blog which will look at my favorite musical, Les Miserables, and will discuss the various changes it has gone through over time (musically and lyrically). As it turns out, a LOT of edits have been made over the years so this will doubtless be a series with several parts.

This first part may well be the most difficult and will almost certainly be the most incomplete, as previews can be a time of extensive editing and experimentation. At least for the first few weeks or so, it's perfectly possible any one day of previews will be slightly different than any other day. However, I only have access to two audios from the Barbican Theatre previews of Les Miserables, meaning it's likely that lyrical variants exist which I have no way of hearing.

I am aware of the existence of a third audio which is fairly early in the run of previews, as the tape's master has told me that Gavroche's death scene is in its original form (I'll clarify that later). However, that tape has never been traded, and has sadly only been listened to by its master. I am also aware of a video proshot of the Barbican era that exists in the Royal Shakespeare Company library, but currently have no access to it. I plan to inquire about whether I can look at it sometime (though I'm not sure a blog like this is "official" enough to warrant it for research purposes). As such, this comparison only entails the two widely circulated audios from the Barbican run.

Now that we've gotten that cleared up, let's get started!

First, let's look at the opening "Work Song". In the earlier recording I have (let's call it R1), the beginning music (the same tune used, for instance, at the opening of "At the End of the Day" and "One Day More" and for Marius and Cosette's meeting in "The Robbery") stops. Then, a few moments later, the more familiar opening that leads directly into the prologue begins. By the time of the later recording I have (let's call it R2), the scores have been combined so that the first tune directly transitions into the second one.

Meanwhile, in R1 there is a sequence of lines that goes as follows:

I've done no wrong

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer

Look down, look down

Sweet Jesus doesn't care

I killed a man

He tried to steal my wife

Look down, look down

She wasn't worth your life

I know she'll wait

I know that she'll be true

Look down, look down

She's long forgotten you

Most fans of the musical recognize the middle sequence of lines ("I killed a man" through "She wasn't worth your life") as no longer being lines in the show (for good reason, as we'll get into in a later edition of this blog). However, R2 keeps the lines. Instead, it deletes the third sequence ("I know she'll wait" through "She's long forgotten you"). I have no idea if this lasted only a few performances or made it all the way to the end of the Barbican run, or somewhere in between.

During "On Parole", specifically after Valjean is underpaid for his labor and sings about his frustration, R1 uses a variation of the "Work Song" theme which, to my recollection, is heard nowhere else in the musical. It can be heard here. By R2, it was switched to an in-tune version of the number with a unique opening. The musical retains that version to this day, but in case you can't recall it you can hear it here.

Minus an unintentional line flub in "At the End of the Day" in R2, the two Barbican recordings seem to use the same libretto and score from this point until "The Runaway Cart". At this point, R1 has a rather extensive scene leading up to Valjean saving Fauchelevent, which goes approximately as follows (the dialog is difficult to make out):

(VALJEAN)

Is there anyone here who will rescue the man?

Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart?

I will pay any man thirty louis d’or more

I will do it myself if there’s no one who will

We can’t let him die like that down in the street

Can you all watch him die and do nothing at all?

(FAUCHELEVENT)

Don’t approach me, Monsieur Mayor

The cart’s not gonna be holding

Not my poor mother would care if I should die

(TOWNSPEOPLE)

Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor

There's nothing at all you can do

The old man's a goner for sure

Leave him alone

Most of that dialog is deleted in R2, so that it goes directly from "Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart" to "Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor". I really like the idea of the original version; it seems reasonable that Valjean, having become a more trusted man, would expect the townspeople to help him. It's more meaningful that Valjean is good enough to do what's right when there's more time to establish that no one else is. Having said that, the original version did take quite a while and didn't really contain any relevant information that wasn't in the final version. I think the cut version as heard in R2 is a good compromise and retains the general mood and pacing to make Valjean's ultimate action satisfying (something that can't be said of later cuts, as will be discussed in a future edition of this blog).

Additionally, at the end of the number Javert refers to "the mark upon his skin" in R1 and "the brand upon his skin in R2 (as well as literally every subsequent performance since then to my knowledge). I have no idea if the "mark" line was a minor flub or was actually the original lyric.

"Who Am I?" is an interesting one. The musical content is identical in R1 and R2, but in R1 after his high note, Valjean shouts "You know where to find me!" with emotion so dramatic it sits right on the border between awesome and campy. By contrast, Valjean is totally silent after his high note in R2. Neither version would see its final day just yet, although the latter certainly has become more traditional over time. More on that in future editions.

From this point until "Master of the House" everything is the same between the two recordings. Roger Allam even comes in slightly late in both "Confrontation" scenes (making his line "-jean, at last...")! However, in the opening to "Master of the House" the following lines occur in R1:

(THENARDIER)

My band of soaks, my den of dissolutes

My dirty jokes, my always pissed as newts

My sons of whores

Spend their lives in my inn

Homing pigeons flying in

They fly through my doors

And their money's good as yours

(CUSTOMERS)

Ain't got a clue what he put into his stew

Must've scraped it off the street

Hell, what a wine

Châteauneuf de Turpentine

Must've pressed it with his feet

Landlord over here

Where's the bloody man

One more for the road

One more slug of gin

Just one more or my old man is gonna do me in

All of those lines would be scrapped in R2. Personally I prefer this shortened variant than the one that would occur much later. Sure, some fun moments get lost, but nothing that actually adds any substance or characterization to the musical (unlike the later cut, which I'll discuss in a later edition of this blog). Some have speculated that this is simply lost dialog due to a tape flip of degrading, given that future performances would retain those lines. However, there is firsthand confirmation that the cuts were in fact part of the performance. To quote Trevor Nunn on page 87 of 1990's The Complete Book of Les Miserables (a page which elaborates that "the cost of overtime incurred after three hours could be crippling at a time when Les Miserables was still trying to find an audience"):

"Cameron wanted major cuts, which would have reduced its length to two and a half hours. I resisted, refusing to discuss things on those terms... Some of the other proposed cuts - like the removal of the "Master of the House" scene-setting preamble - were tried out in previews and then restored as the scenes would not work without them."

