#but now after green day concert i feel that my life is pointless until the next time i get to see them both bands

[f1xmeinfortyfive]

it's that me depresso or whatever that sabrina girl sings on her song

[deans-mind-palace]

Suspirium (Pt.7)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you’re majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 

Warnings: Fluff and not-so-slowburn-anymore

Author’s Note: Chapter 7. Had a hard time writing this. 

Like always, my tag lists for Sam (thereby also for this story) are OPEN

Or you catch up here: Suspirium - Masterlist

You and Sam had not talked about this incident in his car, even after he wrote you that he had arrived home safely. Your thoughts weren't with Sam either, though they probably should be. Instead, you stared at the screen of your cell phone as if paralyzed.

Adam: We have to talk!

Your throat was dry and you swallowed while gasping for air. How did he get your fucking number? You made sure you burned all the bridges behind you when you left that night. How the hell did they find you after four years? You slumped down on the wall and your phone fell out of your hand. Two days had passed since the news. Two fuckin' days you could've dreamt of Sam's lips, but here you were, sitting on the edge of a cliff, having a panic attack.

You moistened your lips because they were dry as dust. Only a few hours ago Sam's lips were on top of yours and now your small, intact, hard-won world was about to collapse like a house of cards. And all you could do was sit idly by and watch everything you had built up so hard break apart again.

If you didn't have other problems right now, it would fascinate you how fast life could turn. Just a moment ago you had kissed your professor and now, only twenty-four hours later, you were leaning against a wall as a sobbing mess. What irony of fate. "Optimum est pati quod emendare non possis. It is best to endure what you cannot change," muttered you Seneca's words softly. It was Saturday and you still had to write your term paper for Sam's class.

For a moment you thought about blocking Adam and simply deleting his message and then pretending that nothing had ever happened, but you knew that it was pointless. Adam was one of the most influential men in England, as was your father. If they wanted your number, they would get it. No matter what it costs. They all had enough money...

You spent the rest of the day writing at your work, trying not to give Adam a thought, nor to let her wander to Sam. Easier said than done. Especially when you were writing an essay for him. Although you tried it with a hot bath, with your favorite food and also a hot milk with honey, when that didn't help with tea, you slept badly at night. You and Sam had stopped texting, and you had a date for tomorrow. Your initial euphoria had ebbed and given way to the worry of how you would face him. Was it all just a mistake? A misunderstanding? Do you regret it? Did he regret it? Maybe you should just say that something came up and Sunday didn't work out? All those doubts were playing havoc with your head.

The night was restless, and you could barely get an eye closed. Again and again you woke up at the slightest noise. You rolled around in your bed until your blanket and pillow were at the foot of the bed, then you were too cold again. In the end, you slept only a few hours, which hardly contributed to your recovery. While you almost fell asleep with your head in your breakfast, you thought about whether you should tell someone. You had never told Maddie or Brooks about your past. And there was no one else. You stared wearily at the murky liquid in your coffee cup.

In a few hours you would have to show up at Sam's house and even though you didn't feel much joy, deep down you were happy to see him again. You spent a quiet day until your appointment and started getting ready for the meeting in the afternoon. You packed your manuscript and a few minutes later Sam wrote you his address.  

It wasn't hard to find. In fact, the apartment was only two blocks from yours, so you got there way too soon. You were just thinking about going for a walk, but by then, Sam's door was ripped open and he beamed at you. "Hey there, Y/N. Come in." With a smile, he stepped aside and let you in. And you felt a warm feeling in your heart. You looked around a little bit. It was a small but comfortable apartment. A bit sporadic, just like most men's apartments. The kitchen was open and led into the cosy living room, which like his office, was littered with bookshelves. In the middle was a big flat screen, which didn't quite fit into the picture. The hallway was divided from the living area by an open room divider. On a chest of drawers were some pictures of Sam and his brother. Next to them was a blue-eyed man with brown hair, around whom they had both wrapped one arm. The brothers were wearing band shirts and behind them the crowd of a concert could be seen. The picture was a bit blurred and while the two brothers were celebrating frolicsomely with beer in their hands, the third man seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable. He threw a reserved, almost shy smile into the camera and seemed calmer than his companions. Sam's eyes fell on the picture and he smiled, but said nothing.

Before you could look around any further, a scent rose up your nose and made your mouth water. Sam laughed when he saw your dreamy look. "I made pineapple chicken." You looked at him in surprise. "Well, it's the only dish I don't burn. I didn't want to risk serving you something burnt, so I better played it safe." You started to laugh. " Pineapple chicken is perfect." Sam was smiling. "Very good. So make yourself comfortable and make yourself at home." he instructed you, and an egg timer began to chime. "Isn't there anything I can do to help?" you asked, feeling somewhat useless and lost in the room. But Sam shook his head, causing a few brown streaks to fall on his face. "At least let me set the table," you asked and Sam nodded. "All right, then. Come with me, I'll show you where everything is."

While Sam pulled the nice smelling chicken out of the oven and turned it over, you set the table. Sam hummed to himself as he worked and reminded you once again how good it felt to be around him. The table was set, but Sam had insisted on having some wine. The problem was that the glasses were on top of the cupboard. You weren't little, but this was a household of a giant. "Sam?" "Huh?" "I can't reach the wine glasses." A throaty laugh rang out before Sam came into the kitchen. Before you knew it, he was standing right behind you. His body radiated a pleasant warmth and his aftershave enveloped you in a cloud. He was so close that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. He had trapped you between the kitchen counter and his body and when you tried to turn, your nose almost touched his. "Wait." Suddenly you felt two strong hands on your hips lifting you up. After making a startled sound, you began to chuckle and fished two wine glasses from the shelf.

After Sam dropped you off, you turned to him again and you began to think about the kiss two days ago. None of you had mentioned it before... If you had wanted to, you could have counted the brown speckles in his green eyes, that's how close you were. You placed the wine glasses blindly behind you and his eyes followed your movements, because he still hadn't stepped back. The air crackled between you. You cleared your throat. "Will we talk about it?" you asked and could not suppress the hopeful undertone in your voice. Sam's eyes fixed you sharply and you turned inside under the gaze. "About what?" asked the brown-haired man and his voice sounded so deep and sensual that a shiver ran down your back. Even before you could answer, Sam bent over and pressed a quick kiss on your lips. Just long enough to get you hooked for more.

"You mean about that?" he asked as he withdrew with a mischievous grin to look at you. The guy knew exactly what he was doing to you and you wanted to give him a nasty look. You just managed to nod. He laughed softly and it was just a deep, sensual rumble in his chest. "Exactly." you brought out, but your voice almost broke. Hurriedly you buried your hands in his hair and pulled him towards you. A grin graced his lips as he paused just before your mouth and you whined in frustration. "Eager, are we?" he murmured. You scoffed, which made him laugh. This time it was up to you to bridge the gap between you. It was a passionate kiss, and Sam was so skilled, you couldn't get enough. You would have loved to kiss him all day long and with every kiss you would have forgotten your troubles a little bit more.

The egg timer ripped you apart rudely and you breathed heavily. You were still so caught in the feeling of Sam's lips that you couldn't open your eyes. You felt Sam's thumb stroke your lower lip and when you finally opened your eyes, Sam leaned his forehead against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips. You hated to break the silence between you two, but... "Sam, I think the food's about to burn," you muttered. Sam snorted. "Let it. I don't care." He sounded like a defiant child and that made you smile.

After a little persuasion, the food didn't burn after all and you talked the whole meal over. Sam was a superb cook, though he insisted it was the only dish he could manage. There was a familiarity between you that you had not felt in the presence of another human being for a long time. After everything was cleared away, you made yourselves comfortable on his sofa. Your legs were entangled and Sam held the manuscript over your heads as you discussed his notes. Now and then he would bend down and give you a kiss on the lips. None of you thought about university and all the people out there in the world who wouldn't like you. You wanted to freeze this moment forever. It was like a dream. Unfortunately, we all have to wake up from our dreams at some point...

Wanna get tagged for recent updates on this story? Head to my bio and add yourself to my Sam taglist or drop an ask in.

Sam Tags: @ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @fortheentries @vexhye@traceyaudette @zeppette @thewintersoldierswife@outofnowhere82 @mimzy1994 @myopiamystical​

[soundofseventeen]

13 Days of Christmas (Chwe Hansol)

A special thank you to @pointless-verses and @notprincesscharming​ for loving me the way they do and accepting who I am. I wouldn’t have written this without them. Some of us are Vernon and some of us are Y/N and that’s okay. Merry Christmas (Eve) everyone.

Word count: 2682

“Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright,” you sang softly as you hung the ornaments on your tree. You continued humming it as you decorated your apartment. Occasionally, one of the people that lived in the building would join in with you. You loved Christmas; you loved the holiday; you especially loved the meaning behind it. For many others, it meant gifts, shopping, food for days and more money spent in one month than in the entire year. For you, it was the reminder that Jesus Christ was born.

Jesus, church, and religion had been a big part of your life as a child and as you grew up, your faith in Him never wavered despite the obstacles. You didn’t tell people this part because over time, they had become less devoted and more critical of those who still believed, especially now that questioning everything had become a thing. You were familiar with almost everyone who disrespected your beliefs, and a lot of the time it felt like they targeted you personally. You knew there were bad Christians (and Catholics) who condemned those who were different, but you also knew that the self-righteous pricks who ironically had the holier-than-thou aura were no better, especially when it was just those who followed the trend. You felt lost for a time, but after joining groups and speaking to the pastors about your problem, you left somewhat reassured that as long as you had your faith, you could deal with the problem. Plus, your friends and family accepted you as you were, so nothing else mattered.

Sure you still didn’t know how people lived without God in their lives or how some could be angry at him, but you also didn’t know how people could use God as an excuse to treat others the way they did. Along the way in your self-discovery of living your life as God intended, you met those who had the same intentions as you did, some praising the Lord and some who merely smiled at the statement. 

Among those you befriended in that category was Hansol Vernon Chwe. Hansol, from what you knew, had a golden heart with a soul to match perfectly. You met him one day while waiting in line for a coffee. He complimented the buttons on your backpack and even showed you the same ones he had. You noticed the book he had in his hand since it had been one you were curious about, so you sat down at one of the tables and discussed all the books you’d read and wrote down his recommendations. He was a lot on the goofy side so it was refreshing to see that because, at your age, everyone was stressed over something. (Not that it was a bad thing, but it was a nice change.) He was a little awkward once you started hanging out but once he got comfortable with you, he opened up a lot about his life. 

It wasn’t the happiest but he managed to overcome a lot of his obstacles and you opened up to him. He was a fairly happy soul so when you spent time together, it felt cathartic. You listened to each other’s problems about whatever happened and just enjoyed each other’s company. 

You did have suspicions that the idea of religion made him uncomfortable, but every time you asked him about it, he’d just wave it off and let you continue until the topic could be appropriately changed and you’d eventually forget about it.

But you noticed the closer to the holidays he got, the gloomier he got. You could see the storm in his eyes whenever you passed the green and red colored shops with Santa Claus decorating the windows and his mood soured every time he saw people buying gifts, and you realized he never celebrated the joyous holiday with someone important to him, so on a chilly and windy afternoon, you set off to find something for him and you’d wait until Christmas Eve to give it to him once you finished setting up the nativity set on the coffee table, and then you’d invite him over to give him said gift: a leather jacket and a new beanie to match it. 

There was a knock on the door just as you finished putting the three wise men on the table and you yelled a, “Come in,” while you set up the farm animals around the little area. You continued your humming, setting up the nativity set as you pleased. “Hi Hansol!” you greeted him cheerily.

“Oh...hey,” he said sitting down next to you. He threw his backpack on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Setting this up. It’s almost Christmas so I wanted to put this up. It’s the most important thing to me.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. So, uh, you said you wanted to see me?” He tried not to look on the table, the discomfort setting in, the more he avoided it.

You nodded, finally standing up and stretching. You pretended not to notice how he eyed the place skeptically, especially when you walked to the Christmas tree. “I got you something.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed quickly, the slow boiling anger making you uneasy. Maybe you should’ve brought it up a little later? Maybe after he tried some food from a new recipe you made?

“Because you’re my friend and you’re special to me and all my special friends get gifts.” You smiled at him nonetheless.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” he said simply. “It’s stupid.” The off switch hit and he shut down, the way it normally did when he didn’t know what else to do.

You tried not to show the disappointment and hurt on your face, but you didn’t know how to make words come out of your mouth either. The present in your hands felt heavy suddenly and you felt like a fool. “Oh,” you finally said.

“Yeah...holidays don’t deserve to be celebrated when it’s a shit storm all year ‘round,” the sarcasm and bitterness lacing through the happy tone. “You got kids dying, homeless people with no place to go, and when your life is torn apart like mine, well, you get used to it. I gotta go.”

“But you just got here!” you protested, your voice trying not to break.

“And I have somewhere else to be now.”

“Hansol, if I offended you, I’m sorry-”

“You wouldn’t understand. I didn’t mean to ruin this for you.” He patted your shoulder and walked out quietly.

*

The moment he had found out about your religious side, Hansol had known it was gonna be difficult. He often stayed away with people who claimed to have a relationship with God because whenever he told someone that he wasn’t sure if God even existed, it was like a switch flipped. They were usually offended, yes, but then they forced (or tried to force) their beliefs down his throat and just gave him the cold shoulder when they realized they couldn’t convert him. He had been through so much in his life and he had stopped trying to defend his reasons behind it. He was tired of being judged for it, and he hated trying to prove that he was still a good person because he thought it could still be possible. It made him angry; it confused him and it even saddened him a little because he never knew where to turn to.

When he met you though, he thought you were just like him: a lost little soul, hoping to find something, anything. But as he got to know you, and you spoke of God so highly, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Another one for the books.

He liked you a lot though, and despite the barrier, he never felt like you forced it on him. Then again, he waived the subject of God and Christianity and everything it came with whenever his discomfort became too much. He never meant to push you away like he did at your place but it felt like he was backed into a corner. He made his friends (whatever was left of them, that is) and family swear they wouldn’t buy him anything in relation to the holiday in the past because he knew the reason behind Christmas and he couldn’t get on board with that. He would be something of a hypocrite if he celebrated it, so he chose not to. 

He could taste the bile on his tongue from overthinking and he needed to get away from his head. He wanted to call you, but he knew he made you cry the moment he left your house that day. Couldn’t he be your friend and still choose not to believe? Or did you only wanna become his friend because you a.) thought that he was religious or b.) knew he wasn’t and you thought you could change his ways? Neither seemed likely though. You never gave him a reason to believe otherwise

He turned on the radio to hopefully drive his thoughts away, but the moment he heard the song, you automatically came to his mind and a slow smile crossed his face. He remembered you telling him it was your favorite Christmas song over lunch one day when it came on the speakers. You had hummed it and tapped your fingers to it. He liked seeing you happy like that; all of his friends deserved it, especially you. You made him feel welcome, although he never told you upright his confusion with religion. Some days he didn’t believe; sometimes he did, but mostly, he was unsure. He was afraid it’d hurt you and he didn’t want that. 

