#If Band of exiles find a phone

[positivewitch]

Lucien Vanserra Week | Day 5 - Home 🏡

@lucienweekofficial

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Elain Archeron,

Queen Vassa,

Jurian,

Eris Vanserra

[hotflatrock]

Steve Miller Band at Greek Theater

Things are different now with all the streaming services, but in my day music came to me in distinct ways. Some bands put out incredible albums that I would play endlessly after finding them at one of Berkeley’s glorious music stores. Other bands put out catchy singles that I heard on the radio or on MTV. Every now and then, I might learn of a band live, typically opening for someone else or headlining at a small club. Rarer still, there are a handful of awesome bands I only knew about through Greatest Hits albums, typically owned by a roommate or relative, that eventually worked its way into my collection.

For bands that I knew through studio albums or radio play, I had no interest in greatest hits albums. I have the real thing. But if the band’s hey day was years before I was paying attention, a greatest hits album is the only context I might have for the band.

I consider a few of these as defining Greatest Hits albums: 1962-1966 (Red Album) by the Beatles; Hot Rocks by the Rolling Stones; The Best of the Doors; Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits; and Steve Miller Band Greatest Hits 1974-78. I still own all these CDs, with the music ripped to my Plex server, and long ago uploaded to my streaming service of choice. My mom had that Beatles album, which was among the albums on which I learned how to use a turntable. The Stones and Doors were remnants of my classic rock phase in high school, driven by their music being featured on TV or a movie. Simon & Garfunkel and Steve Miller came to me in college.

Over time, I explored studio albums by the Beatles, Stones, and the Doors. How could I not? They are amazing in their own right, although I still return to Hot Rocks more than I would to Exile on Main Street. But Simon & Garkfunkel and Steve Miller? I don’t think I have ever listened to a studio album by either of them. I never knew anyone who owned a studio album. So they are the only bands that remain only as my Greatest Hits wonders. I could listen to their compilation albums any time, yet I have zero interest in knowing them more.

If Steve Miller were playing anywhere else, I probably would not have gone. But I love the Greek Theater, it’s a short drive from my house, and I know lots of secrets to unlock parking in Berkeley. And I knew that it would be a greatest hits concert, so off to Ticketmaster I went.

I loved Miller’s old timey touches. No digital signage or video backgrounds for him, instead opting for giant tapestries featuring old album covers. Miller immediately lets you know a couple things about him: he is a pretty unassuming guy for a rock star and he is a hell of a guitar player. Swingtown, True Fine Love, Space Cowboy, Jungle Love, Take The Money and Run, and the Joker all lived up to their Greatest Hits glory and satisfied the audience.

My all-time favorite Steve Miller tune, Jet Airplane, was a different story.  When Miller cranked it out mid-set, I thought the whole band was a beat slower than what I wanted. Basically, it was what I wanted but not how I wanted it. And then 15 minutes later, they played it again, this time a remixed, much slower version. I don’t think I have ever seen a band do the same song twice in the same show. It was weird, but appreciated, because the way too slow version was different and interesting, while the first slightly-too-slow version was just slow.

The concert was enjoyable, but probably will get lost among all the other shows I will see this year. But maybe the next time I start streaming Steve Miller Band Greatest Hits 1974-78 and I see the cover art on my phone, I’ll remember back to that time I saw most of the Greatest Hits album performed live with some wall art.

[tomorrowmustburn]

Tamat

Wordhippo.com lists three meanings for the Malay word ‘Tamat’. As a verb, it can mean expire, as a noun it can mean the end, and in a more nebulous way it can mean to bring to an end, or, briefly, to end (something, presumably). It is also the name of a single released yesterday (at time of writing, anyhow) which announces, and likely previews the next album of the same name by the Singaporean band Paint The Sky Red, named so because it is to be their final album. I do not speak Malay.

Yesterday, sitting on an old but improbably comfortable couch I bought after the first waves of covid had broken, when flights were starting up again and my roommate was returning from his covid exile out of the country, I saw two notifications that two smaller bands I follow on bandcamp, Paint The Sky Red and DYAN, had released new singles. I was watching a youtube livestream from darksouls no-hit runner GinoMachino, who was doing a fairly casual run, and after the bi-weekly trashfuture stream, both of which were pleasant enough and kept me from listening to either release that day.

I am an early riser these days, far before my other flatmates – I might catch one of them still awake, if anything, but not today, and after listening to the new release of trashfuture’s podcast, from which I was kept in much the same way yesterday as I was kept from those newly released songs, I play DYAN’s new song on my phone. It’s a delight, reminding me enough of St. James, my favourite song of theirs (hers?) though it is six minutes, and my attention span is pretty shot despite trying to disengage from social media by and large, so my mind does wander. I follow a lot of smaller artists on bandcamp, more or less always expecting them to never be heard of after any given release, or even knowing for a fact that they’re long disbanded when I find them, so it’s always just a delightful surprise when one of them puts out something new. DYAN’s song is wonderful, but my phone doesn’t usually do her justice, so I move to my tiny room in which I have crammed a PC setup which finished its transition from fairly cutting edge to a bit ramshackle when I dashed a great curved monitor while setting up an ill-conceived loft bed which is sure to be an obstacle in future dating and missing one screw to really fasten its ladder. The monitor’s replaced with a 25€ one I got from a guy in some suburb via blocket (Swedish e-bay), and the price of those savings seems to be that it routinely cuts out by now. I can’t blame the guy because he had the presence of mind to throw in an adapter so I could actually wire my HDMI cable to the monitor and have it function, and someone like that wouldn’t knowingly sell me a failing monitor – it’s simply time’s toll, I think. What this setup does still include is one of those pretty good lower middle tier 2.1 logitech speaker systems – this one I got in person, they’re not substantively cheaper online – and thus this is the best justice I can to Tamat. I get ready to listen and read the description, where I see that it is to be their last album:

'Tamat' is both the name of our latest single and our upcoming album. It is a word from our native language, Malay, which means 'the end', 'completed' or 'finished'.

In late 2020, when the pandemic restrictions were being lifted, we immediately started working on new material for what would eventually be our last studio album. The decision to make it our last was something we had considered for a few years. Ultimately, the circumstances in our lives made us all agree that it was time to start writing the end of our story.

Thank you for your kind support all these years. From here on, each opportunity to perform or showcase our music will definitely be cherished as if it's our last.

Every journey has its end. Tamat.

It’s about 7:30, I’m in my room alone, and I spend the entire song sobbing, and just looking at the message again is making me tear up again. Listening to DYAN again is like a warm hug, though. I try to remember that it’s a bit of a gift that they’re doing another album, and them ending on their own terms is something to be cherished, but it doesn’t stop the cramped sobs, and though for one moment I remember that I could compose myself if I wanted to and almost involuntarily do so, they start singing – they’re almost if not entirely instrumental usually – and I let myself be carried off by the opening floodgates again. I hope my roommates don’t hear, so I try to be quiet – the vents carry weeping eerily well – but the music should drown it out, and listen a second time, sobbing just the same. I’m trying to play trackmania on the side – I’ve played it since I was a kid, and I think it’ll focus me enough to let me actually appreciate the music, but I’m sobbing all the same. I could compose myself enough to not weep through it, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to listen to the song properly anytime soon.

I was thinking, a while ago, about the strangeness of people who have some great revelatory moment and alter the course of their life, their outlook, or something, and it doesn’t make much sense to me, and I’m sure it’s a lot of self-narrativizing. But I could use a change, I want this moment to mean something, and I’ve got a ton of notes on stuff I want to write about laying about. Here’s to making sense of living in a subdued apocalypse.

[castle-dominion]

c3x20 a slice of death

I love this episode already. I've worked in family owned diners with rivalries, I love stories about italian new yorkers & I've definitely seen goncharov (tho that also had russian mafia).

Poor alexis, that is humiliating! This is so sad! Who has a live band playing? She's 17 cool. She was 15 in s1e1 & she's 17 near the end of s3. Cool

I love all the nicks & their names this is the life. It reminds me of that steven universe episode with the fry shop & pizza shop.

Not super funny, either of you. Nick Jr. Uh, authentic, not terrific. I love the new york pizza scene & how everyone knows who is whom but it's so confusing & I loved this episode so much when I first watched it

Oh but I kept her number! I don't think there's going to be a second date. So new york. So italian. This Is The Best Episode Ever. Exactly! Who wrote this episode??? It is amazing!

Maybe they did get it from a medical school, you don't know beckett!

They used the same audio already. I mean it's not a big deal.

Costumes: Rick: brown coat (gasp browncoat?) & violet/blue shirt Ryan: tbh he looks like he did in s1 a bit. idk why. So what looks like an aviator jacket, nice dark brown, leather looking, has the fuzz in the hood/collar, no lapels, dark brown tie, actually a good brown, & a plaid-type dress shirt (purple, maybe another shade of purple idk, probs black & white in there too, maybe grey & blue & pink... idk I'm not good with this... I think it's brown actually) Espt: Leather jacket & normal collared shirt underneath. It's like, safari style almost. Collared so it is fancy enough for work, but the put-together of the blocks is odd. Beckett: Detective coat. (double breasted light grey trench coat looking thing)

Castle: We should talk to the other Nicks. Ryan: He's right. Pizza is serious business in this town. (Remember that mafia family who used the pizza shop as a front but then became legitimate bc the pizza was so good?) Beckett: Ok you can talk to them. Ryan: wait; Me? no; why? (why is he upset at this...? I'm also rly sad castle didn't go with him)

Pottery kiln? Like Joy from the The Cat Who series! She made red ceramics & when I say she MADE red ceramics...

RM: I heard you found a body in the oven at terrific nick's KB: Authentic nick's RM: OH THANK GOD, the wife loves terrific nick's lmao full bodied flavour (btw yes I do indeed love his jacket)

Castle that's a heck of a leap & the audio reflecting the mood XD Gordon BURNS??? b'y the pic would have also been melted.

Oh. Poor man. Hugs to him. Oh not the pizza wars XD.

Terrific, authentic, & otherwise.

Sounds like u'r talking from experience espt. Did you survive firefights with gangbangers & then got killed doing a speeding ticket? & then came back to life to join homicide so u could investigat ur own death?

Nice handkerchief, murdoch vibes. KB: U ok? RC: Yeah no yeah... I wonder if he ever did that with alexis, had her colouring while he was signing books. Espt had that much information thrown at him in that short amount of time he was gone? Poor ryan, exiled to work talking to all the other nicks, & then exiled again to work computer stuff Wrong nick bro XD I thought he meant nick jr.

Hold the extra cheese wasn't funny.

Oh def steal the oven. Ah yes italian new york mobster money laundering in a pizza place? So the captions are willing to put nada in the captions here but put "speaking spanish" last episode when esposito said it? Seriously? Seriously?? You couldn't write "nada"? Like at this point it's a loanword & everyone knows what it means, but even so you should still write down everything that is said. Not translated, not "speaking [language]" but the actual words.

Like how he says "luds" for L.U.D.s I love his fake little accent he does "i'll kill ye"

True. You can't threaten to kill someone, it is not covered in free speech. It's the fat isn't it.

You can find out where things are from a phone call on a cell? That's sus af.

Tips the concierge even tho u'r not really here. Love it. Rick speedreading moments. Who would write nicely like that & then spend an entire page of notebook on two lines of writing? RC: *sees a cool new app* KB: no RC: Fine but you don't get to play my angry birds! Ok that was the funny one, the only funny one. I wonder if they had pizza!

Still do! (he's literally an author)

So WHEN were u in a relationship? fate <3 (except he withheld the information abt the story he was working on for a reason, if you've seen it before like me u can see why.)

Ryan with the financials! How big are new york blocks?

Woah a nice transition! Cool!

Nice heck yeah party crasher!

Woah language but martha is right. She's totally allowed to swear in this situation. It's like the kitchen. No swears at my catholic school unless you were working an event with the culinary program & physically in the kitchen. RC: Bitch! *realizes what he said & covers mouth*

Aw cyberbullying...

RC: Where's beckett? KR: Uh, Hall of Records. Tracking down what Burns was looking for. (Pink shirt : ) & also a vest, he looks pretty) RC: Great. *hands Beckett's coffee to Ryan* (we know time that ryan & esposito stole castle & beckett's coffee & then switched after one sip that ryan like beckett flavoured coffee & espt likes castle flavoured coffee) RC: Listen, if I gave you a website, could you have your friends at Tech hack into it and take some pictures down? (bribing ryan & not his friends at tech?) KR, taking the paper from castle with a little smile: Did someone find naked pictures of you again? (HOLD ON WHAT? & HAS RICK ASKED RYAN TO DO THIS BEFORE?) KR: *unfolds paper with a lighthearted little smile at castle's antics* RC: No. Not me. It's Alexis. KR: *stops* KR: *thinking someone posted castle's daughter's nudes & now castle is asking him to take them down* KR: *looks up at him with fear in his eyes* (also bc she is 17 her pics would technically be CP & this would be a bigger issue so maybe that's what ryan was thinking. He was thinking they needed to take this to Vice or smth.) RC: This is for Alexis KR: *eyes searching* KR: Uh, this just got awkward. What's this about? (his voice suddenly got hella squeaky) RC: Okay. Mean girl at school kiss ambushed Alexis's boyfriend (ryan nods & makes faces in sympathetic outrage) then posted the photographic proof on her website. Alexis is very upset. KR: Mmm. I-- I could have my friend Tony take care of it. You know, off the record. (Love a good "tony") RC: Thanks. And, uh, no need to mention this to Beckett. You know how she gets with these things (Castle and Ryan smile & start to laugh & go to sip their coffees. Beckett appears and grabs her cup from Ryan.) KB: Things like abusing police resources for your own personal agenda? RC: Whaat? That's ridi-- No, you don-- No. That's-- that's--- (Castle gives Ryan the OK sign as he follows Beckett to her desk. Ryan slips the slip of paper into his vest meaning he's still willing to help out rick & his daughter even w/o the coffee bribery) Yes yes yes castle yes ryan this is an abuse of power but that is so valid & I think it's funny & great & I love it Ryan, trying to act casual after this little thing: Yep?

Espt has a denim-looking dress shirt on what & then beckett has a nice green scarf & longsleeve

Yo the guy's alive??

Ooh I love a good noire film but why say noowahr instead of nwar. RC: I haven't heard the story... Oh... that sucks.. he couldn't even crawl over to hold her. That's got to be traumatic.

Neat, learning abt history. Cool. So Ryan was in narcotics back in '03, he went into homicide in '06 maybe, & then three years later (I might be mixing this up with Ike Thornton's (fake) death tho) as mentioned in I think that very episode, castle shows up: '09. 03 narco, 09 castle shows up & there is a mention of "three years ago" so, 06 ike dies ryan goes into homicide. idk I'm just trying to get a timeline. Anyway, I always love it when they bring back character's pasts before we knew them. & during this Ryan is also fidgeting with his file, point for the adhd ryan headcanon.

Castle never specified HOW to flip it so he could follow the movements. Glad he said to slow it down tho. Is the man left handed?

Alexis got into a fight? Good for her. Oh no castle & ryan & tony got alexis in trouble : ( but also XD Heck yeah girl! Tho yeah rick you're right violence is not the answer "& then one of you ends up dead in a pizza oven" & then he quotes beckett & hugs her. RC: Did u kick her ass? AC: I kind of did RC: Good girl. Good. Even when he tells her retaliation is not the way, he still lets her know.

Bro teenagers ARE criminal masterminds. High school bullies are NOT some dumb-as-bricks doorknob who beats you & but can't chew gum & walk at the same time, they really can be evil geniuses.

Costumes: Castle & beckett are normal, tho I don't like beckett's shirt. Esposito is wearing a boring not-fancy long-sleeve with jeans & ryan is wearing a typical dark blue dress shirt & dress pants, no tie this time, nice grey coat. Really fancy coat too. I like it.

How can you tell someone dialed the numbers for a call but never hit send...? Unless it was already on the phone & they didn't get erased for some reason. Mine closes every time I switch apps.

Esposito, breakin down the doors! Music is great rn! The boys just run out the window

Oh so she IS in with the drug dealers.

She's good. She's really good. I'm speaking from the perspective of having seen this before. It's obvious that he CANNOT be cavallo pretending to be his own right-hand-one. Poor R+E, out of breath from the chase So she DID know those names when castle asked her the first time!

OH MY GOODNESS HOLY CRAP THAT'S A LOT OF FIGHTING & POOR RYAN IN THE MIDDLE TRYING TO GET THEM TO STOP

Castle u really just went back on what u & beckett put ur money on? Whose tab? Whose tab did they put it on? What? Winner winner pizza dinner & wow that's a lot of smack.

He's a pizza man! He would never disrespect his oven like that! It is SO not his speed castle! Oh so you wanted to burn down authentic nick's? Girl if you can call him then that's helping!

See like this is what got my eyes on ryan in the first place, his movements are so weird, like he's walking too big for his body. Oh & again unassuming middleman is dumb

Is she limping? why is she in homicide? I thought she was in narco. also I can't use my question mark button on tumblr anymore for some reason & so it reloaded the page & got rid of a mini fanfictioin I wrote & I am fucking upset. I had added some notes to my liveblog. What the hell tumblr^/ why won't you let me use a proper question mark^/ at least my french é&É still work. Ηοwever, my greek keyboard does not.

Ok sweetheart, just Don't Use Easy-to-Catch Names Calls ryan & esposito the best detectives. Ooh une femme fatale

Love the music & oh no please don't be nick's pizza Oh thank goodness it's stephano's So mature of Alexis OH THAT IS A GOOD LOOKING PIZZA

& it seems like all the bonus features are deleted scenes which I have seen. Yuck tho I don't need to see this.

[amoveablejake]

My Five Key Songs Of December 2022

The final round up. Well, sort of. 

It is perhaps fitting that the hardest key songs of the month that I have had to compile this year is the last one. The fact that I can’t believe that its the end of 2022 and that this is the final monthly round up for the year gone by has been eclipsed by how whittling this month’s tracks down to only five was so difficult but in the end, like this year, I made it. There are five songs ready for December even if at this very moment I’m not entirely sure or rather have no idea which one will be the key song of the month to take the final place in the end of year playlist. So this will be as much as a surprise for you as it will be for me. 

First up, ‘Torn and Frayed’ by The Rolling Stones. 

When the first ‘Knives Out’ film appeared in 2019, it introduced me to a song called ‘Sweet Virginia’ from The Rolling Stones that has become one of my favourite songs of all time. I remember after I saw the film and fell in love with that particular track, I did start to explore the album that it was lifted from ‘Exile on Main Street’. I remember clearly, listening to the album as I was on my old commute and listening to it one cold autumn morning as I made my way through the station. In the years that followed I focused really only on ‘Sweet Virginia’ and overlooked the rest of the album. Funnily enough with the release of the second ‘Knives Out’ film, I returned to ‘Sweet Virginia’ and again started to explore the album that its from again. This time, ‘Torn and Frayed’ has really clicked. Not in a kind of like this song kind of way but rather the, where has this song been all of my life kind of way. The thing is, I knew where it was, I just wasn’t really listening. It took about three years for me to really hear ‘Torn and Frayed’ and now that I have it playing in my head I think it will be playing on and on and on forever. 

Second on the list for December, ‘Sky Restaurant’ by Hi-Fi Set.

One of the greatest joys I have is when I stumble across a song that I recognise from a sample used by another artist. Yes, an artist using a sample that you know is exciting but when you find the original completely organically, oh boy now that is a thrill. That very thing happened with ‘Sky Restaurant’ by Hi-Fi Set which is a track that Logic has sampled heavily in the past and for good reason. Hi-Fi set are one of those bands who feels like they were years ahead of their time but then again, perhaps all Japanese music from this era was. ‘Sky Restaurant’ feels rather cinematic with its sweeping lyrics and flowing rhythm that will leave you mesmersied even if, like me, you have absolutely no idea what the song is about. For a long while I thought that perhaps this was going to be the key song for December, and like any of the tracks on today’s round up it really could have been, and whilst it isn’t taking the top spot this time I can definitely see a return to Hi-Fi Set coming up in 2023. 

Third up to bat, ‘Christmas in Hollis’ by Run D.M.C. 

It always seems to be that the key song from the album of the week that I wrote about on the last Monday ends up on the key songs of the month round up. Perhaps its recency bias but then again, when its ‘Christmas in Hollis’ how could it not feature here. I’ve already written about this particular track once this week so I won’t dive into the same subject matter this time so instead I’ll say this, there is a lot going for this song, its masterfully worked and realised the whole way through however, the crowning achievement for me is when you get to 2:24 where all of the build up culminates in celebrations that really do feel like they’re going on in your headphones and around you. There are certain films that you immediately get drawn into and believe you’re a part of for its duration and ‘Christmas in Hollis’ is a song that inspires those same feelings and really, we’re all the better for it. 

The penultimate song for December, ‘Don’t Call Me on the Phone’ by Keiko Kimura. 

Really, this should be the key song of the month. I have listened to it practically on repeat and I am infatuated with it. However, as I have only known this song for about four or five days I don’t think it would be fair to award it the key song of the month place quite yet, although yes I know I have done similar things in the past. ‘Don’t Call Me on the Phone’ is a shining example of why I greatly enjoy working through the archives of Japanese City Pop as it is for me the definition of an earworm. There is ofcourse the chance that this infatuation I have with this particular track is only fleeting and that I will only share this time with it before it falls by the wayside to be stumbled upon in the future or maybe this will be one of the tracks that bridges the gap between years and will be accompanying me throughout 2023. Time will only tell but for now, I’m going to keep spinning this because this, its a hit. A complete, and absolute hit. 

That leaves us with the key song of the month which is ‘My Wish’ by Hank Jones. 

I said uptop that I wasn’t sure what was going to be the key song of the month but really I think I did know in my heart all along that it had to be ‘My Wish’. This particular number from Hank Jones has been with me for the duration of the month which for the most part has been me gazing longingly at the colour palette used on the album cover. ‘My Wish’ is, its one of those songs that I can’t really write about. Its not that I can’t find the words although that can be a struggle but more that when I listen to songs like ‘My Wish’ I often lose myself in them and before long my fingers have left the keyboard and I’m daydreaming or gazing out the window, melting into the downtempo jazz that has often defined my musical taste and other aspects of my life. It is a definition that works for me, down tempo jazz and Vapourwave, two special genres and sub genres that feel like parts of me. ‘My Wish’ is truly enchanting and bewitching. A track that I don’t need to wonder whether it will be here in 2023 as I know that it will always be ready for me when I return to it to lose myself in whether that is next year, the year after or all the ones after. If I had to add this to a compilation album, it would go straight into my Hygge songs and really, I couldn’t award it anything higher. 

So there we have it, an unexpected journey that like Bilbo, we have returned from. I’m not entirely sure why we have veered off into a brief reference into ‘The Hobbit’ there but we have and I think we’re all the better for it. Like how I feel after engaging with all of the key songs for December as 2022 draws to a close. Soon we will have the end of the year round up of all of the key songs that have featured over the past twelve months but for now as it is Christmas Eve it is time to wrap those final presents and breathe. 

-Jake, a man who felt he was in ‘The Walking Dead’ with the last minute Christmas shoppers ambling today, 24/12/2022

[disgr-aced]

no but 2020-2021 with covid and all that, and having just started work for the first time and generally having a Bad Time. I hadn't watched Minecraft content in years, and hadn't touched the game for longer.

And then I saw a video about something called L'manburg, and a Minecraft presidential candidate? So I looked into it. My first stream was the first L'manburg explosion, the rebellion. I remember swapping between several streams on my phone. Some names I recognised (Technoblade, Philza), many I didn't. But the experience was electric. And I didn't think about what was going on outside the little block world, I was immersed, happy even.

From then on, knowing that I could watch streams in the evening where people my age and younger were messing around on minecraft for a bit and having fun did help.

And waking up the next morning and Ranboo or someone had done a 5-6 hour stream which I could watch while I was working from home almost felt like company, it made the day easier.

And the storytelling through play felt like I was a young teen again finding out about the Jurassic Craft series (does anyone even know what that was anymore? Cause that was my JAM back in the day) and other Minecraft roleplay series. The people were new, the setting different, the plot beats shifted, but the drama and the friendships and the tragedy of it all felt familiar. Like I was coming home.