From a historical perspective that quote is invaluable. As will be brought up in a later blog post (notice a pattern today?) the musical would in fact be cut much later to avoid overtime charges. When people like myself have expressed the opinion that these cuts come at the expense of artistic integrity, I've seen others defend them by claiming that the overtime costs never were relevant to Cameron and the gang until Broadway sales began to go down, and that if they were taken into account the musical may well be in its shortened form from the beginning. However, this quote proves that argument to be false. Right from day one, the crew was aware that retaining a >3 hour runtime would come with severe financial costs, but this was deemed a worthy sacrifice in order to tell the story they wanted told. Indeed, it sounds like Cameron Mackintosh was waiting quite some time to enact his infamous cuts! (Cameron Mackintosh valuing profit above art?! Crazy, right??)

But I digress. Going back to the musical, the "Waltz of Treachery" number is mostly the same. However, after Valjean's "It won't take you too long to forget" line, R1 has over a minute of wordless vamping which leads right into the rather awkwardly-placed "Stars" song. By contrast, in R2 this vamping (which is still a minute long, mind you) leads into a humming duet between Little Cosette and Valjean, similar to the duet right before the number. A nice little bookend that makes the scene feel all the more resolved. (Much later this duet reprise would ironically be scrapped again, though!) The remaining segment of R1's vamping now plays after this sequence in R2.

Minus some unintentional missed lines at the beginning of "Stars" in R1, the recordings seem to follow the same libretto right up until "One Day More". Here, R1 uses the following lines:

(EPONINE)

One more day with him not caring

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

Was there ever love so true?

(EPONINE)

What a life I might have known

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

I was born to be with you

However, by R2 this scene is in its current form:

(EPONINE)

One more day with him not caring

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

I was born to be with you

(EPONINE)

What a life I might have known

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

And I swear I will be true

And that closes act one! Going on to the second act, the opening barricade scene has a few changes. First off, following the opening notes, R1 features a rather odd tune bearing resemblance to "Do You Hear the People Sing" (which can be heard here) before transitioning to a more true-to-form instrumental reprise of "Do You Hear the People Sing?" By contrast, R2 goes straight from the opening notes to the true-to-form reprise.

Next, Enjolras proclaims "Have faith in yourself and do not be afraid" in R1, while in R2 he instead states "Every man to his duty and don't be afraid". It's unknown if this was an intentional libretto change or if it simply reflects a flub during R1. A later sequence uses the "Have faith in yourself" line, meaning he may have just sung the wrong line for that particular scene.

Finally, R1 includes the following sequence (at least I think this is how it goes, since the lyrics are a little hard to hear):

(PROUVAIRE)

And the people will fight

(GRANTAIRE)

And join with you

Who gives a speech in the square

Fortunately, R2 uses a much less clunky (though still somewhat so) sequence:

(PROUVAIRE)

And the people will fight

(GRANTAIRE)

And so they might

Some will bark, some will bite

This isn't quite its current form ("dogs" and "fleas" will soon respectively replace the two usages of "some"), but it's pretty darn close.

I've heard that the very first Barbican preview(s?) didn't have a finalized opening to "On My Own". Sadly there is no known audio record of this, so I cannot comment on what exactly it began as. As such, the next major change takes place during Gavroche's death scene. This honestly is probably the biggest of all the changes between the two recordings. R1 uses the following death scene (in the tune of "Look Down" right up until the "So never kick a dog" verse, which is in the tune of "Little People"):

How do you do, my name’s Gavroche

These are my people, here’s my patch

Not much to look at, nothing posh

Nothing that you’d call up to scratch

Some fool, I bet, whose brains are made of fat

Picks up a gun and shoots me down

Nobody told him who he’s shooting at

He doesn’t know who runs this town

Life’s like that

There’s some folk

Missed the joke

That’s three, that’s three

That one has done for me

Too fast, too fast

They’ve got Gavroche at last

So never kick a dog

Because he’s just a pup

You better run for cover when the pup grows...

By contrast, R2 uses a much shorter variant which is set entirely to the tune of "Little People":

And little people know

When little people fight

We may look easy picking but we've got some bite

So never kick a dog

Because he's just a pup

You'd better run for cover when the pup grows up

And we'll fight like twenty armies and we won't give...

This is much closer to its current form, although the last two lines are inverted (we'll get to that in a later edition).

We now fast-forward to "Dog Eats Dog", which while recognizable is very different from the number we know today. The chorus of R1 claims that "It's a dirty great sewer that's crawling with rats", which R2 changes it to "stinking great sewer" instead. I'd definitely say the revised lyric better captures Thenardier's and the sewer's grossness.