It was a nice song, he decided right now that he was paying attention to it. Would he add it to his Spotify playlist? No, but that was okay. He could appreciate it because you were important to him..

*

“‘Bye everyone! Thank you for coming! And thank you for the gifts!” You weren’t sure of how much hot chocolate you ingested but you were sure it mixed into your bloodstream. You felt full and content. You invited a few of your loved ones over for breakfast and you all exchanged gifts. The best part of it all was being together, as it should be. There were hugs everywhere, laughter and even a few tears from laughing too hard, all music to your ears. You never felt like you belonged more than in moments like this. God had blessed you with the best people in your life and you’d be going to church later on today to express your gratitude because you couldn’t ask for more (except maybe some concert tickets, but that wasn’t the point here.)

Your gaze landed on Hansol’s unopened gifts and you were overcome with many emotions, unsure of which ones were stronger. You could pinpoint the hurt because of what he said to you and how he said it; the sadness because of the outright rejection and refusal of opening them; embarrassment for not asking him if he wanted something in the first place; anger for not handling the situation the way you wanted to; disappointment because you had at least hoped he would’ve opened them before saying something; and even the hope he’d come to at least apologize. You said a silent prayer that wherever he’d be, he’d try to make the most of this sacred day.

You didn’t know what you’d do with the presents but you couldn’t return them...or give them away. You bought them specifically for him and neither option felt right. Maybe you’d just use them as a birthday gift; it was a couple months away, after all. It’d save you the hassle of shopping for him twice and at least you only had DK to worry about. 

The knocking on your door brought you back but you laughed at yourself for being scared. You felt both giddy and afraid as you opened it and Hansol stood there shyly, holding a makeshift white flag as peace. “Hi, can I come in?”

You nodded quickly and let him in, curiously staring at the guitar his hand. “Sorry about the mess. I was just about to clean up. Did you forget something here the other day?”

“No, but I know I said some things that weren’t right and they probably hurt you. This is embarrassing because I hate singing and I hate Christmas but I didn’t know what else to get you so I learned this for you.” He strummed the strings a few times to make sure they were in tune and a moment later, covered “Silent Night” just for you before he could turn around and walk away. He missed a few words and fumbled a few times but you were endeared nonetheless and he hadn’t even finished when you were bawling your eyes out. 

“Hansol, I-” you wiped your eyes with the sleeves of your pajama shirt at a loss for words.

“I’m not religious,” he started off after he saw you couldn’t complete your sentence, “I haven’t willingly stepped foot in a church in years and I don’t plan to anytime soon. I don’t like today for that same reason and because everyone in my family wants to erase everything that goes on throughout the year too. I’m not sure I even believe in God anymore because I don’t know how someone can be this cruel sometimes. But, I shouldn’t have disrespected you or your beliefs because of my problems. And for that, I’m sorry.”

“Hansol,” you tried again, but you didn’t know what to say. You’d met people who didn’t believe in God, but you never knew what to say when they told you so. This time it wasn’t any different. “You’re still the same person regardless of that. If I had known sooner, then-”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to judge me or try to change me. You’re one of my closest friends and if I lost you because of that...I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Silly boy, only you can decide if you wanna believe. You’re in my life because you’re a good person and honestly, that doesn’t define who you are. I’m not gonna drag you to church every weekend hoping you’ll change your mind and I’m not gonna buy you a bible either. It doesn’t matter if next year you wanna try it. It doesn’t matter if you wanna believe in God, or Allah, or Olofi, or not. But please, at least give me a warning if you’re not comfortable with gifts or anything.” You sniffled again and he pulled you close to him. “I don’t even know what to do with them. You made me feel so bad.”

“I’m sorry. You bought them with good intentions, and I see that now. Would you mind if I opened it?”

“Are you gonna get mad again?”

“No, I’m gonna treasure them for as long as I can because you put so much thought into them.” He lowered his voice, still fighting his discomfort. “Thank you for not hating me. You’re one of the first people I know who’s accepted me.” He choked a little on that last part and it was your turn to comfort him, understanding his pain. You stayed like that for a moment longer and he unwrapped his presents, thanking you more times than you could count for the jacket.

“Hey, isn’t something missing from your thing?” He said just as he was getting ready to leave.

“Oh yeah! The baby Jesus! This is for him after all.” You walked to the TV to grab the minuscule figurine. “Would you like to put him on his bed?”

Although a little uncomfortable, he nodded because he knew it’d mean a lot to you. With trembling fingers, he gently laid him down as heard you singing, taking his hand in yours to give him the strength, and for that he was grateful.

“Silent night….holy night….”

[songbird-musing]

Virtuoso: Chapter Two - Recitative

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy's brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician's Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras' "vibe," whatever that means.

Enjolras tries to tackle his pop-song-nightmare, and enlists the help of Grantaire.

Chapter One

Recitative 

The world exploded around Enjolras as he awoke. Combeferre was in the kitchen, coffees in hand grinning widely beside the ‘Morning Gong.’

“Why do I let you keep that godforsaken gong?” Enjolras complained, the imprint of computer keys ridged in his cheeks. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen counter with the machine a stand-in, whirring pillow.

“Morning, sunshine!” Combeferre said brightly, and Enjolras cursed himself for ending up with morning people for roommates. “Any sign of Courf?”

“Negative,” Enjolras yawned, “I think he went to an after-party last night, he could literally be anywhere. He might not even be in Paris.”

“He’s probably not even still in France,” Combeferre laughed, placing a mug beside Enjolras. “I will never understand how he can still party like a first year... When did you get back?”

“About one,” Enjolras stretched out and brought his computer to life, tapping impatiently on the mouse pad, “I was working on the pop nightmare until about five, though.”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten about your pop dilemma... How my day has been brightened!” Combeferre beamed, coiling himself around his mug. “I’m heading off soon, so if you’re ready in twenty minutes we can walk together...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras said, still not fully awoken. He yawned widely, noticing that it was already ten past eight and hurried to shower away the scents of the previous night.

It was an overcast day, grey skies neatly connecting to the grey Parisian pavement. Combeferre and Enjolras walked side by side, an impressive array of instruments strapped to them.

“Okay, but how about...” Combeferre interjected, swerving the topic of their heated morning debate, “How about you could either write an utterly commercial pop song that goes immensely successful, and your name is forever linked, so, like, everyone in the world will be like ‘Oh Enjolras? That guy who wrote that pop song?’” he put on a silly voice, crossing his eyes underneath his glasses, “Or you write a crazily successful classical piece that changes the world of classical music forever but nobody ever knows who wrote it and it goes down as a musical mystery forever. Which would you rather have?”

“Can I not just tell everyone I wrote it?” Enjolras asked, scrolling through his phone and nearly colliding with a lamppost.

“Uh... No,” Combeferre confirmed, “You tragically die and nobody knows who you were.”

“Wait... am I dead in both situations?”

“No.” Combeferre pondered, “Actually, scratch that, you’re not dead, you just can’t tell anyone you wrote it.”

“Well obviously the classical one,” Enjolras said flatly.

“Authenticity over fame... I could have guessed,” Combeferre said, not bothering to conceal a yawn. They were just going through the motions. Often they filled the space of morning silence with pointless conversations to wake their brains. “Okay so the situation is the same but with the pop one you also do loads of classical as well, but when all of your millions of fans come to your concert they just want to hear your top hit.”

“I’ll take that, then. An audience of millions is better than none, besides I’m sure I could change their mind.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh,” Enjolras stretched out his neck and they fell into silence. Enjolras’ mind drifted to the pop song he had been working on. The piece sounded spiky – filled with diminished and augmented chords – in short, it sounded nothing like a pop song.

Pop music, to Enjolras, was foreign – but not cross-the-border-to-Germany foreign, it was more of a outside-of-our-known-galaxy foreign. He had hurried past shop fronts that blared warbling voices and fuzzy synths, as if the sound was shameful. His parents raised him on a strict diet of music composed before the 1900’s. Even his more rebellious high school friends viewed pop music warily – that was private schooling for you. Now, at Paris’ highest esteemed classical university – pop was an insult.

“I hate pop music,” Enjolras grumbled, heaving an almighty sigh. “It’s inane.”

“That’s the point,” Combeferre poked.

They bid their farewells at the gates of Saint-Michel’s and headed to their separate classes.

Enjolras weaved through the crowds, dodging instrument cases, almost receiving a trumpet to the forehead. He stopped. The throng of people behind him huffed and split around him, as he hopped back down the stairs and turned to the smoker’s area. In his first year he had held an enormous campaign to turn the area into a community garden.

“Instrumentalists should never smoke,” he had argued to the board, “It’s counterproductive to breath support. If you’re training the next generation of musicians – they shouldn’t be given the resources to destroy their lungs.”

His fury had been met with blank stares, and Enjolras had avoided the area out of principle. In the morning glow, the pavestones glistened, the ivy was burnished gold. It still looked like the perfect place for a community garden.  Enjolras had to force himself to stop mentally planting sunflowers.

Tucked in the corner, Enjolras found whom he was searching for... he also found Courfeyrac.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac were sat on the wall, chatting too animatedly for nine in the morning. Grantaire, dressed in dark green, blended into the ivy, looked as though he had been stolen from the middle of a woodland nymph painting. He turned, catching Enjolras’ eye, and beamed – Enjolras wondered what Grantaire saw as he stood there.

“Enj!” Courf said, reaching out a hand.

“Please don’t touch me, you’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days.” Enjolras commented, a grin playing on his face, “Courf, our flat is literally ten minutes away, just grab some spare clothes!”

“No, you’re right, it is so gross. I am definitely coming back tonight, though. I just couldn’t give up on the chance to go to an after-party... Especially not a Patron-Minette one, those guys are absolutely mental. Montparnasse tried to get off with me, but I think I offended him when I said he reminded me of Arthur.”

“Why? The young Arthur was a dreamboat,” Enjolras said.

There was a very long pause.

“What?” Courfeyrac spluttered.

“Arthur Rubinstein was really hot in his youth,” Enjolras eyed Courf with suspicion.

“On what planet was I talking about Arthur Rubinstein? What is he? A pianist?”  

“Yeah...” Enjolras squinted, “Which Arthur are you talking about?”

“The aardvark thing.”

Enjolras looked blank and Grantaire started to sing the theme tune. Enjolras could only blink in response.

“I’m so confused,” Enjolras said, “Montparnasse looks nothing like an aardvark.”

“Yeah... I coulda been hallucinating pretty badly,” Courf said and hopped to his feet, “Are you coming, Enj? Fantine won’t like it if you’re late...” he tried to put on an intimidating voice, but by third year lateness seemed wholly inconsequential to everyone, even the professors.

“I’ll be there in a second; I just wanted to have a quick chat with Grantaire about the pop thing.”

Courfeyrac cackled in response. “Good luck,” he kissed both Enjolras and Grantaire on the cheek, and wandered inside the building, scuffing his cigarette out beneath his shoe.

Grantaire squinted against the sun. “How’d you enjoy Patron-Minette?”

“I liked them a lot more than I thought I would,” Enjolras said without thinking, he turned red. “I didn’t mean that I... It’s just, pop isn’t really my thing.”

“Éponine doesn’t like the word pop. It’s psychedelic, contemplative, indie, punky folk, darling.”

“Well, then I guess I am a fan of psychedelic, contemplative, indie, whatever else it is,” Enjolras said lightly, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Sorry to ambush you, and feel free to say no...”

“I love a good ambush, sometimes,” Grantaire laughed, “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, Prouvaire said you were doing this pop project, and my teacher is forcing me to write a pop song, and I have absolutely no idea what to do, and it’s all a bit of a disaster, and I was wondering if you wanted to collaborate?” Enjolras blurted, taking an embarrassingly large gasp for breath at the end of his ramble.

“Yeah, sure, sounds cool.” Grantaire scribbled a number on the back of a receipt and held it out, “Here’s my number, text me when’s best for you... Or you could Facebook me, I’m sure there aren’t many ‘Grantaires’ on there, it won’t be too hard to find me.”

“Oh, brilliant! Thank you!” Grantaire seemed like he would have needed more convincing than that. Enjolras pocketed the receipt.

“Do you have a setup at your flat?”

“Um,” Enjolras faltered, “I have a couple of leads and a microphone... And about three-quarters of an orchestra.”

“Huh,” Grantaire shielded his eyes from the sun to look at Enjolras, “Not really helpful for pop... you can come to mine, I have everything there for the Patron-Minette recording and stuff. I’ll text you my address when you text me.” He tilted his head and laughed wolfishly, “I can’t imagine you at the flat... It will be interesting.” He grinned, “Let me know,” and sauntered away before Enjolras could say another word.

Performance class called for Enjolras to sit at the front. His arms cradled around the cool wooden curves of his cello. He bowed his head, pulled his bow taut, and felt his fingers fall into a familiar position, strings indenting his callused fingers. The whole classroom inhaled together, and Enjolras felt electric. His eyes fell shut, and instinct tugged at his muscles, creating the smooth, elegant dance around the instrument. The song was a duet between his body and the cellos. It was as intimate and in tune as a lovers waltz. Moments like this, lost in lines of manuscript and drowning in notes, that time ceased to exist. Enjolras felt like he did not exhale until the piece resolved, its final cadence dousing the room. The sweet, warm oasis of music cascaded as the class applauded.

Enjolras breathed raggedly against the neck of his cello, daring a smile at his classmates.

Fantine stood, roses in her cheeks. “Simply delightful!” she beamed, “Will you perform the piece at the concert next Friday? I know you’re incredibly busy, but we’re missing a cello solo...”

Enjolras pencilled it into his diary, trying to ignore the vaguely frustrated glances from the rest of the class.

Courfeyrac’s flute solo went down well, and he flushed with pride. Enjolras grinned at him genuinely, wondering how he had managed to compose such a lovely piece when he hadn’t even had time to return home.

“I feel like you need an accompanist,” Fantine said brightly, “It’s very sweet, but I think it needs a bit more depth... Do you know Combeferre?”

Enjolras and Courfeyrac shared a grin.

“You could say that, Fantine...”

“Ask him to accompany you. He’s very good at that.” She clapped her hands together without waiting for an answer, “Marius, what do you have for us today?”  

~*~

Once Enjolras had sent the text to Grantaire, his fingers couldn’t stay still. They traced over the table in triplet rhythms, danced over invisible keys, tensed as the pulse of music within him swelled.

A message returned in minutes and Enjolras dragged his eyes from Courfeyrac’s antics to read it.

I finish at 4 today, could do something after that if you’re free –R x

He sent back an affirmative and planned to meet the almost-stranger outside the school gates later that afternoon.

Combeferre was astutely trying not to laugh, cheeks molten with joy, as Jehan and Courf tested their ranges.

“My whistle pitch is literally the best. I’m probably the best in the school,” Courf said, emitting a high-pitched scream. “Maybe the world.”

“That is so not whistle pitch,” Jehan said, snorting loudly.

“Yeah it is,” Courfeyrac shrieked again and the table of four collapsed into all encompassing laughter. Through delight-tinted eyes, Enjolras remembered again how much he adored his friends.