Moreso, I didn't join the community really because I wasn't on twitter or tumblr or anything like that much, but I saw all the videos, animations, music, the outpouring of love from everyone who felt the same as me. And so even when streams werent live, I felt like I had so much to see. It was wonderful, still is to an extent as I've very much seen on the dash this morning since Jack's epilogue stream.

I drifted away from dsmp content in 2022 at some point, I don't remember when. I changed jobs, went out more, I guess my interests changed. But I never forgot that feeling of being wrapped in a blanket, watching SAD-ists Technoblade animation for the first time, or seeing the decimation of New L'manburg live, or any of the exile streams in that winter when everything was ramping up story-wise, or Ranboo's lore streams with the quiet acting and well-timed music, or the very first Tales from the SMP, or waiting patiently for Quackitys' cinematic lore streams to start (which to this day i still rewatch regularly, they're amazing and hold up very well on their own imo)

The best gift of all that I got from dsmp was possibly what came after. I got back into Minecraft, both as a game and as a medium for story. I regained a genuine love for the medium, which brought me back to watching Hermitcraft, and then to QSMP, and the Life series, and many more. Which led me to restart my tumblr account, and then here, with my small band of mutuals and the strong sense of community. It's like I found a missing piece, and it started with dsmp.

Was the dsmp perfect? No. Far from it. But did I enjoy it? Absolutely. And I will always carry forward that it was just what I needed to see, at just the right time.

So yeah. Am I happy now? Getting there. Thanks to the dsmp.

help i can feel myself falling into the dsmp void again

[ukiyokki]

mars reads too much dreamnotfound fanfiction for their own good

a dreamnotfound fanfic recommendation list by your resident dumbass (me)

this took way to fucking long... i’m tired

below is a (very extensive) list dedicated to all my favorite dnf fics, ranging from quick one shots to 100k+ word monstrosities that devour the storage on my computer, forever incomplete masterpieces to ongoing works of art, you get the idea. i provided links for each fic/series for your reading pleasure. there will be no smutty/nsfw fics on this list, that’s just not my vibe lmao. this list goes in no particular order, and i’ll update it from time to time when i feel like it. now, without further ado, let us begin.

Heat Waves (complete) by tbhyourelame

(wtf else did you expect, looking at a dnf rec list?) amazingly well written, and while it’s not my favorite dnf fic it’s damn near close. in the midst of a brutal heatwave, a suffering dream comes to terms with the fact that he is desperately in love with his best friend. everything i could say about this fic has already been said by nearly everyone who’s read it, so if you haven’t yet caved into the hype, just go for it. you won’t be disappointed.

Gonna be around (completed) by georgescatcafe

(mc irl) my favorite dnf oneshot to date. just read it, i don’t wanna spoil for you :)

Inferno in the Sky (ongoing)by zairielon

(star wars au) an ongoing star wars au currently clocking in at almost 200k words. need I say more? everything about it absolutely slaps, each chapter is amazingly written, and it’s just good. also, can we just appreciate dream and tubbos dynamic in here? 10/10, amazing, must protecc. oh right, a summary: george, an exiled padawan turned engineer, must return to the jedi temple after attacks on it from an unknown assailant threaten the safety of himself and the other jedi.

Like Magic (ongoing) by KangarooKen, NotGra55 (Gra55)

(harry potter au) the unofficial official dnf harry potter au. we watch the young unlikely wizard pair grow up together throughout their years at hogwarts as they battle good old fashioned wizard racism. beautifully written, incredibly fun and suspenseful, and just an overall blast and a half.

GeorgeNotFound, Son of Poseidon, and the League of Minor Gods (ongoing) by Clichewho_69, Cygnvs, Trash_Kinggg

(percy jackson au) percy jackson au? check. “road trip” (technically quest but u get what i mean)? check. enemies to friends to lovers? check. this fic follows the plot of the lightning theif (albeit loosely), but everything is explained enough where you don’t have to read percy jackson to understand what’s going on. basically after moving to the usa, george gets taken to camp halfblood where he learns that a) gods exist. b) he’s the son of poseidon and c) he needs to prove that he didn’t steal zeus’s master bolt.

Protected (completed) by aenqua

(royalty/camelot au) my favorite piece of dnf media of all time. dubbed the official dnf camelot au, where dream is the heir to the throne and george is a servants son with a secret that couldp get him killed. these childhood friends grow up together and learn trust, love, and acceptance. (that summary did not justice to the masterpiece that is this fic) here’s the directors cut

The Hunter (completed) by HederEgo

(mc irl) a choose your own adventure fic with 13 different endings, where dream the hunter must kill george and stop him from beater the ender dragon. enough said.

The official dream team cowboy AU (series)(ongoing) by antsu_in_my_pantsu

(cowboy au) cowboys and outlaws horses and shit. and the big gay. it’s a cowboy au, what else did you expect? fucking yee haw (all seriousness this is a great read, i loved it so so so so much and i can’t wait for the final chapter to release).

This is a Drista moment, let's just accept it (completed) by Qekyo

dnf fic from drista pov. considering its unique perspective, it’s perfectly done. beautifully showcases a sibling relationship through drista and her memories/moments with dream, and it just works, y’a know? also drista supremacy.

Dear Dream (completed) by Qekyo

(wwii au) i don’t cry when watching/reading anything sad. translation: i’m a heartless bitch. however, this fic is the only exception. it caused me to cry so hard my mom walked in my room and asked if i was ok. ‘nuff said.

TECHNOlogical Wingman (completed) by Closeted_Bookworm

techno is the autocorrect ai on dreams phone, and he gains sentience. interesting concept, and the author fucking nailed it. great fic.

It Was Only a Fic (ongoing) by imagineitdear

dream starts reading a dnf fanfic (we’ve all been there buddy).

Teacher’s Pet (ongoing) by niyuha

(teacher au) in which dream is a high school english teacher and george is the new comp sci teacher in room 297.

Saltwater Secrets (ongoing) by earlgay_milktea

(mermaid/high school au) a great example of the shear amount of variety in fics this fandom has to offer. when i started reading dnf fics i would have never thought i’d find one about a mermaid george hopelessly crushing on his human friend, who happens to be his schools star swimmer. yet here i am, and i am far from disappointed.

Smash My Heart (incomplete) by dontrollthedice

george and sapnap are commentators for duper smash brothers tournaments, and george develops a crush on an up and coming smash streamer named dream.

roleplaying in the dark is harder than it seems (completed) by Alienu

laser tag. 10/10

solar system (completed) by quartzfia

(mc irl) george vists dream in pandora’s vault.

Ramblings of a Lunatic (completed) by jungkooksfic

ahh communicating through a notebook left on a shelf in a bookstore- what a perfect way to start a relationship.

Paint me like your French Girls (It's Charcoal, Actually) (completed) by Turtle_ier

(artist au) george is an art student, and dream is a model.

00:00:00 (completed) by isleofdreams

(soulmate au) 00:00:00 is the moment you meet your soulmate, as indicated but the clock ticking down on your wrist until the moment you meet. i’m not a fan of soulmate aus; this fic is the exception.

Blue Skies Smilin' At Me (completed) by kivy

(artist au) i don’t usually cry while reading stuff, but this brought me damn near close. george is a painting conservator and chats it is with the ghost of the artist if the painting he is working on. they fall in a love.

Current Location (incomplete) by hendollana

(influencer au) george simps for a hot american instagram model. who knew he’d actually follow back?

The Withering (series) (series ongoing, 1 work completed) by App1e_Juice

(mc irl) lore and world building and fight scenes and everything i crave. what’s not to love? something starts making the plants and crops around dreams village wither, and must team up with new friends to find the cause of the mysterious disease plaguing the land.

Minecraft, But You Can't Leave (complete) by facadecake

(mc irl) dream and george are sucked into their own private minecraft world together and must beat the game to escape.

Free The Game, Beat the End (incomplete) by goatgoatwasfound

(mc irl) a glitch in minecraft causes thousands of players from around the world to be trapped inside minecraft, with only one way of escape- beating the ender dragon. first dnf fic i ever read, and it’s still 10/10 for me.

Why don't you come a little closer? (completed) by lifeofandoms

george gets stood up by a date, and Dream pretends he’s the date to save george from the embarrassment. simply adorable.

lightning bug (completed) by saintachesP

(band au) while on tour, dream realizes his feeling for george.

Hold me closer (completed) by Treesofmyheart

(mc irl/dsmp) i just,, really like this trope.

Dizzy on caffeine (completed) by GleamingGreenGoggles

(coffee shop au) best dnf coffeeshop au i’ve read. periodt.

living a life of crime isn’t always easy (series) (completed) by itisjosh

(mafia/assassin au) stockholm syndrome except it’s not weird.

Inhibitions Make Interesting Situations (completed) by Ship_On_The_Sea

i pissed myself laughing. it’s just a dream and george being hilariously dense, flustered idiots. serotonin central.

thy eternal summer shall not fade (completed) by gracequills

(high school au) that moment when you recite shakespeare to your crush in your ap lit class instead of confessing (hate it when that happens).

All is Fair in love and Football (ongoing) by graciegirl2001

(college au) #1 favorite college au. in which george is a cheerleader, and dream is the football teams rising star player. this one gets extra points because of the amazing karlnap moments sprinkled throughout. *chefs kisses air*

online love (completed) by andbutso

(high school au) online classes go zoooooooom

Can’t help falling (completed) by isleofdreams

dream re-learns the guitar to sing to george on his birthday. beautiful. fluffy. amazing

dance in the rain and my arms (completed) by lazy_kitkat

george is a rain god, and dream is a wind god

Weather Boy (completed) by DaintyDiizzle

wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? (where dream can control the rain)

The color orange (completed) by anon

(mc irl) dream describes the colors of a sunset

Family Mode (completed)by Strawberry_flavoured_tears

they’re dads :,)

Breathing Room (incomplete) by papercranes

(band an) an amazing band au. the mad lad author wrote original songs for each chapter. above and beyond, mad props :). unfortunately, it’s incomplete

Piece of Clay (completed) by carbonbrine

(artist au) george is a sculptor and his sculpture comes to life- but oh no he’s hot.

Try (completed) by Not4typicalwriter

(royalty au) george must choose a suitor, but none of them are up to dream, his head knights, standards. or dream is hella jelly. also protective dream is perfect

When the Roses Bloom (completed) by HederEgo

(royalty au) close second for my favorite fic. go to royalty au for a quick serotonin bost. it’s all fluff and flowers and crushes, and i love it. criminally underrated.

Heavenstruck (ongoing) by dontrollthedice

george is dreams guardian angel, and dream want to find out more about him and his past life. bittersweet :,)

Bang and Burn (completed) by App1e_Juice

(spy au) george accidentally falls for target number 1 on sapnap’s secret agency’s hit list. this ones great, i love me a spy au :)

Can I get a uhh… (completed) by lemonskies

dream keeps pulling up to the drive through mcdonald’s that george works at drunk.

Pretty Stranger (completed) by anon

when looking for dream in the terminal, george sees a cute guy and decides to flirt.

Take my Hand (completed) by latinbias

(royalty au) another royalty au? poggers. surprise twists? double poggers. love this a lot.

seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes (complete) by meridies

ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP *inhales to compose herself* roadtrip au. unrequited love, ignored feelings, longing, pining, you know the drill. absolutely love this one, its the best roadtrip au i have ever read, in any fandom. (maybe cause i identify with it a little too much, but thats not important. whats important is that you read this fic. right now. im waiting).

Message redacted (complete) by justyouraverageloser

(text fic) dream asks for a girls number and realises hes been given the wrong number. however, an unexpected relationship starts to form between him and the stranger on the other end of the line.

the waves (completed) by anon

(mc irl) this fic was written by the same anon who wrote the color orange, which is up there on my fav dnf oneshot list. dream and george know they have a higher purpose. they don’t know where they came from, or why they are seemingly the only humans in the world, or how they feel about eachother, or even where the skeletons come from, but they are sure of one thing: they have to beat a dragon.

The Dream Doll (completed) by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)

(voodoo i guess) i’m a real big fan of fics with really out there or unique concepts, so naturally this one makes the cut! i really liked it, it’s really sweet and made me think a lot about what matters to me in the world. george finds a strange doll in an antique shop, and would really like to just stuff it in a drawer and forget about it. sadly (?), the doll has other plans.

last updated February 6th, 2021

[bukojuiice]

˗ˏˋ@bukojuiice’s BNHA masterlistˎˊ˗

REQUESTS: [CLOSED]

© bukojuiice - all rights reserved. please do not repost, distribute, copy, or plagiarize my work. please ask for permission if you wish to use my work for asmr or for voice overs. thank you!

➸ Headcanons

♡ ྀ  “midoriya, bakugo and todoroki cramming school works with their S/O”

♡ ྀ  “baby it’s cold outside.” (katsuki bakugo christmas hcs)

♡ ྀ  “going to Universal Studios Japan with them”  

♡ ྀ  “how you spend a virtual valentines date in quarantine w/ them” 

♡ ྀ   what happens when the bakusquad babysits Katsuki’s daughter? 

♡ ྀ     i like you a latte. (Coffee Shop AU! Headcanons)

♡ ྀ what they would be like as disney princes

♡ ྀ their wedding day with you

♡ ྀ the lovey-dovey things they do with you while you're both stuck at home during quarantine

♡ ྀ  the kinds of movies he’d watch with you.

♡ ྀ when he does the lip bite

♡ ྀ  when they read self-insert fanfiction of themselves

♡ ྀ cat ears or maid outfit?

♡ ྀ     how dekusquad + bakusquad comfort you after getting your heartbroken

♡ ྀ   mha boys accompanying you to buy lingerie

➸ Izuku Midoriya

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  I will hold on to everything we got. A quitter, regretter and forgiver is everything I’m not.

(↳  unprompted and unexpected goodbyes are the worst. how are you going to be able to tell izuku the fact that you were moving away from the city that the two of you have lived in, grew up in, and soon became the place where the two of you fell in love with each other? how could you let this precious cinnamon roll go?)

♡ ྀ  she’s not afraid of scary movies, she likes the way we kiss in the dark.

( ↳  it is your weekly movie night with Izuku and co, but whilst waiting for your other friends, you and your boyfriend had the most wonderful idea of watching a gory horror movie.)

♡ ྀ as the world caves in

( ↳ no one else could ever carry the burden that Izuku holds in his hands. But when a girl from his past helps bring him to a realization, he begins to contemplate on whether or not sacrificing everything that you love to become a hero is worth it all.)

➸ Katsuki Bakugo

Cuddle Buddy! (Social Media AU)

Katsuki’s Convenience (Social Media AU)

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  thank god for plot twists like you.

( ↳  Katsuki barges in your dorm room after class to see you crying in your bed with your phone in your hand… but why exactly?)

♡ ྀ  the s in studying stands for sexy times (implied smut!)

( ↳  katsuki is helping you study for your finals. but to no avail, none of the articles you were reviewing were processing inside your mind at all. until, katsuki had thought of a great idea to help you study. a spicy one at that.)

♡ ྀ  you fell from the sky into my lap (smut)

(  ↳  You and Katsuki become one as the two of you get in the mood with the music on his Spotify playlist.)

♡ ྀ  my world is changed and it’s cradled by the comfort that is you.

(  ↳  After receiving a quarterly report on the status of your hero internships and as a 3rd year student of UA Academy, your day is ruined as soon as you began to read it’s contents. Your explosive boyfriend does not want to see you like this. But how can he possibly cheer you up?)

♡ ྀ   like the soul of honey 

( ↳ Christmas finally approaches and your daughter, Hikari, can’t wait to spend it with the best parents ever.)

♡ ྀ  you got questions, i got answers tonight, babe. (smut!)

(  ↳ you and the bakusquad drag bakugo to a short vacation after such an intense week of hero work, much to his annoyance. however, his stress and pent up energy was more than you expected, so you knew exactly how to release all his frustrations.)

♡ ྀ  fix you. (studio ghibli au! princess mononoke au!)

(  ↳  Katsuki Bakugo is the righteous yet arrogant village prince of the east. The entire village relies on him for protection and for guidance, further inflating his ego. however, after a cursed boar attacks him and the curse is passed on to him as a poisonous mark on his arm, slowly consuming him until he becomes a demon himself. he is exiled without hesitance from his village and is to go on a journey to look for a cure, a journey he might never come back from. With the help of two of his most trusted allies, he embarks on a journey to look for the gods of the forest in where he meets a girl (just as striking as him) who brings him back down to earth, saves him and make him experience a true life worth living.)

♡ ྀ  25 lives (time traveler au!)

(  ↳  After losing the love of his life in a brutal villain incident, Katsuki Bakugo had lost a part of him. Nothing and no one could ever bring her back. He became the shell of a person he once was; fiery, bright, and the driven #2 Pro-hero in the country. He continues to live life with guilt, all hope still lost until he is gifted a time device that can transport him to parallel universes, dimensions and alternate worlds, where he begins his quest to find his lost love. Crossing a hundred of realities and living twenty-five lifetimes just to bring her back into his arms. )

♡ ྀ to the most explosive boy i’ve ever loved before

(  ↳  six letters. one for every boy you’ve ever loved. The letters for your eyes only, filled with all the words you could never say. until, one day, they start appearing out of nowhere into your life again, and your love life goes from imaginary to out of control.)

♡ ྀ  lovesick girl

(  ↳  your planned birthday surprise for katsuki takes a turn for the worst when you’re suddenly struck by a cold, prompting your dynamite boyfriend to take care of you and shower you with love and affection on his special day.)

♡ ྀ nicotine and faded dreams  (smut!)

(  ↳  Fame. Success. Glory. Bakugo’s had and seen it all, being a part of one of the biggest bands in the world. All he’s ever wanted was (Y/N), who comes back into his life just in time for the last leg of the band’s European tour. Bakugo thought that after making it big he wouldn’t have to face the muse for their most successful song any time soon. But a trip to Venice organized by scheming band mates has him stuck in a car with that very same muse. or Rock bands, a love Bakugo’s been trying to run away from and a cleverly schemed road trip: what could go wrong?)

♡ ྀ the morning afterglow

(  ↳ basking in the hues of wonderment that is the morning sun with your explosive boyfriend by your side was truly a dream. lingering in the bed much longer was an absolute must. these are one of those days.)

➸ Todoroki Shoto

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  when you kiss me, heaven sighs.

( ↳  you and Shoto arrive in the city of love.  the day seems perfect until things go awry.)

♡ ྀ   a love like the movies

(  ↳    Shoto spends his only day of rest and relaxation by watching iconic tv shows and sitcoms with you.)

♡ ྀ   my youth is yours.

( ↳  shoto todoroki entered college with one thing in mind; be able to graduate and follow in his family’s footsteps. however, college had different plans for him. and meeting the one he would spend the rest of his life with was one of them.)

♡ ྀ merry go round of life (studio ghibli au, howl’s moving castle au)

( ↳ shoto todoroki is a magical prince who yearns for freedom. with the entire country against him, and the freedom he ever so wanted barely in his grasp- he seeks solace in a girl who works in a hat shop. she was his comfort in days full of disaster and war. and ever since then, he has finally found a reason to live.)

♡ ྀ something in the rain 

( ↳  you and shoto were once childhood best friends and sweethearts who had lost touch and communication. 12 years has passed since then, and on a fated summer day in june, there was something in the rain that brought two lost souls back to each other’s arms.)

  ♡ ྀ  are you feline what i’m feline? (smut!)

( ↳ blessed with a quirk that can temporarily transform any human being into any living thing they want through the means of potions and concoctions, you brew up a cat girl potion to surprise shoto for your second year anniversary. however, some accidents and mishaps happen, and you’re welcomed home by a handsome cat boy instead.

♡ ྀ  if i could tell her

( ↳  in where shoto todoroki is hit by a sudden realization that the love of his life was right in front of him all along and all it takes is for her to cross the crossroads for him to finally realize.)

♡ ྀ written in the stars

( ↳ shoto takes you out on a special date. a date that entailed love in all it’s bare simplicity. love in all it’s highs and lows, and love that is worth being written in the stars.)

➸ Eijiro Kirishima

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover.

(  ↳ It is your 1st year anniversary with Kirishima. With no idea how celebrate it, Kirishima asks for the aid of Bakusquad and they have very interesting ideas and plans to say the least. Will he succeed and plan a perfect surprise for you?)

[path-of-my-childhood]

The Story Behind Every Song on folklore - According to Aaron Dessner

By: Brady Gerber for Vulture Date: July 27th 2020

The National multi-instrumentalist spoke to Vulture over the phone from upstate New York a few hours after the surprise release of Swift’s eighth studio album. (“A pretty wild ride,” he admits, sounding tired yet happy.) He was clear that he can’t speak on behalf of Swift’s lyrics, much like he can’t for The National frontman Matt Berninger’s either, or the thinking behind Jack Antonoff’s songs. (Here’s a cheat sheet: Jack’s songs soar, Aaron’s glide.) But Dessner was game to speak to his specific contributions, influences, and own interpretations of each song on folklore, a record you can sum up by two words that came up often during our conversation: nostalgic and wry.

“the 1″

“the 1” and “hoax,” the first song and the last song, were the last songs we did. The album was sort of finished before that. We thought it was complete, but Taylor then went back into the folder of ideas that I had shared. I think in a way, she didn’t realize she was writing for this album or a future something. She wrote “the 1,” and then she wrote “hoax” a couple of hours later and sent them in the middle of the night. When I woke up in the morning, I wrote her before she woke up in LA and said, “These have to be on the record.” She woke up and said, “I agree” [laughs] These are the bookends, you know?

It’s clear that “the 1” is not written from her perspective. It’s written from another friend’s perspective. There’s an emotional wryness and rawness, while also to this kind of wink in her eyes. There’s a little bit of her sense of humor in there, in addition to this kind of sadness that exists both underneath and on the surface. I enjoy that about her writing.

The song began from the voice memo she sent me, and then I worked on the music some and we tracked her vocals, and then my brother added orchestration. There are a few other little bits, but basically that was one of the very last things we did.

“cardigan“

That’s the first song we wrote [in early May]. After Taylor asked if I would be interested in writing with her remotely and working on songs, I said, “Are you interested in a certain kind of sound?” She said, “I’m just interested in what you do and what you’re up to. Just send anything, literally anything, it could be the weirdest thing you’ve ever done,” so I sent a folder of stuff I had done that I was really excited about recently. “cardigan” was one of those sketches; it was originally called “Maple.” It was basically exactly what it is on the record, except we added orchestration later that my brother wrote.

I sent [the file] at 9 p.m., and around 2 a.m. or something, there was “cardigan,” fully written. That’s when I realized something crazy was happening. She just dialed directly into the heart of the music and wrote an incredible song and fully conceived of it and then kept going. It harkens back to lessons learned, or experiences in your youth, in a really beautiful way and this sense of longing and sadness, but ultimately, it’s cathartic. I thought it was a perfect match for the music, and how her voice feels. It was kind of a guide. It had these lower register parts, and I think we both realized that this was a bit of a lightning rod for a lot of the rest of the record.

The National’s Influence On Swift

She said that she’s a fan of the emotion that’s conveyed in our music. She doesn’t often get to work with music that is so raw and emotional, or melodic and emotional, at the same time. When I sent her the folder, that was one of the main feelings. She said, “What the fuck? How do you just have that?” [laughs] I was humbled and honored because she just said, “It’s a gift, and I want to write to all of this.” She didn’t write to all of it, but a lot of it, and relatively quickly.

She is a fan of the band, and she’s a fan of Big Red Machine. She’s well aware of the sentiment of it and what I do, but she didn’t ask for a certain kind of thing. I know that the film [I Am Easy To Find] has really affected her, and she’s very much in love with that film and the record. Maybe it’s subconsciously been an influence.

“the last great american dynasty”

I wrote that after we’d been working for a while. It was an attempt to write something attractive, more uptempo and kind of pushing. I also was interested in this almost In Rainbows-style latticework of electric guitars. They come in and sort of pull you along, kind of reminiscent of Big Red Machine. It was very much in this sound world that I’ve been playing around with, and she immediately clicked with that. Initially I was imagining these dreamlike distant electric guitars and electronics but with an element of folk. There’s a lot going on in that sense. I sent it before I went on a run, and when I got back from the run, that song was there [laughs].