Additionally, regarding Marius' ring, Thenardier originally exclaims that he "didn't mean to waste it, that would really be a crime". By R2, the line changes to "wouldn't want to waste it", which I'd say makes a lot more sense.

"Javert's Suicide" has changed a lot. R1 features the following remarks following "Vengeance was his and he gave me back my life":

Damned if I live in this caper of grace

Damned if I live in the debt of Valjean

I'll spit his pity right back in his face

Is this the law or has sanity gone?

(I'm a little unsure as to how accurate the final line is.)

By R2, the lines have been replaced with the current ones:

Damned if I live in the debt of a thief

Damned if I yield at the end of the chase

I am the law and the law is not mocked

I'll spit his pity right back in his face

In R1, the "Where's the new world, now the fighting's done" line is absent, and there is nothing but instrumentals in the segment where it is usually sung. By contrast, it is sung as usual in R2. My guess is that an actress simply forgot her line in R1 and it was always supposed to be there, though I can't say for sure.

The final change occurs at the wedding scene. The singing which opens the number is repeated in R1. By contrast, R2 has it sung once and then done with, as it currently is (and as it should be in my opinion, since the music isn't particularly pretty and contributes nothing to the plot).

Later in the same scene, R1 includes approximately this exchange (again, it's quite hard to make out the exact lyrics):

(THENARDIER)

I was there

Never fear

Even got me this fine souvenir

He was there

Her old dad

*indecipherable* and fleecing this lad

Robbed the dead

That's his way

(MME. THENARDIER)

That's worth five hundred any old day

(MARIUS)

I know this...

By R2, everything between "He was there" and "Any old day" were removed, which makes sense given that they essentially just rehash what was already said.

Finally, there's a subtle difference in the epilogue, specifically during the "Do You Hear the People Sing?" reprise. In R1, the ensemble sings "They will live again in glory in the garden of the Lord". R2 replaces the word "glory" with "freedom", and that word remains the one used to this day. I suppose "freedom" is more appropriate for the context of peace and prosperity. To many, I'd guess that "glory" conjures imagery of knights, battles, and the like; just the kind of violence that the characters wish to move away from! I have no idea if this was why the writers changed the lyric, but it's my hypothesis.

Towards the end of the show, the chorus in R1 sings "Even the darkest moon will end and the sun will rise". By R2, this is changed to "the darkest night". Makes more sense to me, since moons aren't known for being particularly dark!

And that just about sums this part up! If I missed anything feel free to let me know, as my goal is to create a changelog as thorough and complete as possible. I plan on making more parts in the near future covering all the changes that have been made in the show up until this day (discounting concerts). Any feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

As a side note, both for this project and my own enjoyment, I want as complete a collection of Les Miserables audios as possible. I already have most of what's commonly circulated, but if you have any audios or videos you know are rare, I'd love it if you DMed me!

Until the turntable puts me at the forefront again, good-bye...

[son-fuori-di-me]

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs of the gods in the wind. 

(Loosely inspired by ‘Your Name’, aka Kimi No Nawa, featuring Haikyuu’s own pretty Tokyo boy)

Wordcount: 3.5k

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s rare to see young men like you buying flowers for their mother’, the florist comments offhand as she wraps his order of yellow chrysanthemums in paper. 

Akaashi smiles, accustomed to the friendly florist by now. ‘I guess I’ve always had a partiality for flowers’, waving to the florist as he leaves to head to Shibuya to meet Bokuto for Izakaya. He’s running late, but Bokuto doesn't mind, hooting good naturedly at the comedy show playing on the television in the rundown bar. 

‘Agaaaashi, you made it!’ Bokuto rises from his seat to give him a jovial fist bump. 

‘Of course I did’, he responds dryly. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from my appointment with you’. He spends most of dinner listening to Bokuto’s recent exploits both with the national team and MSBY. Excitement still sparkles in the older man’s eyes as he recounts each and every match he’s played in, and Akaashi idly wonders how it is that Bokuto seems to have managed to pack on even more muscle in the short span of a month, the last time they met up was to see Bokuto off at the airport for the World Cup. 

‘You should have continued playing volleyball in university’, Bokuto crows in between mouthfuls of yakiniku and beer and Akaashi shakes his head at the refrain he’s so used to hearing from his senpai.

‘I wouldn’t be able to maintain my grades if I wanted to take volleyball seriously in university, plus there’s no guarantee I’d even get off the bench’, he answers self-effacingly. 

‘But you have the best tosses, Akaaaaaashi!!’ Bokuto declares, his words slightly slurred, and Akaashi wonders if he should start to inch Bokuto’s beer away from him. After consuming far too much barbecued meat (Bokuto took the liberty of ordering twice of what Akaashi would normally order, waving his protests off by stating grandly that he’ll take care of the bill, he’s the one working after all!), Bokuto slips into a food-drunk stupor, happy to listen to his anecdotes of university life, and he takes the chance to ramble on about his advanced Japanese classical literature course that he finds far more fascinating than his class on modern literature to his best friend. 

They stumble out of the izakaya when the line outside grows far too long to be ignored, Bokuto draping a heavy arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, the red tint on the tips of his ears betraying his slightly tipsy state. As they stand at the traffic light patiently waiting for the light to change from red to green, Bokuto turns to him and grasps his shoulders in his large, warm hands. 