~*~

“Hey,” Grantaire said, stamping out a cigarette under his boot heel. He noticed Enjolras’ lingering gaze on the smouldering stub and said, “Nasty habit, I know. Especially when you’re a singer,” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“You sing?” Enjolras said, carefully arranging his face into a passive, non-judgemental mask. To Courfeyrac and Jehan he often lamented the early loss of their vocal ability and breath control that promised to swoop in with every cigarette and joint they smoked.

“I do,” Grantaire said with a grin, “I also play guitar, bass, keyboard, a little bit of drums and whatever else I can get my hands on.”

“Sounds...” Enjolras floundered, “Pretty pop-based.” He grimaced. Compliments had never been a strong point of his.

“That’s why I’m the man for your job, right?” He smiled, looking like he had been rendered on a canvas, all wilderness and Dionysian thrill.  “What do you play? Harp?”

“Why does everyone say that?” Enjolras enquired.

“Am I wrong?” Grantaire directed them down the stairs to the Metro station.

“No.”

“You’re such a harpist... everything about you screams it. How many times have you been forced to wear angel wings, a halo and a toga at weddings?”

Enjolras shuddered. “Way too many times,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh.

“That’s what I want at my wedding.” Grantaire said, hopping down the escalators carelessly, “Apollo the harpist, golden everything, even gold suits, the priest dressed as a cherub...” He dashed onto the train and held the beeping door open for Enjolras.

“Really?”

“No,” Grantaire grinned, “Couldn’t imagine anything worse... Sorry!” He careened into Enjolras as the train started and apologised again, pointing out the short route to his place on the map.

“I do not know what it will be like in here, so beware, in advance,” Grantaire said ominously, turning the key in his lock and giving Enjolras a warning stare. “Hello?” he called, cracking open the door by an inch. Silence poured around them. “They must be out. Welcome to Chez Patron-Minette.”

“You live with the band?”

“I’m supposed to just live with Ép and Montparnasse, but yes, I basically live with them all,” he paused and flicked the lights on, looking around disdainfully, “The other three unofficially moved in without really consulting me.”

“How awful!”

“Nah, it’s fine. I have the biggest room, anyway.” Grantaire smiled, a sheen of politeness glazing his eyes, “Drink?”

“Um, I’ll have water, please,” Enjolras said, trailing one hand on the kitchen counter.

Grantaire looked up from the fridge, a spark of mischief playing in his eyes. “We’re living the rock star life tonight,” he said, “Cheers to that!”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was being made fun of.

“Sorry it’s a mess, I didn’t realise this was happening, of course.” Grantaire chucked a few items of clothing around and surreptitiously shoved an armful of cans into his bin. “Afterparty...” he said as a way of explanation.  “So...my friend...” he grinned into his cup of water, “I am fully at your service, what can I do for you?” he did a silly bow, dark hair bouncing around his shoulders.

“Valjean is making me write a pop song and I have no idea what to do,”

“Harps don’t usually translate well to pop, no.”

“I can play other instruments, as well,” he was quick to confirm, as if Grantaire would care in the slightest about his pedigree of musicianship, “But only classically.”

“Have you made a start with anything?” Grantaire asked, flexing his fingers around the neck of his guitar.

“I...” Enjolras grimaced, “I have... But... it’s not... well, listen for yourself.”

He plucked his phone from his pocket, searching for the audio file. It took two chords for Grantaire’s forehead to crease. It took just three more before his lips pursed, a laugh ill-hidden behind them.

“I know!” Enjolras protested, hastily muting the piece. “It’s terrible!”

“It isn’t terrible...” Grantaire rubbed the bridge of his nose and coughed, “It’s just not pop... like, at all...” A laugh bubbled out from his hand. “Sorry! It’s a lovely piece... but did you modulate twice in one bar?”

Enjolras looked sheepish. “Sort of.”

Grantaire laughed, throwing a palm to his forehead. “Oh, bless you. This is going to be harder than I thought. Let’s start again, and let’s start simple,” Grantaire said, his words not what Enjolras wanted to hear. “So we’ll do a four chord song, okay?”

Enjolras paled.

Enjolras hunched over the keyboard, fingers splayed on smaller keys than he was used to, Grantaire nimbly tuned up his guitar, strumming once when he was finished and letting the discord rattle around them.

Inner pianist screaming, Enjolras stilled and offered, “Does it have to be four chords? I mean we could add some embellishments, a modulation here and there, and still have it be pop, right?”

“Nope, pop thrives on simplicity...”

“But there are exceptions...”

“Yes, and they are known for being exceptions. You wanted straight up pop, so we’re using four chords,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“But...”

“I could make us do a three chord song, if you wanted?” Grantaire laughed as Enjolras drooped, “Come on, Enjolras, let me lead you to the wild side.”

The pair looped four chords over and over, Grantaire humming a melody over the top. Enjolras’ eyes glazed over.

“What do you want to sing about?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t sing,” Enjolras snapped out of his stupor, much closer to Grantaire than he thought he had been.

“Well what do you want me to sing about, then?” Grantaire slid his palm against his guitar and pulled open a scruffy notebook.

Enjolras pondered, still playing the chords in auto-pilot, the simplest thing he had played since he was five. “The disparity of classical music,” he said, turning to Grantaire with fire in his eyes.

“Woah,” Grantaire said, recoiling a little, “Not really a great subject for a pop song.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed back from the keyboard, “That’s why this whole assignment is a waste of time. You can’t talk about what you want to talk about, unless all you want to talk about is sex and alcohol.”

“Two very delightful subject matters,” Grantaire responded, mischievous glint in his eyes. When he noticed Enjolras’ stony expression he backtracked. “No, it’s not just like that... Well, okay, for the most part it is, but you can write about whatever you want, really.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “Okay, a pop song about the disparity of classical music, let’s... give it a go.”

Enjolras glanced at him carefully, still unsure whether Grantaire was mocking him. The dark haired boy gave a genuine smile, almost bashful as he ducked down to watch his finger position on the guitar. Enjolras blinked. He watched Grantaire astutely, taking in the curve of his neck and the curve of his nose, the ink-spill of eyelashes across his cheeks and the length and dexterity of his slender fingers.

They played together for a while, Grantaire improvising melodies and lyrics over the top of the basic chords. Enjolras nodded seriously and scribbled down notation in his trusty manuscript paper pad. “So for the chorus we can use the same four chords but just mix the order up,” Grantaire said, strumming once across the neck of the guitar.

Enjolras sighed and spectacularly collapsed onto the keyboard, a dissonant crash echoing throughout the room.

“You alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras merely groaned.

With a gentle clunk, Grantaire placed his guitar down and wheeled over to Enjolras on his chair.

“Enjolras,” he sung, drawing his knees to his chin. “Is it all getting too much?” Enjolras rolled his head and sent another chord ringing.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” Enjolras said dramatically, “But I would literally rather be shot twenty-seven times than write a pop song.”

“Ah. Not a great state of mind to be in.” He wheeled away and spun slowly in the centre of his room, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but instead of getting shot, we could get shots.” He laughed, the sound lovely and carefree and curling around Enjolras’ edges like smoke.

“I never drink alcohol when I’m composing,” Enjolras said, drawing to his full height and stretching out his limbs.

“Mozart did.”

“What?” Enjolras said after a beat.

“I’m just kidding, I have no idea what Wolfgang’s drinking habits were. I know mine, though, and there’s a lovely happy medium of being just the tiniest bit wasted and creating amazing stuff.”

“Does it still sound good the morning after?”

“Ahh!” Grantaire said in a stage-yell, “I didn’t want to hear the voice of reason tonight.” Enjolras’ lips broke into a smile, the phenomenon looking like sunshine on his face. “Okay so both getting shot and getting shots are out of the question, then. I guess we’ll just have to carry on composing.” He put a hand on Enjolras’ arm, his face edging a little closer than expected. “It gets better, I promise.”

“Stop,” Enjolras said with a groan, “I’m getting war flashbacks to bullying in high school.”

Grantaire paused. Where he had made to move back to his guitar, he turned to face Enjolras again, perplexity playing over his features.

“Bullying? You?” he gaped, “I’m aghast! Kids can find fault in Apollo reincarnate. No wonder my high school days were doomed.”

“I came out at like the age of seven, I was a pretty easy target.”

Enjolras noticed Grantaire’s eyes shift over him.

“Seven, wow! It took me ten years longer to get the courage,” Grantaire shrugged, “People were still idiots about it.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, realising that he had automatically assumed ultimate straightness after hearing Grantaire’s rumoured popularity with women. The silence permeated for seconds too long and he added, “Right! Pop music!”

~*~

Enjolras kind of hated to admit it, but the song was actually going pretty well and not sounding as horrific as he had imagined it would. Sure, its harmony was brain-clawingly annoying, and the lyrics eye-rollingly inane, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Honey, I’m home!” came a loud voice from outside Grantaire’s door. “Have you seen Claque? He has stolen my tobacco, piece of - ” Éponine barged through, “Oh,” she said, catching sight of Enjolras and backing out. “Oh!” she said again and re-entered. “It’s you! Enjolras, darling! Sorry I just saw the blonde hair and thought R was trying to impress a girl with his beautiful guitar fingering.”

“That joke wasn’t funny the first time you made it,” Grantaire said, barely looking up from his guitar. He executed a perfect, intricate riff.

“Nah, it’s like a fine wine. It gets even better each time.”

“Not how wine works,” Grantaire deadpanned. “And besides, you laugh, but girls love it! They think ‘ooh wow, look how long and quick his beautiful fingers are...’ and imagine them tangled in their hair as I take on the role of their ravishing lover.”

“Well... Is it working Enjolras?” Éponine asked.

Enjolras froze a little bit. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but... he turned his gaze to Grantaire’s fingers.

“Don’t tease, Ép,” Grantaire said, a mischief oozing from his every pore.

“I just don’t feel as special now that I know it’s not just me you’ve seduced with your fingers,” Enjolras said, pushing his lower lip out.

Éponine cackled and sloped further into the room, socks padding across the hardboard flooring. “What are you boys up to this fine evening?”

“Writing pop,” Grantaire said with a flicker of his eyebrows.

Éponine’s face suddenly contorted and she looked at Enjolras in disbelief. “Huh, didn’t expect that from you, babe.”

“I’m writing his first pop song with him,” Grantaire interjected, “Popping his pop cherry, it could be said.”

“It could be said,” Éponine laughed, “But it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Enjolras with a grimace, “I’m sorry you have to work with this loser.”

“Ugh, get out,” Grantaire said quickly, humour dancing in his eyes, “Can you not see we’re in the middle of a very serious and important task.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, echoing Grantaire’s levity, “He’s still in the middle of trying to seduce me with his fingers... It’s very important and serious.”

Both Éponine and Grantaire laughed raucously. Enjolras glowed with warmth.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Éponine stood and made to leave, she leant into Enjolras conspiratorially and mock-whispered, “Montparnasse’s hands are much nicer.”

“Lies!” Grantaire scoffed, “Begone you deceitful scoundrel!”  He shot a look at Enjolras, “She really is lying, Montparnasse’s flowery fingers have nothing on mine.”

“Don’t let him hear you call them that. It’s floral, darling, not flowery. Much more trendy.” Éponine traced Grantaire’s epic eye roll and added, “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later!”

Grantaire’s head bowed as he laughed to himself, features shadowed by his dark hair falling forwards. “I love her,” he said, fingers sprawling effortlessly over a complex guitar melody.

Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire’s hands, licking his suddenly very dry lips. “We could perform this live in class, if you’d like...” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked at him, eyes calculating.

“Would you want me in your class?”

“What do you mean?” A surprised giggle fell from Enjolras’ lips.

“I mean you’re a classical god and I’m sure all the teachers are in love with you. I am a mere mortal second year who’s honestly just a bit mediocre.”

“Mediocre? Are you kidding, Grantaire?”

What followed was a shift of energy that was hard to describe. The look that the two young men shared suddenly became heavier, the silence felt louder and Grantaire, usually the master of words, couldn’t form a sentence.

“Ha,” he said loudly, a hint of blush creeping across his cheekbones. “That’s how my parents liked to describe me,” he joked, stretching out languidly and dragging a hand through his hair. “Should we break? Do you want a snack or a drink or something?” Grantaire stood and threw his head back to elongate his muscles, only the way his eyes flickered shut and his lips slid apart made it look almost obscene.

“Do you have coffee?” Enjolras asked, trying to look anywhere else in the room.

“We have cheap granules, if that’s cool with you.” Grantaire laughed raucously, “It’s okay, darling, I can see from the terror in your eyes that cheap granules are not cool with you. Tea?”

“Do you have soya milk?”

“Oh you sweet boy,” Grantaire couldn’t stop laughing, “I don’t even know if I have regular milk that’s in-date. I think we have a box of green tea somewhere... Are you a green tea kinda guy?”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, “The extent of me being a green tea kinda guy is actually quite concerning.”

“Well I’m afraid I’m quite a bad influence, I can only feed your addiction. One green tea coming up!”

While Grantaire was out of the room, Enjolras properly looked around, eyes drifting across the debris that was scattered. A grubby looking mug held an array of drumsticks and paintbrushes, loose guitar strings were coiled in a messy pile, a precarious stack of records balanced an old gramophone. Pictures were tacked to the wall, stopping abruptly where Grantaire’s arms couldn’t reach.

Enjolras’ eyes caught a series of photographs of Grantaire and Jehan. In one picture they were meditating, the others doing intricate looking yoga poses: if joy could be captured, these pictures were evidence of it. Wide, lazy smiles and dopey shared glances were rife throughout the set.

“Here we are!” Grantaire said, carefully cupping a steaming mug. “One green tea! I’m going to go out for a smoke, want to join?”

Enjolras, took the hot tea in his hands. Grantaire cracked open the door, throwing a backwards glance at him. Enjolras felt suddenly very warm, and reckoned the cool air would do him good, second-hand smoke lung damage be damned. “Sure,” he said. Grantaire beamed, and Enjolras wondered how a word as simple as ‘sure’ could illicit such a response. He liked it. “Sure,” he repeated, and followed Grantaire into the cold.  

A/N: Hollaaa chapter 2! Like I said in chapter 1, I’m transferring this from my ao3, which is almost finished here if you want to read further! Hope ya enjoy! These classical nerds fill my heart with joy! Please let me know all your thoughts!! <3 

[sweethazzababy]

A Good Memory

Harry x reader

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: none

A/N- hey everyone! this is not from the prompt list, but was a request and i really loved the idea of it. sorry if the meet and greet part is awkward and not well written i have no idea what happens at a meet and greet lol so if it’s awkward im sorry i know it is too haha otherwise the rest of it is good! also im really bad with titles lol sorry hope you guys enjoy it :) my ask is always open for requests! 

The room feels cool, the breeze from the slow motions of the ceiling fan nips at her skin while Y/N lays flat on her back, hands rested on her stomach. Her eyes are following the repetitive rotations, as the fan spins over and over again. She feels extremely comfortable, relaxed, and at peace as she lays here focusing on the slow motions of the contraption above her. She feels like she can finally breathe. Lately, she’s been feeling very stressed and has always been on the move, never really taking time to just sit down. Even going to bed for about 5 hours a night doesn’t satisfy her need for time to unwind.  Deep in her thoughts, she continues to watch the slow motion of the fan above her, zoning out into her mind as she reminisces pointless things.