She told me the story behind it, which sort of recounts the narrative of Rebekah Harkness, whom people actually called Betty. She was married to the heir of Standard Oil fortune, married into the Harkness family, and they bought this house in Rhode Island up on a cliff. It’s kind of the story of this woman and the outrageous parties she threw. She was infamous for not fitting in, entirely, in society; that story, at the end, becomes personal. Eventually, Taylor bought that house. I think that is symptomatic of folklore, this type of narrative song. We didn’t do very much to that either.

“exile” (ft. Bon Iver)

Taylor and William Bowery, the singer-songwriter, wrote that song initially together and sent it to me as a sort of a rough demo where Taylor was singing both the male and female parts. It’s supposed to be a dialogue between two lovers. I interpreted that and built the song, played the piano, and built around that template. We recorded Taylor’s vocals with her singing her parts but also the male parts.

We talked a lot about who she thought would be perfect to sing, and we kept coming back to Justin [Vernon]. Obviously, he’s a dear friend of mine and collaborator. I said, “Well, if he’s inspired by the song, he’ll do it, and if not, he won’t.” I sent it to him and said, “No pressure at all, literally no pressure, but how do you feel about this?” He said, “Wow.” He wrote some parts into it also, and we went back and forth a little bit, but it felt like an incredibly natural and safe collaboration between friends. It didn’t feel like getting a guest star or whatever. It was just like, well, we’re working on something, and obviously he’s crazy talented, but it just felt right. I think they both put so much raw emotion into it. It’s like a surface bubbling. It’s believable, you know? You believe that they’re having this intense dialogue.

With other people I had to be secretive, but with Justin, because he was going to sing, I actually did send him a version of the song with her vocals and told him what I was up to. He was like, “Whoa! Awesome!” But he’s been involved in so many big collaborative things that he wasn’t interested in it from that point of view. It’s more because he loved the song and he thought he could do something with it that would add something.

“my tears ricochet”

This is one of my absolute favorite songs on the record. I think it’s a brilliant composition, and Taylor’s words, the way her voice sounds and how this song feels, are, to me, one of the critical pieces. It’s lodged in my brain. That’s also very important to Taylor and Jack. It’s like a beacon for this record.

“mirrorball”

“mirrorball” is, to me, a hazy sort of beautiful. It almost reminds me of ‘90s-era Cardigans, or something like Mazzy Star. It has this kind of glow and haze. It feels really good before “seven,” which becomes very wistful and nostalgic. There are just such iconic images in the lyrics [“Spinning in my highest heels”], which aren’t coming to me at the moment because my brain is not working [laughs].

How Jack Antonoff’s Folklore Songs Differ From Dessner’s

I think we have different styles, and we weren’t making them together or in the same room. We both could probably come closer together in a sense that weirdly works. It’s like an archipelago, and each song is an island, but it’s all related. Taylor obviously binds it all together. And I think Jack, if he was working with orchestrations, there’s an emotional quality to his songs that’s clearly in the same world as mine.

We actually didn’t have a moodboard for the album at all. I don’t think that way. I don’t really know if she does either. I don’t think Jack... well, Jack might, but when I say the Cardigans or Mazzy Star, those aren’t Jack’s words about “mirrorball,” it’s just what calls to mind for me. Mainly she talked about emotion and to lean into it, the nostalgia and wistfulness, and the kind of raw, meditative emotion that I often kind of inhabit that I think felt very much where her heart was. We didn’t shy away from that.

“seven”

This is the second song we wrote. It’s kind of looking back at childhood and those childhood feelings, recounting memories and memorializing them. It’s this beautiful folk song. It has one of the most important lines on the record: “And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on.” That’s what this album is doing. It’s passing down. It’s memorializing love, childhood, and memories. It’s a folkloric way of processing.

“august”

This is maybe the closest thing to a pop song. It gets loud. It has this shimmering summer haze to it. It’s kind of like coming out of “seven” where you have this image of her in the swing and she’s seven years old, and then in “august” I think it feels like fast-forwarding to now. That’s an interesting contrast. I think it’s just a breezy, sort of intoxicating feeling.

“this is me trying”

“this is me trying,” to me, relates to the entire album. Maybe I’m reading into it too much from my own perspective, but [I think of] the whole album as an exercise and working through these stories, whether personal or old through someone else’s perspective. It’s connecting a lot of things. But I love the feeling in it and the production that Jack did. It has this lazy swagger.

“illicit affairs”

This feels like one of the real folk songs on the record, a sharp-witted narrative folk song. It just shows her versatility and her power as a songwriter, the sharpness of her writing. It’s a great song.

“invisible string”

That was another one where it was music that I’d been playing for a couple of months and sort of humming along to her. It felt like one of the songs that pulls you along. Just playing it on one guitar, it has this emotional locomotion in it, a meditative finger-picking pattern that I really gravitate to. It’s played on this rubber bridge that my friend put on [the guitar] and it deadens the strings so that it sounds old. The core of it sounds like a folk song.

It’s also kind of a sneaky pop song, because of the beat that comes in. She knew that there was something coming because she said, “You know, I love this and I’m hearing something already.” And then she said, “This will change the story,” this beautiful and direct kind of recounting of a relationship in its origin.

“mad woman”

That might be the most scathing song on folklore. It has a darkness that I think is cathartic, sort of witch-hunting and gaslighting and maybe bullying. Sometimes you become the person people try to pin you into a corner to be, which is not really fair. But again, don’t quote me on that [laughs], I just have my own interpretation. It’s one of the biggest releases on the album to me. It has this very sharp tone to it, but sort of in gothic folklore. It’s this record’s goth song.

“epiphany”

For “epiphany,” she did have this idea of a beautiful drone, or a very cinematic sort of widescreen song, where it’s not a lot of accents but more like a sea to bathe in. A stillness, in a sense. I first made this crazy drone which starts the song, and it’s there the whole time. It’s lots of different instruments played and then slowed down and reversed. It created this giant stack of harmony, which is so giant that it was kind of hard to manage, sonically, but it was very beautiful to get lost in. And then I played the piano to it, and it almost felt classical or something, those suspended chords.

I think she just heard it, and instantly, this song came to her, which is really an important one. It’s partially the story of her grandfather, who was a soldier, and partially then a story about a nurse in modern times. I don’t know if this is how she did it, but to me, it’s like a nurse, doctor, or medical professional, where med school doesn’t fully prepare you for seeing someone pass away or just the difficult emotional things that you’ll encounter in your job. In the past, heroes were just soldiers. Now they’re also medical professionals. To me, that’s the underlying mission of the song. There are some things that you see that are hard to talk about. You can’t talk about it. You just bear witness to them. But there’s something else incredibly soothing and comforting about this song. To me, it’s this Icelandic kind of feel, almost classical. My brother did really beautiful orchestration of it.

“betty”

This one Taylor and William wrote, and then both Jack and I worked on it. We all kind of passed it around. This is the one where Taylor wanted a reference. She wanted it to have an early Bob Dylan, sort of a Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan feel. We pushed it a little more towards John Wesley Harding, since it has some drums. It’s this epic narrative folk song where it tells us a long story and connects back to “cardigan.” It starts to connect dots and I think it’s a beautifully written folk song.

Is ‘betty” queer canon? I can’t speak to what it’s about. I have my own ideas. I also know where Taylor’s heart is, and I think that’s great anytime a song takes on greater meaning for anyone.

Is William Bowery secretly Joe Alwyn? I don’t know. We’re close, but she won’t tell me that. I think it’s actually someone else, but it’s good to have some mysteries.

“peace”

I wrote this, and Justin provided the pulse. We trade ideas all the time and he made a folder, and there was a pulse in there that I wrote these basslines to. In the other parts of the composition, I did it to Justin’s pulse. Taylor heard this sketch and she wrote the song. It reminds me of Joni Mitchell, in a way - there’s this really powerful and emotional love song, even the impressionistic, almost jazz-like bridge, and she weaves it perfectly together. This is one of my favorites, for sure. But the truth is that the music, that way of playing with harmonized basslines, is something that probably comes a little bit from me being inspired by how Justin does that sometimes. There’s probably a connection there. We didn’t talk too much about it [laughs].

“hoax”

This is a big departure. I think she said to me, “Don’t try to give it any other space other than what feels natural to you.” If you leave me in a room with a piano, I might play something like this. I take a lot of comfort in this. I think I imagined her playing this and singing it. After writing all these songs, this one felt the most emotional and, in a way, the rawest. It is one of my favorites. There’s sadness, but it’s a kind of hopeful sadness. It’s a recognition that you take on the burden of your partners, your loved ones, and their ups and downs. That’s both “peace” and “hoax” to me. That’s part of how I feel about those songs because I think that’s life. There’s a reality, the gravity or an understanding of the human condition.

Does Taylor Explain Her Lyrics?

She would always talk about it. The narrative is essential, and kind of what it’s all about. We’d always talk about that upfront and saying that would guide me with the music. But again, she is operating at many levels where there are connections between all of these songs, or many of them are interrelated in the characters that reappear. There are threads. I think that sometimes she would point it out entirely, but I would start to see these patterns. It’s cool when you see someone’s mind working.

“the lakes”

That’s a Jack song. It’s a beautiful kind of garden, or like you’re lost in a beautiful garden. There’s a kind of Greek poetry to it. Tragic poetry, I guess.

The Meaning Of Folklore

We didn’t talk about it at first. It was only after writing six or seven songs, basically when I thought my writing was done, when we got on the phone and said, “OK, I think we’re making an album. I have these six other ideas that I love with Jack [Antonoff] that we’ve already done, and I think what we’ve done fits really well with them.” It’s sort of these narratives, these folkloric songs, with characters that interweave and are written from different perspectives. She had a vision, and it was connecting back in some way to the folk tradition, but obviously not entirely sonically. It’s more about the narrative aspect of it.

I think it’s this sort of nostalgia and wistfulness that is in a lot of the songs. A lot of them have this kind of longing for looking back on things that have happened in your life, in your friend’s life, or another loved one’s life, and the kind of storytelling around that. That was clear to her. But then we kept going, and more and more songs happened.

It was a very organic process where [meaning] wasn’t something that we really discussed. It just kind of would happen where she would dive back into the folder and find other things that were inspiring. Or she and William Bowery would write “exile,” and then that happened. There were different stages of the process.

Okay, but is it A24-core? [Laughs.] Good comparison. 

[phoenix--flying]

i have so many im just throwing the pjo ones at yall 💀

'Child of Sun' <- pjoverse from wills pov

'The Raven and The Dove' <- ta!will and drew au

'so what if im the monster' <- percy dies and annabaster take over the world

'the real reason chiron wont give us phones' <- chaos chatfic 💀

superhero au <- what it says on tin

broken band <- ta band au but they break up

oh theyre top tier- breaks them up <- percabeth break up au💀

Tales of the Rogues <- chb finds videos of the ta survivors post war

foster al au <- mortal au where may adopts al (+annabeth)

michael yew post tlo <- michael on calypsos island

royal au <- what it says on tin

Rogue Camp <- nico brings percy&annabeth to a camp for ex ta

mission: fight the gods and free the bitch. <- old continuation of this fic

exiled bITCH <- percy meets al 💀

lou and nico friendship so real (to me) <- 5+1 nico and lou friendship fic

strawberry mochi <- drew and piper fic

bloodied petals <- ethabaster hanahaki au

bone flowers <- ta!oc centric fic based on a discussion the ta server had about hecate/her kids courting lovers by way of gifting flowers made of bones

HEY YALL <333 @nakamurastorrington @artemx746 @blackcat2907 @pinetreetea id also tag river but hes already here so 💀

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs

ignore my very boring titles for the WIPs 😅 It's how I know which fic is which because I don't remember them based on their ao3 titles

Kronos AU (PJO)

Camp Jupiter AU (PJO)

1000 ways (PJO)

Willvis (PJO)

Pokemon AU (PJO)

Fake Dating (PJO)

Moments of Eternity (To your eternity)

Omega (BLLK)

Rapunzel AU (PJO)

Time Travel AU (PJO)

Torture AU (PJO)

Our Beginning, Our End (PJO)

Pillar's Affection (KNY)

tagging (no pressure!): @a-french-coconut @newobsessioneveryweek (ik you said u haven’t been writing lately 😅 but art is WIPs if you want to share but like no pressure or anything) @ao3works and anybody who wants to do this :3

[foxybananaaaz]

(The male she was worried about before meeting, the Vanserra male, from the Vaserra line, known for despising lesser fae) So if bitki becomes friends with the BOE and we learned in acosf that eris visits, how does bitki react to eris then?

Thank you for your Ask Anon!!! (You can find the quote, as well as more about Bitki, HERE)

I actually had thought this all through as well, but didn't think I would be asked this. I wanted to have a character who is, well, developed well before officially introducing her into the story. I didn't think this bit would get posted, but since you asked...

Bitki Meeting Eris

Because she was born and raised in the Spring Court, just along the border of the Autumn Court, she's heard whispers of Jesminda, she doesn't know if it's true, thus she believes them to be whispers.

She's not going to ask Lucien if the rumours are true,

It would be cruel to bring up those memories if they are(WE KNOW THEY ARE)

It would terrify her more of the Vanserra name if they ate

What if they aren't. He has a mate, who is clearly High Fae.

But everyone in the Autumn Court knows its true.

But when she first visits the Band of Exiles house, and hears another voice, she throws her illusions up immediately, and thank God, because ice fills her veins as she sees red hair. Another Vanserra.

Let me just comment on something quick about her character design alright?

See the little glowing sphere in her chest?

It is where all the extra magic from the powerful high fae ancestor she has inherited from sits. It's where her magic to create illusions comes from. It runs almost like a battery. And when it runs out, grows dim, so do the illusions. It would take a day for it to recharge. Glow bright again.

Okay, back to meeting Eris.

So she knows Eris won't see through her illusions. No one has ever seen through them. She can pass as High Fae. She is safe.

Until he doesn't leave and the sphere indicates she's running low on battery.

And so she just leaves without even a goodbye.

And Eris is fucking confused, especially when Lucien, Vassa, and Jurien don't seem to be upset at all.

And any time he visits it's almost like a constant of that ball that Cinderella has to leave at midnight.

Because he stays so long, and Bitki can't risk this dangerous Vanserra finding out she is Lesser Fae, when her power grows weak.

So she always just leaves when she feels it getting low(like when your phone says '15% percent battery remaining' she needs the time to get back to her spot in the forest.

This goes on, until the winter comes.

And Eris ends up leaving Luciens house, and goes for a walk in the forest one night before winnowing back to Autumn.

Only to see a young female(please, Bitki is 103, not young, she's an adult by Fae standards), absolutely shivering in her sleep(remember she grew up in Spring), on the snowy ground.

She has a single cloak beneath her, and two atop her.

Wings, looking so delicate they might freeze and snap in the cold winter air, not covered.

He also wonders how comfortable she must be, given the antlers, leaving little to no choice of changing positions for comfort on the hard ground.

Growing concerned, he goes to sit behind a tree, not wanting to startle the female when she wakes, and with his magic, he warms the area up, in hopes to help her find some comfort.

Not truly heartless, he comes back every night after the cover of night fall, to warm the area for the female who sleeps so uncomfortable, never realizing who she is(she has her face covered as well to keep warm).

Meanwhile, he grows more intrigued by Bitki's constant leaving abruptly whenever he visits his brother through the day, she always leaves without notice, so abruptly, and never without a goodbye.

It confuses him, and highly intrigues him, that he begins to ask his brother why she does this. Only to be shut down.

Lucien knows there is valid reason for Bitki's fear. He can see there is still hesitation around him when she lowers her glamour, so he won't tell Eris, even though Eris is the most understanding of his brothers. If Bitki wants Eris to know, it will be Bitki's decision to tell him.

So yeah. This is how Bitki would act around Eris. She is hesitant, tries to remain calm, to not raise suspicion, but quick to leave when her power grows weak.

Eris has no idea that the female he helps keep warm on winter nights is Bitki, and nor does Bitki know Eris helps keep her warm at night.

Even though Bitki will not be a main character in the front and centre, I do have back stories, characteristics, I am trying to flesh out this character. I want her to actually feel organic to the story, and real, rather than a cardboard cutout OC when introduced.

I uh, didn't think this would all be brought out into the public, but here!

Feel free to ask more questions about Bitki as I work on writing more of The Failed Resistance.

Also peep the purely coincidental Autumn coloured outfit up top when Bitki first met Eris....

[romelleah]

Conflict

An AU where you’re the one villain Peter Parker can’t beat- a competitive classmate who’s been competing with you to her since kindergarten. The only problem with this is that you run the biggest Spider-Man fan page on Instagram.

Trigger warning: Violence (??), language, mature themes.

Part 1/??

---

Peter was ever the type to get into conflict, but Y/N was the exception. If he had one word to describe their little feud, it would be ‘infuriating’. She was the first-string Clarinet in band, secondary editor on the school's news program, in the Academic Decathlon Team and two of his classes; English, Editing and History. There was no escape from their competition. Peter couldn't complain though, for some reason it brightened up his day whenever she shot him a cheeky smile and held up her test score. It got even better when he could return it with an even better test score and a half-smirk.

Peter had three extracurricular activities- being second-string Clarinet in band, the Academic Decathlon Team, and literally being Spiderman. How convenient is it that Y/N was involved with all of that? Being a Clarinet prodigy, competitive fact dictionary and super fan of the webbed hero. Peter had heard Y/N talk on and on to her friends about how attractive Spiderman is and how she would ‘literally totally fucking die if Spiderman ever even looked at her, OMG’.

“Bud, you didn't show up to band practise after school yesterday. What were you doing? Crying to your MILF aunt about how I totally obliterated the History test?” Y/N asked, turning around in her chair to see Peter. “Please don't call my aunt a MILF Y/N” he responded, burying his head in his hands.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, reaching her hand over to his pencil and tapping it on his desk rhythmically. “What's up? You seem more depressing than usual,” she asked, poking him with the blunt end of his pencil. “I’m fine, just thinking about how I’m going to destroy you in this Decathlon thing today”. Peter chuckled, pushing Y/Ns hand away from his face. “You wish!”

Lunch rolled around at 1:20 PM which meant it was finally time for Peter to reunite with his best friend, Ned.

“I honestly don't even know why you're so obsessed with Y/N! Peter, it's been like... Seven years” Ned inquired, tapping through the Instagram stories displayed on his cracked iPhone 8. “I’m not obsessed, healthy competition is okay!” Peter argued, peering over Ned’s shoulder. He shook his head at Peter’s remarks, smirking slightly. “Nope, I think you like her,” Peter shot back in his chair, catching himself before his head hit the ground. “No way! She’s friends with Flash, and I like… lunch lady Jill?” Ned snorted in response, trying to hold himself together “I have no idea how you kept your little bug boy persona a secret for 2 years.”

Y/N sat on the floor of the hallway, next to her locker with her phone held up close to her face. Hey eyes illuminated with blue light as her head rested on her kneecaps, tapping away at her screen. The thing about Y/N was that she took on a very heavy online presence, not because she was extremely attractive or a righteous activist- she was a measly little fan page with over one hundred thousand followers on Instagram and forty-two thousand on Twitter. After a few edits and hit tweets went viral, she became pretty relevant in the Spiderman fan community.

Nobody in real life could know she was what she’d call, “a mega fucking geek weirdo” otherwise she’d get hunted for sport and exiled out of school. Being a Spiderman fan was one thing- even Flash was one! However, being one of the biggest fan pages for him was a different story.

As Y/N wrapped up a quick story post on her Instagram, she beard very familiar mary janes clicking their way down the hallway. She looked up to find Betty Brant leaning over her with her hand reaching out. “C’mon! It's time to prepare for tomorrow's broadcast!” she smiled as Y/N turned off her phone and took her hand. She stood up and walked alongside Betty towards the AV room, chatting casually.

“By the way, I'm hosting a party at mine on Friday so tell your friends! I’ll post some more details later but I was wondering if you’d help me out?” Berry asked, stopping to face Y/N. “Of course! I'll make sure everyone's ‘in the know’.” she responded, continuing to walk forward. “Wait!” Berry started, taking a few steps forward. “What is it?” Y/N asked, looking back at the concerned blondie. “Oh, nothing!” Betty sighed, catching up with Y/N. She closed her eyes, continuing to walk forward with warm cheeks.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Seklos and Gaylen, They Were Cagemates! Chapter 1: Captivity

Agents of Area 49-B are there during the chaos of the Eternal Night, and unnoticed they manage to capture two specimens: an emo wizard and an Akiridion prince. Douxie and Krel must rely on each other to make it out alive, but neither expected such a deep bond to form between the two of them.

Do not let the meme title fool you, this fic will be dark.

Trigger/Spoiler Warning for Chapter 1: electrocution, kidnapping, and references to canon-typical violence as well as child abandonment.

AO3

FFN

Douxie wasn't sure why he expected the future to be void of Gumm-Gumms. Sure, according to Zoe, trolls had largely disappeared from the world at the same time that Merlin and Morgana did. And Tatik Margarid had only seen a troll once. Thus, Douxie had assumed that trolls had largely disappeared, having crawled deep underground. Orglak and his horde had stopped trying to kill humans, and the only threat to stray cats (or dragons who looked like cats) were Shadow Mephits.

Naturally, Douxie had been wrong. Gumm-Gumms had attacked the Battle of the Bands. And obviously, some people had known about them, like Claire. She had been better prepared, with her armor. There was something familiar about it. Something that made him feel homesick for Camelot.

It really sucked. And the Battle of the Bands had been going so well before the sky went orange and the Gumm-Gumms attacked. The competition was, for the most part, the way it had been last year - a bunch of amateurs who were looking for fame and had thus trained themselves to sing and badly play guitar in a month, and music students hoping to impress their teachers even though the school year had just ended. But there had been a boy who fulfilled two out of the three indicators of Douxie's type. He had wavy, chin-length hair, and he was good at music. Douxie didn't normally like dubstep, and yet that boy's music had been so mesmerizing.

Oh, who was Douxie kidding? The dubstep artist was mesmerizing in general. Douxie got the feeling that the others in Ash Dispersal Pattern would be teasing him about his latest crush right now if they weren't…

Douxie didn't know where they were. He bit his lip. Could they be dead?

He shook his head. No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. He knew that a lot of normal humans had immediately ran for cover, so he had to think that his bandmates were still alive and in hiding. He could find them, and possibly grieve them, when the Gumm-Gumms were gone. Or he could finally reveal to them what he had been keeping a secret from the world ever since he was fourteen, and before that, until he was taken in by Merlin. It was lonely, having to keep the truth about himself hidden from his friends, and maybe this sudden incursion of Gumm-Gumms were a blessing in disguise. A chance to reveal himself. Though, he would have to check with Tatik Margarid and the hedge wizards first. He wouldn't put them in danger for his own desire to not have to hide a part of himself. After all, they couldn’t be sure if humans would accept them or not.

Douxie pushed the thoughts out of his head as he readied yet another spell. He couldn't allow himself to get distracted. Not now, not when he was in the middle of a battle. If he got too distracted, he could lose a limb or have his head bitten off.

Or, as he would later piece together, if Douxie got too distracted a normal human could hit him with a taser, knock him out, and kidnap him.

Krel let out a sound that might’ve been considered a scream of frustration had it been louder. The Mothership had been fixed! They should have left sooner, but no, they had stuck around on this mudball so that Krel could have made his mark on the humans of Arcadia Oaks. Kleb, that decision was so stupid! They should have just left. His family and Zadra would be safely hiding, and the traitor would be exiled in a place that Aja and Krel would know about.

He would never admit it to anyone, but Krel had been so stupid. Stupid, and egotistical, and so many other things he wouldn’t dare to admit to anyone.

Krel stood up and stretched. Ricky and Lucy were always trying to tell him that fresh air was good for him. It was a fault in their programing, to try and be parents to the human versions of Aja and Krel, since Akiridions didn’t need to breathe. How could the freshness of the air affect him? Moreover, how could the unfiltered air outside be fresher than the air inside?