‘I’m really proud to have you as a friend, Akaashi’, Bokuto tells him seriously. ‘And I’m going to prove to you that I can be the best ace so you can be proud of me too’. The molten gold glimmering in Bokuto’s gaze fills him with far more warmth than any alcohol could possibly achieve. 

‘I’m already proud of you, Bokuto-san’, he answers, his earnestness resounding in every word of his short declaration. Bokuto beams at him in response and bounds across the pedestrian walkway in approximately three strides, ignoring Akaashi’s chiding to ‘look before you cross the road, even if you have the right of way!’

Many things may have changed since high school, but some things still stay the same.  

His dreams take a strange turn that night.

He’s back in the Fukurodani gym with his teammates, but it’s not accurate to say he’s with them - rather, he’s watching his past self from afar, seated on the bench, a wrist guard on his right arm. He doesn’t remember ever injuring himself enough to warrant a wrist guard at any point during his high school volleyball career, but it’s probably just another oddity of being in a dream.  

‘I wish your wrist was feeling better, Akaashi. I miss your tosses already’, the pout in Bokuto’s voice pronounced.

‘It’s just for a while - I’ll be right as rain tomorrow!’ he hears himself say cheerfully - but that doesn’t make sense either. No one in their right mind has ever described the way he speaks as cheerful, and the rest of his teammates glance over at him curiously. Then his past self awkwardly tucks his legs under the bench, ankles crossed almost as if he’d like nothing better than to fold himself away with all the cloth vests they use for practice – but that doesn’t make sense either, he doesn’t even know why he’s behaving like some fish out of water. While volleyball doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to someone like Bokuto-san, and there are times he feels like he’s struggling to swim upstream, his fingers still itch to toss a ball up into the sky in a perfect arc even now. 

‘I told you, I don’t get what you insist on waxing lyrical on him being a star you can’t help but follow,’ he hears her voice chime in his consciousness, inexplicable though her presence in this scene may be, he hears himself answer - ‘just be patient and watch’. 

Anahori, their substitute setter tosses the ball up in the air and it’s a good toss, he will give him that, but it’s still not quite as high a toss that Bokuto likes. Bokuto runs right up to the net to leap into the air, back arching to slam the ball to the ground with such force that it’s a commanding full stop punctuating any doubts about his place on the team as its captain and ace. 

‘You see! When he plays well, he's like a supernova, shining with a light so bright it almost blinds my eyes.’

‘Waxing lyrical again, Keiji-kun?’ He can hear her tease him gently. ‘Go on, carry on with your celestial metaphors’.

‘How about a shooting star then’, he replies, amused. ‘If a shooting star shot up from the earth instead of falling from the sky.’ 

‘You sound like you like the guy. Are you sure you don’t?’ She asks. ‘You sure sound like you do.’

What?!

His legs are tangled in his sheets when he thrashes awake, mouth open in a gasp for air. That was a new twist in his collection of dreams, the first time he’s dreamt of something other than that phantom girl’s life in months, but even when the dreamscape doesn’t even feature her, she still manages to invade his dream. 

Worse - his dreams are now edging into territory he hasn’t mapped out in years. His teenage infatuation with Bokuto-san died a natural death after he realised that he’d mistaken his admiration for the ace for romantic feelings. Besides, there was no way Bokuto-san would ever be in love with him, not when he’d chosen to devote the next decade of his life to his sport. So why are his dreams dragging him deeper into a labyrinth of memories that aren’t even his own?

‘Why are you squandering my pocket money in a maid café of all things’ he says, sounding uncharacteristically put out. But then again he would be annoyed if anyone managed to drag him into the pink and white monstrosity his dream has deposited him into.

Bokuto’s happily seated across from him (or rather, his past self), exclaiming ‘ooh - isn’t the ketchup art on this omurice amazing, Akaashi? They managed to capture my hair so well!’, and to his horror his past self nods encouragingly and only laughs when Bokuto whines about not wanting to destroy this ‘piece of art the maids took so much time to create’ by eating the damn omurice. 

‘Don’t be such a killjoy, Keiji-kun’, she giggles. ‘Look at him, he’s having such fun, and besides, your day will reset so your money won’t be wasted anyway!’. 

Bokuto, distracted by the catchy beat of the J-pop song blasting over the speakers, is cajoled by a trio of pretty maids to join them on stage to dance along with them. He pops his hips to the beat of the music, throwing up cheesy hand signals with such gusto that it makes him (yes, present day Keiji) want to smile. 

But his past self evidently hasn’t lightened up yet, because he hears himself say crossly – ‘You do realise this is a waste of time when we could be doing something more useful like homework, especially since  Bokuto-san and I already spend most of our time training?’

‘Oh Keiji-kun, life is too short to be spent worrying like that. Because before you know it, you’ll grow into an old man who doesn’t know how to have any fun’.

‘I have fun’, he says petulantly, a faint sulk in his voice. 

‘Oh really? Then stop worrying and live a little. Maybe you should take a leaf out of your beloved Bokuto-san’s book – look how much fun he’s having!’

Bokuto clearly seems to be having the time of his life because now he’s prancing around the stage playing some silly game with the maids. 

‘I told you, I don’t think of him that way.’