Harry is beside her, in the same exact position. Humming random tunes to himself, his eyes closed as he appreciates a moment to rest. With a busy life like his, like Y/N, it is rare for him to not be thinking about work. His next career move, his next song, his next tour. His mind is always reeling with creative thoughts and ideas, which can grow to be tiresome. So as he lays down next to his best friend, hands clasped behind his head, he takes a deep breath as if he’s been holding it in for the longest time.

Very little words have been spoken, but with a friendship like theirs, words don’t need to be said. Just being with each other, is enough. The bond they’ve developed over the years is one that Y/N never expected, to say the least. Y/N was never really a friend type of person. She’s grown up to be independent and not reliant on others. Stupid drama and petty fights is what turned off the idea for her. She’s had best friends in the past throughout middle school and high school. None of them stayed. People grow apart, and she understands that it’s natural for that to happen, but she doesn’t understand why it happens. How can people just come into someone’s life and then leave like it was nothing? She’ll never know, and it’s quite sad.

Harry is different. He’s been around longer than anyone, and she sometimes questions him about it, wondering why he even bothers with her. Her life can be kind of a mess at times, and if she doesn’t even want to deal with it, how could someone else want to stick around for her? He never fails to show support for her every day, especially on days when the support is gratefully needed. She’s never opened up to someone like she has with Harry, not even her own parents or her own sister. Family can be judgmental, and she doesn’t want to waste time opening up to them when all they’re going to do is reprimand her for her feelings despite her lack of control of them.

Y/N has always been a hard person to read, but Harry somehow saw right through her the moment they met. He just knows how she feels all the time, like some sort of weird intuition. He’s picked up on little ticks and habits she has when showing certain moods. Kind of like when she’s sad, he knows she always makes a cup of green tea with honey to help soothe her, or she watches reruns of Gilmore Girls to help cheer her up. When she’s annoyed or bothered, Harry notices she bites the inside of her cheek, her eyebrows furrowed together most of the day.

When she’s home sick, Harry already knows to make her his homemade chicken noodle soup, only with no carrots because he knows she’ll eat around them and pick them out. Feeling gross when sick, Y/N always uses a ton of lotions and hand sanitizers to make herself feel better and by the time she dreadfully gets herself up to walk to the drugstore, Harry has already left a basket full of spa remedies by her door.

Y/N does a lot for Harry too, like giving him back and shoulder massages after long days writing in the studio. His posture is God awful, always hunched over when he’s writing. When he comes home from long trips away traveling, she welcomes him home by fixing his house with his favorite candles, and a homemade meal ready for him to devour after he’s been settling for plane food. He goes to her for opinions on song ideas, lyrics, melodies, and she never shy’s away from being honest with him. She’s not harsh, but she will tell him if she likes it or not and will follow up with suggestions. Harry is so appreciative of it. He hates when people praise every little thing he does or are too scared to really tell him the truth. Her opinion is one that he values above most others, because she was there from the start. She knows him, and knows what he is capable of, and she never wants him to settle for a mediocre melody or mediocre lyrics. Y/N pushes Harry to be his very best, and often times he needs someone like that. She knows him better than he does.

He’s her rock, and she is his. She never expected for their friendship to grow the way it did, but she wouldn’t change anything. She truly would be lost without him, and he would definitely feel lost without her.

“We’ve been friends for 5 years.” Y/N blatantly speaks, breaking the silence in the room. Her eyes are still stuck on the ceiling, not turning her head to look at Harry beside her. The sun is on its way down, the warm light peeking through the curtains as sunset approaches and it makes her wonder how long they’ve been laying there for as dusk creeps up on them.

“I know.” Harry responds quietly, his voice a bit scratchy from the limited talk, a warm smile forming on his lips. He truly can’t believe how time flies, remembering the exact moment they met as if it was yesterday.

“Remember when we decided to be good Samaritans and bake cookies for your tour crew during One Direction, and we fucking burnt all of them so bad that the oven started smoking backstage?” Y/N chuckles, her eyes crinkling as she slowly grins remembering that moment.

“Yeh, the fucking fire department showed up, all because I forgot t’set the stupid timer on the oven.” Harry shakes his head in disappointment, clicking his tongue.

“Idiot. Those cookies had potential to be the best cookies in the world and you ruined their chances.” Y/N teases, sarcastically disapproving of his failed attempt at setting a timer. A laugh slips from Harry’s mouth at her remark, playfully knocking his leg against hers.

“Oh, shut up.” Harry counters. He chuckles softly to himself, the memory playing through his head like a movie. They got into so much trouble for that, no matter what the intention was. Never again have they attempted baking because that tragic scarring moment scares them away from the idea of it, worried they might burn the house down.

“Y’know what’s crazy?” Harry chimes again, his head turning to his left to look at her as his hands move from behind his head to rest on his stomach like hers. Y/N turns her head to face him, their eyes meeting. Harry has the most beautiful pair of emerald eyes that she knows she can get lost in every moment she sees them. She knows they’re friends, but those eyes, fuck they mess with her brain.

“What?” Y/N raises her eyebrows, curious to hear his thoughts. His eyes leave hers as he glances off into space, a smile forming on his lips before he speaks.

“We wouldn’t be friends if you hadn’t come to our concert.” Harry lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes meeting Y/N’s again. Y/N rolls her eyes with a smirk, giggling to herself.

“What can I say, I was a diehard Directioner back in the day.” Y/N sarcastically teases, the memory flooding back into her thoughts making her smile wider. Crazy how one day can change your life forever. And she knew in that moment her life wouldn’t be the same.

“Oh stop the bullshit.” Harry shakes his head with a smirk, knowing very well that she wouldn’t have gone if her sister hadn’t dragged her there with her two cousins. “I owe your sister a huge thank you for forcing you to go.”

Y/N takes her view away from the ceiling and turns her head again to face Harry who is gazing at her softly, and almost lovingly in a way. Y/N’s lopsided smile makes his heart warm as he laughs, the two of them reminiscing over past memories.

Y/N was never a fan of One Direction, that is until her and Harry became close. She remembers exactly how that night went, from start to finish. Her sister Sara was crazy about the band, posters on the walls and their songs constantly being played through her speaker in her room as she danced around joyfully. The Take Me Home tour was her sister’s first concert, to her favorite band and Sara was the happiest she’s been in a while. As a surprise, Y/N and Sara’s aunt got VIP tickets for them and their two cousins with Meet and Greet tickets. Sara cried so hard when she found out, and as much as Y/N wasn’t that big of a fan, she was pretty excited too.

That night, meeting them is what changed everything.

Walking backstage Y/N’s hands are shaky despite not being a huge fan. Is she really meeting One Direction? Girls would probably kill to be in the position she’s in now. Next to her, her sister Sara is already crying, hysterical.

“Please clean yourself up, you don’t want to look all messy in the picture do you?” Y/N says, wiping her tears away.

“Y/N, you don’t understand! I’m meeting the loves of my lives tonight, I feel like I’m fucking dreaming right now.” Sara says through sobs, her body shaking as they’re waiting to meet the boys.

When it’s their turn, they walk into the room and there they are. All five of them joking around with each other, laughing. Sara’s eyes widen next to her, and her two cousins are star struck as well. The boys all say hello as Y/N, Sara, and her two cousins walk to them to greet them. First, there’s Louis.

“Hello, love how yeh doin’?” Louis excitedly asks, a playful gleam in his eye. Y/N smiles, as he goes in for a hug. Giving Y/N a tight squeeze, she smiles appreciating how nice he is.

“I’m great, how are you?” Y/N politely responds, letting go from his grasp. Louis gives her a cute smile, nodding his head.

“I’m doing lovely! I like your shoes.” Louis points to Y/N’s feet, a pair of black and white van sneakers.

“Thank you!” Y/N giggles, then moves to Niall and Liam.

“Hello, how are ya?” Niall asks, moving in to hug her. Y/N looks over to Sara who is tightly hugging Zayn, tears streaming down her face.

After meeting Zayn, Niall, and Liam the last person is Harry.

“Hi! Nice to meet yeh.” Harry holds his hand out politely, and Y/N takes his hand in hers and shakes it with a warm smile. As he speaks, his eyes never leave hers.

As Sara and her two cousins take pictures with the others, Harry stays talking to Y/N.

“You a fan?” Harry skeptically asks, a playful smirk on his lips as he already knows the answer is most definitely a no. His tight skinny jeans have a giant rip at the knee, his plain white t shirt is sheer enough to show the obnoxious butterfly on his stomach and Y/N can’t help but muffle a laugh knowing he might regret it one day later.

“What are yeh laughin’ at? Got something on my face?” Harry’s eyebrows draw together as he rubs his cheeks and around his lips. Y/N shakes her head, giggling a bit at his frantic reaction as his cheeks flush with redness.

“That’s a pretty big tattoo you got there.” Y/N says, pointing at his stomach, poking it playfully. Harry chuckles, shaking his head knowing she’s making fun of it but he doesn’t blame her. As much as he loves it, it is pretty big and obnoxious.

“Oh, yeah you see its purpose is to cover my two extra nipples.” Harry sarcastically remarks, poking the two nipples that are out of place and partly covered by the butterfly’s wings. A loud laugh slips from Y/N’s mouth, crinkling her eyes and Harry smiles foolishly, dimples forming on his cheeks.

“You do not have four nipples.” Y/N’s eyes widen, gaping. Harry just smirks, thinking she’s kidding because it seems to be the one thing everyone knows about him. But she’s not. She’s never heard this information before and quite frankly, she finds it funny.

“D’yeh really not know? I guess you aren’t a fan.” Harry questions, his emerald eyes sparkling at this newfound information…liking that she doesn’t know something stupid like that. Someone that doesn’t know anything about him really…except that he sings.

“Why is that so surprising? Is that something I should know?” A corner of her mouth lifts, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. Harry’s large hands find their way to his pockets, as his body relaxes into a slouched state.

“That’s like the number one thing people find most fascinating about me.” Harry informs, shaking his head at the ridiculousness, his smile slightly fading as he shuffles, leaning on one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N says, a genuine tone in her voice as she softly looks at him, kind of feeling bad. Why is that kind of information so important? What about is music?

“Why d’yeh say that?” Harry quizzically glances at her, his eyebrows pulling together at her apology.

“It sucks that that’s what people care about, you know? The amount of nipples you have has nothing to do with who you are…so I’m sorry. Because from what I can tell, you seem pretty cool and more people should know how cool you are.” Y/N shrugs her shoulders, as if what she just said is nothing. But Harry is dumbfounded. Dumbfounded in the best way, because someone understands him and sees him as just a guy who loves to perform. All of the pointless media has been getting to him lately especially with his rumored flings that aren’t true in the slightest. He’s intrigued with this girl…because she already feels like a better friend than most of the ones he’s made after One Direction.

“I don’t think you understand how much I appreciate that.” Harry says breathily, placing his hand over his heart as he genuinely takes in her thoughts. His eyes meet hers, and he grins at her as she holds her hands behind her back rocking back and forth on her heels. “Not many people really get it, you know. Of course, the other boys do since they’re in the same position as me. But sometimes it sucks, you know? Why do people care so much about who I’m dating…I know it sounds stupid for me to complain when people would kill to be in my position—”

“No, no Harry I get it. You’re more than someone’s fling…but I mean, four nipples is a pretty fascinating phenomenon.” Y/N lifts an eyebrow playfully with a small giggle and Harry rolls his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose as a smile forms again.

“You’re really something, aren’t yeh?” Harry studied, looking at her with intrigue crossing his arms over his chest as he leans closer to her. “I like talking to you…it’s refreshing.”

“I like talking to you too. And I must say, I am really happy I came to a One Direction concert because to be honest, if it wasn’t for my sister dragging me on my ass to get me here I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.” Her cheeks flushed, feeling oddly happy at the moment. She likes being around him, despite the limited time they had to get to know each other.

After talking with him for a few more moments, the way they’re getting along is so seamless and effortless and it seems too good to be true. She wants to get to know him more, as weird as that sounds. But he’s Harry Styles…he’s probably just being nice, just passing the time. He’ll probably move on from his life and forget about her tomorrow as he meets hundreds of new people. Harry pulls her into a big hug, wrapping his arms around his waist as he squeezes her tight, really hoping it’s not the last one.

Harry wants to get to know her too. There is something really comforting about her, and they already have so much in common that it kind of scares him. He’s so used to being introduced to all sorts of people, formally and informally. But he likes Y/N…and not in a romantic way. He wants to tell her his secrets, open up to her, talk to her about pointless things that no one else would probably care about. It’s too good to be true.

“Oh my god, I was so awkward that day we really don’t need to bring that up.” Y/N covers her face with her hands in embarrassment, shaking her head as if she is trying to get rid of the memory. But she can’t because after all it’s how she met her best friend.

“What? Is it because our topic of conversation was about my nipples?” Harry bursts in laughter, when her face heats up even more as she groans into her hands.

“Harry I swear to God…” Her voice is muffled, a few giggles leaving her lips. Harry’s face is beat red now as well, the laughter getting to him.

“We became best friends…o-over conversation about my-my nipples.” Harry says in between giggles, his nose crinkling up and his eyes shutting.

Y/N playfully slaps his arm, but Harry just laughs harder hunching his shoulders in and bending his knees up to his chest as his laugh echoes throughout the room, piercing her ears but she’s grateful for it because she loves his laugh so much that she can’t even be mad at it. 

“Whatever laugh all you want...the nipple conversation worked didn’t it? Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your nipples.” Y/N tries to explain over his loud cackles, and Harry calms down a little bit as he sits upright from his position, wiping his teary eyes. 

Sitting up with him, she leans her head on his shoulder as they both wind down from their antics. Harry takes a deep breath, recuperating. A small chuckle slips afterwards, as the memory of that day replays in his head. 

“I really appreciate you, y’know. You’ve always understood me when no one else did.” Harry leans his head onto hers, closing his eyes.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me...you know how much I hate that.” Y/N groaned, but Harry just smiles wider, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her so tight she can’t breathe.

“Oh stop, you love me.” Harry gloats, Y/N starting to giggle again.

Harry might voice it more, but Y/N is pretty sure she would die without him. He’s been there for her in ways like no one else has, and that day that they sparked conversation about his four nipples, as dumb as it sounds, is such an important one. Because if it wasn’t for that, she wouldn’t have met her best friend. And that, is a world she can’t imagine. 

[heathendolan]

Daylight Savings [E.D]

Summary: The day you meet your soulmate is tattooed on your wrist.

Warnings: None besides swearing and a bit of hockey!ethan, brace yourself 😩

A/N: Longerish lil fic? I had so much fun writing this hahaha. Only my second piece posted on here, thank you for reading!! Enjoy :)

Word Count: 6.4K+ || masterlist

You leaned back in the booth at House of Pies with your mouth agape. "What do you mean you've never looked at the date? How do you avoid looking at the date for seventeen years?" you squawked, eyeing Ella incredulously.