But after all these horvaths of trying and failing, Krel would take their more-than-likely faulty advice.

Zadra was arguing with Ricky and Lucy, so Krel was able to sneak around her. Aja was closer to the door, talking on her phone.

“One moment, Steve,” she said before pressing the phone to her chest. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

“Yes, Aja.” He held up his serrator. “I’ll be fine. Don’t tell Zadra.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, before going back to talking to Steve. Ugh, hopefully they weren’t planning on doing more K-I-S-S-ING.

Krel exited the Mothership, looking up at the evening sky. Given how far they were from the city, Krel could just make out the beginnings of stars, as well as the brighter, more constant glow of the other planets in this system and the moon. The sky was so different here, compared to home. If he really focused, maybe he could figure out which star was nearest to home, but from so far away he would probably need some of the Mothership’s help.

Krel sighed. He didn’t need to, since he didn’t need to breathe, but it did have a calming effect. Huh. Perhaps Ricky and Lucy were right. The outdoor air was helping him.

Maybe Earth wasn’t too bad. They had to constantly hide, and it was a primitive planet, but Krel felt like he was starting to understand it. Leaving would throw the bounty hunters off their trail, yes, but it would also be a new set of social rules to learn.

Likewise, maybe it was nice that the Mothership had landed so far from the city, instead amongst all the trees. No pesky humans were there to watch Krel in his true form and talk about how all aliens wanted to suck humans’ brains out through their ears. He wouldn’t need to hide like this.

He tripped over a tree root.

Stupid. This planet was so stupid, and so were trees. Krel couldn’t wait to leave this stupid, stupid mudball.

Krel picked himself up, dusting himself off. Home didn’t have dirt. The Mothership didn’t have dirt. He hated it. Its texture was so gritty and frustrating. Stupid mudball made of dirt. Oh, why had he left the nice, clean Mothership?

Krel began to turn around when he saw bright orange through the trees. He would be best off ignoring it. As the past delson had proved, Earth was a very strange place, with things that Krel didn’t need to investigate.

But he was curious. Besides, it could be a threat.

He walked towards it. He wouldn’t get too close, just close enough to take a picture and tell Aja so she and…

Oh, kleb, he was going to have to tell Zadra that he snuck out.

He stepped on a twig. As it snapped loudly, he realized the orange formed the shape of a bipedal, two-armed life being.

It wasn’t the first time Krel had been electrocuted, but it was the first time he was knocked out because of it.

It had been a long time since Douxie had had to sleep cold, in threadbare clothes and sitting up, pressed against a wall. And never had he been alone; even as a street rat he’d had Archie. Then again, the last time he had been in this position, it had been on rough stones with space to stretch his legs and only the light of the stars, moon, and perhaps a distant home washing upon him.

He had awoken in a glass tube with an aching back and dressed in a thin white hospital gown and a pair of cuffs around his wrists with strange green flashing lights on them. Overwhelming green light lit the tube from multiple angles, and no matter how Douxie turned his head the light was always in his eyes. He’d tried to talk to the few, orange-suited figures walking around, but they had all ignored him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been here, but he had started to become hungry when the orange-suited figures had tossed a four-armed, blue-skinned person into the formerly empty tube that had been near Douxie. Douxie’s first instinct was to assume this person was a troll, but the person had been glowing blue before the green light of the adjacent tube had washed it out. Troll bodies didn’t glow.

Who or what was this person?

Krel came to with an aching shoulder. It felt like he had messed up on the wiring and –

And he’d been electrocuted by it. Or by the figure in the woods. They had been wearing orange, like the scientists of…

Krel opened his eyes to the green lighting of Area 49-B.

No.

No.

Oh, kleb, no!

Krel looked around. Had they gotten to Aja and Zadra? Or worse, Mama and Papa? What about –

Krel grit his teeth. If they had found the traitor, and Varvatos had told these humans roughly where to find the Mothership, then Krel would kill him, Aja’s pardon be klebbed by Seklos and Gaylen.

“So, you’re finally awake.”

Krel’s head snapped to the direction of the voice. There was a human, trapped in a similar cage to Krel’s. “Why are you here? You’re human.”

Well, was Douxie human like this person thought Douxie was? That was a question that both magic and mortals had been arguing about since long before Douxie’s birth. It seemed that the orange-suited figures thought that Douxie was too magic to be human, and they were the ones doing the trapping.

“I mean, I don’t exactly know where here is. You do?” Despite the fear coursing through his system, Douxie felt the smallest of smiles beginning to form on his lips. He wasn’t completely alone.

[bookofmirth]

I apologize for the long post, but I was on my phone and was able to put all my thoughts into a single message and not break it into a million smaller ones. Anyway…

I guess one of the overall themes of acotar is finding your family/people. Feyre found the inner circle, Nesta found the Valkyries, and Lucien has the band of exiles. Since I’m seeing a lot of people assume book 6 is Az’s and book 7 is Elain’s do you think this theme will continue on? And if so who do you think will be Az and Elain’s found family? I have my own theories/hopes for this.

For Az I would say at least one of them will be Bryaxis. Maybe he’ll be tasked with hunting him down for his book? Anyway my thought process is Bryaxis is a creature of nightmares and I feel like if anyone can understand that darkness it’s Az. And not just the darkness, but the desire for light at the end of the tunnel. I feel like they would find an affinity with each other. Plus Bryaxis chose the design of an Illyrian and that’s something Az has struggled being his entire life. I feel like if anyone could give him a better outlook on being an Illyrian without feeling like you belong it would be Bryaxis.

As for Elain I know a lot of people, elucien shippers anyway, have said they want her to find her family with the band of exiles. I could see this as a definite possibility, but I honestly would prefer her finding her own people away outside of Lucien (and Az). That’s what I love about Nessian. Cassian has the inner circle and Nesta has the Valkyries and they have each other. I would prefer this type of found family for Elain. So who do I think could be a good fit? Maybe someone we haven’t met at all.

I think one could possibly be Nuan from the Dawn Court. She’s the engineer/tinker who built Lucien’s eye and has a mechanical arm herself. I think it would be really fun to see SJM bring her back into the series and we get to learn more about her, about the time she fixed Lucien, and give someone to Elain outside her romantic interests. Plus I have a sneaking suspicion that something will happen to Elain’s beauty. We’ve been told throughout all the books how Elain is the prettiest, in ACOSF her mother reduced her entire personality down to just her pretty face and what it could bring the family, even Az’s chapter talked about how perfect and immaculate she was. I could see something happening to her perfect beauty that will require Nuan’s services. We could then get them bonding over shared trauma and Elain learning that she is more than her pretty face. It could also give her a better understanding of Lucien.

Not advocating for violence here, would 100% prefer nothing horrible happen to Elain, but with the number of times her perfect beauty is mentioned I find it suspect. Mor is thought to be absolutely stunning too, but her beauty is not nearly as mentioned as Elain’s. And Elain never has anything more added onto her descriptions. She’s just perfect Elain, beautiful and nothing else. It’s a really interesting way for the other characters to describe her. As if they don’t look past her beauty to see the person she is underneath. No one takes the time to really see her. I could see something taking her beauty from her and forcing not just herself, but everyone around her to see she’s more than her face.

+ anon

Hi +anon!

I love the idea of Az and Bryaxis ending up friends? Monster friends? There is just something fundamentally different about Az, darker than any of his friends can understand, so someone, anyone with a very different outlook would be great for him. In terms of social and political power, he only has what Rhys gives him. He feels like he doesn’t deserve things and this hierarchy (High Fae vs lesser) reinforces his feeling of being undeserving. And he’s surrounded by High Fae, well aware that he isn’t one. He has power (with the siphons) but when it comes to what I said before, social or political power, he has only what he is given and I can see that grating on him. Bryaxis is also an outsider and would understand what it’s like to have that power but not quite belong!

I think that if/when we get gwynriel, then Az will have some connections outside the IC already, with Nesta and the Valkyries, but without being entirely separated from his fam because Cassian is such a big part of them too. I can see gwynriel and nessian having dinners all the time. Not formal or anything, just “hey let’s bring a case or beer/wine over and make a night out of it”. 

With Elain, I love the idea of Nuan! I’m assuming that we will get more connections outside of Night and Spring, and especially if she and Lucien end up being diplomats of some sort (🤞) then we’ll get to meet people that Lucien probably already knows and introduces Elain to.

Re: Elain’s beauty, idk if I’d put that much stock in it? I think that references to her beauty emphasize that people don’t see much else, but sjm calls everyone beautiful all the time. It’s almost become meaningless to me 😅 I think people do need to see her in different ways and maybe it can be through her actions. Her personality is so people-pleasing all the time (obviously she snapped with Nesta) that the biggest change could be how she treats others. She keeps trying to put herself out there and getting shot down *coughAz* but at some point she’ll have to shift and find a better balance between being sweet and nice and being rude like she was to Nesta. She just doesn’t seem to even know who she is yet, though she has an idea of what she wants. 

[1dffchallenges]

It’s All Happening

Written By: @luminescencefics

Characters: Frankie/Harry 

Summary: If Frankie Goodhart had one secret in her life, it would be that she spent her summer writing album reviews to Rolling Stone, hoping one day they’d give her a shot. If she had a second secret in her life, it would be that she was constantly chasing love, never knowing what it felt like to be truly immersed in another person. She blames this on her ever-growing record collection filled with love songs. 

Harry Styles had a lot of secrets in his life, but if he had to share one, it would be that he was trying his hardest to balance his life while being on the road with his band. Just as he’s starting to feel like he’s begun to balance the ever-shifting scales of his life, Frankie shows up, and suddenly he doesn’t want to keep his secrets hidden any longer. 

Well, except one. 

Inspired by Almost Famous, a 70s au about a girl whose job required her to ask the hard-hitting questions and a boy who did everything he could to avoid them.

March 1973 - entry no. 1

Most mornings in the Goodhart household typically started with some sort of screaming match between Frankie’s mother and her older sister, Mary. You see, Mary had a penchant for rebellious behavior, or so their mother believed. She liked listening to rock music and kissing her boyfriend Greg outside in his Chevrolet Nova past curfew. Mary graduated high school four years before Frankie did, and her mother had begged her to go to college. But instead, Mary took that time to “find herself,” and put off enrolling into schools on the west coast in favor of finding her own place in the world.

Cynthia Goodhart had a lot of rules in their household, but two that stood out the most (and practically ruined Mary’s life) were: no rock music and no popular culture influences. Cynthia believed that her children did not need those things to rot their brain, and instead played classical music and watched films that she had seen numerous times before to ensure they were censored appropriately and recently introduced soy to their diets.

“This is why dad left you!” Mary would say whenever their mother would find a hidden record that went against her arbitrary rules.

“You’re so ungrateful, I didn’t raise you to be so cruel!” Her mother would respond, and Frankie would sit on the top of the carpeted stairs and watch it all unravel below her.

Truth is, Frankie didn’t know why their dad left. She was too young to remember what life was like with him around, but Mary always told her that it was their mother who drove him away with her incessant rules and authoritative outlook on life.

“I’m never going to end up like her, Frankie,” Mary would say after their fight, squeezed beside her little sister in her twin bed. Frankie would just hold her hand tightly and agree, even though she didn’t really think her mother was all that bad.

A few weeks later when Mary announces that she’s leaving Santa Monica and going to San Francisco to become a stewardess, Frankie isn’t all that surprised. It was only a matter of time until Mary left. Their mother didn’t take this well, of course. She wanted Mary to go to college and find a nice boy to start a family with. She didn’t want her running off to San Francisco with Greg to travel a world so far from what she had known.

Before the Chevrolet Nova skids out of the driveway and Frankie never sees her sister again, Mary runs up to her and gives her the tightest hug she could muster. Frankie holds her with all of her grip, wishing that she didn’t feel that she had to run away in order to be her own person. But it was out of Frankie’s control, so she could only wish the best for her older sister.

“Frankie,” Mary whispers in her ear, “look under my bed. That suitcase is yours. Everything you’ve ever wanted to know, every question you have, the answers are there. I love you. I always have.”

After Mary is long gone and her mother has cried out all of her tears, Frankie slips into her sister’s room and lifts up the ruffled bedskirt to find an old brown leather suitcase. She opens it and inside is Mary’s secret cache of rock albums spanning decades. Frankie heaves it into her room and plucks Tommy by The Who on her record player and plays it softly, and in that moment she feels as if her life is finally starting.

***

May 1973 - entry no. 2

Frankie was sitting in her bedroom listening to

Exile on Main St.

by the Rolling Stones trying to clear her head. She was suffering from a bit of writer’s block, and she was feeling a bit uninspired at the moment.

During the middle of “Torn and Frayed,” Frankie hears the landline start ringing from the kitchen downstairs. Her mother was currently in the shower, and deeming the call to be rather important as it was after dinner time, Frankie trudges downstairs to answer before the ringing has ceased.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lester Bangs here. Is this Frankie Goodhart?” A deep voice says on the other line.

Frankie pauses, scrolling through the rolodex in her brain trying to remember if she knew anybody with that name. Suddenly, Frankie sucks in a breath, realization dawning on her.

“Hello? Do I have the wrong number or something?” The voice repeated, clearly losing patience. Frankie was currently speaking to the Lester Bangs, top music editor at Rolling Stone magazine. Also known as, the name she had scribbled on the past fifteen manilla envelopes she sent out to the magazine up in San Francisco.

“Er, yes. Hi, this is she,” Frankie mutters, trying to sound sophisticated.

“Awesome. I work at Rolling Stone and we just came across your review for Bowie’s Aladdin Sane record. Ace work,” Lester says quickly, and Frankie can feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“Oh cool. Thank you,” Frankie replies, quietly jumping up and down on the tile flooring of her kitchen.

“Are you currently writing for any other publication? Please don’t tell me those bastards over at Creem snatched you up,” Lester asks.

“No, uh, nothing like that. Just freelancing, at the, er, current moment,” Frankie says. She lowers her voice an octave so she doesn’t sound like the eighteen year old high school graduate she clearly was. She was sure that Rolling Stone would want nothing to do with her if they knew the truth.

“Good to hear. On the envelope in front of me it says you're based out in Santa Monica. Tonight there’s a show at The Troubadour. The Nocturnals are performing and if you’re up for it, we’ll give you fifty dollars to write a review on it. Eight hundred words.” Lester spoke so quickly that Frankie couldn’t even discern what he was actually saying to her.

The Troubadour. A live show. The Nocturnals. Fifty dollars.

The words replayed over and over in her mind like a broken record. She had no idea that this could even happen to her. Before she could reply, Lester spoke again.

“Fine. Seventy dollars, but I can’t go any higher,” he sounded exasperated with a hint of desperation laced in between.

Just as Frankie was about to respond with a resonant yes, she hears her mother’s voice on the other telephone from her bedroom through the tinny speakers.

“Francine? Who on earth are you speaking to at this time?”

Frankie’s heart drops.

“Uh… Hello?” Lester asks, completely confused as to why there were two voices on the line. Before her mother could blow her cover, Frankie drops the receiver onto the kitchen counter and sprints upstairs to her mother’s bedroom, slamming her fingers on the lever to end the call.

“It’s a friend from school. Sorry it’s a late call, I’ll get off the phone in a minute,” Frankie rushes out, before turning back on her heel and grabbing the other telephone in the kitchen.

“Hi Lester, sorry, that was my, uh, assistant. Yeah. She’s sort of new at answering the phones and such,” Frankie shoots out quickly, lying straight through her teeth.

She needed this phone call to end immediately.

“No worries. I’ll expect a review mailed over by tomorrow so it’s on my desk by Monday morning. Any questions?” Lester asks in a way that sounded like he really didn’t have the time to answer.

“Nope. Sounds good,” Frankie says sounding completely out of breath.

“Expect to hear from me on Monday. Good luck,” Lester says, hanging up before Frankie could even consider responding.

Frankie’s first reaction was to start squealing in excitement. The second was, shit, what am I supposed to say to my mother?

***

Somehow, Frankie convinces her mother to drive her down Sunset Strip towards The Troubadour for the live show. If there’s one thing Frankie Goodhart could never do in this world, it would be to hurt her mother. Granted, she knows her rules are a bit obscene and that she can be a bit overbearing at times, but at the end of the day, she was her mother. And that was the main difference between Frankie and Mary—Mary thought running away was the answer to everything whereas Frankie believed honesty was most important.

Which is why Frankie was currently sitting in the front seat of her mother’s baby blue Lincoln Continental parked illegally across the street from the concert venue. She had spilled the beans about her writing cohorts to Rolling Stone, and even though her mother didn’t like the idea of it, she appreciated the fact that Frankie was trying to make something of herself. And there’s no denying that seventy dollars was a lot of money for any eighteen-year-old.

“Please make good choices. I’ll be here to pick you up at ten on the dot,” her mother says, staring at Frankie sharply.

“I will, mom.” Frankie makes a move for the door handle, watching as the crowd of teenagers and twenty-somethings huddle towards the front entrance. It’s loud and she can smell cigarette smoke and marijuana in the air. She knows her mother can too, and she knows that she’s about two minutes away from a full-blown heart attack, so before she can escape the confines of the car, she gives her mother a gentle reassuring squeeze.

With her tape recorder in one hand and her pocket-sized notebook in the other, Frankie starts walking towards the front entrance. Before she can get too far, she hears her mother bark out one last order.

“And Francine? NO DRUGS!”

Frankie feels her cheeks burn up as the people in front of her turn around and snicker at her mother’s frame hanging out of the Continental. They jokingly repeat her mother’s warning, with some even holding up a lit joint at her, cackling away.

If there was a hole in the pavement, Frankie would admittedly jump into it.

She makes her way to the front entrance with no luck. The show was sold out, and she didn’t have a ticket. Before Frankie can start to panic, she reassess the venue and sees that around the back there was some sort of loading dock. She turns the corner and is situated at the top of a ramp, with a group of three girls at the bottom giggling to themselves near a steel door.

“Are you new?” Frankie hears a voice from behind her.

She turns and is face to face with one of the most beautiful girls she’s ever seen in her life. Her blonde hair is long and curly, cascading over her shoulders and down her back effortlessly, ending just above two hollow dimples. The girl towers over Frankie, and when she looks down at her glittery go-go boots she understands why. Her long legs are toned and smooth underneath her leather mini skirt. She’s wearing a silver halter top that is so sheer Frankie can see her nipples through the thin layer of material. Over top is a pink velvet trench coat with frills on the lining, a garment completely inappropriate for the California heat in the beginning of summer.

That doesn’t matter though, because this girl emits confidence that is almost palpable. Frankie compares her own outfit to this girl’s, her long ivory legs and knobby knees hidden beneath her flared denim bell bottoms, her pointed boots with the small heel making her seem taller than she actually was. Her white cropped t-shirt is almost childlike compared to this girl’s daring choice, and when Frankie looks up she’s a bit embarrassed to be seen with her.

“Uh, I guess. I’m supposed to be writing an article about The Nocturnals for Rolling Stone, but I found out a bit late and I don’t have a ticket,” Frankie explains, holding up her tape recorder lamely. She really wishes she thought this entire thing through.

“Ooh, a journalist,” the girl echoes, reaching into her translucent plastic purse to grab a cigarette. She’s effortlessly cool in a way that should be intimidating to Frankie, but for some unknown reason she emits warmth.

“Cherry!” Frankie hears from down below the ramp. Suddenly the squealing trio starts running up the pavement and Frankie watches as the curly blonde skips down to meet them in a group hug. They’re all wearing some sort of sequinned ensemble, and Frankie can only assume that they’re groupies.

“Who’s this, Cherry?” A girl with jet-black hair and deep brown eyes asks, pointing at Frankie. Her long fingers are covered in jeweled rings and she has a fair amount of kohl liner surrounding her eyes. She’s wearing leather and is not as warm as the blonde girl.

“I’m not sure. I think she’s new, girls,” the blonde girl, presumably Cherry, says. She sounds much older than she looks and it’s almost obvious that she’s the ring leader of this troupe of glittery girls.

“I’m a journalist. I’m not a, uh, grou…” the words fall out of Frankie’s lips before she can finish the sentence. The girls in front of her hang their mouths open in shock, and Frankie feels as if she has said the wrong thing. The blonde girl has a hint of a smile on her face, as if the whole interaction is amusing to her.

“Don’t you dare say groupie!” The black-haired girl shrieks, practically jumping out of her skin.

Frankie feels bad, suddenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I mean I just—”

“—Assumed?” Cherry finishes for her.

Frankie shrugs her shoulders because she isn’t sure what to say. She feels bad for assuming the worst out of these girls, but she really couldn’t blame herself considering they were standing at a back entrance wearing far too much eye makeup than they should be. Frankie hated to judge people, because she didn’t deem it fair. But, she genuinely didn’t know any better. And she really didn’t think that these girls would be offended.

“You’re talking to Cherry Bomb here. She changed the groupie way of life forever. Before Cherry, girls were just throwing themselves at rockstars and sleeping with them just for the hell of it. Cherry here inspires people, man. They write songs about her! It’s much deeper than just sex, honey,” the girl with black hair says, pointing at Cherry as if she was a fine painting in a museum that you weren’t allowed to touch.

In some ways, she sort of was like that.

Cherry just smiles. “It’s about the connection. You’ll see,” she says.

Before Frankie could apologize again and leave, the large steel door opens and another pretty girl with brown hair and shiny pants comes out, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and a cluster of backstage passes in the other. The girls all start running towards the door, and Frankie is about to turn around in defeat before she feels a small hand latch onto her forearm.

“Aren’t you coming?” Cherry asks with a grin.

Before she could respond, Cherry tugs on her arm and the two girls are running through the steel door into the large venue. The other four girls start walking ahead, sharing sips from the large bottle of champagne, but Cherry hangs back, slowing her strides so she’s matching Frankie’s slow gait.

“So, what do I call you?” Cherry asks as they continue walking down a long hallway.

“Frankie,” she responds, looking up into Cherry’s silver eyes. “What do I call you?”

Cherry laughs. “Cherry should be fine,” she says, her words twisting as if they were a riddle.

Before Frankie could respond, they’re suddenly being thrust into a much smaller room. The air is stale with cigarette smoke and the effervescent scent of boy. Inside the makeshift dressing room, Frankie recognizes the girls from outside lounging around men of different ages. They’re laughing and drinking straight liquor from the bottle and Frankie tries her hardest to conceal her uneasiness.

Because in front of her were The Nocturnals, and she had a job to do.

She notices the drummer and the bassist, Jett and Rod, sitting on a torn up leather couch sharing a joint between the two all while entertaining Cherry’s friends. A girl with hair as dark as coals sits in front of a mirror applying red lipstick and Frankie recognizes her as the keyboardist and backing vocalist, Veronica—the only female in the band. A man with dark green eyes and long brown hair looks up and smiles when Cherry walks into the room, and Frankie realizes that he is Eddie, the lead guitarist.

Frankie did her research.

Before she could start conducting her interviews, a husky voice from the other side of the room calls out, stopping Frankie dead in her tracks.

“Cher, who’s your friend?” he asks.

Frankie’s head snaps up and immediately her blue eyes latch onto a pair of green. They’re much lighter than Eddie’s, and if Frankie was standing closer, she would be able to see the turquoise ring that outlined his pupil. His hair is shorter than the rest of the men in the band, albeit still curling around the tops of his ears. He’s the only member of The Nocturnals with a bare face, sans facial hair, and Frankie is taken aback by his youthful features. He’s wearing white wide-legged trousers and a bright pink shirt tucked under the waistband, barely buttoned up, showcasing his toned stomach and chest. His sleeves are rolled up and Frankie can almost make out the shapes of his tattoos, but before she can inspect them further, she’s completely aware that she’s been staring at him far too long.

Him, also known as Harry Styles, the lead singer of The Nocturnals.

Cherry hasn’t said anything, but with one look in her silver eyes, she’s said an entire string of words to Frankie without even opening her mouth.

Frankie suddenly feels a fire start to grow in her stomach.