‘And I’ve told you I’ve borrowed your skin for far too long to know when you’re not telling me the whole truth, Keiji-kun’, she sing-songs. ‘You wished for more time with him, didn’t you, so aren’t I doing a good deed by helping you figure out what Bokuto might like to do with you?’

‘Bokuto-san doesn’t have spare time on these things – and you’re just making an excuse to explore cafes in Tokyo at my expense!’ 

‘Two birds, one stone. Don’t be pedantic, Keiji-kun!’ 

The next time he’s back in one of those dreams, he finds his past self dressed in a blue yukata along the Sumida river, tugging Bokuto away from the takoyaki store. He remembers Bokuto dragging him away from the rest of the team on a quest to buy some snacks at the food stalls set up around the park, insisting that his stomach’s growling too loudly to wait until the fireworks display is over ‘come on, even you can hear my stomach at this rate, Akaaashi!!!’ – but that’s where the dream starts to diverge. 

‘If you queue for takoyaki, we’re going to miss the fireworks, and you don’t want to miss that, do you Bokuto-san?’ he says, hand firmly on Bokuto’s yukata sleeve. 

‘That’s right! But shouldn’t we join the rest of the team? They’ve got a spot by the river just over there!’ 

‘We won’t get there in time with this crowd – come on! If we hurry, I know the perfect spot to watch the display’, weaving his way through the crowd to shimmy up the trunk of a tree and settle himself comfortably against a large branch. 

‘Woah – Akaashi! I never knew you could climb trees!’ Bokuto calls, sounding impressed.

‘Well, don’t stand there, come join me!’ 

The tree creaks ominously as the larger boy scales its trunk, branches already heavy with red lanterns groaning in protest as he settles himself in the branch opposite Akaashi. And not a moment too soon, because a collective gasp ripples through the crowd along the river as the night sky explodes into rainbow hued fiery streaks.

‘It’s amazing, Akaashi!’ Bokuto hollers with his face tilted up to the sky. 

‘You’re amazing, Bokuto-san’, he says fondly, reaching over to bump Bokuto’s shoulder with his fist and the older boy beams at him, the sheer delight in his smile brighter than the fireworks in the sky. There is a sea of stars in his eyes, and Akaashi wants to shrivel in shame at the way his younger self looks like he’s mentally planning to pirate a boat to cross the straits to Bokuto’s heart. 

‘There is no way I’m going to do that’ he hears himself say, sounding mildly cross. 

‘Eh – it’s cute. ‘sides, doesn’t he look so happy’ he hears her say, sounding overly chipper. 

‘You could spend your time instead learning how to play so Bokuto-san won’t pout when you sit out of practice and you wouldn’t have to pretend you sprain your wrist every time we swap.’

‘Are you mad? Do you really think they won’t think something’s up when I can’t even do a simple serve?’ 

‘Fine. You have a point’, he answers begrudgingly. 

‘Of course I do. Come on Keiji, live a little. Enjoy your time with the lodestar of your life’.

‘Can you not say things like that?’ he says dryly. 

‘It’s your fault for reading so much Shakespeare to me!’ she replies with a grin in her voice.

He texts Bokuto the minute he wakes up. ‘Bokuto-san, apologies if this seems weird, but do you remember if we ever climbed a tree when we watched fireworks with our team?’ 

Bokuto takes a while to respond, but that’s to be expected, it’s his mornings are usually filled with practice and conditioning. But when he does respond, his text makes Akaashi’s brow curl. ‘Nope, but sounds fun! What’s up Akaashi!!’ 

Akaashi drops his head in his palms. Good to know he’s not losing his grip on reality at least. 

But his sleep for the following weeks continues to be filled with dreams in the same vein. 

He dreams of scenes that have never taken place in real life - him challenging Bokuto-san to ramen eating competition, the older boy winning handily of course, crowing like a child when he slurps the last mouthful of tonkatsu broth - ‘eh Akaashi, eat faster!’, him dragging Bokuto-san to the arcade near school, demolishing middle schoolers in endless games of dance dance revolution (there is no way he is actually able to move like that in real life) and losing far too much money in claw games - ‘Akaashi I really want that toy pleaseeee’ - and even he would admit it’s absolutely adorable if not for the fact that he can’t explain why these dreams keep invading his head like a wildfire that refuses to die. 

‘I honestly don’t understand you’, she says and again, why on earth is she in this set of dreams - she doesn’t belong in them -

‘What exactly do you not understand?’

‘If you like him that much, why aren’t you jumping at the chance to hang out with him? All you do is nag me about how I’m wasting his time, I’m wasting your time, but I don’t understand -  isn’t time meant to be spent on the people you love? Unless you’re confusing love with admiration, because yes, I get that you admire his talent, but you don’t seem to have all that much patience for spending time with him outside of school.’ 

‘I suppose I do like him, but…’

‘Finally you admit it, but I don’t like the sound of that word.’ 

‘It’s nothing’, he finally says, and she huffs in annoyance, clearly wanting him to explain but he stubbornly refuses to say another word. 

His past self is skidding down the hallway with Bokuto hot on his heels yelling ‘Akaaashiii you owe me a Yakisoba bunnnnn’ when he hears an almighty crash behind him. As he spins around, Bokuto’s sprawled on the floor, papers and books scattered around him. The older boy grimaces as he sits up, grabbing at his ankle in pain. 

‘Bokuto-san, are you ok?’ he cries, running back towards the older boy. 