She shrugged and bit into a fry. "I just have. If I look, I'm just going to obsess over it. I think I saw an '18' in there somewhere when I was in the shower once, but honestly, shouldn't I know it's the one anyway? Why do I need a date to tell me?" she argued nonchalantly. You were completely gobsmacked.

"What if you already have met them?! And you don't know that they're the one! Because you haven't checked your wrist!" you pushed, flustered.

"(Y/N), baby, you're all upset, and I'm not sure why. I think I would know if I had met them. I haven't considered taking a bullet for anyone, and isn't that what soulmates are all about or something?" Ella smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration.

You simply could not believe what you were hearing. You had obsessed over November 6th since your mother explained what the date meant, and Ella couldn't care less.

You sputtered, "I'm just saying-"

"(Y/N), it's okay. Anyway, when's yours since you're so worried about it?" she grinned softly.

You glanced at your inked wrist and frowned bitterly. "Not for another four years, so I've got time." you pouted.

"Well, then you have another four years of fun! Go kiss boys and not care, it's not like it matters anyway if you'll have a soulmate at some point," she cheered, sipping on her chocolate shake.

You shook your head and grabbed your burger. You had no interest in hookups or kissing boys that weren't the one, there was just no point; they could never make you as happy as he would. What's the rush in growing up? After November 6th, 2022, you have all the time in the world to learn about life and sex and whatever else with him. "Nah, don't want 'em. It's pointless."

Ella grumbled and checked her phone. "I think it's silly, waiting for the one. I mean, you might as well get experience to impress the kid."

"Well, I think he should be impressed with whatever I have to offer." you grinned. "Haven't you heard? I'm a catch," you drawled sarcastically.

All tension broke and the two of you giggled and began gossiping about the upcoming hockey game against your rivals.

-

"Hey, did you get chem done?" you yawned, opening your phone. It was already 1:45 in the morning, but Ella had insisted on getting a milkshake, swearing it was life or death.

Ella nodded in your periphery. "Yeah, you can copy it if you want. It's just like, electron configurations with the Ss, and the Ps, and whatever. Which reminds me, did you get Algebra done? I don't think-"

You waited a few seconds for her to continue until you realized she was completely frozen. You glanced up at her from your phone to see her slackened jaw, wide eyes, and blushing cheeks. "What's gotten into you?" you snorted, poking her arm.

"Do you see that guy?" she whispered, hardly moving her lips. She looked like a deer in the headlights.

You twisted in the booth to look at the entrance where the visiting hockey team huddled, boisterous and uncaring of who they annoyed. "Uh, which one El, there's like twenty of them," you chuckled. "Oh my god, are you talking about the one with the really nice eyebrows? Red backpack?" you squawked, your eyes bulging out of your head. Sadly, your day wasn't anytime close, so he wasn't the one, but oh how you wished he was. His hair was swept back by a beanie, a plain tee clinging to his body beneath a green flannel, and as simple as it was, it took your breath away. He tipped his head back with laughter, his jaw jutting out with definition, his throat bobbing.

"No, the one wi-with the hat on backward, in the grey sweatshirt," she muttered behind you.

"Uh," you sifted through the crowd of them. "I mean, he's alright?" you said, squinting your eyes in confusion. He was cute, but not striking and certainly not stutter-inducing or jaw-dropping. That other one though, Red Backpack, he was a whole different story.

"I think I might be in love," Ella groaned, leaning forward on her elbows and staring at him.

You rolled your eyes and said, "Go talk to him, then!"

She scoffed and sputtered out, "Are you crazy?! Talk to him?! I can't just go up and talk to him!"

You couldn't believe Ella, who had always been so confident and collected, was stumbling over some stranger. "Alright, I'll just get his attention then-"

"(Y/N), you wouldn't," she threatened, grabbed your arm with a boa-constrictor grip.

"Ow!" you hissed reflexively. You glared down at her hand when you saw the date. 06.04.18. - 1:55 A.M. Today. You felt butterflies bloom in your own belly and you looked up and gave her a soft grin. "I so would, thank me later. Hey grey sweatshirt!" you shouted, ignoring the searing pain in your arm as Ella tore on your wrist.

"(Y/N), stop," she whined.

The team's rowdy conversation died, whispers ensuing. "Derek, I think that girl wants you," Red Backpack smirked, shoving the boy forward.

"(Y/N), please," Ella begged, yanking on you.

"No, not me, my friend over here," you replied, waving over Derek. He walked with confidence, encouraged by the shoves of his friends and their whistles. You turned back to Ella and grabbed her wrist, bringing it to her face. "It's your time honey," you winked, sliding out of the booth to make room for Derek. Her face fell ghostly pale, but you just squeezed her hand and scooted away. You slipped by Derek and offered him a warm smile, who, despite his swaggering strut, was gnawing on his lip destructively. You passed Red Backpack and blushed furiously as his jaw dropped at the sight of you, your stomach bubbling with heat. Your knees wobbled as you left the diner, ignoring the urge to turn around and talk to that boy, say one word, because this wasn't your day--this was Ella's.

You drove out to your favorite lookout, deserting her with her soulmate, a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had daydreamed about your own experience time and time again, and you had witnessed dozens of meetings in your seventeen years, but seeing your best friend find the one was beautiful. You had secondhand euphoria. You couldn't believe how instant that click was, how quickly she fell for him and just knew.

As you sat out on the hood of your car, you thought. You had daydreamed about what he would look like; maybe he was a surfer boy from California with shaggy blonde hair and bronzed skin, or maybe he was pale as snow and had a thing for English literature. He could be a star athlete or a natural-born mathematician or a guitar player. The possibilities were endless, but you were especially hopeful for thick brows, a sharp jawline, and a hockey fascination.

You weren't sure you could wait four more years out when there was someone out there like that for you.

-

You grew up a little in four years.

Because after seventeen years of obsessing over this potential man, you asked your mom a question that had been itching you for years. "Mom, how did you meet dad?"

She smiled softly and flushed red across her cheeks. "We were eleven, and I was nervous as ever, not sure where I should be on my day. So, I threw on my suit and hiked to the beach. As I soaked up the sun, a boy stood over me, dripping water all over my towel, and said, 'are you my soulmate?', and I panicked because this boy was so relaxed and yes, he was my soulmate! But it turns out he'd been asking every person in a mile radius that for half an hour before he asked me, and he just happened to get lucky," she laughed freely.

You giggled, content with the love that still reflected in her eyes after nearly forty years of knowing your dad. "I can't wait to find my other half," you murmured nonchalantly.

Then, your mother sat you down and twisted your body to hers, stared you straight in the eye and asked, "What do you think will happen when you meet the one, (Y/N)?"

You furrowed your brows and rolled your eyes, "Aren't you supposed to feel complete? Like-"

She ducked her head and lifted a finger to you, stopping you as if she expected you to say this. "(Y/N), ditch that idea, right now. There is no boy in this entire world--in this entire galaxy--that's meant to fix you, or solve all your problems, or make you whole. You need to make yourself whole. I would be devastated if I didn't have your father, but he will never be in charge of my own control, do you understand?"

Your throat would tighten up at her sternness. Wasn't that what soulmates were all about? Weren't they supposed to be your everything?

"I thought you would be willing to take a bullet for them or something..." you mumbled, confused as ever.

Your mother chuckled and grabbed your hand and squeezed it. "Honey, I would take a bullet for your father any day. That is because I love him with my entire heart, not because I can't imagine a life without him. It's about being selfless, not self-indulgent. I don't ever want to see a day without him by my side, but I could handle it, and so will you. You are your own everything before anyone else becomes your everything."

That conversation struck a nerve within you because you were brought up on this ideology that soulmates were a cure of some sort. That they unlocked a realm of love and magic, and maybe that was true, but you began to find happiness in yourself and the people who weren't the one. You worked hard in school and attended college and met new people and lived. You attended concerts and stayed up till dawn with your best friends and went to House of Pies far too often with Ella. And for once, it was okay that you didn't have the one yet, because he would come, and you would get to tell him all about these times.

-

You spent days, weeks, years preparing for this day. You did everything you could possibly do to look better; you had Ella come over and wing your liner, curled your hair to perfection, and found the perfect pair of skinny jeans for the occasion. This was it.

"Nervous?" Ella asked with a soft smile, grabbing your hand warmly.

You inhaled shakily and nodded, laughing, "Yeah, I've never been this nervous in my life, honestly."

She grabbed your wrist and turned it up to her. 11.06.22 - 2.04 A.M. "Only about.. six more hours till you find your dream man." she giggled. "I'm sure he's as perfect as you. Now, let's get going! You can't possibly expect to find him if you don't leave the house."

You let her usher you out of your front door and into her car, laughing all the while. Tonight was it. You had the perfect scenario to meet him too; you were at a mutual friend's party full of tons of people you didn't know. It was meant to be.

Your nerves began bubbling when you walked in, Ella dragging you through the front door and immediately handing you a cup of something. "Drink up, we don't want you uptight when you meet the one," she drawled, smirking.

You accepted it, and as soon as she turned to greet Derek, you poured it into the nearby plant. You wanted to be sober for this, you wanted to remember the feeling of just knowing the second you saw him, just like you had seen when it happened to Ella.

"(Y/N), where've you been?!" shouted Kelsey from afar, waving you over.

You grinned and sauntered over, forcing confidence into your shaky steps. "Hey you!" you cheered, wrapping your arms around her neck tightly.

Kelsey grinned and pulled your head close, practically shouting in your ear, "A little birdie told me that it's your day today!"

You pulled back with a furious blush, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, guess so," you grinned, flashing your wrist to her.

"Well fuckin' cheers to that!" she squealed, handing you an entire bottle of Ciroc. You accepted the bottle with a wide smile, reminding yourself to keep it for another day. "Who do you think it'll be? See anyone you like?" she murmured in your ear, gesturing to the packed room.

You gazed across the living room, taking note of every guy there. Not one made your stomach stir. "Um, no, not really honestly.." you trailed, biting your lip in concentration. He had to be here somewhere.

"Oh," Kelsey muttered, before grabbing your wrist. "Well, hey, you aren't even supposed to meet him for a few more hours, so of course you haven't seen him!" she encouraged, wrapping an arm around your waist. You nodded, relief flooding your body. It was meant to happen tonight, quit freaking yourself out, you scolded yourself. "Hey, you've met Kyle right?!" Kelsey asked, redirecting your attention to the group before you.

-

"Ella, I'm freaking out," you said, dragging her to a bathroom. You were hyperventilating wildly, each breath becoming more shallow.

"Whoa, what? This is why you were supposed to get drunk!" she chastised, glaring at you.

You nodded, wincing with anxiety. You paced the tile and ran your hands through your hair, tangling your hairsprayed curls, only making you more panicked. "I-I just fucked my hair up!" you cried, eyes blown wide as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Ella rolled her eyes and grabbed your hands. "Hey, (Y/N), look at- fucking look at me!" she shouted, grabbing your face between her hands. "You are the most beautiful girl I know, inside and out. He'll fucking see that. You need to know that this is out of your hands--he is already in love with you whether he knows it or not. It was like I instantly knew when I saw Derek, you were there! It's going to be like that, just trust the universe and what it wants to do with your fate."

Your face crumpled as tears threatened the edge of your eyes, panic rising in your chest. "What if it isn't my fate? What if he's too drunk to even notice-"

"Hey!" she shrieked, slapping your cheek lightly. "It's out of your hands! Christ, do you think you're the only person in the world who won't find your soulmate? You aren't that special!"

You nodded furiously, tangling yourself in her arms with a hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

"Stop thanking me, what time is it?" she asked grabbing both her phone and your wrist. "It's two! You have four minutes to find your man! You sure as hell aren't going to find him locked in a bathroom, go get out there!" she shoved you towards the door. 

You smoothed down your hair and approached the door, your hands shaking as you reached for the handle. “But what if-“

“Go!” Ella roared, shoving you out of the frame.

You glanced at your phone. 2:02. There was no time for tears, panic, or anything other than patience and excitement. You rushed into the kitchen flooded with people in hopes for some soda, anything to distract you from the inevitable. 2:03. You ran to the table and poured yourself a sprite, cursing when you distractedly overflowed the cup. Any second now...

You sipped on the drink and kept your eyes closed waiting. Any second now.

2:04. Your heart leaped in your chest and butterflies stirred chaos in your stomach. Any second now.

But as you drank and glanced around the room, no one looked back at you. There wasn't that funny feeling you were told about many times burrowing in your stomach. You felt very empty.

Any second now.

2:05. Panic rose in your chest once more—maybe these things weren’t exactly on time? Maybe it took a moment for the universe to conjure the one?

2:06. Okay, clearly your phone was just wrong.

You waited and sipped.

2:10. 2:13. 2:20.

“Where’s your man?!” Ella screeched, jumping on you excitedly.

You bit onto your wobbling lip and just shook your head sadly, pushing past her to the door.

"Wait, wait, (Y/N)! Hold on, baby," Ella cried, shoving people out of her way to get to you.

“Just.. just let me be alone, El,” you breathed, choking back emotion. 

She looked crushed at your rejection, which forced a bitter taste in your mouth--what did she know about heartbreak? You were the one who didn't get a soulmate for fuck's sake.

You slammed the front door of whoever's house and jogged to your car, grateful you avoided alcohol tonight. Only once you hopped into the front seat did you let yourself fall apart, tears smudging your perfectly winged liner. You buried your hands in your hair, tearing painful knots in your precious curls. You glanced at your clothes through watery eyes and wailed; you found the perfect skinny jeans for this?

You reached into your backseat and dug out the pair of sweatpants you had stashed there, grabbed the makeup remover from your center console, and yanked a brush through your hair, ignoring the searing pain that came with it. You slipped a sweatshirt on over your body, started your car, and made your way to the nearest 24-hour coffee shop, ordering yourself a drink with far too much caramel. 2:45. What a joke.

You sped off to that one spot that always made you feel better. The lookout your brother brought you when he first got his license, the place you came when Ella found her soulmate, the spot where you thought you'd bring your soulmate to. It was dark and secluded and beautiful, and you couldn't think of a better place to be when the universe had just broken your heart.

You parked near the edge of the cliff and jumped out, wrapping your fuzzy sleeves around yourself and hopping onto the hood of your car. The outlook over Los Angeles was amazing from this view; each car was the size of an ant, each building the size of your pinky. You squashed airplanes between your dainty fingers and fantasized about what it'd be like to be that person on that plane; the one with the soulmate.

Pointlessly, you checked the time. 2:58. Who knew numbers could hurt so bad.

They had decided your entire life—this clock was something you had obsessed over since you found out what soulmates meant. You had counted down the days until November 6th since you were five. This was supposed to be it.

You felt hot tears breach the surface of your eyes, so you bunched your hoodie sleeve and wiped them away violently. This was the worst thing that could have ever happened to you.

Snap.

Dead leaves and scattered branches crunched beneath the feet of someone and your stomach sunk, hand reaching for the pepper spray your dad had forced you to buy when you got your license.

"W-Who's there? I have mace!" You screamed, your heart beating wildly. Only you could lose your soulmate and get murdered on the same night. Thanks, universe.