“Harry, this is my friend Frankie. She’s a journalist,” Cherry announces loud enough for the rest of the room to hear over the beginning riffs of the opening band’s first song.

“A journalist?! Who let her in? She’s the enemy!” Eddie yells over from the couch. It’s clear that the rest of the band feel the same way about having a reporter around, and Frankie’s confidence suddenly starts wavering.

“Oi, calm down Eddie. She looks harmless enough,” Harry says slowly, suddenly appearing right in front of her. His voice is low and his eyes have a twinkle to them and Frankie’s throat has become increasingly dry.

“Hi Frankie, I’m Harry. Nice to meet you,” he says, towering above her from his stance.

Frankie shoots her arm out for a handshake. “Hi Harry. Nice to meet you, too.” His hands feel warm in her grasp and she’s shaking his so hard that the bangles on her wrists clang together like tambourines.

“If you have the time, I’d love to ask you a few questions before you—”

“—Five minutes!” A voice interrupts. Instantly, the band starts standing up and running around the room, grabbing various instruments and beginning to tune them accordingly. Roadies come in to grab amplifiers and microphone stands, and everything starts twirling together like a whirlwind and Frankie is losing grasp on what she’s supposed to be doing here in the first place.

The band starts walking towards the stage and Cherry grabs Frankie’s arm again, giggling a bit to herself. They catch up to Jett, and Frankie can see through his red-rimmed eyes and his glazed over stare that he’s stoned out of his mind, but he smiles at her and gives her a small nod, and Frankie feels a bit more welcomed.

“So who do you write for?” he asks, grabbing his drumsticks from the back pocket of his blue jeans and running his fingers over the shiny wood.

“Rolling Stone,” Frankie replies quickly.

He stops walking for a moment and looks up with wide eyes. “No shit? I’ll come find you after the show. Give ya a real interview,” he says excitedly, before giving her one last parting nod and approaching the rest of the band.

Frankie feels a bit out of sorts, but Cherry is still standing by her side and she feels an odd sense of comfort in that. The band is doing some sort of pre-show ritual and Frankie starts scribbling it all down in her notebook because it seems like the right thing to do. She watches the huddle break apart in front of her, and the band starts walking out onto the dimly lit stage.

She can hear the roars of the crowd, can practically feel them vibrating through the thick leather of her boots. And just before Harry steps on stage, he looks over his shoulder and gives her a wink, and the fire inside Frankie’s stomach turns into a full-blown blaze.

***

The show is everything and more. Frankie started by lingering in the background, letting the rest of the friends of the band stand closer to the side stage viewing area. After their first song was over and the crowd was cheering louder than anything Frankie had ever heard before, she feels Cherry drag her towards the front where she can get a better view of the band.

“How are you supposed to write an article standing all the way back there?” Cherry asks with a grin. They’re standing so close together that Frankie can feel the frills on her jacket tickling her cheekbones, but she doesn’t mind.

“Good evening, everybody,” Harry says after they’ve finished their first song of the night. He’s nothing but confident up there, a true frontman, and Frankie is a little bit in awe of him. “We’re The Nocturnals. I hope you like this next one,” he says and the crowd cheers. He looks over towards Eddie with a nod and he starts picking at the fret, playing a loud solo before the drums crash in and the second song starts.

It’s the third single off of their album and Frankie isn’t ashamed that she knows all the words. She would be lying if she didn’t think it was a good album. She remembers running to the other end of the boulevard into Tower Records before they closed to purchase it. Frankie must have played it for a week straight on the record player in her room.

Frankie starts scribbling in her journal, balancing on one foot while her knee is raised in a ninety degree angle acting as a makeshift desk. Her head is darting up, down, making sure not to miss a moment, but also making sure she’s capturing it all for the article.

“Enough of that, Frankie. Just watch,” Cherry says, whispering in her ear. Her small hands put pressure on the notebook over Frankie’s thigh, pressing down so her boot-clad feet touch the ground again.

“But I have to—”

“—Just watch. It’s the best way to experience the music.”

And Frankie does just that.

***

The show finishes with an encore of their number one hit single, “Too Much.” It’s electrifying and Frankie is glad that she listened to Cherry’s advice and watched the entire thing with wide eyes, remembering every moment of it. She could feel everything—the thumping of the bass, the rattling of the cymbals, the zing of the keyboards. But Harry’s voice—that was something she couldn’t wait to write about.

Frankie’s raking through the thesaurus in her mind trying to think of other words to describe his voice. She scribbles down guttural and gravelly, grating and gruff, throaty and raspy before she’s hearing it right in front of her.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asks, and Frankie is trying her best not to stare at the sweat dripping down the sides of his forehead, past his cheekbone, and pooling at his deep collarbones.

She blinks.

“It was amazing. Perfect, almost,” she replies.

“Almost?” Harry repeats, tilting his head downwards. Frankie watches as a bead of sweat travels down the bridge of his nose and she feels the warmest she’s ever felt this entire night.

Frankie reaches out to grab her tape recorder. Just as her finger is hovering over the record button, Harry shakes his head, tutting in disapproval.

“Not now.” And with that he walks away.

Frankie searches around for Jett, remembering that he promised her an interview after the show. Surprisingly, it goes a lot better than her attempt with Harry, and not long after, Rod decides to pitch in and add some remarks about the performance. Reapplying her makeup from the vanity behind the group, Veronica agrees to speak to Frankie and somehow she’s surprised that this group of people who once called her the enemy suddenly have an inkling to speak to her.

Harry reemerges suddenly, swapping out his pink dress shirt for a black one. It still isn’t buttoned appropriately, and he’s still looking at her with a twinkle in his emerald eyes that Frankie has never seen before. She watches as one of Cherry’s friends tries to give him attention, but his eyes are locked on Frankie’s, and she knows that this is the moment she needs to get his interview before the clock strikes ten.

“Do you have time to talk?” Frankie asks, approaching the pair cautiously.

The auburn haired girl rolls her eyes, but Harry just nods, shooing her away. Frankie feels bad.

They sit in the farthest corner of the room, her notepad and pen at the ready, her finger hovering over the record button. Harry’s watching her intently, inspecting her close enough that he can see the nervous shake of her hand, the small quiver of her lip.

“So, what has inspired you to make music?” Frankie asks, wasting no time.

Harry blows out a breath. “That’s the first question you ask me?” He reaches his hand out for the bottle of whiskey on the table, slugging it without pouring it into a glass.

“Well, on your debut album your song ‘1969’ clearly comes from personal—”

“—What inspired you to write?” Harry asks, completely ignoring Frankie’s question.

“Excuse me?” She says, completely thrown off guard.

Harry just shrugs his shoulders, smirking at her from his position on the leather seat. He takes another swig from the bottle and Frankie tries not to stare at his bottom lip that has become shinier from the liquor.

“I’m the one meant to be interviewing you, Harry,” Frankie says shyly.

“What if I want to know more about you, Franks?” His gaze is unwavering and Frankie is sure he can see the flush working its way up her neck, before settling over her freckled cheeks.

Before she could respond or even begin to pry into the mysterious mind of the frontman of The Nocturnals, Frankie chances a glance over at the clock and sees that it’s 9:58.

Shit. Her mother.

“What?” Harry asks with a chuckle.

Shit. Frankie said that outloud.

“Nothing. I just have to go,” she says quickly, closing her notebook and tucking her pencil behind her right ear. She presses the pause button on her tape recorder, holding it tightly in her hand until her knuckles turn white.

“You have to leave? Already?” Harry’s eyes are wide at Frankie’s fumbling, and for once he’s actually confused that a girl who looks like her isn’t throwing herself at him.

“Yeah. Thanks for the interview, even though I can probably only quote a few words,” Frankie says offhandedly. She stands up and Harry follows suit. She’s not sure what type of parting she should give him, so she settles with an awkward wave, before running out of the dressing room and back through the steel door.

She can hear the honking of the Continental from the same illegal parking spot, and Frankie sighs as she starts picking up her speed on the loading dock, knowing that the longer she takes to reach her mother, the more frantic the honking will become.

“Frankie! Wait up!”

Frankie turns around and sees that Cherry and her wild blonde hair are running up to her. Frankie looks at Cherry’s hands, wondering if she had left something backstage. But when she’s standing in front of her, she is empty handed. Cherry reaches a small hand out and grabs the pencil behind Frankie’s ear, before stealing her notebook from her hand and flipping open to an empty page.

“You need to call me,” Cherry announces once she’s done scribbling her phone number down. She returns all of Frankie’s items back to their original place.

“Really?” Frankie asks, completely shocked. She couldn’t picture a world where a girl like Cherry would ever even consider being her friend.

“I need a new crowd,” Cherry says with a shrug.

Frankie just smiles, nodding her head with a promise to call her. She hears the Continental honking again but chooses to ignore it. Instead she watches Cherry walk backwards down the loading dock, giving Frankie the most infectious smile she’s ever seen.

“Can’t you feel it, Frankie?! It’s all happening!” Cherry’s arms are outstretched and she starts twirling around, before giving one last wink and walking through the steel door once again.

Frankie can feel it. It’s all happening.

***

June 1973 - entry no. 3

On Monday morning Frankie receives a call from Lester Bangs praising her for her review about The Nocturnals show. It went so well that Lester and the other music editors at Rolling Stone wanted to send Frankie on their West Coast tour for a month. They wanted her to follow the band on the road and write a featured article piece about the mysterious new British rock band that was taking over the industry by storm. It was scheduled to be printed in the middle of the magazine, spanning over three pages.

And they wanted Frankie to write it.

“How are you going to pay for it? Who will you stay with? Is it even safe?” Her mother asks after Frankie gets off the phone with Lester. He still didn’t know that she was an eighteen-year-old girl living with her mother. And her mother didn’t know that Lester offered to pay an eighteen-year-old girl still living with her mother a lot of money to write this piece.

It was just easier that way.

“The magazine will cover my hotel expenses. I’d obviously stay with the band, but in my own room. It’ll be safe, you know me—I stay out of trouble,” Frankie says, answering each of her mother’s questions one by one.

“But, Francine, how will you—”

“—It’s my dream, mom.” Cynthia Goodhart purses her lips. She’s thinking so hard that Frankie can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. After a few moments, her mother walks over and hugs her tight.

“You better call me every night. I want to know where you are and know that you’re safe. And for the love of god please—”

“—No drugs,” Frankie finishes for her mother. She hugs her back even tighter.

Three days later, Frankie’s mother has just dropped her off at Long Beach Arena in Los Angeles. Her duffle bag is swung over her shoulder, and for the first time in her eighteen years of living, Frankie Goodhart is alone.

And she’s shocked at how excited she is.

The Nocturnals are scheduled to play a gig at the arena tonight, and Frankie remembers her instructions. She’s meant to seek out their manager, Bryan Greenberg, and retrieve her all access pass for the next month. Then, he’ll show her the hotel accommodations, give her a room key, and she’s off to start her assignment.

The band has been informed of her role. She remembers Lester telling her that a few of them were not keen on the idea of having a journalist follow them around for a month, but after hearing that they were going to be featured in the next publication of the magazine, their outlook immediately changed.

“Rockstars,” Lester said over the phone, “They’ll do anything for some decent fuckin’ press.”

On her way into the arena, Frankie bypasses a behemoth of a vehicle. It’s monstrous and gunmetal grey and looks like it’s about to fall apart at any moment, and when she squints she can make out the lettering spelling BERNIE on the side near the door. It reeks of marijuana and booze and she can only assume that this is their tour bus.

Before she can continue to walk by, she hears her voice.

“Frankie!” It’s Cherry and Frankie is surprised that she’s actually happy to see the tall blonde girl. She’s wearing another outrageous assortment of clothing, full of frilly layers and white patent leather. Her lips are stained red and she’s wearing opaque pink sunglasses and when she wraps her thin arms around Frankie’s neck, she instantly hugs her back.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Cherry says, and Frankie’s glad too.

When they untangle themselves, Cherry grabs onto Frankie’s arm and drags her towards the arena, mumbling something about the lingering smell of sex inside of Bernie. Frankie doesn’t bother to ask her what she means, instead allows Cherry to drag her inside the venue.

Frankie tells her that she has to find Bryan and Cherry just shakes her head, explaining to her that Bryan isn’t any fun before five o’clock. Frankie takes her word for it, and not long after have the two entered a backstage area filled with tables and chairs and an assortment of food. Various crew members lounge about eating craft services, and as her eyes sweep over the room, she sees the band in the far corner.

“The enemy is approaching,” Frankie hears Eddie call out ominously from the table. Veronica and Rod snicker beside him, and Frankie tries not to let their words affect her.

She has a job to do.

Cherry shushes them before sitting next to Rod, running her fingers through his long blonde hair that falls past his shoulders. Frankie watches them, fully aware that the only reason Cherry is here is because she’s sleeping with the bassist. But then she remembers her conversation with Cherry’s friends outside of The Troubadour, and she pushes those feelings deep down, only hoping for Cherry’s sake that Rod cares about her the same way she cares about him, even though he has a rumored fiancée back home.

Frankie is trying not to judge.

Before she can say anything, she hears shuffling behind her. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up because in front of her is four-fifths of the band, so that only leaves Harry, who has suddenly appeared behind her. Frankie hates that she can feel his presence before she can actually see him, and when he gives her a throaty hello, she can practically see the goosebumps prickling her skin.

“Heard you were comin’. Glad you’re here, Franks.” Frankie is fully aware that Cherry’s eyes are on her, and all she can do is stare at her new friend, completely out of her own element.

“Hi, Harry,” Frankie offers shyly, finally allowing him to enter her frame.

Before she could examine him fully, another man approaches the table. He’s shorter than Harry, a stocky little man with a permanent frown etched onto his face. His hair is thinning, practically balding in some spots, and he looks utterly exhausted.

“You the journalist?” He asks Frankie. His accent is high-pitched and squeaky, and Frankie blinks once, twice, before realizing that he’s actually addressing her.

“Yeah, hi. Frankie Goodhart.” She extends her arm even though he makes no effort to try and shake it. Frankie suddenly feels small, even though she’s taller than the man in front of her. His eyes are raking up and down her body, and Frankie squirms under his gaze.

“Christ, Rolling Stone hires kids now?” He chuckles to himself and Frankie really wishes the ground would swallow her up right then and there.

“Enough Bryan. They wouldn’t have sent her if she wasn’t good, right?” Harry comments, finally taking the spotlight off of Frankie. She’s grateful that the attention is off of her now. All she wants to do is start gathering quotes for her piece.

If only things could be that easy.

***

The show was once again incredible. Frankie watched from backstage, standing on Cherry’s side. She followed her advice again, only jotting down pivotal moments in her notebook. Most of the show, she spent mouthing along to the lyrics.

She didn’t want to admit that she was a fan.

“You can’t let them know you’re into their stuff,” Lester told her on the phone three days earlier. “They’re gonna want to buy you shit, be your friend. All of that. You can’t let that happen. Once they’ve got you, you’re fucked.”

After the show is over, the backstage area of the arena is buzzing with people. Cherry’s friends showed up right after the opening act was finished, and currently they were traipsing around the green room as if they owned the place. Jett sat sandwiched between two of them, sharing a joint and sips of champagne right from the bottle. Frankie had just finished talking to Veronica, who surprisingly was a vessel of knowledge. Before she could finish making her rounds, Rod storms in angrily, with an annoyed Harry trailing behind him.

“You really had to stay out on stage the longest when we were giving our bows, Harry?” Rod asks, and suddenly the entire room begins to grow quiet.

“What’s going on?” Bryan asks.

“Fuckin’ Harry’s out here craving all the attention, that’s what’s going on! And you’re so far up his ass you can’t even see it!” Rod’s full on screaming now, and all Frankie can do is just sit and watch.

“Everybody says ‘oh look, it’s Harry’s band! Look how talented Harry’s band is! As if we’re not a fuckin’ unit!” Frankie watches as Harry’s eyes grow darker. Bryan is trying to calm Rod down, but it’s no use. He’s completely uncaged.

Before he can say anything else, his eyes suddenly fall onto Frankie’s.

“I’m not sayin’ anything else with the enemy around.” It’s final, absolute. The words resonate in her brain and for the first time since arriving, Frankie’s second-guessing taking this job in the first place.

Rod storms out after that, and Frankie tries to ignore the green eyes trying to search for hers. She doesn't want the attention right now. What she wants is to retreat back into her hotel room and reevaluate how the next month of her life will go.

While everybody else heads back to the hotel, Frankie notices that Harry stays back, choosing to spend the night in the bus.

***

June 1973 - entry no. 4

The entire bus ride to Tempe, Arizona is uncomfortable.

Tensions are still high from Rod and Harry’s fight after the show in Long Beach last night, and Frankie watches as they sit on opposite sides of the bus, eyes covered in sunglasses facing the windows.

Eddie sits close to Harry, automatically taking his side because he’s his older brother. It makes sense, and Frankie watches it all unravel in her seat beside Cherry. She’s thankful that the blonde girl has decided to sit with her instead of Rod, because Frankie is still struggling with fitting in. This whole enemy ordeal is really starting to make things difficult for her.

Once they hit a rest stop, Jett offers Frankie some of his potato chips and for the rest of the ride he talks to her about music and the process of recording their first album. Veronica joins in, recounting the story of how she joined the band after watching them play a show in Phoenix.

“They were decent,” she tells Frankie, her American accent standing out.

“She makes us better,” Jett says, nodding at Veronica appreciatively.

In the dressing room before the Tempe show, battle lines are drawn up. Harry and Eddie stand on one side, chain-smoking cigarettes and keeping to themselves. Rod and Cherry sit on the other side, and Frankie watches as Cherry soothes Rod’s anger by running her small fingers down his back. Veronica and Jett play the roles of peacemakers, alternating between each side, trying to get everybody in the mindset for a great show.

And as Frankie watches from the sidelines, she’s shocked that it is in fact a great show.

During their last song, Frankie watches Harry grab the water bottle resting on the riser where Jett’s drum set was. She almost misses the dramatic eye roll Rod gives him, seemingly annoyed at whatever Harry was planning on doing. As the lights are dimmed low and Eddie starts playing a riff, Frankie watches Harry fill his cheeks with water.

He can feel her gaze on him. As soon as Jett starts hitting the kick drum, Harry’s green eyes meet Frankie’s. He gives her a quick wink before turning over towards the crowd, leaning back on his legs and spitting the water up into the air as the instruments all clash together.

Frankie tries to ignore the tingling beneath her skin.

After the post-show adrenaline rush has worn off, The Nocturnals retreat back to their pre-show state. Eddie tries to entertain Harry while the rest of the band keep Rod as far away from him as possible. Frankie just observes, scribbling notes down in her journal, before Cherry approaches her cautiously.

“Do you think you could do me a favor, Frankie?” Cherry asks. Her voice is soft and her eyes show a little bit of apprehension, and Frankie immediately snaps her journal shut.

“Of course. Everything okay, Cherry?” Frankie is concerned because for the first time since being introduced to Cherry, she’s asking Frankie for help.

“Could you talk to Harry, maybe? He seems to be fond of you. Maybe you can get through to him about the whole Rod situation.” Frankie suddenly understands that the only reason Cherry is concerned about Harry is because Rod is involved.

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m really the best person—”

“—The thing is, they’re both alphas. Harry takes control and Rod doesn’t know how to function without it. They need each other, Frankie. The band needs them. Sometimes it’s tough getting through to Harry, but do you think you could try it just this time? For me?”

Frankie doesn’t know how to say no to people. Which is why she finds herself approaching Harry outside of the hotel while the rest of the band grab beers from Bryan’s cooler and stretch out around the pool outside of the building.

“I don’t want to do the interview right now, Franks,” Harry says quietly once he realizes that Frankie has stayed back to chat with him.

“We can just talk. Completely off the record,” Frankie says, throwing her journal and tape recorder deep into the depths of her messenger bag around her body.

Harry looks at her with his eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah? So what, we’re just gonna talk as friends?” He’s teasing her now and Frankie just rolls her eyes.

“If that’s what you’d like, sure. Friends,” Frankie agrees, surprisingly meaning every word.

“Alright. Come with me.” Harry leads them to a quieter area away from the pool. It’s a makeshift smoking area, and when Harry reaches into his denim pocket for his pack of Winstons and offers one to Frankie, she shakes her head no. Harry gives her another long look before shrugging his shoulders and lighting the stick between his cherry lips.

“Are you here to try and make me feel better?” Harry asks smugly.

Frankie shakes her head, growing annoyed. “No. Cherry just asked if I could—”

“—Oh so Cher put you up to this?” Harry interrupts, and Frankie has decided that this is just something she has to get used to around him. The constant interrupting, constant avoidance of questions, constant staring.

Frankie just sighs. She’s not quite sure why Cherry thinks Harry is fond of her, considering they can barely get through a conversation without him ignoring her questions and directing them towards Frankie instead.

They’re quiet for a few minutes. Harry finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out with the sole of his boots before Frankie opens her mouth.

“Why do you put up with it?” It’s quiet and she’s not sure if she should have even asked him that in the first place, but she’s curious.

“I thought this wasn’t an interview?”

“It’s not. Off the record, strictly.”

Harry stands up straighter, no longer leaning on the fence surrounding the smoking area. His shoulders turn so he’s standing directly in front of Frankie, eyes falling past her uncovered shoulders to her thin yellow tank top, before falling down the lengths of her ivory legs under her jean shorts. She screams of innocence and Harry suddenly feels like he can drop his rockstar façade and finally be truthful for once in his life.

“I do it because I have to,” Harry says slowly.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Harry,” Frankie replies, blue eyes staring deep into green.

Harry just laughs to himself quietly, shaking his head.

“Sometimes you have to do things because they’re expected of you. Like love, for instance.” He’s speaking as if he has all of the answers in the world and Frankie can’t quite fathom how that could possibly be true.

”What do you mean?”

“Well. You’re expected to love your boyfriend, right?” Harry’s asking her in a way that doesn’t come across as fishing for information. Frankie suddenly wonders if he thought she was the type of girl that would have a boyfriend. That she was capable of enthralling the other sex.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Frankie’s suddenly shy, and Harry looks at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Well, any of your boyfriends. You were expected to love them.” Harry doesn’t need Frankie to tell her that she actually has never had a boyfriend in her entire life. Her silence tells him more than he needs to know, and Frankie hopes he can’t see her fidgeting under the moonlight.

“I wouldn’t know.” Frankie says it so quietly that Harry almost missed the words leaving her lips. He suddenly feels his age for the first time—twenty-three and hyperaware of the pretty girl with freckles on her face who has never been in love before.

“You’ve never been in love?” He sounds shocked, and Frankie starts wondering if there’s something wrong with that. Sure, she’s had a few opportunities to try and fall in love, and sure, she was almost close to it with her prom date a few months prior, but the truth still stands. It’s a feeling that Frankie’s heard endless times play over in the songs on her record player.

It’s the one question that she’s never found the answer to in Mary’s collection.

“Not truly, no. I mean, every song I’ve ever heard has talked about love as if it’s supposed to be this monumental explosion of feelings. It’s supposed to be all-encompassing. We’re supposed to crave it, chase after it, live for it. So when you say that you’re expected to love another person, I don’t know what you mean. Because you shouldn’t be expected to do something that’s supposed to consume you.”

Frankie chances a look over towards Harry and finds that his eyes aren’t set on hers. Instead, they’re looking over her head, fixated on the trees behind her. He has a distant look in his eyes as if he understands exactly what Frankie is telling him.

Suddenly, his eyes lock back on hers. But this time, the glint is gone. Instead he looks sad almost, nodding absently at whatever Frankie had just said.

Frankie has another sleepless night.

***

June 1973 - entry no. 5

Frankie began to grow quite fond of Bernie on the drive from Tempe to Las Vegas.

Somehow, The Nocturnals had a strong affinity for the nearly broken down grey touring bus they’ve been sequestered to for the past few months. Jett proclaimed that Bernadette had magical powers, and they preferred to travel to each venue by bus because they performed much better after sitting in the bristling heat for hours on end.

Frankie thinks that Jett needs to lay off the weed.