‘I might have twisted my ankle. Argh this is bad - prelims are just next week!’ Bokuto groans, clutching at his ankle desperately. 

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine tomorrow, trust me’, his past self says with complete certainty, and flags down a passing student to call for a teacher. 

‘Look what you’ve done now. Are you happy with yourself?’ he hears himself say accusingly. ‘Everything might reset tomorrow, but look - he’s hurt himself today. Is this what you’ve been trying to prove to me?’ 

‘I’m sorry, Keiji’ he hears her say, her voice watery. ‘I didn’t think -’ 

‘Of course you didn’t, you never think about the consequences of your actions, do you?’ he says, glass shards in his words. 

His dream fades to black. He never hears her answer. 

His sleep remains relatively undisturbed for the next fortnight, just in time for his mid-term exams which he aces, even his course on classical Japanese literature. He’s relieved of course, because his final year grades matter most when it comes to recruitment, yet there’s a part of him that’s buried deep between ventricles and pumping flesh that childishly wonders what his dreams are going to show him next.

His wish is answered when he opens his eyes to an ocean of stars, white pinpricks of light against the vast tapestry of the purple night sky. His head is pillowed on tufts of grass and the wind whispers against his feet.

The sight takes his breath away. 

He’s a born and bred city boy, and he knows from experience it’s near impossible to see stars in the city sky amidst light pollution and masquerading satellites.  

‘Is this your way of apologising?’ he asks, his voice wry. 

‘Is it working yet?’ he hears her ask, an uncharacteristically timid note in her voice. He laughs, a fond sound, and he can hear her huff a breath through her mouth. ‘I am sorry though, Keiji. I never meant to hurt him’. 

‘It’s fine, no damage done. Besides, I was thinking about what you said.’

‘Me? About what? I know I’ve said plenty to you so far’, she says curiously. 

‘About Bokuto-san’, he supplies, and she stays silent, waiting for him to go on. The stars twinkle down at him, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine the galaxy reaching down to lend him its infinite strength. ‘You were right about how…I felt about Bokuto-san. I thought what I felt for him was something more than it really was - now I’m starting to realise I just admire his strength, and I don’t see our paths ever converging, especially if he’s going to chase his dreams of going pro all the way’. 

‘You don’t have to chase someone else’s light when you’re brilliant in your own right’, she says gently. 

‘Thanks’, he answers thickly, as if the word feels a little awkward in his mouth. 

‘So -’ she pipes up, and he can tell she’s trying her best to paper over the sudden lapse of silence. ‘Will you tell me stories about the stars, Keiji?’

He laughs fondly, raising a hand to catch the stardust from the sparkling constellations overhead. ‘I could tell you the story of Andromeda, chained to rocks as a sacrifice to satisfy the cruel demands of the sea monster?’ 

‘Ugh no gory stories, I want a happy ending!’ 

‘It has a happy ending, I promise. Just be patient and listen, okay?’ 

Akaashi wakes up before his past self can finish telling the tale of Persues’ rescue of Andromeda from the jaws of defeat. It’s barely three in the morning, but he knows it’s futile to try to go back to sleep. He wanders to the window, and wonders whether the lone star hanging in the cloudy sky is merely a satellite in disguise. 

Against his better judgment, he dials Bokuto’s number. 

‘What’s up, Akaashi!’ he hears the older man mumble sleepily, sheets rustling. 

‘Was it obvious I had a crush on you in high school?’ he asks plainly. If seeking closure is what he needs to end this slew of dreams, then he’s going to do it, never mind the embarrassment thick in the blood in his veins.

‘Huh?’ 

Akaashi’s pretty sure he can hear Bokuto blink rapidly. ‘A crush on you’, he repeats, and for good measure he adds - ‘sometime in your third year of high school’. 

‘Ehhhh…’ Bokuto’s voice trails off over the phone. ‘You did?’ 

The sigh that trips out of Akaashi’s mouth is worn, weary. ‘I did’, he confirms, embarrassment writhing in his belly. 

‘But you stopped right? Just before I graduated? You started becoming distracted after Spring High and I thought you were just worrying about university entrance exams.’

‘I suppose.’ And Akaashi should really get a grip on himself but his dreams have been doing a number on him so to his horror, he starts to ramble. ’ It’s probably the lack of sleep, but look - this sounds really stupid but I was having a lot of really weird dreams and I don’t understand what’s happening but I’m hoping getting this off my chest helps me get some more sleep and I hope you don’t think I’m completely weird and don’t mind still being my friend -’

‘Woah, ‘kaashi, slow down! You’re overthinking again - what, you think I’m not going to be your friend anymore?’ Bokuto booms, laughing widely. 

‘Uh. I don’t know?’ 

‘Relax! I’m flattered, but I think it’s a good thing we never went out! You were already so stressed dealing with me in high school Washio used to joke about your hair falling out, but I’ve changed! Now I’m just an ordinary ace!’ 

‘Bokuto-san, I don’t think anyone would call you ordinary’, Akaashi interjects, rubbing circles against his temple. 

‘You know what I mean!’ Bokuto laughs, the sound so round and boisterous that it makes Akaashi quirk his lips up in affection. 

‘Yes, Bokuto-san. Anyway, sorry for disturbing your sleep.’ 

‘Anytime, Akaashi!’ They bid each other goodnight, and the relief he feels after the call settles on his chest like a blanket, and he falls back to sleep. 