“No fucking way,” a voice said from twenty feet away, his body stilling limp with shock.

“I don’t want to kill you but I will! I took self-defense in 11th grade!” you cried, your voice wavering unthreateningly. You could hardly make out his figure near the shadows of the tree line, but he looked much larger than you.

He muttered something inaudible before gazing at the sky with wonder in his eyes. "Not bad, universe!"

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but I just want to survive. I won’t tell anyone if you leave me alone. I swear!” you pleaded, hopping off the front of your car and taking a defensive stance. He just shook his head and approached you casually. Oh god, he must do this often, you thought, the grip on your pepper spray tightening tenfold.

He chuckled and said, "I'm not- I'm not a killer. I'm actually your.. soulmate." He awkwardly jutted out his hand, hoping you'd shake it.

Anger resurfaced and you felt sick to your stomach. Was this some kind of prank? "Ha ha, very funny, did Ella send you? I didn't think she'd be that cruel," you sneered, begging your tears to subside.

"Wait, what?" the boy asked, scratching the back of his neck with the hand he offered you.

You scoffed and said, "I mean really, awful enough I don't get a fucking soulmate, now you show up-"

"This is not how I imagined this going at all.." he said, running a hand down his face. He was only a few feet from you, but you could hardly make out any of his features, except for hooded eyes and floppy dark hair.

You huffed in annoyance. “Listen, my soulmate was supposed to meet me at 2:04 on November 11th, 2022, and right now it’s-“

You looked at your phone. 2:06.

“2:06, I know, I introduced myself to you a minute ago,” the boy said awkwardly.

“W-What? B-but it was 2:06 an hour ago! It’s supposed to be 3! What, am I- Oh my god, am I a time traveler?” you gawked, patting yourself down to see if it was still your body.

The boy broke into a fit of laughter, wheezes leaving his lips in the most adorable way. You stared at him through the dim light and grinned to yourself, though you weren’t sure why.

“Yeah, me, you, and the rest of the entire world are time travelers. It’s daylight savings, dumbass,” the boy snorted.

Your jaw dropped at the news. Sputtering, you threw your hands in the air. "What?!" Well played, universe. "But I-- and I was at a party, and I-- and you weren't-- oh my god!" you breathed. "So you're my soulmate? Actually?"

He grinned big, teeth shining brightly in the dark, and nodded, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear before freezing. "Uh, sorry, I don't know why I.. Um, what's your name even?"

You laughed to yourself, giddy with happiness. You kicked at the dirt patch you two stood on. "(Y/N). It's (Y/N), and yours?"

"Ethan, uh, Ethan Dolan. I can't believe-- I didn't really think this would work," he snorted, staring up at the sky as if to acknowledge fate's determination.

You nodded slowly, glancing around at the deserted cliff with swaying trees and a beautiful outlook. This was your safe place, it only made sense that the one would show up here. "I came to a place nobody comes, so I have no idea how you-- hey, how'd you show up here?"

He laughed a bit more, “I feel like you’ll be mad,” he groaned, running a hand through his mop of hair.

“What do you mean?” you asked, scrunching up your nose.

He sighed and mumbled, “My friends wanted to know if you were, I don’t know, destined to find your soulmate no matter what,” he shrugged, mocking ‘destined’. “so, since I was the last in my group to find a soulmate, they tried to make it as difficult as possible. They dropped me off in the middle of the woods with a ton of paths and told me to just do whatever my heart desired, and my heart desired some fucking heat, so I tried to make my way out of the forest, and here I am,” he finished, shrugging his shoulders.

You stifled a laugh and then broke out into a fit of giggles, the two of you delirious. Tears of relief (and tears of happiness, and tears of laughter) nearly formed in your bloodshot eyes when you realized he was most definitely the one. This was not a prank or a sick joke, this was pure destiny as you'd imagined it.

"Hey," you said, giggles still escaping. "do you wanna get out of here? Or at least get in my car, get warm? How long have you been out here?"

"Oh god, hours it feels like. Anywhere with you is fine," he said, his voice unsteady. "That was so cheesy, I don't--"

"Anywhere with you is anywhere I wanna be right now," you grinned, easing his nerves. "I, um, don't actually know what you look like yet," you snorted. Your eyes had yet to adjust to the complete darkness the moonless night had offered you. All you could see was bright teeth and dark hair, and that was enough for you already.

He chuckled and nodded, "Me neither. Kind of like a surprise you know? But hey, I know this great diner down on Vermont avenue called House of Pies--"

"Oh my god, I love that place," you smiled, spinning to walk to the driver's side of your car. "My friend Ella and I go there all the time."

Ethan laughed loudly behind you and opened the passenger door. "It's a date."

You grinned at him, and through the light of the car, you got a good look at him for the first time. "Oh my god, you-you're him! You’re Red Backpack!" you shouted.

It was that guy, the one with the floppy hair who had shoved Derek over the night Ella found the one. The guy who stirred a frenzy in your stomach, the one that set your heart beating irregularly, the one you ignored in an effort to give Ella the spotlight.

"Holy shit, you're hot," he groaned, mouth agape, completely oblivious to your revelation.

"Do you know Derek Christman?"

He gazed at you openly, eyes scanning your body guiltlessly. His tongue jutted out to lick his bottom lip before he mumbled, "Huh?"

"Derek Christman, you know him?" you repeated, examining his features with glee.

He furrowed his perfectly-arched brows and nodded slowly, "Yeah, kid used to be on my hockey team, why?"

You buckled your seatbelt and chuckled, nodding to yourself. "You might not, but do you remember the night he found the one?"

You pulled out of the outlook happily, the heartbreaking memories of earlier long forgotten. You were grinning like a fool as Ethan tried to recall the evening over four years ago before he shouted, "You were her friend! What's her name, uh-"

"Ella."

"Yes!" he screamed, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Oh my god, I thought you were the hottest thing on earth, I tried to get Derek to introduce me to you, but he said you were like, dead-set on not dating until you found the one. And I'm the one!" he cried as if he couldn't believe his luck.

"Yeah, same!" you agreed, pulling out onto the freeway. "I had no idea how Ella fell instantly for a guy like Derek when there was this Greek God standing in front of me. I didn't want the night to be about me though, so I ignored you, and then figured it was a lost cause anyway because I didn't want to waste my time with anyone but the one. This is insane," you laughed.

"Greek God, huh?" he smirked from the passenger side. His smug grin had butterflies beating in your stomach.

"Oh, shut it," you chuckled, smacking his chest. He took the opportunity to collect your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. You blushed and bit your lip as electricity shot through you, hoping the darkness concealed your nervousness.

The drive was half an hour long but it felt like mere seconds. The two of you chatted the entire drive, sharing stories of being rival schools for years without ever knowing to what both of you had for hobbies, and so on. You chanced glances at him as he told stories about his childhood, including his twin brother Grayson, and grinned the whole while, oh-so-content with who the universe decided to grace you with. He was stunning--in your unbiased opinion, of course. Every time you caught him staring at you from your periphery, you blushed furiously and shielded your face with your hair, entirely unused to this attention.

"Take a right up here-" he said, pointing to the street with your interlocked hands.

"I know how to get there, dumbass," you laughed, slapping his chest with your shared fist. You slid into the booth opposite of him, his hand immediately finding yours, and ordered your typical strawberry shake. The waitress who had served you since you were four gave you a knowing wink and whisked away your orders, leaving you two to gawk at each other. "What are you thinking about?" you asked, propping your chin on your other hand.

A soft grin broke out on his face. "It's gonna sound cheesy, but you give me butterflies, and I.. thought that was just a cliche," he chuckled, red staining his cheeks.

You smiled wide with all teeth and blushed when you saw his breathing hitch. Who'd have thought little old you would ever have an effect on such a man. "I wanna live in this feeling forever," you mumbled, biting your lip to prevent your outrageous grin from growing even larger.

"Well, we have forever to go," he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. Every touch was exciting and nerve wrecking and adrenaline-inducing; you never wanted to leave his side if this is what love was like. The waitress returned with your shakes and pies, quickly deserting you two to yourselves once more. You sipped lazily, your mind buzzing despite your tired eyes when Ethan cleared his throat and said, "C-Can I kiss you?"

The straw fell from your lips and you bit on your lip, nodding. “Please.”

Ethan grinned and pushed off the red vinyl booth, detangling your fingers to hold your jaw. He swiped a thumb over your cheekbone and sighed nervously before dipping down to brush his lips against yours. You giggled and dug a hand in his locks, kissing him properly.

It perplexed you for a second because you’d had kisses described to you before. Your mom told you it was like fireworks; his lips would feel like shooting stars and electricity bolts and explosive volcanoes. Ella argued that kissing was numbing; kisses from Derek left her dazed and confused. But neither were applicable for you because kissing Ethan felt like home.

His lips were a security blanket on their own. His hot breath fanning over you reminded you of the warmth of safety, comfort, and control. It felt like you had all the time in the world to love him properly, do all the things right. You could trust him with your life after this kiss simply because you knew he could trust you with his.

He broke away from you at last and breathed, “You feel like home.”

-

1.095 days later you found yourself in a booth in the back of House of Pies chuckling with Ethan. He threw a fry at you in his fit of laughter and you squealed as it poked your bare collarbone. It was your anniversary, and though the two of you were decked out in fancy clothes, you spent your time in your favorite diner.

“R-remember when you thought I was a serial killer-“ he wheezed, clutching his stomach.

You nodded your head, laughing so hard no noise left your lips. “I nearly maced you!”

He slapped his hand against the table giddily, the two of you falling even further into giggles. He wiped tears that dripped from his eyes and said, “I’m so glad I’m marrying my best friend.”

And you froze.

And he froze.

“W-What did you say?” you asked, your grin never disappearing.

Ethan, on the other hand, was as pale as a ghost and his eyes bugged out. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t supposed to until later, oh my god I just ruined-“

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?” you smiled, sipping on your strawberry shake casually.

“I- Uh-“ Ethan stammered. “I was going to ask at 2:04! Make it all romantic and what not, cause it's our anniversary, and- god, I’m an idiot.”

You couldn’t contain your happiness as you reached across the booth to grab his face and kiss him softly. Butterflies were ever present but kissing him still calms you down instantly. “Then don’t ask me until then. I won’t tell (Y/N),” you said, biting into a fry with a smirk

He laughed at your sarcasm and rolled his eyes, “Okay, just as long as she doesn’t already know. Fuck, I love you so much.”

You laughed and nodded, happiness bubbling in the pit of your stomach. You would choose Ethan every day for the rest of your life. You could live without him maybe, despite what the universe says, but you never wanted to. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him simply because he was a home to you.

Soulmates rarely got married—it seemed frivolous to buy a ring and fill a church when you were already destined to spend life together. But some did, and the fact that Ethan wanted to made it all the better, because he chose you every day as well, regardless of your fates.

"Hey, I got you a present!" you said in an attempt to change the subject and fix his embarrassment. You dug in your purse for the envelope. "Open it."

Ethan laughed, "Open an envelope? I would have never thought to do that, thanks for the suggestion-"

You giggled and swatted at him, shoving his gift into his hands. "Just open the damn gift."

He took his time unwrapping pocket, just to be the jackass you fell in love with, but as soon as he caught a glimpse of the LA Kings tickets, he tore the casing to shreds. "No way!" he screamed, the few customers that accompanied you two twisting to stare. "We're going to a hockey game?!"

You fidgeted nervously. "You like 'em? I wasn't sure, they're club-level seats, you can take Gray if you want, I know I don't know much about-"

"(Y/N)!" Ethan shrieked, several people glaring in his direction. "I love them! Oh my god, this is the best thing you could have ever given me, besides you. Well actually, your parents gave me you if we're being technical-"

"Ethan," you choked, laughing.

"But still! I fucking love them!" he yelled, tugging you across the table to kiss you quick.

You sat in the booth for hours together, reordering slices of pie and baskets of fries, reminiscing on all the memories you made and daydreaming about the life you had left.

“I think we should go on a trip, wanna go to Greece? You know, my homeland?” he smirked.

“Will you ever let that go!” you mumbled, throwing a fry at his dress shirt.

He shook his head, laughing, and began mocking you. “‘I had no idea how Ella fell for Derek when there was this Greek God standing in front of-‘“

“Shut up!” you groaned, slumping in your seat. “Your ego is big enough, I should have never even-“ His phone’s alarm rung through the air at 2:04 and cut you off, the reminder saying “propose”. You glanced at the screen and snorted, “Subtle.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he grumbled, grinning.

“I don’t think I should leave during a time like this,” you laughed. Despite your playfulness, a blush crept across the bridge of your nose and excitement dipped to the tips of your fingers and toes.

He dug out a square black box from his pocket and sighed giddily, cleared his throat. “(Y/N), I can’t tell you how much I love you; there’s just not enough words in the dictionary, and I probably can’t pronounce half of them right,” he laughed before he bit his lip, nerves creeping in. “You know me, I’m not that smart. I’m impatient and insensitive and you love me anyway, I know you do. Everyone says that they think they would have found their soulmate without the date anyway, and I think that’s bullshit because if it weren’t for daylight’s saving and your heartbreak you would have never shown up in that forest and I would have never been set loose in it. But I think that’s okay—I don’t need to think I’m escapable of fate to know that we were made for each other. The universe, or God, or whoever is running the show really did me right. I couldn’t be happier with you by my side. I will choose you through it all, forever, despite what the universe says. I will choose you despite our inked wrists and the ring I’m going to put on your finger because I love you,” he finished, his voice shaking and his eyes brimming with tears.

Your face had already flooded with tears, your heart soaring, your mind buzzing.

“So, wanna get married?” he laughed, grabbing your hand and staring at you with all the love in the world.

“Yes,” you said, your voice cracking. You both laughed as he cracked open the black box, your breath stopping.

It was simple. It was a silver band with an E in the center. “It’s not that fancy, it’s-“

“Everything I’ve ever wanted,” you interrupted.

He smiled crookedly and slipped it onto your finger. “I’m so glad I’m marrying my best friend.”

You nodded and kissed him from across the table, warmth flooding you like always. “I can't wait to spend the rest of my life laughing with you," you said. "Hey, think we can get free pie if we tell them we just got engaged?” you sniffled.

Ethan laughed deep in his chest, butterflies stirring in your stomach. “Should I do it again, all dramatic? I could get on one knee and everything...”

"Yes, I'm willing to do whatever I can to get a free piece of pie, Ethan Grant. Should I start crying again?" you asked.

He just chuckled and kissed you again.

[sigritandtheelves]

Drown

Rating: Teen/Mature Tags: Angst, Emily Arc, Per Manum

Stare into the void of season 5’s reproduction arc with me. Brought to you by cramps and seasonal depression in this miserable heatwave. This is for @kateyes224 who wanted me to share the pain. CW for all the reproductive traumas associated w/this arc (child death, miscarriage, infertility, etc.). Yikes.

_+_

There had only been the briefest of windows, and he had missed his chance, of that he was sure. At first there were waves of relief so strong he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet: she’ll live, she’ll live, she’ll live pulsing in his veins with each beat of his heart. It was enough; it would be enough; it should be enough, he told himself, and then he sobbed into a bloody photograph of the long-gone happiness of his childhood and realized that it wasn’t. There was always more more more he had to do, and now that she wouldn’t die, he’d have the strength to do it.