Each band member had their own little corner of the bus. Eddie always preferred the middle so he could jump from conversation to conversation wherever he was needed. He didn’t like feeling left out. Veronica was happy towards the front as long as she always had a window. She always said her lack of a penis allowed her prime window seating. Nobody disagreed.

Rod liked the back of the bus because that was where he could sneak off and make out with Cherry without anybody else watching. Sometimes he would sneak his hand down her skirt and Cherry would giggle as if he was telling her the funniest joke in the world. Harry on the other hand always chose to sit in the front seat behind Bryan who was always driving. It was an unwritten rule that nobody else could sit there. It was also an unwritten rule that Harry always needed to be close to Bryan.

That is where Frankie finds him when they’re about twenty minutes away from the Las Vegas Convention Center. His long body is taking up two seats with his head leaning against the glass window. He has his black sunglasses on but Frankie can see that his eyes are open through the tinted frames.

“Starin’ is impolite, Franks,” Harry says after a few moments.

Frankie blushes, looking down at the floor. “I’m still waiting for your interview, Harry.”

He shuffles a bit while he’s mulling this over. In the two week span of Frankie’s time on tour with the band, she’s gotten one on one interviews with everybody but Harry. Whenever she attempts to reach out to him, he always wanders off. Lately, he’s been switching the roles and asking her questions instead.

She doesn’t like feeling vulnerable around him.

And with her deadline approaching soon and the final three shows looming in the distance, Frankie was starting to grow impatient.

“After the show. I promise,” Harry says, before turning his attention back out towards the window.

Frankie ignores Cherry’s gaze as she slinks into the seat in the back left of the bus. But Cherry is anything but adamant, and not even ten seconds later, Frankie can feel the tips of her blonde curly hair grazing Frankie’s exposed shoulders.

“He’s making this extremely difficult,” Frankie admits, slumping down further into the seat.

Cherry nods. “Give him time, Frankie. He’ll come around eventually.”

Frankie only wishes that were true.

***

The show in Vegas is nothing short of a disaster.

Frankie notices the mistakes more so than the audience members mainly because she’s been watching The Nocturnals perform the same show for two weeks now. From the second they walked onto the stage, there was a disconnect amongst the band members. Jett and Veronica did the best they could trying to appease both Harry and Rod, but it began to crumble halfway through their set. Rod began to overdue his solos, throwing the timing off for Harry. The worst part was when he started oversinging the backing vocals, almost making Harry sing the wrong lyrics.

The dressing room was quiet after the show. And for the first time since touring with the band, Frankie had no desire to ask anybody questions.

“Well guys, that was—”

“—A fuckin’ shitshow,” Harry says, interrupting Bryan.

Eddie stands closer to Harry, trying to calm his little brother down. Everybody knows that it was bound to happen, because Eddie always puts Harry first. But this seemed to spur Rod on, because immediately after Eddie puts an arm around Harry, Rod flies out of his seat and points an accusatory finger at the both of them.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of you two. Every time there’s a disagreement, Harry is never at fault in your eyes, Ed. It’s about fuckin’ time you realize that your brother is singlehandedly ruining this band.” Rod’s words are venomous and Frankie practically flinches with each syllable.

“Well, maybe if you stopped being so jealous of H, we wouldn’t have this problem!” Eddie retorts, stepping in front of Harry and squaring his shoulders towards Rod.

“Jealous?! Of that prick? That’s fuckin’ rich.”

The rest of the argument seems to blow up in front of Frankie, but for some unknown reason, she chooses not to stare at Rod and Eddie yelling at each other in the middle of the room. Instead, her blue eyes fall onto Harry, who hasn’t said a word throughout this entire exchange. He looks as if he wants to be anywhere but here, and as if he can feel the heat of Frankie’s gaze on him, he tilts his head towards her and stares right back.

“If you don’t get your ego in line, Harry, I’m fuckin’ walking,” Rod says. Frankie watches Harry’s eyes snap back towards the bassist, and instead of responding, he just shakes his head slowly. Suddenly, Harry starts careening towards the exit, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and Frankie in the other.

“Harry…” Frankie says, but it’s useless. He’s walking so quickly and swallowing back whiskey so fiercely that Frankie has no choice but to hold onto his hand tighter and allow him to lead her out of the arena, past Bernie, and down a few roads until the flashing lights are fading into the distance and the honking of vehicles has practically ceased.

Frankie isn’t sure what to say because up until this point she hadn’t really considered her and Harry friends. Their conversation in Tempe only made Frankie more confused, and every time Cherry tells her of Harry’s fondness of her, she thinks that her friend is seeing things.

But now, standing hand in hand with him, Frankie begins to think differently.

His hands are shaking when he drops hers, and instead of speaking, he just takes another swig of the bottle. His cheeks are flushed and Frankie isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or something else, and then before she can dissect him any further, he stops abruptly and turns to face her.

“Do you ever feel like you need to get away? Like things are just happenin’ too quickly?” He’s back to asking her questions again, and Frankie isn’t sure how to respond.

“Shit, I shouldn’t be tellin’ you any of this.” He suddenly runs the hand that used to hold hers through his curly hair out of frustration. Harry starts pacing back and forth in front of Frankie, and she’s very aware that they are far from the venue.

“It’s fine, I won’t—” Frankie cuts herself off because she isn’t quite sure what she’s trying to tell him. She already promised to talk to him off the record back in Tempe, and deep down she really wants to tell him this again. But she’s losing focus on her assignment, and she’s doing everything that Lester Bangs told her not to do.

Harry’s green eyes are back on hers and he’s suddenly a lot closer to her than he was previously. But before he could say anything, a car pulls up and his eyes shift from blue to the approaching vehicle.

“Whoa, you’re Harry Styles!” A boy with straight blonde hair says. He’s driving a car and looks to be a few years younger than Frankie, and the rest of his friends seem to be as shell-shocked as the driver.

“Just Harry, s’fine,” Harry replies, stepping away from Frankie and smiling at the group of boys.

“Would you wanna come to a party? My parents are out of town and my house is down the street,” the blonde kid offers. Immediately, Frankie starts to shake her head, expecting Harry to follow suit. Instead, she bafflingly watches as Harry grins at the group before jumping into the backseat of the car.

“Harry!” Frankie shoots out, beginning to chastise him.

“C’mon Franks, let’s have some fun,” Harry says, grabbing her from the sidewalk and pulling her into the van. The group of boys cheer and begin asking Harry a million questions, but it might as well be white noise because Frankie’s eyes are looking into green and she finds herself agreeing to this ridiculous plan because she’s found that she can’t say no to Harry no matter how hard she tries.

And when he hands her the whiskey bottle and promises that she’ll like it, she drinks it without even thinking, smiling back at Harry when his eyes go wide.

***

A few hours later, Frankie finds that Harry is impossibly drunk. He’s stumbling throughout a high school party, fluttering from the living room to the kitchen and back. The teenagers are handing him plastic cups filled with a concoction of various liquors, and while Frankie has only had one cup, it was enough to make her feel warm and light, so she stopped after that.

She has just walked out of the bathroom when she realizes that Harry is not where she had left him. Nervously, Frankie begins checking each room in the house, praying that she didn’t just lose the frontman of The Nocturnals at a high school party in Las Vegas. Once she rounds the stairs, she hears his laugh from the first door to her left, and when she walks in she finds him sitting on a desk chair surrounded by a group of kids with glazed eyes and a bong sitting in the middle of a circle.

“And that is why you shouldn’t mix acid with vodka. It’s just—Franks! There you are! Thought I lost ya.” Harry blindly reaches out for Frankie’s hand, pulling her towards the group. She stumbles until she’s sitting right beside him, and he’s grinning at her with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“I made new friends,” he says softly, gesturing towards the group of stoned teenagers on the floor below him.

“I can see that,” Frankie responds, seemingly unaware of their close proximity. Harry’s arm is resting lightly around her shoulders, and if she leans in just an inch more, she could smell the whiskey on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll start a band with them. What d’ya think? They’d probably be more fun, anyways,” he mumbles, his slurred words meshing together.

Frankie isn’t sure what to say, so instead she just drunkenly laughs, standing up when Harry grabs her arm and leads her out of the room and into the backyard.

They walk further until they’re sitting at the top of a hill under a mesquite tree. The party is barrelling on below them, and when Frankie looks up at the sky and notices that the inky night has turned into a deep blue, she can assume that it’s the early morning.

Harry sighs contentedly beside her, sitting down close enough that their sides are touching. Frankie can feel his hip rest with hers, her shoulder pressed against his bicep, their thighs touching. The warmth from the alcohol flowing through her body suddenly becomes warmer, and Frankie can feel the flush on her neck begin to creep upwards.

“I never get to do this,” Harry says after a few minutes of silence.

“Do what?” Frankie asks.

“Act like a kid. Drink with my mates in our parents house. Be young, I guess.” Frankie cocks her head to the side and acknowledges the sadness on his features. She’s suddenly aware of the fact that Harry is the youngest in the band but never gets to feel like it because he’s constantly on the road, working with people much older than him, arguing about ridiculous things that shouldn’t matter in the long run.

She begins to feel bad for the rockstar who she believed had everything.

“You really didn’t miss much,” Frankie says, nodding her head towards the group of high school students surrounding a keg.

“No? Isn’t high school supposed to be the best years of your life or summat?” Harry asks, genuine curiosity dripping from his mouth.

Frankie just shrugs. “I sure hope not.”

Harry shifts his position and Frankie misses the warmth when she can no longer feel his body pressed against hers. His big hands reach out towards her forearms and pull so that she twists to the side, their knees knocking together. Harry’s sitting in front of her and his eyes are twinkling brighter than the stars and Frankie isn’t sure where else to look.

“Why are you so different from every other girl I’ve met?” Harry asks. Frankie tilts her head down, trying to hide the blush forming on her cheeks. She feels Harry squeeze her forearms, and she’s suddenly aware that his hands haven’t left hers.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Frankie says shyly.

His hand reaches out towards her chin, tilting it up so that she’s no longer hiding from him. Frankie watches his heels dig into the grass, allowing him to heave himself forward so that their legs are slotting, his knees surrounding hers. They’re much closer now, and she can see the glint in his eyes has turned into adoration and she suddenly feels frozen.

“Frankie Goodhart,” he whispers, “That would make for a good song.”

His fingers drop from her chin and Frankie can feel him getting closer. He’s angling his torso towards her and his shiny lips are getting closer to hers and she’s instantly panicking because shit, she thinks, this shouldn’t be happening.

And just before his mouth can close around hers, she backs away, and the look in Harry’s eyes fades. Instead, he’s staring at her, dull green eyes and all, and she suddenly feels empty inside. He stands up abruptly and begins walking down the hill back towards the street. Even in his drunken stupor, Harry somehow remembers how to get back to the carpark where Bernie is waiting with the rest of the band. They’re silent as they walk into the bus, the yellows and purples of sunrise filtering through the windows.

Harry chooses to sit near Rod, a sign of a truce. Frankie sits in the back, ignoring the looks Cherry gives her. For once, she just wants to be alone.

***

July 1973 - entry no. 6

Everybody besides Frankie seemed to be in high spirits on the journey to the San Jose Civic Center. The feud between Harry and Rod seemed to be an anecdote, something they could joke about during the long drive. Frankie watches from the back of the bus, a permanent scowl on her face, completely confused at the last ten hours of her life.

She was confused by the almost kiss, for starters. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss Harry, because of course she wanted to. But when his mouth was inching closer towards hers and his irises were so wide all she could see was mossy green, the only thing running through her mind were Lester’s warnings.

“Don’t get lost in the madness of it all. They’re gonna eat you alive if they know that you’re a fan. They’re gonna want to be your friend, lure you into their world. Stand your ground. The second they hear you write for Rolling Stone they’re gonna shit their pants. Don’t let us down.”

So she panicked. And when Frankie saw the frown on his face, she could feel her heart fall towards her feet inside her body. Frankie was never the type of girl that boys chased after, especially boys that have the world at their fingertips with blonde/auburn/black haired beauties throwing themselves at him. What would Harry want with a freckled-face eighteen year old high school graduate who had little to no experience with the opposite sex? It would be utterly laughable for the two of them to end up together.

But she would be lying if she hadn’t been kicking herself the entire journey to San Jose, regretting ever pulling away from him.

“Why are you so pouty?” Cherry asks from beside her. She opted to sit with Frankie mainly because Rod and Harry were rekindling their friendship with inside jokes and bottles of beer, and Frankie wasn’t all that mad that she was a second option.

“I’m not,” Frankie lies, sinking her head against the cool window. She needed her brain to stop replaying this morning's events over and over whenever her eyelids closed.

Cherry just hums beside her, knowing fully well that Frankie is lying. “I’m assuming it has something to do with Harry. He’s been looking at you like a lost puppy ever since we turned onto the freeway hours ago.”

Frankie ignores her friend the same way she’s been ignoring the warm heat of Harry’s gaze from the front of the bus.

She needs the silence to remember why she was even here in the first place. But there’s no denying that she’s so close to losing the point in the first place—feet dangling at the edge of the mountain, practically about to freefall below.

***

The San Jose show was the best one Frankie had seen yet, even better than the first night at The Troubadour three weeks earlier. The energy radiating from the stage was tangible, a thrumming of excitement Frankie could feel from the tips of her toes all the way up to the roots of her light brown hair. If she reached out to touch the handle of the steel door leading to the green room, she was convinced she would feel a zap of electricity from what The Nocturnals left out on the stage.

Harry was the best she had seen him yet. His voice was unmatchable, a perfect concoction of rasp and grit with a beautiful falsetto. Frankie was in awe, to be fair. Normally she takes turns watching each member of the band, but tonight, her blue eyes refused to move from his body.

Harry could feel her gaze. With Frankie’s eyes locked on him, he knew that he had to put on the best show of his life. He made sure to interact with the crowd, singing in a different octave so he could hear the gasps from the audience, leaning against Rod and Eddie with his head thrown back, shaking his hips to the pounding of Jett’s kick drum. Frankie’s hot gaze on Harry gave him a newfound sense of confidence, and it was palpable throughout the entire arena.

“What a fuckin’ show!” Bryan hollers from the doorway of the green room. Frankie watches as he interacts with each member of the band, even offering to take a hit of the joint Jett extends towards him. Rod even gives him a hug, and Frankie is just as confused as ever.

“Let’s celebrate!” Rod agrees, grabbing Cherry by her hips and bringing her towards his front. He drowns her giggles with a bottle of whiskey.

The band convenes in the middle of the green room, passing around a whiskey bottle and planning on throwing an after party in their hotel rooms. Eddie asks Bryan to upgrade their rooms so they can fit more people, and Jett agrees, telling Cherry’s friends to invite anybody in the area they know. Frankie ultimately feels like an outsider, having no desire to go out and drink with people who barely even wanted her around in the first place.

As she begins to gather her belongings and throw them into her tattered messenger bag to retreat to her own hotel room for the night, Frankie sees the tips of black leather shoes touch her white sneakers. She looks up slowly, her breath practically catching in her throat when she notices Harry peering down at her, a faint trace of a smile on his lips.

“Fancy that interview, Franks?” Harry says softly, and Frankie suddenly is at a loss for words. She’s unsure if it’s from his close proximity to her face, or the fact that he actually is ready to allow her to interview him, but she just nods slowly.

“You don’t want to party? I think you earned it,” Frankie mutters back, offering him an out.

Harry doesn’t take it though. “Nah, let’s get out of here,” and with that, he loops her messenger bag around his broad shoulder and places a large hand at the small of her back, tracing her out the door.

Frankie offers to conduct the interview inside Bernie, but Harry just shakes his head, “I’m sick of sittin’ on the bus.” When she mentions her hotel room being on a different floor than the rest of the band’s, Harry just wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “Tryin’ to take me to bed already?” Frankie just rolls her eyes, wishing her skin was a darker shade so her blush wasn’t so prominent. Harry smiles, enamored that he can get her riled up so quickly, and drags her towards a small staircase on the top floor, a sign reading NO ENTRY in bright red letters.

Frankie pauses and Harry just laughs, opening the door with his hip and grabbing her wrists with his long fingers. “Live a little, Franks,” he whispers, dragging her up the staircase and onto the roof of the hotel.

The dark sky looks so vast from the roof, and Frankie cranes her neck back to take in all of the glittering stars above. She never gets to see the constellations through the LA smog, so from this vantage point, Frankie doesn’t hesitate to take it all in, her hair shining in the moonlight.

Harry doesn’t hesitate to take Frankie in, either.

“Ready, Franks?” Harry’s voice bursts Frankie’s imaginary bubble, and she fumbles around trying to grab her notebook and recorder before sitting across from Harry over a skylight. She doesn’t meet his eyes because she’s scared that if she does, she’ll forget everything she wanted to ask him.

“So, Harry. Why music?”

And it’s as if a dam has broken, split completely in half, and Harry’s words are the water that flows from the cracks. He tells Frankie that he started the band with his brother in small town Manchester, England, and they were shit at first. Tells her how the idea of a band came from the 1961 Ice Blue Fender Musicmaster their dad left behind when he left his mother when Harry was a boy. How the first few songs he wrote were about his fear of abandonment, and when he lost his virginity, all he could write about were girls and hearts and lips and feelings. He tells her things that Frankie didn’t even need to pry from him, instead, he willingly tells her how he was nervous to have five members in a band, nervous to leave England, nervous to be the frontman of a group when he was the youngest one. And when they were sat on the forty-fifth floor of a high-rise building with walls of windows in New York City, signing their recording contracts, Harry never felt more out of control in his life.

“You seem to be so confident on stage though, so in control. I mean, you just look so cool up there,” Frankie mumbles, realizing that she isn’t asking a question anymore. Instead she’s prodding for more information that she isn’t sure Harry feels comfortable doting out to her.

“I promise you, I’m entirely uncool. It’s all an act. I’m far too in my head most of the time,” Harry says with a chuckle, shifting his body closer to Frankie’s. “Sometimes, I think you’re the only person in this world who’s seen me properly. I’m just as uncool as you.”

Frankie feels herself shifting closer, too. Her finger unknowingly hovering over the STOP button on her tape recorder.

Harry notices just like he notices everything about her. He can feel the shift in their conversation, and he turns his body closer towards Frankie, asking her the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue the entire day.

“Why didn’t you let me kiss you?”

His voice is uncharacteristically shy. Frankie’s never seen this version of him—so quiet, so unsure. It startles her.

“Um,” she pauses, pressing her finger down on the button, her mind suddenly confuddled. “I’m technically not supposed to.”

“Franks,” Harry shakes his head, his mouth practically inches from hers. “When are you gonna realize life is more fun when you do the things you aren’t supposed to?”

With his mouth so close to hers, Frankie feels like she can’t breathe. His eyes are sincere and she can feel her heart beating so loudly she’s sure her ribs are bruised. And for the first time in forever, Frankie doesn’t want to follow the rules anymore.

She wants to break them.

Specifically, she wants to break them with Harry.

Frankie brazenly drops the tape recorder into her messenger bag at her feet and wraps her hands around Harry’s neck, bringing his lips to hers. He stills at first, not entirely sure if this is actually happening or he’s just imagining her kissing him. But then she starts to nibble at his lower lip and he finally reacts, wrapping one hand into her brown hair and another around her stomach, fingers spread over the ivory skin uncovered by her cropped shirt.

Frankie shudders when Harry whines at the contact, and when he feels like he needs more more more, he drags her legs and hoists them over his thighs so she’s straddling his lap. Their teeth knock together hungrily and it’s literally better than anything Harry’s ever had, and he’s had almost everything there is. Harry feels dehydrated, and Frankie’s lips are the only thing quenching his thirst. He’s never been so enraptured by another person before, and just having her body wrapped around his is practically careening him towards the edge.

When Harry’s hand in her hair pulls back exposing her neck towards him, she moans when his lips lick a thick strip from her sternum towards her chin. She tries to think of love songs that explain how she’s feeling, and when her mind becomes blank, she figures that they can write their own song, fuelled by pink lips and hungry bites and satisfied breaths.

“Jesus, Franks. You’re everything,” Harry mumbles against her lips. Frankie just nods, her hands pushing open his unbuttoned shirt and fanning against his chest. When his head falls back in a blissful sigh, Frankie marks the part of his skin where his shoulder meets his neck, and she can feel it too. That this is everything.

When Harry tries to take her shirt off and lower his hands into the waistband of her jeans, she stops, fully aware that this is her first time ever having somebody this close to her. Of having somebody want to get this close to her, to feel her, to have her in every sense of the word. And she’s terrified.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Franks. I blacked out, I forgot. You’re just—fuck. Can’t fuckin’ think straight when you’re lookin’ at me like that with your mouth all pouty and your hair all messed up. I’m losin’ it,” Harry says hurriedly, his forehead falling against her clavicle. He’s completely breathless and Frankie is in awe that she brought him to this point.

When she feels his hands running a comforting line down her back, she’s fully aware that she wants nothing more than to feel closer to Harry. It’s inevitable at this point—all of the lingering gazes, the interrupting questions, the way he can feel her gaze on him when he’s performing, the way she doesn’t want to look anywhere else. He wants to tell her his secrets. And she wants to keep them, hidden away from the world, just for her to hold.

So she reaches down and places her hand over Harry’s, dragging it down her chest and stomach, over her stomach, against the button of her pants. Harry sucks in a breath and Frankie can feel it against her neck, his lips pursing in shock.

“Frankie, it’s okay, we don’t—”

He’s silenced by her popping the button open and unzipping her jeans. His head shoots up, eyes latched onto hers, arms wrapped around her hips protectively.

Frankie shushes him with a gentle kiss. “It’s okay. You’re everything.”

And with that, Harry reaches inside of her pants, and the both of them fall apart, seeing stars that rival the constellations twinkling above them.

***

July 1973 - entry no. 7

Frankie spends the next day trying to quell the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

After her night with Harry on the rooftop, she feels as if she’s floating through thin air. She can’t stop the grin growing on her face whenever Harry is in a five foot radius of her, and she can practically feel his smirk from a distance. When they leave San Jose and travel to Palo Alto, Frankie practically forces her body to the back of the bus, trying to put as much space between them as possible.

Because if he was any closer, she wasn’t sure if she could keep her hands to herself.

Frankie has never felt like this. She feels as if Harry is her newest addiction, and no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t fucking stop thinking about him. It’s infuriating and infatuating at the same time, incredible and unknown and so new that she’s practically shaking in her seat from the excitement whenever his green eyes find hers.

Harry feels like he’s sixteen again. He feels so light and bubbly and giggly and the whole thing is reminiscent of a first crush, that he doesn’t even recognize who he is anymore. The most surprising aspect of it all is that he actually likes it. He feels his heart swell with every longing gaze, every secret smile, every phantom touch. He can’t get enough of her. Just one taste of Frankie wasn’t enough to soothe his ever-growing appetite, and he’s not sure if he can contain himself any longer.

After an entire day of almost touching her skin, Harry feels like he’s about to burst. Twenty minutes before the show, while the rest of the band is warming up, Harry finds himself sneaking off to find Frankie. She’s on her way back from the bathroom and when he sees her he practically jumps out of his skin, wrapping his arms around her waist and dragging her into a utility closet across the hallway.

Harry quiets her shrieks with a mouth-watering kiss, and he practically implodes at the feeling of it. He’s been waiting for this moment all day, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit that it was the best kiss of his life.

His hands are everywhere and Frankie feels overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. She’s breathing him in and feeling every inch of his skin on hers and it’s crazy to think that in her eighteen years of life she waited this long to experience this feeling.

She’s just so happy she’s experiencing it with Harry.

When they hear Bryan give the five minute call, Frankie breaks away breathlessly, laughing when Harry whines at the loss of her lips on his.

“Just one more kiss please Franks,” Harry begs, wrapping his hands through her hair and pulling her closer to his mouth.

She obliges but only momentarily, before pushing him back towards the door.

“Go,” she whispers, biting her lower lip to conceal her giggles.

Harry just groans, holding onto her for dear life. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Franks.”

She watches him walk away, blowing him a kiss and laughing when he catches it and tucks it into the pocket of his trousers.