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official

[kingsofneon]

I wildly misheard the lyrics to Ke$ha's Cannibal and thought of you. Can we get something on the theme of "my little heart goes pitter patter every time you think you matter"?

me vibrating the normal amount at recieveing an ask: yeah sure bud w/e

________

They find the gold in a ghost ship.

The crew's one man, half-starved and he snarls slurs instead of pleading so Marco doesn't feel that bad about killing him. His bones go up in ash, and then they set about exploring. Pops had sent the two of them out first to stake out the ship drifting their way, haki meaning he wasn't concerned about an ambush but curiosity making him want to explore. Ace can't get sick - his body temperature is literally posion to most viriuses - and Marco's fucking immortal, so if iless was what took them out-

But then again; this section of the Line is known for blowing people off course, and they soon find there's no food in the hold. It's a sure sign of simple mistakes instead of illness, so Marco's not on edge as he trails after a delighted, eager Ace.

For all that they know what caused this ship's fall, it's still cold and still below decks, the ship creaking in the waves and almost completely silent. Marco holds back a shiver as Ace raises his fire-lit hand up higher, light dancing along the weather-worn beams.

And then it strikes gold; the room they walk into gleams, shining shafts of light sent in striking patterns all around them.

"Holy shit," Ace says, eyes alight at the pile in the middle of the room. And it is a pile; almost a mountain of shimmering gold coins and jewels, all iridescent in his flames.

There may not've been food, but if they'd known how to eat gold, they would've been fed for years.

Marco watches as Ace's grin spreads from ear to ear, and then he takes a running leap into the pile, the clatter of coins making the ship's silence shatter. He lets out an oof, then rolls over, covered in gold and grinning.

"Marco," he says delightedly, and it would be nice if Marco could answer, but for the moment he's spellbound by the sight. If he could, he'd leave Ace spread on a pile of gold always; his skin is beautiful, glowing in the reflected firelight, and the gold brings out the warm tones in his eyes and his hair. Ace's expression shifts, a hint of cocky delight coming to his mouth. "Hey birdbrain, think you can make your way over here? Or is this much glitter making you malfunction."

He shakes his head in a vague approximation of a no, but also mainly to get his wits back, taking measured steps toward Ace before bending down to kiss him. Ace sighs quietly, sweetly, biting at his bottom lip and letting his free hand drag Marco closer by the collar of his shirt.

"It wasn't the gold that I was distracted by," Marco murmurs when he's allowed to pull away, and is delighted by Ace's pretty flush. It's barely visible in the light, but Marco's well-practiced in his boyfriend's face.

He's well-practiced, and so that's enough to see Ace cock his head, the heartbeat of time where he makes a decision, where today is just enough for him.

"I deserve it," Ace says, and Marco gets to his knees. You do, you do, you do, chants the part of him obsessed, delighted by Ace taking what he wants. What he deserves, and has deserved since birth.

"It looks good on you," Marco says instead, kissing Ace's knee, the sharp jut of his hip, his neck, and Ace chucks his head back, hands twining in Marco's hair.

"Thank you," Ace says, instead of his normal refute, and Marco wants to crow from a flagpole, pride filling his chest. "You look very good too, pretty bird."

Marco feels his cheeks faintly flush, and levers himself off his knees to draw Ace into a kiss, hand pressed against Ace's half-hard cock. He tastes like blood and gold, heat and joy, and Marco can hear his heart thumping in his ears, a delightful sound when normally it just ticks.

Before meeting Ace- he was so calm, before meeting Ace. Phoenixes are fire, sure, but they're long-lived, they're permanent. They know when to burn but they spend so long in the skies that sometimes they forget humanity. And Marco? Marco's old, old enough that so many things don't bother him anymore.

But Ace's self-hatred bothered him, and seeing him like this? Seeing him confident?

He's pretty grateful that Pops is a good therapist.

"Marco," Ace says, nails gently scritching at his scalp, and Marco doesn't hold down the purr in his throat, "I think you're gonna ride me on this pile of gold. That's a fucking story."

His grin is sharp and stunning when Marco pulls away from kissing his neck. The words aren't a question; just confident, gleeful fact, and Marco has never been more eager to make them reality.

"Anything you want," he says, with a grin of his own.

He wonders if Ace knows how much he means it.

[dale-the-human]

Never Eat Soggy Waffles (VENOM 2 TRAILER ONESHOT)

Based on the latest trailer for "Venom 2 Let there be Carnage," specifically the fantastically chaotic breakfast scene which is perfect and I love every part of it. READ ON AO3

In the films, the sentient, genderless gooey blob bonded to Eddie Brock is often referred to by he/him pronouns so that's what's used here. My headcanon is that Venom couldn't care less what they're called, as long as it's not "it" or "parasite" or "gooey blob."

Too fuckin early.

That was the first coherent thought that went through Eddie's mind as he went through the uncomfortable process of dragging his sluggish brain back to consciousness after twelve hours of something that resembled a coma more than sleep.

He felt something only-semi-gently prod his cheek and opened his eyes to find Venom's face floating so close that if both of them had had noses, they would be participating in what is rather-extremely inappropriately called an "Eskimo Kiss." There had to be a better, more culturally sensitive name for that, but with only half of his brain online, the word was out of Eddie's reach. 