He watches her open to him. He watches her fill back up with life, with a joy he hasn’t seen since their early days, and he feels her press closer to him with that openness. Here is Life, and she is going to live it. Here is Scully’s love, and he turns away.

She brings him wine and cheese.

He runs.

She makes a sex joke and sings him to sleep, and the next day they drive home as if nothing has happened.

Later, he dreams about dancing with her at a Cher concert—in a bar, of all places. In the dream he pulls her body flush against his and he smiles at her with a depth of knowing and with the absurdity of their circumstances and most of all with love, while they hold hands to hearts in the smoky room. But when he wakes, he is sweating as if it were a nightmare. He is hard as a rock in his pajama bottoms.

She senses his rejection, after a while, and starts to pull back. Her feet touch the ground again, as his did too soon, and she remembers that although life is a gift, it is terribly, terribly hard.

They work; they smile; he flirts, but she stops flirting back. And then she goes to visit her family for Christmas and the window slams shut.

_+_

“I think I’d like to be alone,” she whispered, and he felt it happen, the snick of the door to her heart as it closed to him. She heard him step away and sighed in relief when he was gone. She would let herself have this, and nothing else. She would kiss the sweaty forehead of her dying daughter, hold the chubby hand that was the weight of everything she would never have, and send this baby, with all her others, into the darkness of unlife alone. Dana Scully felt rebuked for opening herself to even the merest possibility of motherhood, and to the possibility of love as well. She’d regained a chance at life: how dare she ask for more?

Just an hour after Emily slipped away, she got a call from her mother: Tara was in labor. Death for life, she supposed. Scully signed some papers, dialed Mulder’s number, and wandered to meet him with too-dry, salt-crusted eyes. She felt like the cold hand of the undead, brought back from the edge of the grave, but scooped empty of life, reeking of sterility and gunmetal and blood.

Mulder touched her arm, but she barely felt it.

“Will you take me back?” Her voice: flat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Scully, I—“

But he was stopped by the sharp look in her eyes: she would take no comfort now. He dropped her at her brother’s house and returned to his motel where he cried for her, the first time in this new year. Inside Bill’s living room, alone again, she stared at the Christmas tree lights until they blurred and became a white wall of fire. She wanted it to burn her, but instead she fell into cold sleep. When she woke she was an aunt, but no longer a mother.

---

He brought flowers and kind words to the funeral that Scully felt was something of a burden on her family. Perhaps they thought she was selfish for arranging it when they had so much to celebrate. Who was she, who had barely known this child and had given away her heart so quickly, to demand this ritual? They planned a christening; she planned a funeral. But Mulder, who mourned all lost little girls so fully and selflessly, understood. He may never forgive her for being so ready to leave him, but he understood her need to grieve. Scully wondered if this might be what a miscarriage felt like—to grasp so briefly, so fiercely, to a hope for the future, and then to have it ripped away. She would never have the chance to know, she thought, to confirm the comparison.

Back at her brother’s house, there were casseroles, brownies, a Jell-O mold. Scully thought, morbidly, that they should have had the christening on the same day and made it a twofer. She ate nothing, but knocked back enough of Bill’s good scotch that her stomach burned and she finally felt warm. Mulder hovered in the corner looking constipated. She sat on the couch getting drunker and accepting half-hearted declarations of sympathy until she couldn’t take it any more.

She stood too fast and the room spun, but Mulder was at her elbow in a second.

“I wanna go home, Mulder,” she said into his bicep, where her face had landed.

Into her ear, quietly, “Do you need to go up and lie down?”

She shook her head, red hair rubbing, static-clinging to the front of his suit. “No,” she said. “I want to go all the way home.”

“Can you pack your bags?”

“Already packed.”

“Okay. I’ll get them. Will you be okay here?”

She shrugged and tried to get ahold of herself. She combed fingers through her hair and watched the room dip and sway around her. Maggie’s eyes found hers across the room, and Scully looked away in half-shame.

“Dana, are you alright?” Her mother had somehow appeared at her side, looking concerned.

“I’m fine, mom. I just… I need to go.” Mulder descended the stairs with her bags and tucked them in the entryway before walking over to the two women.

“You’re not going to say goodbye to Bill and Tara?” Maggie asked.

As if remembering them suddenly, Scully looked around the room. But then the thought of their new-parent-tired faces and the soft skin of their perfect infant made her dizzy, slightly nauseated. “I can’t right now.”

She was spinning again, and Mulder reached out to hold her steady. Maggie glared at him. “You take care of her, Fox.”

He nodded. “I will.”

In the car, her head lolled and tears ran down her cheeks. He’d never seen her drunk before: not the stoic inebriation of her brother’s house, and certainly not this weepy version that spoke of her own fears and crushed his heart like glass under a boot-heel.

“It’s not me, Mulder. I’m not like them. It’s not for me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t do it. I’m all wrong for it. My hands are for dead things, not for babies.”

“Scully…”

“You were right. You were right. It’s not mean to be. I can’t go to brunch and laugh at empty jokes and buy onesies and pretend I don’t know what a corpse smells like. I felt like a fucking monster in that house, Mulder. Like the goddamned angel of death,” and a sob slipped out after her last words.

His jaw clenched and unclenched as he drove. He had no idea what to say, so he let his hand rest on her black-clad knee. She was all the light he knew, but he had still tainted her with darkness like a bottle of spilled ink.

“Maybe I don’t deserve it,” she said, almost under her breath. He felt his stomach muscles clench, as if he’d been punched, and a rage flow through him at the world, at himself for the part he played, for making Dana Scully ever ever doubt herself. But he said nothing, just drove them back to the motel.

---

Scully threw up into a trashcan and then collapsed onto his motel bed. Mulder took the bin away and came back with a glass of water and a wet washcloth. He sat in the nook created by her bent knees and ran a hand over her back. She sat, dabbed her face and lips with cool terrycloth that felt rough and good. She drank all of the water, knowing how much she’d need it. After a minute, when the room had slowed its spin, she tucked herself up against the pillows again. Mulder pulled her shoes off and draped the bed’s throw blanket over her.

“Would you have quit?” he asked, not really expecting an answer, and for a moment, he thought she’d already fallen asleep.

But then she said, “If it meant I could get even one thing back that they’d taken from me? Yes. Wouldn’t you?”

He opened his mouth to agree, but then bit it back—it would have been a lie. He wasn’t sure there was much of anything that could make him quit.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. They never would have let me have her.” Her voice was tired, too exhausted for hope and for pointless speculation. Mulder took his things to the bathroom and changed out of his suit. He eyed the empty space on the bed, but took the armchair instead to work. Her voice startled him.

“You should have told me.”

“What?”

“You knew something. You knew what they’d done and why.”

The ova. The Crawford clones with red hair. Bodies in green tanks. They’re our mothers. Shame gripped at his guts. “No, not why. Not really,” he said.

“You said you knew there were children. My children. It’s my body they violated, Mulder. My future. My life they ruined.” He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the tears in her words. And the quiet rage. “You didn’t have the right to keep that from me.”

He had that same terrible impulse he’d had after the Jerse case, to tell her that it was his life too, but he knew he’d lost any right to that claim. So he just said, “I know,” and waited for her to fall asleep. He swallowed back his further omission: the little vial in a Fairfax cold storage facility marked Scully, Dana Katherine. When her breathing slowed, he dialed the airline and booked their flight back to Washington.

_+_

Two weeks later, after they’ve rescued a pair of teenagers from the Michigan mud, he confesses everything into the basement elevator while she stares on, incredulous. She takes a vacation, and he’s sure it’s a dry-run for leaving him. He can’t help his desperate flirting, his selfish need to throw everything he can at the possibility of making her stay. But for her, each joke is like a swallowed needle, a stab wound from the inside. Two weeks after that, she invites him to lunch where he’s sure she’ll break the terrible news of her departure, but instead she does something different, but which amounts to roughly the same thing: she asks him to father her child. Her fingers tremble over a Cesar salad and she pretends there are other options, other possible donors, so she can swallow any bites at all. If she can’t have him, perhaps she can have his child. If she can’t have his child, she’ll have no child at all.

He’s so fucking selfish that he wants to say no. He wants to hold her to him like the deflating life raft of a drowning man; the harder he squeezes the more she slips away. But he remembers the tears in his rental car, her mumbled Maybe I don’t deserve it, and he hates himself into saying yes. A baby will split them apart, he thinks, but he jerks off into a plastic cup while remembering the sound of her “Oh God”s as she watched a genocidal inferno unfold in her stolen memory—and he hates himself more.

She listens to another woman call him Fox while she waits to learn if she’s carrying his child. Then she loses her last chance in a wash of blood, and the X-files burn.

They stand in dripping ruin, in the fumes of hot metal and sodium bicarbonate where her uterine walls clench violently in disgrace, and they are both of them suddenly futureless.

-end-

All I can say is… sorry? It feels like there could be more to this, though, so maybe I’ll make it better in a follow-up. Playing with tense shifts a little bit here—hope it worked out.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