When Frankie goes to claim her spot sidestage, she’s interrupted by Cherry grabbing onto her shoulders. She can see the band rustling around in the background, grabbing their instruments and getting mic'd up, but Frankie can’t focus. Because Cherry’s eyes are blown out and she’s holding onto her so tightly and Frankie knows that whatever is about to come out of Cherry’s lips next is either going to be monumental or devastating.

“Frankie! I need to tell you something,” Cherry whispers through her brightening grin.

“What is it Cherry? Are you okay?” Frankie is worried.

“I’m amazing. Better than amazing, actually. I’m gonna tell Rod that I love him after the show. I’m gonna jump into his arms, tell him that he’s the only one for me, and that I’m so far in love with him that I can’t even breathe.”

Frankie sighs. It’s devastating.

“But… Cherry. What about his fiancée? Kids? Did you think this through?” Frankie asks, watching as her friend’s eyes fall and her mouth form a straight line. Frankie hasn’t seen this look on Cherry’s face since the night she almost called her a groupie. Immediately, Frankie feels the twisting feeling of guilt in her gut.

“He’s leaving them for me. He told me last night.” Cherry’s voice is so low that Frankie isn’t sure if she’s trying to convince her, or herself.

Frankie just shakes her head. “Cherry, you can’t think like that. How could he promise you something like that? You can’t just—”

“—I can’t just what, Frankie? What are you even trying to say? I love him! That should be enough! It’s always been enough!” Before Frankie could even get another word in, Cherry just shakes her head, stepping away from her. “I don’t even know why I bothered telling you. You wouldn’t even know what love is if it slapped you right in the face.”

Frankie pauses, mouth falling slack. “What are you even talking about?”

Cherry laughs, and for the first time, Frankie hates the sound of it. “Because you don’t even give it a chance. I see the way Harry looks at you, and all you do is keep your head down, ignoring the entire thing. All you care about is your stupid article. Well ya know what? At least I let Rod close enough to give love a chance.”

Frankie isn’t sure what to say. Part of her wants to tell Cherry about the night she had with Harry on the rooftop, or the words he spoke to her, or the way he grabbed her no less than five minutes ago. But she doesn’t. Because saying them in an argument makes it less genuine.

“Cherry, I’m just trying to help. You deserve better than Rod,” Frankie says, reaching for Cherry’s hands to squeeze in reassurance.

But Cherry just jumps back as if Frankie’s hands are scorching. “You know what, maybe you and Harry are perfect for each other. Both lonely and selfish.”

And with that, Cherry walks away, and Frankie hangs behind the crowd sidestage, feeling her chest constrict in anger. Cherry couldn’t be more wrong about Harry. He let her in, he told her things he promised he would never tell anybody else. Frankie would never let him near her if he acted the way Cherry just described.

So when the show is over and Frankie feels herself retreating back into the hotel without a word to anybody else, she practically combusts when Harry shows up at her room. His eyes are blown wide and he has concern written all across his face, because all he wanted to see after the show was her. Just as he’s about to ask if she was okay, Frankie grabs him by the back of his neck and drags him through the doorway, crashing her lips onto his.

“Franks, wait, babe, what’s goin’ on?” Harry asks between kisses, and Frankie just sighs, noticing the way her head clears and her heart feels lighter whenever he is close to her.

“I just don’t want to think right now. I need you,” Frankie says, and Harry practically drops through the floor when she utters those last three words.

I need you is the closest thing to I love you Harry has ever felt. Love to him always felt compulsory, a feeling that was expected between two people. He never had to work for it, and whenever he said the words, they never meant anything to him before.

So when he hears I need you fall from Frankie’s chapped lips, he’s floored at the way those words feel inside his chest. If words were tangible, they would be pumping the blood through his chest cavity, propelling his heart up up up until it was lodged into his throat.

He never thought I need you would mean more to him than I love you.

Not until now.

“I need you all the time,” Harry responds, grabbing Frankie and pulling her onto the bed. They kiss until they’re both only wearing their undergarments, Harry clad in tight white boxer briefs and Frankie wearing a boring nude bra and matching cheeky panties. They make her feel childlike, and she wishes that she owned something black and lacy and sexy.

But Harry could care less what she’s wearing. Just the fact that she’s laying next to him, completely opening him up until he could feel like he was properly breathing for the first time in three years is enough for him. And when they kiss until their lips feel bruised, Frankie just lays her head on his chest, revelling in the feeling of his warmth.

“Thank you,” Frankie whispers against his skin.

“For what?” Harry asks, running a finger absentmindedly through her hair. Just one touch is never enough for him.

“Being here. Being you.” It’s trivial and shouldn’t really mean much, but to Harry it means everything, and he sighs blissfully at the thought that just being himself was more than enough for this beautiful girl.

“God, Franks,” Harry says slowly, resting his chin against the top of Frankie’s head. “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”

And when she’s wrapped around Harry in every sense of the word, she can’t help but think that if this is how she were to spend the rest of her nights, she wouldn’t want it any other way.

***

July 1973 - entry no. 8

The term bittersweet comes to mind when Bernie rolls into the Fillmore in San Francisco.

Bitter because it’s her last show with The Nocturnals. Bitter because Cherry hasn’t looked at her in two hours, and she doesn’t want to leave with her friendship falling to pieces in front of her. Bitter because she feels like she’s truly found herself, and she doesn’t want this feeling to escape when she arrives back in Santa Monica. Bitter because she won’t be spending her nights wrapped with Harry anymore.

The sweet part is all Harry, Frankie hates to admit. His sweet smile, the taste of his sweet lips, the way his hands feel sweetly wrapped around Frankie’s middle, the way she won’t hear him say her sweet nickname Franks.

Frankie looks over towards her right and smiles at his sleeping frame tucked next to hers. Her heart practically stilled when he chose to sit near her in the back of the bus instead of his usual spot behind Bryan in the front. If anybody felt a certain way about it, nobody mentioned it, which made Frankie relax into the ripped leather seat. When Harry’s warm hand latched onto her thigh, Frankie’s heart almost stopped beating.

“Franks, ‘m tired. Can I use you as a pillow?” Harry asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Before Frankie could reply, Harry’s head was already resting in the crook of her neck, his chestnut curls ticking the underside of her chin. Frankie just smiles, knowing that this would probably be the last spare moment they have together before she has to leave after the show to write her piece for Rolling Stone.

“So soft. You’re the sweetest, Franks,” Harry mumbles before drifting off into sleep.

The hotel is conveniently across the street from the Fillmore, so while the band unloads their instruments, Frankie slinks into her hotel room to deposit her duffle bag and sort through the endless notes she had taken during her summer with the band. Most of them are scribbled in her notebook that was practically ripping from overuse, but the most important tidbits, the ones that Frankie didn’t want to forget, were written on bar napkins and setlist pages. On room service menus and gas station receipts. Frankie makes sure to stuff those into her folder, making sure they stay with her forever.

On her way back to the concert venue, Frankie hears screaming from the room Cherry and Rod share. Part of her wants to knock and make sure that her friend is okay, but after their last conversation, Frankie’s convinced that she’s probably the last person Cherry wants to see anyways. So she saunters back to the Fillmore, rushing to try and find Harry to lift her spirits once again.

But what she sees does the complete opposite.

Bleach blonde hair. Pretty red dress. Deep hazel eyes. Brand new patent leather pumps. A handbag that definitely cost more than the entire ensemble. Matching red lips.

Red lips that were attached to Harry’s.

Frankie freezes. She can feel her heart burst, but not in the way that it has been used to doing the past few days. Instead, it’s a painful burst. She can feel shards slice through her beating flesh, ripping her open and spluttering on the concrete flooring.

Suddenly green eyes are latched onto hers.

And suddenly, they’re the last thing she wants to see.

“Oh, hello! You must be the reporter everybody has been telling me about. Frankie, right? It’s so great to meet you! This is such a great opportunity for everybody,” the pretty girl is saying, but Frankie isn’t registering anything.

All she’s registering is Harry’s hands jumping away from the girl’s waist. His green eyes wide and pleading. His uncomfortable shuffling behind her.

Frankie snaps her mouth shut, trying her hardest to pull herself together. “Hi, yes. I’m Frankie. Nice to meet you, er…”

“Roslyn. I’m Harry’s girlfriend.”

Frankie tries her hardest to keep a straight face, but she’s practically breaking at the seams. She doesn’t even register two sets of feet stopping short behind her, doesn’t even acknowledge her shaky hand slipping into Roslyn’s, doesn’t even feel the heat of Harry’s eyes on hers, of everybody’s eyes on hers.

She feels like the biggest idiot in the world.

Before she could sink into the floor, Frankie feels a small hand settle on her back, blonde ringlets falling onto her bare shoulder. She shuffles back, feeling the warmth of Cherry’s embrace behind her. She knows that Cherry’s heard everything, and with one look into Frankie’s eyes, Cherry can see her reflection through the tears that threaten to fall.

“Frankie, did you bring the necklace you borrowed from me last night?” Cherry asks. It’s an out, an excuse to drag her away from the absolute nightmare unfolding in front of her. Frankie can barely shake her head back, instead she’s gripping onto her friend for dear life, feeling that if she wasn’t anchoring her into the cement flooring she’d be sinking.

“Wait, Cher! Franks, I—”

“—Don’t. We’ll see you after the show,” Cherry says. And for the first time since knowing her, Frankie shivers at the coldness dripping from her mouth.

The two girls don’t bother to hear a response. Instead, Cherry whips through the exit door of the venue and drags Frankie back into the comfort of her hotel room. Once she’s sitting on her flimsy mattress and the door is deadbolted, Frankie finally cries, painful sobs ripping through her chest. She hunches over, feeling her chest constrict at the lack of oxygen rushing through her respiratory system. But she doesn’t care. The hurt she felt watching Harry kiss another girl feels worse than this.

“Frankie, shush, it’s going to be okay,” Cherry says sadly, wrapping a thin arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

“It’s not going to be okay. Cherry, I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Wait, I should be apologizing, Cherry I—” Frankie’s rambles are cut off by Cherry kneeling in front of her, holding her glistening face in the small palms of her hands. Cherry smiles, and when Frankie looks hard enough, she can see that it doesn’t meet her eyes. And she instantly knows that something is wrong.

“Wait, Cherry what’s wrong. Did something happen?” Frankie whimpers, holding her hands on top of Cherry’s, trying to squeeze the truth out of her friend.

“I think we should get out of here. What do you think? Let’s get away from it all,” Cherry says, gesturing at the front door where Frankie’s duffle lays untouched. Frankie feels herself nodding, grabbing Cherry in one hand and her bag in the other, walking outside of the hotel with a shattered heart.

Before they can get too far, she hears his voice. And that’s all it takes for her to feel the shards rip through her skin again.

“Franks! Please you’ve got to listen to me, please!” He’s pleading and Frankie feels disgusted that he’s calling out for her when his beautiful blonde-haired girlfriend is waiting for him inside just as she’s been waiting for him at home while he’s been wasting his time with Frankie.

“Cher, please let me talk to her, I’ve gotta—”

“—Goodbye Harry,” Frankie says softly. It’s final. Absolute.

She’s not sure who’s heart is breaking more, and honestly, she can’t bring herself to care. All she knows is that she feels as if Harry had shown her a world unlike any other—bright and unknowing and enticing and full of new wonders and surprises. But at the same time, he introduced her to heartbreak and pain and suffering and emptiness.

Frankie doesn’t look back as Cherry drags her towards the street, hailing a taxi and shoving them both into it. She doesn’t look out the window when the tires peel from the pavement, falling into traffic on the motorway. If she did, she would see Harry’s heart crumpling into the ground, his chest heaving in pain, his eyes watering.

Because they were both the closest to love they had ever felt in their lives. And Harry had ruined it. And the worst part of it all?

Frankie should have known better.

***

Inside the departures terminal in San Francisco Airport, Frankie finally wipes all of the water from her eyes. She’s pretty convinced that she’s cried all of the tears her body could produce, so with one last shaky inhale, she lifts her head from the crook of Cherry’s neck, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Thank you, Cherry,” Frankie whispers to a girl she never thought she would ever call a friend.

“I should be the one thanking you, Frankie,” Cherry admits, laughing softly to herself. It isn’t genuine, and Frankie can see the pain hidden behind her silver eyes.

“What happened?”

“You were right.” Cherry doesn’t need to explain more, but Frankie feels her heart aching for her friend. She feels horrible about their fight, but she feels even worse at the fact that Rod hurt Cherry.

“Why doesn’t he love me?” Cherry asks, and Frankie wonders how the two of them had gotten to this point. Both broken and scarred over two men who couldn’t love them the way that they needed to.

“I don’t know the answer to that, Cherry. But I do know that you never needed his love. Because love doesn’t feel like this. Love is supposed to be the thing that people write songs about, and you’ll find it one day. We’ll both find it one day.”

Cherry just nods at her brown-haired friend she’s grown to love in the span of three weeks. She hugs her tightly, hoping that this embrace will help heal their shattered hearts. Because even though they didn’t find love with Rod and Harry, they found love between each other. And that’s something worth remembering.

“Thank you,” Cherry mumbles against Frankie’s hair.

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you, Cherry,” Frankie replies, squeezing her friend a little tighter.

“I know that, and I will too.” Cherry stands up, grabbing Frankie’s hand one last time. Her suitcase is in the other, and she has a distant look in her silver eyes. “I just can’t do it here.”

Frankie smiles, knowing all along that Cherry was too good for this place. “I know. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she says with a promise.

Before Cherry runs off to purchase a one-way ticket to a city far away from California, she turns back around, her eyes glistening. She reaches down to grab Frankie’s hand one last time.

“Aubrey Lennox,” she whispers.

“What?”

“My name,” Cherry replies with her infamous grin. “Is Aubrey Lennox. I’ll call you when I’ve found a place.” And with that, Aubrey walks off, giving Frankie one last parting glance.

An hour later when the hollowness inside Frankie seems to slowly start dissipating, she sees Mary in her stewardess outfit, a million questions at the tip of her tongue. With one look at her little sister, Mary knows something is wrong, and when she tells her that she’ll take her anywhere she wants to go, Frankie only has one place in mind.

She wants to go home.

***

August 1973 - entry no. 9

Frankie writes the Rolling Stone article the night Mary finds her in the airport in San Francisco. After promising her little sister that she’ll bring her home after she checks in with Greg and feeds their cat, Frankie stays up all night, clacking away on her sister’s old Smith Corona Classic 12 typewriter, writing three thousand words about her time with The Nocturnals.

She writes about their origin. She writes about their dazzling stage presence, the way they build off of each other, the way they trust each other wholeheartedly throughout each show. She writes about their growing tension. She writes about their poor management. She writes about how they’re debut album was incredible, chart-stopping, and the main reason why they’ve been successful. She writes about the promise of their second album being better than the first, and how she couldn’t imagine them breaking up any time soon, and how their music is for all the uncool people in the world.

It’s amazing and honest and truthful, void of spite or hatred or bias. She tells their story the way it should be told—open and honest and real. When she delivers it to Rolling Stone, they tell Frankie it’s going to be on the front page. They love the way she portrays The Nocturnals as normal people, chasing the high they provide for those who pay to watch their show.

But when they make out the call to fact check her piece, they deny everything.

“Did you talk to Harry Styles?” Frankie asks, growing frantic. She figured the least he owed her was to be honest and allow her to write their story.

“He was the one who denied everything.”

After that phone call, Frankie returns home with Mary. Once she’s opened the door and said hello to her mother, she locks herself in her room for three days and doesn’t leave.

Frankie didn’t think her heart could withstand any more pain, but she was wrong. She feels a bone-aching tiredness shiver through her body, the hollowness making her feel as if she was just barely there on most days. She can’t sleep because her pillow isn’t the rising and falling of Harry’s bare chest, the soft snoring from his mouth, the gentle caress of his hands over her arms.

Her anger overrides her feeling of emptiness in regards to her heart. She’s crushed at the fact that Harry lied to her about Roslyn, but even more so, he continued to lie when he denied her story from Rolling Stone. She hates him in these days, wishing she could tell him how much of a coward he was to his face.

And when she can’t sleep at night, she hears Lester’s words reverberating through her brain, don’t get too close, don’t get too close, don’t get too close.

Frankie wishes she just fucking listened.

***

The next morning, Frankie is lathering a thin layer of butter over her charred toast when the doorbell rings. She doesn’t make a move to answer it, and when Mary approaches the kitchen with a twinkle in her eyes, Frankie knows that whoever is at the door is waiting for her.

“Mary, no—”

“—Go answer it, Frankie.”

Frankie gulps her dry toast down her throat, letting it fall onto a paper towel with a soft thud. She walks slowly to the front door, hoping that whoever it is could see the state of disarray she was in and would presumptively leave her alone.

Once she reaches the foyer, she hears a gruff laugh, a noise she’s never heard before.

“Holy shit, you’re a fuckin’ kid.”

When she looks up, it’s no other than Lester Bangs in the doorway. His long hair is parted to one side, brown eyes covered in black wayfarer sunglasses. His brown leather jacket hangs off his arms, and she’s shocked that he would come all the way from San Francisco to talk to her.

“Cat’s out the bag,” Frankie shrugs, realizing that she’s too tired and too hurt to keep up her adult façade. She’s fully aware that her plaid pajama bottoms and high school t-shirt give away the fact that she is actually eighteen years old.

But somehow, Lester doesn’t seem to mind.

“Had a feeling. You write like you’re experiencing shit for the first time in your life.” Frankie tries to ignore the truthfulness to his words.

“Yeah, well… What are you exactly doing here, Lester?” Frankie asks.

Lester holds up his left hand and clutched inside is the August edition of Rolling Stone’s magazine. On the front cover is a picture of The Nocturnals: Harry, Eddie, Veronica, Jett, and Rod, posing in front of a red backdrop. On the left hand column reads THE NOCTURNALS: Sex, Drugs, and Life on the Road. And right under that, in glossy red print, reads Written by: Frankie Goodhart.

Frankie starts to feel the hollowness inside of her fill up.

“Harry Styles called and told us that everything you said was true. And that he’s sorry, for some reason,” Lester says, holding out the publication for her to keep. She runs her fingers over the words, smiling for the first time in a week.

“Wow, uh, I don’t know what to say,” Frankie says, floored.

Lester laughs and produces a second copy, holding out a Sharpie in the other. “Mind if you sign mine? Figured it’ll be worth a lot once you make it big, kid.”

Frankie laughs, before shakily reaching out and signing her name in big swoopy letters. Before Lester leaves, he tells her to keep sending him her album reviews, and that whenever she figures out what she wants to do with her life, he’ll always be waiting for her call.

A few days later, the hollowness doesn’t feel as painful anymore. Frankie distracts herself by hanging out with her sister, spending time with her mother, listening to new records, telling Mary the in’s and out’s of her time on the road. She leaves out a certain curly-haired boy with green eyes that broke her heart, but Mary knows that Frankie will tell her over time, once she’s finished mending the scars he left her with.

When Mary announces that she’s heading back to San Francisco, her departure isn’t as sad as the first time. Cynthia and her daughter seemed to have found common ground with Mary’s outlook on life, and with a promise to be back for Thanksgiving, Frankie starts to feel like the ground isn’t as shaky as it was a month earlier.

“Want to go to Tower Records with me? One last time before I go, for old time’s sake,” Mary whispers in her sister’s ear when their mother is busy making lunch.

Frankie nods, and the two girls set off across the boardwalk.

The sun warms Frankie to her core, and she suddenly starts to feel the weight being lifted from her shoulders. She feels more in control of her life now than ever before, and walking side by side with her sister, she no longer feels hollow. Instead, she feels excited. Excited for her future. Excited for the idea of endless possibilities and newness.

“You should come with me to San Francisco, Frankie! I can get you a stewardess position and we can travel the world together. Live like we never have before. What do you say, kiddo?” Mary asks, rifling through the “M” section of the new releases in the record store.

Before, Frankie would have done anything to be closer to her sister. But now, in the after, she feels a new sense of home in Santa Monica.

“I think I’m gonna stay here. Go to college at UCLA. Probably study English, if they’ll let me,” Frankie announces. And for once, she actually means what she’s saying.

Mary smiles at her sister, her thumbs crossing over towards the “N” category.

“Whatever you end up doing Frankie, just remember that you’re doing it for yourself. And that no matter what, I’m in your corner. Always have, always will.”

Frankie reaches an arm around her sister, holding her close. She hopes that Mary can feel the love she has for her through her embrace, and when Mary smiles, she knows she can feel it.

“Oh, I haven’t seen this before,” Mary says, coming to a stop on a record in the middle of the “N” bin.

Frankie watches as her sister pulls out a black vinyl wrapped in a pink and blue sleeve. The band she spent weeks on the road with is written on the top, with the picture from the Rolling Stone cover in the middle. When Frankie’s eyes scroll towards the bottom of the record, she can feel her breath catch in her throat when she reads the name of the title.

GOOD HEART.

[caitlesshea]

die for you in secret

“James? Is that you?” 

Sébastien calls as he looks up from his garden and sees the lights in the house turn on. 

The garden was his therapists idea after he had expressed an interest during a session. James had readily agreed and now their backyard is filled with flowers and trees.

It’s where Sébastien spends most of his time when James is working. Or when he’s on a job with Sébastien’s family, the one that Sébastien hasn’t seen in almost a decade. 

Exile. 

He started out alone, and then about six months in he showed up on James’ doorstep, drunk and soaked from the rain looking like a drowned rat. 

That was ten years ago. 

He puts down his gardening shears and takes off his gloves, eager to see James after three weeks away. 

“James?” He calls again as he steps into the house from the back door. The kitchen lights are on and he can hear someone walking around. “You better not be trying to cook.” 

Sébastien rounds the corner into the kitchen and he’s met, not with the sight of his husband, but with the barrel of a gun.

“What?”

“Who are you? Why are you in my house?” James asks in an eerily calm voice Sébastien’s only heard a couple of times, and never directed at him.

“James. Put that down!”

“Who are you? Why are you in my house?”

“It’s me, Sébastien.”

“I don’t know anyone named Sébastien.” James growls as he moves closer with the gun.

And okay. Not great. 

“James, lower the gun.” 

“No.”

Sébastien puts his hands up in an I’m not a threat gesture but James doesn’t lower his weapon. 

“James, chéri. I live here. C’mon, put the gun away and we can talk about what’s wrong.”

“Don’t call me that! You don’t live here. Where’s Natasha? What have you done with her?”

The blood drains from Sébastien’s face. Something is very wrong.

“Natasha?” Sébastien croaks out.

“My wife!” James snaps and then shakes his head. “Where is she?”

“She’s...shit.” Sébastien moves a little closer to see if James will lower the gun. 

He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but how do you tell your husband that doesn’t seem to remember you that the woman he does remember is gone. 

“Tell me!” 

Sébastien has just a moment to register that James is pulling the trigger when he staggers back, hand automatically going to his shoulder where blood is pouring out of the wound. He winces through the healing and James stands frozen like he can’t believe he just shot someone. 

Sébastien reaches for the gun they keep under the cabinet and aims without thinking about the fact that he’s shooting at his husband. 

He manages with great aim to knock the gun out of James hand, just barely grazing his fingers that have already started to heal. 

Another perk of the last ten years. James has been immortal for nine of them, something they’ve hidden from the team, along with them being married for the last eight. 

“You shot me.” James says a little bewildered and Sébastien gestures at himself. 

“Look. You were just in Istanbul right?” At James’ nod of confirmation, Sébastien continues. “You remember Andy and Nile?”

James nods again and Sébastien breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Okay. So, I know you have no reason to trust me, but something must’ve happened. I want to help you figure it out but please, can you stop trying to shoot me?”

James nods again and Sébastien stands, wincing a little at the barely there twinge in his shoulder.

“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you get showered and I’ll make lunch and we can figure this out.” 

Sébastien ushers James into the bathroom and grabs comfy clothes for him to wear, hoping to keep James out of their bedroom for now. 

When the shower turns on Sébastien runs around their house finding every gun, knife, and weapon they have hidden and shoves them into the safe in the office and then changes the combination to his late son Jean-Pierre’s birthday for good measure. 

Sébastien picks up James’ duffle by the front door and brings it back into their room to sort through the laundry. 