The first five times Eddie had woken up to the dramatic visage of Venom's face floating approximately two inches away from his own, he'd been understandably startled. For example, instance number four had resulted in a violent collision with the laptop Eddie had made the mistake of leaving right next to his head.

But a year of morning jumpscares had conditioned Eddie's sympathetic nervous system, and today he barely even blinked.

"IT IS 1PM, EDDIE," Venom said. "I WOULD SAY GOOD MORNING BUT THAT IS NOT EVEN ACCURATE ANYMORE."

Eddie groaned, turning away from him. He grabbed another pillow and shoved his face into it, blocking out the sunlight piercing through the half-broken window blinds. When had those even broken? He didn't care enough to try to remember. 

A callous black tentacle very rudely snatched the precious pillow away, then even more rudely smacked Eddie on the cheek.

"WAKEY WAKEY, EGGS AND BAC'Y"

"...What?" Eddie mumbled sleepily. "The hell'd you learn that from?"

"A COMMERCIAL. YOU WERE ASLEEP AT THAT POINT."

"Ah." 

Venom had a fascination with human television, and since he required significantly less sleep than Eddie, and Eddie could sleep though pretty much anything, they would often spend the night laid out on the couch, Eddie drooling on the dilapidated cushions while Venom watched anything and everything from football to infomercials to Pawn Stars to The CW. 

To Eddie's mild confusion, Venom was particularly fond of Supernatural, He enjoyed learning human lore of monsters and ghosts, and occasionally woke up Eddie to ask if something was real. Even though the answer was almost always "No, and for the love of fuck just let me sleep," the alien still greatly enjoyed the show. Once, he shared with Eddie that his favorite character was Dean because he looked the most like him. Even though Eddie had apologized for laughing so hard, Venom was too embarrassed to ever bring it up again.

After another minute of impatient prodding, Venom successfully got his reluctant host out of bed. It took a combined effort to get both of Eddie's arms into the sleeves of a dingy old bathrobe, then the two of them trudged over to the kitchen, sidestepping a chicken and other assorted detritus they'd been "meaning to clean up" for several weeks now. 

"Okay, c'mon, V," Eddie grumbled. "You've gotta let me have coffee today."

NO, the symbiote answered inside his head. WE HAVE TALKED ABOUT THIS, EDDIE. CAFFEINE IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU, AND WE DO NOT LIKE THE WAY IT FEELS.

Eddie sighed, opening the fridge. "You know, you're really bustin' my balls here. It's just coffee. Everyone drinks coffee- I've been drinking it like it's water for the majority of my adult life and look how I turned out."

WE KNOW. THAT'S ONE OF THE MANY DAMAGES YOU SHOULD BE GLAD WE ARE HERE TO FIX. IT'S IMPRESSIVE HOW WELL YOUR BODY FUNCTIONED DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS TO RUIN IT.

"You know what?" Eddie said as he rifled through the shelves of disorganized food. "I'm gonna choose to take that as a compliment."

He grabbed the carton of discount orange juice they'd purchased on a shopping trip several days ago, feeling Venom extend several tentacles from his back. 

Eddie purposefully ignored the cacophony of crashing dishware and cookware that followed, diverting his entire focus to pouring himself a glass of cheap OJ as various ingredients and cartons of milk flew around him. 

Behind him, he heard Venom turn on the radio and dial it to his favorite station. As misfortune would have it, it turned out to be a song Venom knew well enough to remember the lyrics to, and Eddie was treated to a delightful cover of "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off." 

Venom's impression of Louis Armstrong wasn't actually half-bad, but it was a little hard to enjoy while the symbiote belted it out entirely within their shared headspace. Why he elected to project his voice mentally instead of forming a mouth and singing irl, Eddie had no idea. He was tempted to yell at him to shut up, but after a moment of consideration, he decided it wasn't annoying enough to ruin Venom's fun.

Still doing his best not to acknowledge the chaos behind him, Eddie picked up his glass and shuffled over to the crappy little table they used for most meals. Their previous table had been a much larger one, but it had met an untimely demise six months ago when the human-symbiote team had made the unwise decision to practice back-flips indoors. 

Eddie sat down, only to be startled when Venom grabbed the table with a tentacle and pushed Eddie's chair closer with a violent shove.

While he waited for Venom to finish whatever unorthodox meal he was preparing, he looked through the stack of mail in front of him. 

Another letter from that red-headed freak. Great. 

It was almost flattering that Kasady had picked him specifically as the only interviewer he'd talk to, but the psychopath's fixation was disturbing, even for seasoned reporter Eddie Brock.

His thoughts were interrupted by the dramatic arrival of two plates stacked high with every breakfast food he could think of. Half-cooked eggs, burnt sausages, something with mushrooms, a few whole strawberries, pancakes, and waffles, all stacked in one horrific pile and soaking wet with milk and cereal.

TA-DA! Venom said proudly. He held a bottle of ketchup in front of Eddie with one tentacle. KETCHUP?

"Excuse me?" Eddie barely had time to register what Venom had said before the symbiote happily crushed the entire bottle and coated Eddie in a beautiful explosion of red sauce.

YUMMY, Venom purred.

As he sat there, decorated with what looked like a gruesome blood splatter and faced with the unappetizing prospect of eating the breakfast Venom had lovingly prepared for him, Eddie had the same thought as before.

Too fuckin early.