He’s barely unzipped the bag when he sees a bookmark from Istanbul on the top. He chokes down the sob that threatens to escape at the familiar gift they buy each other. 

At least James remembered who he was at some point on this trip. 

Sébastien sits down on their bed and looks at James’ nightstand, the one that used to have a photo of Natasha. The same photo that now lives in the living room next to a picture of Sébastien’s late family. 

In its place is a jewelry stand that keeps James’ wedding ring, a modern gold band that he’s worn for eight years, but doesn’t wear on missions. It also holds a necklace, the chain matching the one Sébastien wears. Only James’ necklace holds Sébastien’s original three band wedding ring from the eighteen hundreds. On Sébastien’s chain is James’ slimmer gold wedding band from his marriage to Natasha. 

Sébastien wears a black tungsten band now, having liked the look of it when they went shopping. He grips the chain under his shirt and can’t help the sob that escapes.

If James thinks he’s still married to Natasha he’ll want his wedding band. 

Sébastien takes off the chain but before he can unclasp the ring the shower shuts off. 

He’s hoping James goes into the kitchen but no such luck. 

“You’re in my room?” 

Sébastien jumps and turns to face James as he stands.

“Sorry, I was putting your laundry away.” He gestures to the duffle bag and James nods.

“The guest room doesn’t look lived in.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You said you live here. The guest room doesn’t look lived in.”

“Oh, uh.”

“What’s this?” James crosses the room and grabs the necklace with Sébastien’s first wedding ring on it. His heart clenches as James rubs his fingers over the ring almost reverently.

“It’s yours.” Sébastien whispers. It was something they gave to each other when they got married, weird as it may seem, but to them it symbolizes that they have each other’s whole heart and the memories from their mortal lives live within each other.

“And this?” James picks up his wedding ring and Sébastien has to put the palms of his hands to his eyes to stop the tears. 

“It’s your wedding ring.”

“But I thought?”

Sébastien holds up the necklace with James’ first wedding ring on it and James takes it from him. It’s the first time Sébastien’s been without it in almost eight years. 

James turns it over in his hand and then hands it back to Sébastien as he grabs the gold band from his nightstand and puts it on instead.

“You don’t want?” Sébastien can barely get the words out, afraid of what James might say. 

“I think I want to wear this one.”

“Okay.” Sébastien whispers. “Lemme get this laundry in the wash and I’ll make lunch.” He grabs the clothes, eager to get out of their room and into the bigger open space of the house.

He puts the clothes in the wash and gets started on lunch, watching as James walks through their living room, taking in the changes from whatever time period James thinks it is. 

He’s just finishing the quick sandwiches when he decides to bite the bullet and call Andy for the first time in ten years.

He passes James his food while he waits for Andy to answer. 

“Thanks.” James nods as he looks at the blood on the floor and grimaces.

“I’ll clean it after you eat.” James looks like he’s going to protest but Sébastien turns away from him. “C’mon, pick up. Pick up.”

“Booker?” Andy answers hesitantly and Sébastien nearly sobs. 

“Andy.”

“Is something wrong?”

Oh, nothing much. Just my hundred year exile. Just my husband having no clue who I am. Just my husband thinking his late wife is still alive. Just my husband being immortal so this shouldn't be happening. Oh yeah, and he shot me. What isn’t wrong?

“It’s Copley.” The name tastes weird in his mouth after James took Le Livre as his last name when they got married. 

“What about him?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“What are you talking about? You’re in contact with him?”

“Look, I can explain everything but I just need to know if something happened in Istanbul?”

Andy sucks in a breath. “How did you?”

“Andy! Please, he doesn’t…” Sébastien swallows the sob. “He thinks Natasha is alive.” Sébastien whispers the last part.

“Who?”

“His wife.”

Andy sucks in a breath. “Where are you?”

“We’re in Surrey.”

“We’ll be there tonight.”

“Andy, please just tell me if something happened?”

“I don’t know, Book. He seemed fine when we parted ways at the airport.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

Sébastien puts the phone down and looks over at James who’s staring intently at him.

“Natasha’s gone isn’t she?”

Sébastien sucks in a breath. “Yeah.”

James nods and gestures for Sébastien to join him at the counter.

Sébastien grabs James’ hand and squeezes, letting the buzzing that he’s felt since James has been home settle with contact. James' breath catches and Sébastien can tell James can feel it, too.

“I’m sorry.” Sébastien whispers.

“You’ve lost people, too?” James gestures to the living room where the photos of their mortal families are.

“We both have.”

James nods and Sébastien grabs his tablet to pull up his mission notes.

“I want to figure out what happened from you leaving Istanbul to now.”

“You think something happened?”

“Well, you don’t remember me and you think it’s at least twelve years ago.”

“No, I know it’s twenty thirty one.” James rubs his hands over his face. “I know why I was in Istanbul with Andy, Nile, Joe, and Nicky. I just don’t know why I can’t remember you or why I forgot Natasha’s gone.” 

“I…”

“It’s like you’ve been swapped in my mind.”

Sébastien sucks in a breath and can’t quite stop the tears from falling.

“Shit. I’m sorry…” James looks apologetic and then he winces. “I’m sorry, what is your name again?”

“It’s Sébastien Le Livre, my family calls me Booker.” 

“But I don’t?” At Sébastien’s confused face James continues. “What do I call you?”

“Oh. Sébastien or Bastien.”

“And you live here?”

“I do.”

“Huh.”

“Look, I’m sure you’re tired. And if the team is coming here tonight you might as well rest.”

“What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Sébastien shrugs as he starts clearing the plates from their lunch away. 

James eventually nods and shuffles toward their bedroom and Sébastien sits down heavily on one of the bar stools. 

He pulls up James’ mission notes, thankful he’s as thorough as he is. Everything looks to be in order, even his notes from the airport look normal. James even made a note to stop at the store to pick up Sébastien’s favorite bread for the chili Sébastien was planning on making. 

Sébastien watches the tears fall onto the tablet as he leans his head down on the table. 

At least he knows something happened on the plane which is a good place to start. 

He spends the next several hours on the computer looking up passenger manifests, passenger accounts, cell phone photos, and videos. He’s barely made a dent when James knocks on the office door.

“Have you been in here this whole time?”

Sébastien looks at the clock and winces. It’s been four hours since he started and if his old team is going to be here soon he needs to start dinner.

“Yeah. Sorry. Let me start dinner and we can go over what I found.”

“I can - ”

Sébastien chuckles. “No. You really can’t.”

James huffs a laugh. “Well, I guess that memory is correct.”

“Mmm.” 

Sébastien starts on dinner, a quick stir fry the team and James both love, as James grabs the tablet.

“I was supposed to go to the store?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh yeah. No worries though. Stir fry instead, if that’s okay?” 

“Yeah, as long as there’s - ”

“Cashews, yeah.” Sébastien points to the jar on the counter and James smiles. 

“How long?” James clears his throat. “How long have we known each other?”

Sébastien pauses his chopping and leans against the counter to look at James. There’s bags under his eyes that weren’t there when he got home and his normal house clothes, loose jeans, a shirt, and cardigan, are rumpled, like he didn’t actually sleep during those four hours. 

It hurts his heart to think that James is just as affected by this amnesia as Sébastien is. 

“Almost twenty years.”

“So you knew?”

Sébastien’s heart clenches. “I met her once, briefly.”

“Why do I look the same?”

“Oh.” Sébastien laughs quietly. “We’re immortal.”

“Like Nile, Joe, and Nicky?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s why we both healed from the gunshots?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Sébastien twists his wedding ring, trying to block out the memory of being shot by his husband and shooting his husband. 

“Me, too.” 

“And your wife?” Sébastien looks up sharply at that. “Did I ever meet her?”

“No.” Sébastien swallows back the sob that wants to escape. “She passed long before you were born.”

“And your boys?”

Sébastien really can’t help the tears that fall this time. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sébastien waves him off. “It was a long time ago.”

“How long?”

Sébastien kinda hates these invasive questions. They’re all things that James knows, but they were whispered to each other at night while cuddled together. James kissing the tears off of Sébastien’s cheeks. This is different.

“I was born in seventeen seventy so they all passed in the eighteen hundreds.”

“Damn.”

That startles a laugh out of Sébastien. “Yeah.” 

“Did you find anything?” James holds up the tablet and Sébastien nods.

“Nothing concrete, but two other passengers have been admitted to the hospital since arriving home.”

“You think we were drugged?”

“It’s possible. Do you remember eating or drinking anything?”

“No. I usually don’t.”

Sébastien nods, they’re all paranoid about pretty much everything.

“I’m wondering if whatever is wrong with those other two is also wrong with you, but your body is healing quicker than there’s.”

“Have the doctors found anything?”

“Not yet. And it’s not exactly easy to hack into medical files.” Sébastien raises an eyebrow and James smirks back at him and for a moment Sébastien forgets that his husband doesn’t remember him.

“Something I taught you?”

“Yeah.” Sébastien whispers as he starts cooking the veggies and chicken since Andy texted saying they were thirty minutes out.

James must realize that the mood has changed as he starts setting the table, the familiarity of them moving effortlessly around the kitchen makes Sébastien’s heart clench.

“They said they’re about thirty minutes out.”

James nods as he starts getting out drinks for everyone.

“No alcohol?” James asks as he heads over to the fridge and bar area they have.

“No. Uhh, I’ve been sober for almost ten years. We have some wine we use to cook, if you want.”

“No. That’s fine. That’s, well, it’s wonderful Sébastien.”

Sébastien blushes at the familiar praise, James being the biggest supporter of his sobriety, even if he doesn’t remember.

James ends up choosing water for everyone and as he passes Sébastien in the kitchen Sébastien wants to reach out and kiss him, the move as ingrained in him as fighting, but much more pleasant. He stops himself at the last moment and lets his hand fall.

Sébastien finishes cooking and has just placed the last of the food on the table when there’s a knock at the door. He exhales loudly, his fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh. James notices.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Sébastien shakes his head. 

“Sébastien.” The worrying lilt to James’ voice makes Sébastien’s heart break. 

“I uh...I haven’t seen them in ten years.”

“Why?”

Sébastien looks at James and sees he’s genuinely curious but he doesn’t have it in him to explain to James all that happened ten years ago. 

“Just needed some time apart. Go let them in.” Sébastien waves him away and James looks like he’s going to argue but thankfully he doesn’t. 

James opens the door and Sébastien hears them all first. Andy’s low voice, Nile’s cheerful one, Nicky and Joe’s perfectly timed hey. 

Then he sees them. For the first time in ten years. 

He knows Andy got her immortality back, but it’s still shocking to see her looking the same as she did that day by the Thames. Her hair is a little shorter, less in her eyes, but she’s still Andy. 

Nile looks just as young as she did that first night in France and Sébastien smiles when he realizes she is clearly the most fashionable besides Joe.

Joe. His brother. Who looks good in his leather jacket and black jeans. His hair is a little shorter but his beard is the same.

Then there’s Nicky. Looking like he just stepped out of a magazine. His hair is longer, he has a beard, and Sébastien can see he’s wearing earrings and rings. It suits him. Just as jeans and t-shirts do. 

Sébastien’s still tapping his fingers against his thighs as he stands and accepts Nile’s hug.

“Hey, Book.”

“Hey, kid.” 

She scrunches her nose and he laughs as he goes to hug Andy.

“Andromache.”

“None of that Book. Tell us what’s going on.” She grabs the back of his neck as she steps away and he gestures to the table.

“I made stir fry.” Sébastien says a little helplessly as everyone sits around the table. 

They all sit in the same seats that they’ve sat in previously, when Sébastien had made them dinner and then made himself scarce, much to James’ annoyance. 

The seat next to James is empty, like it normally is when his family’s here for dinner and they had all assumed it was for his late wife but Sébastien sits in his normal chair when it’s just the two of them and everyone stares at him.

“What?”

“Didn’t Copley make this?” Nile says around a mouthful.

Sébastien can’t help it, he laughs, loudly. So loud there are tears in his eyes. James is trying not to laugh as well, hiding his face behind a napkin. Sébastien wants to reach out and squeeze James’ hand, but he resists.

“Uh, no. James can’t even boil water.”

“We’ve had this before.” Nicky says as he eats and hums a little with each bite, a sure sign that he likes the meal.

“You have.”

“Care to share?” Joe asks as he takes a bite and smiles approvingly.

“Not really?” Sébastien knows he’s going to have to start talking. He knows he’s going to have to start sharing about what the last ten years have looked like for him, for them, but he’s not ready. 

“Let me guess.” Nile starts. “You always cooked and then made yourself scarce so we wouldn’t see you?”

“Pretty much yeah.” Sébastien whispers and James looks over at him like he’s trying to work something out but can’t yet.

“Why?” Nicky asks as he looks around at what he can see of their house.

“Umm. I was exiled.” Sébastien shrugs and then turns to look at James when he gasps. 

James’ fingers are twitching, a sure sign he’s either anxious or annoyed and Sébastien would put money on it being both.  

“It’s fine.” Sébastien says quietly just for James and it’s enough to calm the twitching fingers. 

“And how long have you been doing that?” Nicky asks, looking between James and Sébastien like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Pretty much since the beginning.” Sébastien taps his fingers against the table this time. 

Sébastien tunes out the questions that everyone seems to have for James after that, trying to figure out what happened to him. Thankfully they let Sébastien’s comments slide, although that reprieve is short lived. 

“I do remember my wedding.” Sébastien looks over at James and thinks that he’s going to start waxing poetic about his wedding to Natasha, at a grand cathedral that her parents paid for when James was just starting at the Agency. 

What he doesn’t expect is for James to start talking about their wedding. What he also doesn’t expect is for James to think it was also with Natasha.

“Well, second wedding, I suppose.” James continues and Sébastien’s heart breaks. “It was here in our backyard, the garden was just beginning to bloom, there were café lights everywhere. It was small, with just some of my family. But it was perfect.”

Sébastien makes a high pitched wounded sound and everyone looks over at him with questions in their eyes.

“Were you there?” James asks him and Sébastien’s pretty sure he dies and revives a moment later. “You said you met her.” 

Sébastien clears his throat and it feels like he’s choking on glass. “I was there.” 

Sébastien can’t help it, he turns his wedding ring around on his finger, a nervous habit that everyone at the table has zeroed in on.

“Well, it was beautiful right? Natasha, even though I can’t remember, I’m sure looked beautiful.”

“She wasn’t there.” Sébastien whispers brokenly.

“What?”

“She wasn’t there.” Sébastien scrubs his hands over his face and he finally lifts his left hand enough for everyone to notice the different wedding band. 

“She wasn’t there because it’s our wedding you’re remembering. Eight years ago, last month. Your parents, brother and sister in law, and nieces were there. And I was there. Because I’m your husband. And I’ve lived here for ten years, been sober for most of it, about as long as you’ve been immortal.”

Sébastien doesn’t wait for anyone to respond, takes one look at James’ face, gets up from the table, and practically runs outside.

He can vaguely hear Andy’s what the fuck? But he doesn’t care. 

He gets outside to his garden and breathes in as deep as he can as he bends over, hands on his knees, and then sinks to the ground. 

He vaguely hears the door open and then familiar footsteps as Joe steps into his line of vision.

Sébastien looks up into the face of his oldest friend, his brother, someone he has missed desperately these last ten years, and cries.

Joe lowers himself to the ground and pulls Sébastien into this chest. Sébastien puts his hands around Joe’s middle, shoulders shaking with sobs he can’t control. 

Joe lets him cry, lets him get snot and tears all over his shirt before Sébastien calms himself enough to sit back on his heels.

Joe lets him go, although he looks like he doesn’t want to.

“I’m sorry.” Sébastien croaks out.

“No, Sébastien.” Joe tsks at him. “We’re sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being here for you, for not knowing where you were, or that you’re sober, or that Copley’s immortal, or that you got married.”

Sébastien waves him away. “I still have ninety years of my exile left. You would’ve found out eventually.”

“That’s.” Joe shakes his head like he wants to say more, but stops himself. “We’ll revisit this, once we figure out what’s wrong with Copley.”

“Le Livre.” Sébastien murmurs because he can’t help himself.

“What?”

“James. He uhh...took my last name, so Le Livre.” 

Joe smirks at him and Sébastien smiles ruefully. 

“We didn’t dream him.”

“We actually think you did. I mean, he did, but when none of you called we assumed you all just thought it was a normal dream.”

“And he died?” 

Sébastien sucks in a breath as he remembers getting a call from emergency services of an accident shortly after James had listed Sébastien as his emergency contact. 

Before Sébastien even made it to the hospital he got a splitting headache and then images of James in the hospital bed, fighting with nurses that he was okay. 

“Yeah, car accident. He was alive by the time I got to the hospital.”

Joe sucks in a breath. “He was arguing with nurses?”

“Yeah.” Sébastien chuckles.

“We did dream about him.” 

Sébastien shrugs and gets up to sit down on one of the benches he built for the garden. Joe sits down next to him and bumps Sébastien’s shoulder with his own. 

“It’s beautiful out here.”

“Merci.”

“So, you got married out here?”

“Oui. Over there, in the gazebo.” Sébastien smiles at the fond memories. 

“I’m sorry we weren’t here.”

“I know why you weren’t.” Sébastien pushes himself closer to Joe, soaking up his warmth before they all leave again. “There’s photos.”

“Really?”

“Yes, his brother in law insisted.”

“I’d love to see them.”

Sébastien pulls out his phone and shows Joe his lock screen photo. It’s James and Sébastien during their first kiss, huge smiles on their faces as confetti rains down around them. 

Joe discreetly wipes at his eyes and Sébastien chuckles.

“Beautiful.” Joe grips his hand. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong with James.”

“Honestly, I think whatever drug the other passengers were given he also got, but his immortality is fighting it, so he now has amnesia, and not a hospitalization.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

“I also don’t think it was connected to the job in Turkey. I think he just got caught in something else.”

The back door opens again and Sébastien sees James’ head pop out. Joe stands and grabs Sébastien’s shoulder as James makes his way over.

“We’ll keep looking at everything to make sure. But I think he’ll be fine.” Joe whispers. “It’s all set up in the office?”

Sébastien nods as James sits down next to him and Joe goes back inside. 

“I’m sorry.” James whispers as he looks out at the garden.

“What?” Sébastien looks at James incredulously. “Why are you sorry?”

“For forgetting. For not remembering you, our life.”

“You have amnesia. I’m not mad. You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I’m hurting you.”

“You aren’t.”

“Okay, then I did.”

“You didn’t do anything James. It was just… overwhelming.” Sébastien settles on instead of saying things like soul crushing or devastating. 

James raises an eyebrow at him and the move is so familiar that Sébastien chuckles wetly.

“Good to know I still got it.” James quips and Sébastien snorts.

“You’ve still got it, old man.”

“You can’t just steal my nickname, Sébastien.”

Sébastien’s breath catches. “What did you say?”

“I...I call you old man.”

“You remember?”

“It’s...I’m not sure, everything’s foggy.”

“Hey, it’s okay chéri. We’ll figure this out.” Sébastien grabs James’ hand without thinking and notices a slight blush high on James’ cheeks. 

“James?” Sébastien’s trying to figure out what happened to cause James to blush and then he let’s go of James’ hand. “Sorry.”

“No, I...I remember the first time you called me that.”

“Called you what?”

“Chéri.”

“Oh.” Sébastien grabs the back of his neck as he remembers the first time he called James sweetheart.

They were in bed and it was late, James had woken up from a nightmare, Natasha’s name on his lips, when Sébastien had wrapped his large arms around him, whispered sweet nothings in his ear as he kissed his head. James had settled almost immediately and then told Sébastien he loved him for the first time. 

“I don’t remember anything, but I can hear your voice saying it in the dark.”

“It was dark.” 

“You’re not telling me something.”

“I think we should let the memories rest until we figure out what happened to you.”

“Nile’s on the computer and Nicky helped me clean up dinner.”

“Sorry I just walked out.”

This time James waves him away and Sébastien gives him a wry smile.

“C’mon. Let’s keep looking at the passengers. Somebody drugged people on your plane, we need to figure out why.”

When Sébastien walks inside he stops short at the absolute hurricane his family has turned the office into. 

“Uh? 

“We figured it out!” Nile shouts and waves some papers in the air.

The breath leaves Sébastien at once and he puts his hands on his knees.

“Tell me.”

“Okay, so it looks like all of the men on the plane were drugged. Some kind of memory erasing serum, only they messed up the dosage. So some people got extremely sick, like the passengers Booker found, some didn’t get sick at all, and some are experiencing temporary amnesia. We think Copley’s immortality is fighting the effects of a larger dose.”

“So it’s temporary?”

“Looks that way. Interpol has the assholes in custody, someone squealed.”

“So we just what? Wait it out?” Sébastien looks over at James, who’s looking at the papers Nile printed. 

There’s a look of concentration on James’ face that Sébastien knows means nothing good.

“We think so. Some of the hospitalized passengers are already showing improvement.”

Sébastien nods. 

“Hey.” He slowly grabs James’ hands and pulls the papers from them. James looks at him and Sébastien’s heart breaks at the look in his eyes.

“How did they drug us?” James asks after squeezing Sébastien’s hands and stepping closer to Nile.

“Needles in the seats, would’ve happened when you sat down.”

“Merde.”

“Yeah, I fucking hate this century.” Andy snorts from her spot on the couch and everyone around the room except Nile and James nod their heads.

“Interpol called, I told them Mr. Le Livre had a migraine and was resting and we’d let them know if anything changed.” Nicky smirks. “I had to pretend to be Booker, got to dust off my French accent.”

Sébastien laughs at Nicky but turns toward James who’s looking at him oddly.

“James?” 

“Le Livre?”

“Uh.” Sébastien looks around the room and he really doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of everyone but he takes a deep breath and tells James. “It’s our last name.”

James looks surprised but must sense Sébastien’s hesitation because he just nods once. 

All of a sudden Sébastien’s exhausted. It’s barely been twelve hours since James came home but it feels like they’ve been dealing with this for days. 

“I think we’ve done all we can for now.” Sébastien whispers. “Joe and Nicky, you can have the guest room. Nile and Andy, if you don’t mind the couch in here pulls out.”

“That’s fine.” Andy nods.

Sébastien looks at the clock and winces at the late or early morning hour depending on how you look at it.

“I’m going to bed. The guest bath has extras of anything you forgot.”

At that he turns and heads toward their bedroom, grabs pajamas out of their dresser and his pillow before seeing James standing in the doorway. 

“Where are you going?”

“The couch.” Sébastien grabs another blanket from the closet before he feels James touch his arm.

“Do you usually sleep on the couch?”

“Only when I’ve been bad.” Sébastien quips without thinking about it.

James huffs a laugh and Sébastien smiles. 

“Sleep in here.”

“James.”

“Please. I...I would feel more comfortable if you were close.”

Sébastien looks at James and sees the truth in his eyes. He nods once and sets the pillows and blankets back on the bed and crawls into it to get comfortable. 

James chuckles and scoots in next to him. Sébastien wants to roll into James’ side and tuck his face into James’ neck like he usually does but instead he stays on his back. 

James turns the light off. “Goodnight Sébastien.”

“Night.” Sébastien whispers, knowing sleep will be a long time coming. 

~~~

Sébastien wakes up to James poking him. He swats at James’ hands.

“Stop it.” Sébastien grumbles in a sleep rough voice. He snuggles closer into James’ neck, content when he finally gets comfortable.

He can feel and hear James’ chuckle in response.

“Is this any way to greet me after being away for three weeks, mon amour?”

At the French endearment Sébastien shoots up and stares at James.

“James?” Sébastien croaks and James nods his head and pulls Sébastien against him.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

“You’re here.” Sébastien winds his arms around his husband and cries when James kisses him on his forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, darling.”

Sébastien just squeezes James tighter and puts his face into James’ neck. 

“I thought I lost you.” Sébastien whispers after a moment, calm enough now to move back and look into James’ eyes. 

The recognition in them makes him cry again.

“Never. You’ll never lose me.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No. But I’ll always be here.” James puts his hand over Sébastien’s heart. 

“I love you.” Sébastien leans forward and kisses James for the first time in three weeks. 

It feels like home.

“Je t'aime.”