COTW - Chapter 12 update

Leaving Eren sleeping, Levi was forced to drag himself to work, dropping a still sleepy Viren off at Hanji's on the way. Eren had to be at the function centre they were holding the wind up in at 10am, his mate springing on him that he was supposed to be helping with the set up, the previous night. Though he did insist that he'd told Levi, and it was written on the fridge calendar... not that'd he'd acknowledge it. Not until he realised he was upsetting Eren instead of his mate being able to take it as a joke. He didn't like the idea of his pregnant mate being on his feet all day, but there was nothing he could do about it. His shift started at 5am, and even showering at work would be cutting things fine. He was dressing up for Eren's sake, trying to make amends for his stupid spat of jealousy. Thankfully he was on a split shift. His morning in the field, with the last few hours working with students completing their Paramedic degree. Most of that involved role-play, much to his disgust, but with Erwin still being in a shitty arse mood, it was actually preferable. If he was upset with him, he'd wish the man would just spit it out, and if he was upset with Mike, he wished the two of them would just bone it out... It was tiring, and beginning to affect patient care. Erwin had dropped the ball at an accident, nearly costing the victim their life. He didn't want to write Erwin up, but he also didn't know how to ask him what the fuck was going on with him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, and he definitely didn't want to fight with Erwin over Eren again. The last half an hour of his shift was the worse. He was so close to seeing Eren, yet his students were shitty idiots. He'd somehow managed to catch the eye of two young female betas, that insisted on bombarding him with pointless questions. What kind of moron didn't know that you didn't put butter on a burn because it seals the heat in. Even burn creams didn't compare to fresh cool running water. And then... just as he'd thought he was free, they'd been waiting for him outside the depot. Dressed in his suit, with his hair still dripping, the pair of them had bombarded him with even more pointless shitty questions. Where was he going? What was he doing? Was he seeing someone? Like the mark on his neck and the ring on his finger didn't scream that. Stupidly, he'd tried to deflect, saying he was on his way to see his omega and son. One of them, less than quietly, "whispering" to her friend he was a "total DILF". He was so fucking done. Climbing into his car, he fished his phone out his pocket. Eren had been providing him with photos since his arrival at the function centre. His fiancée running late to arrive, sending a selfie labeled "I over slept!". It didn't look like it. His love looked perfect. A healthy red glow in his cheeks as he smiled up at him. Sending his mate a quick text to tell him he was on the way, there were only a few moments before he replied, Eren promising to meet him out the front of the function centre. The function centre had the usual crappy parking. Levi having to partially block the alley running between the side of the centre, and the next building. He was lucky to even get space, and it wouldn't have been a problem if the arsehole with their tiny car hadn't parked half over the bay lines. With the day he'd had, he was sorely tempted to smash their windows in. Jogging up the front steps, he finally managed to crack as a smile. Eren looked brilliant. Dressed in a dark suit with an emerald green shirt, and white tie, his mate took his breath away "Levi?" "You look amazing" Blushing softly, Eren walked over to him, grazing his cheek with a soft kiss. His hair had been neatly combed back, forming a man bun. He normally hated them, but he looked amazing. There were probably a million different words to describe how good his omega looked, yet his brain had short circuited to "amazing" "Thank you. You look... hot. And tired" "Hot as in hot? Or hot as in hot?" "Sexy. Gorgeous. Perfect. Hot" "I wanted to look nice for you" "Oh, you look nice. More than nice... you have no idea the things, you in a suit does to me" "I seem to vaguely recall" "As much as I'd love to show you, we'd never get back inside" Looping his arm through Eren, he smiled a dopey smile. Clueless to the way his silver eyes sparkled with affection for his omega "Shall we?" "We shall. It's actually impossible to get lost in this place. The dance studio was just too small for everything" "Have you been busy?" "A little. I had to help sew up last minute costume tears, but no. No heavy lifting" "And you're ready?" "Yep. Sasha is the one having the meltdown. She wanted to change costumes again" "Again?" "This is costume number 6. She was going to go with pink to begin with" "I think you could have pulled it off" "Noooo. I'm just lucky I'm not in a dress. Honestly" Escorted by Eren, the whole inside of the function centre had been transformed... not that he knew what it usually looked like. Decked in Christmas colours, it bordered on tacky, but was saved by the fact it was December "Ignore the decor. Dance mums are fucking scary. They all thought they knew best and this is what happened. It's what I imaging reindeer vomit to be" "I don't know. There's a few things in here that look amazing... especially you" "You're killing me here..." "Not my intention I promise" It was nice to see all eyes on Eren, his fiancée walking through the tables with a sense of confidence that nearly had Levi tripping over his own feet. It stroked his and his alpha's egos to know he was the one going home with Eren at the end of the night. As they walked, a few people waving to Eren as they walked, Eren politely waving back "You haven't missed much. Just the boring speech part and the smaller children" "I'm sorry for being late" "I'm really not mad. Now, all the drinks are ID only. Hanji ordered you a drink already. She's going to take Viren tonight because I've been busy all day. And I'll probably need help stretching tonight" "I can stretch you" "Mmm, as much as I like the sound of that, I don't want to wake up with leg cramps tomorrow" "Then I'll have to stretch you thoroughly" "You need to stop talking, or we're going to be in some real trouble" Levi thought his mate was being flirtatious, until he noticed some very disapproving mum's glaring. Reaching their table, Eren pulled his chair out for him "Hanji, remember. Keep an eye on him for me" "Eren, we have tequila. What's going to go wrong" Eren put his hands on his hips, scolding her "You're only allowed one" "Two, I've arranged for Eld to take us home. I just have to call" "I have to go now. Here, take care of my phone. I don't really want to leave it in my bag" Passing it over, Eren kissed him softly. Ruffling Viren's hair as he stood "I'll see you later. And you, be good for daddy and Hanji" "Good luck" "Break a leg" "Don't tell him that. He's got enough pins in his ankle" "You two behave" "We will!" Almost as soon as Eren had Disappeared off to the side and out of view from the tables, the concert? soon started. Levi didn't know he needed a hip-hop dancing Jesus in his life until it happened. Nor did he know that the star of Bethlehem knew ballet, but his favourite was the tap dancing sheep. This shit was great. People didn't appreciate his laughter, Viren staring at him like he'd lost his marbles. Mary went to kiss Joseph, Joseph burst into tears and ran off the stage. The little girl dropped the baby Jesus doll, the head coming off and she kicked it off to the side, acting like nothing happened. The whole nativity scene acted out by dance and it was gold. The next set was more of the same, though it was older kids. If had to guess, he'd say from 10 years, or so, to 16. Santa doing some Latin dance with rudolf, and instead of dancing the Christmas tree sang. The chimney had a wardrobe malfunction, or the kid just didn't give two shits. They couldn't move properly, falling on their back and doing the best interpretive dance of a stuck turtle he'd even seen. While everyone whispered around them, he and Hanji were struggling not to laugh. Anna wanted to help them, trying to escape Hanji's lap. After the Santa set came to an end, the stage area was cleared. He and Hanji both needed the break. Then came the teenagers dance performances, which sadly went off without a hitch. After that was a small break before the ballroom dancing started. It was now most of the small children left with their parents. Returning with another drink, Hanji was grinning ear to ear as she returned. Anna had needed the bathroom, the little girl in love with everything going on around her "Enjoying yourself?" "That was great" "Good. I'm going to enrol Anna, what about Viren?" "I think he might be a bit too small right now" "You just don't want him stuck in a chimney" They really shouldn't be laughing... "He's enough of a handful as it is" "I wonder if they managed to get them out of there" "I have no idea" "I wonder if Eren got to watch?" "I hope he did. I didn't realise it would be so... Christmassy" "Neither did I. I wish we'd brought the others now" "I don't. Erwin's in a sulk" "Yeah. I have no idea why. I asked if he could pick me up tonight, and he lost it at me" "I needed this more than I thought" "Well hold onto that feeling, Eren will be up soon. If it's like the first two bits, they'll work their way from youngest to oldest" "Is it horrible to hope for another stuff up?" Hanji ducked her head, checking to make sure no one was listening "Nope. I am too. I hope they have DVD's of this. Or one of those crazy dance mums has been filming" "We'll have to ask Eren" "Yeah" The younger kids were kind of adorable as they danced the best they could. The girls were wearing way too much make up, looking more like mutant, oversized dolls than people, while the boys were dressed as gentlemen. One kid had the cockiest grin on his face, onto to end up with foot stomped on by his partner at the end, when nudged her out the way for more attention. "Hi, Guys! Fancy seeing you here" "Connie! Lovely to see you again! Here, come sit with us" Unlike Levi, Connie was wearing a causal shirt and jeans. The alpha all smiles as he sat down next to Hanji "What'd I miss?" "The funniest shi-shoe. You're not going to get into trouble are you?" "What? No. Sasha told me not to bother coming until late" "Seriously? You missed the best bits" "As long as I see her dance, that's the main thing" "Well, we seem to be in the teenagers now. It shouldn't be too much longer" Hanji was wrong. It seemed to take forever. There was a short break after the young dancers, until the M.C finally returned to the announce the senior dancers performing the Viennese Waltz to Alice's Waltz. Levi sitting forward in his chair, as Eren swept in with Sasha on his arm. His omega looked so cool and composed, that Levi ended up half squishing Viren as he completely forgot his son in his lap "Uncle Eren!" "Shhh, Anna. Uncle Eren knows you're here" "Mummy" "Shhh, baby. Let's just watch mummy" "Go Sasha!" Sasha shot Connie a glare as she and Eren took their places. Eren was breathtaking. Out of all the dancers, his omega... he seriously took his breath away. He expected Alice's Waltz to take longer than a minute or so that it did. Eren and Sasha looked like naturals as Sasha draped herself in Eren's arms. Eren spinning her around as if it was nothing, and as if he wasn't 4 months pregnant. Clapping politely, Hanji leaned across the table to smack his arm "You need to breathe" "Whoo! Sasha!" Connie was on his feet, not caring he was making a scene. Standing Sasha back up, Eren bowed as Sasha curtsied. Her dress looked stunning, but no where as nice as his fiancée "I am. I just... I didn't expect it to be that nice" "Of course you didn't. You don't exactly scream the type to dance" Walking off to the side of the dance floor, Viren wanted his mum. Their son trying to escape him to go running after Eren. One by one, each couple was called forward, their names, dance style and song announced, before an arrangement of 3ish minutes. Levi impressed by each style of dance, as he'd expected each couple to waltz or something to that effect. Anna was really into, clapping her hands slightly out of time with the music, as Connie encouraged her. Given how quiet everyone else was, it was a miracle they weren't told to shut up. Eren and Sasha were the last couple. Eren holding Sasha's hand as if Sasha was a princess. Both of them smiling as they took their places a few metres apart "Dancing the Foxtrot to Christina Aguilera's Say Something. It's our final couple. Mr Eren Yeager and his partner Mrs Sasha Springer" Connie kept his mouth shut this time. Perhaps knowing better than to upset Sasha when she was in character. Eren looked slightly more nervous, but relaxed as the music started. Acting flirty, then shocked and betrayed, Sasha danced around Eren, before Eren took hold of her hands. It seemed to him that the pair made better use of the space than the other pairs. Not that he was biased. He was in awe of Sasha's fancy footwork, until Eren started. The pair playing arguing and reconciling lovers perfectly. The dance ending wish Sasha "dying" in Eren's arms. There were a few very tiny moments Eren looked as if he was about to panic, but no one but him would have known the way his mate moved. Standing Sasha up, once again, Sasha span away from him, their hands catching at the last moment, Eren bowing and Sasha naturally curtsying again. Jumping to his feet, Connie was clapping as he yelled "That's my wife!" Sasha blew his a kiss, before letting Eren guide her off the dance floor. Only for then all to be called back on, bow and curtsy again. The M.C announcing another short break. Leading her over to them, Eren released Sasha's hand. The woman going to her husband as Eren came to him. Lifting Viren up, he nuzzled into the boy's face, careful not to upset his graze. Eren then staring at him, and Levi no longer remembering the English language "You broke him" "I can see that, Hanji" "Uncle Eren, you looked beautiful. But Sasha was prettier" Sasha giggled "Thank you, Anna" "Levi? You're not going to say anything?" "Wow..." Eren laughed softly. His sweaty omega sitting down in his lap carefully "Thank you" Rubbing Viren's back, their son kept his face hidden against Eren's chest "He's definitely broken" "Shoe up, Hanji" "No. He's coming too..." Struggling like an idiot, he really didn't know what to say. Eren was out of his league. Hanji however, had no problem with her mouth "Sasha, does that mean you're done?" "Yep. That's me for the night" "You were wonderful" "Thanks. Eren is such a great partner. I'm going to miss dancing with him" Readjusting himself to turn to Sasha, his mate rolled his eyes "You make it sound like I'll never dance again" Sasha huffed. Climbing out of Connie's lap to sit beside her husband "It's going to be a long wait to find another suitable partner. Most don't like the foot work of a foxtrot" "Eren's great at throwing himself into complicated things" "Oi. I'm sitting right here" "We know. You're supposed to be going and getting ready" "I know, but it can wait" "I thought you wanted to clean up" "That's why it can wait. Besides, someone is getting sleepy" Sasha yawned, then winked "How did you know?" "You haven't eaten in the last half an hour" "I don't eat that much... but do you guys want food? I've got food" Levi's stomach rumbled slightly, though he knew exactly what he wanted to eat "That would be great. We did eat before, but it's a long night for the kids" "I'll help you" Climbing out his lap, the kiss Eren bestowed upon his lips was hardly kid friendly. Breaking the kiss, Eren had a cheeky smile on his face "Damn, Shitty brat" "I love you my arsehole of an alpha. Viren's just about asleep, and I suppose I really do have to get ready" "Ok. Will you be alright?" "Yep. I've got something special planned, so don't take your eyes off me" "I would never"

[ethereal-esg]

Pursuit of Happiness

written by: Elijah Green

Ever since I could remember, music has always been a part of my life. Growing up in a Jamaican household, I always heard reggae music, from some of my parents’ favorite Jamaican artists like Barrington Levy, Shaggy, Bob Marley (of course), and many more. On Sunday mornings, waking up to these tunes was almost bittersweet though, because this usually meant that it would be a day full of cleaning up random areas around the house. It was a beautiful sensation in some sense because I always had my family's culture close to me at all times. Family parties, cookouts, weddings, were typically celebrated with this type of music with people dancing and just having an all-around good time. As time went on, I'd go on to form my music tastes. 

Music means the world to me. It makes me think about how much some of the content from different artists around the world makes songs that relate to my life and how I'm feeling, and how it has helped me express myself in ways that can't even be put into words. Music represents both the good and bad moments in life, and will always be there to keep you company even when it feels like there isn’t anyone else around. Without it, there isn’t much of a purpose to do a lot of things, and it almost makes life feel, well, pointless.

One of my earliest memories of when I fell in love with music is when I first listened to Kanye West’s album, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. From the intro, Dark Fantasy, all the way to the outro, Lost in The World, everything about the album was so different from anything I had previously heard before. From that moment on, I started to dig into Kanye’s discography, until I knew every song from the back of my hand. Continuing from that, I just suddenly started to discover other artists as well, until I had finally built up my taste in music. 

Throughout the years, I have only grown to love music more and more. It has gotten to the point where I quite literally cannot go a day without listening to it for a few minutes, which usually turns into a few hours anyway. I don’t know where I would be today without. Listening to my favorite artists like Kanye West, Playboi Carti, Gunna, Future, Kendrick Lamar, and more, has helped me get past some of the hardest moments in my life. There were moments where it truly felt like I was going through all of my problems on my own. Due to my reluctance to be able to open up to people due to my reserved personality, it felt like I didn’t have anyone's shoulder to “cry” on. I always had the option to listen to music to forget about my struggles, and get through everything going on, though. 

As I continued to grow and mature, I experienced new moments in my life that were not exactly easy. I found myself struggling a bit more than I usually did, and I started to realize how broken I truly was. A time where I truly felt like this was during my transition into high school. Although I had been warned numerous times by my past teachers and parents about how different high school would be, I kept reassuring myself that this wouldn’t apply to me. I truly believed that I would effortlessly carry on having the same friends, same work rate, but I was so wrong. After just a few months, it almost felt like my world was crashing down right in front of me. I spent many nights alone because my old friends from middle school had already started to distance themselves away from both me and each other altogether. That would mean that I would have to find new friends all over again, and just someone to confide in, because of my previous losses. On top of this, I had many other problems going on at home, except I had to keep everything to myself. Along with this, around the same time, my parents were in the process of becoming legally separated. Everything from here on out would be different for me and my siblings, as we would have to adjust to our new lives. For a while, I spent time away from both my sisters and mother, while I lived with my father. Of course, we would see them from time to time during the week but it just wasn’t the same at all. My dad was always at work as well, leaving me alone at home most of the time. It wasn’t as if he abandoned me, it was just a very lonely time that had pushed me into a dark place that I found it hard to fully get out of to this day. I couldn’t express how I felt even if I wanted to because there wasn’t anyone there. This led to my grades lowering, as well as my motivation to do anything else in life.

There were many days where it felt like nothing could get any worse. I was truly despondent, and I wasn’t exactly sure of how to get out that feeling. I started to push myself away from everyone, and I no longer felt like the gleeful kid that I once was. I was constantly agitated, short-tempered, and found myself a lot more prone to crying which was never the case before. I wanted to get help, but because of my parents’ views on mental health in teenagers, I was quite reluctant to do so. I hardly told my friends about the problems I was having, I constantly reassured them that everything was alright, and rather helped them get through their problems without making them have to worry about mine. 

I know it wasn’t healthy at all, but I decided to keep everything bottled up inside. I was trying to push through and evolve, but I just wasn't exactly sure how. This is when I turned to music again. Except for this time, I started attending concerts as if they were a mandatory event I needed to help me survive. The rush I got from going to them was a feeling I never thought I could experience. In the crowd, there was a connection that you could feel just by being in the middle of it. Everyone seemed to forget about their differences, and just vibe out with each other. It didn’t matter who you were, where you came from, what your religious views or sexual orientations were, all that mattered was having a good time. It was truly beautiful. The surge of energy you felt as you heard everyone in the crowd scream from excitement, as well as yelling the lyrics to each song at the top of their lungs is unlike anything else you could ever hear. Although the crowds were usually humid, because of the overload of people in mosh pits, this is something you forget about quickly because all you care about in the moment is having a good time and forgetting everything else. 

That’s exactly what I needed. To forget about my problems for as long as I could, and have a good time with the people closest to me. Going to concerts with friends helped me grow closer to them, to the point where we almost felt like brothers. I truly believe that without them, there is a chance that I would not be here right now, but I’m always grateful that that is not the case. 

Music has given me an escape from reality when I really needed to get away from everything. Not only that, but it has given me a chance to see how beautiful life can really be if you stick around long enough for it to get better. Without music, life would be boring, and that’s not a life that I would want to live. I'm eternally grateful for the fact that I have developed such a strong love for something that has been able to help me so much. I’m not exactly where I want to be in life yet, but I know that I’ll get there eventually, whether the road to get there is long or not. 

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

2020: Music, Concerts, Pandemic, Money, and The Future

For a while, I have told people my theory on how the music industry has changed since the times of the 1960’s and the 1970’s. Artists no longer use new music to make a large portion of their money, but instead were using that music to promote themselves for social media and live appearances. The royalties from streaming as it existed did not make the artist hardly any money. Some of the artists complained about it, but it never went anywhere. Yet, the pandemic shut down of concerts has changed everything. The second that concerts began to be postponed, I knew exactly what was going to happen. I will try to go into details on why I believe the shut down is so monumental for the music industry.

The argument that all they need to do is create new music, then financially artists will be fine is wrong. The economics of streaming is not at all conducive to making a large amount of money unless your name is Drake or Kanye West. The way in which the system is set up makes it completely impossible for up-and-coming bands to live off of the royalties. This is even true if a band or artist has quite a few streams because you are dependent upon everyone else not receiving streams. You are basically fighting over a piece of pie due to the market share method that is not that large to begin with. Now, many wrongly blame the streaming services for the failures of royalties not serving artists. I really cannot agree with that assessment.

Spotify has never made an annual profit in the time of its existence. They have had a quarter here and there, where they made money, but never an entire year. Streaming music platform companies do not make money. The artists who go after them for this fact are naïve and not understanding who controls the economics of the industry. You could ask a platform like Spotify to take less of a market share off the top, but if they are not making any money anyway why should they? The artists would like a user centric model to follow, but Spotify and other platforms have resisted because of the amount of management involved in that. This means that instead of adding everything up overall and dividing; they are dividing it out based on the individual number of streams. Artists would be paid specifically by each user stream. This means that my money will specifically go to the artists that I listen to on my playlists. Once again, I can see why streaming companies do not want to do this because that sounds like a hell of a lot of work. This is where the system being busted comes into play.

The record companies are the ones getting rich from streaming, and they are the ones that should be responsible for their artists getting paid. The artists need to go to their labels and start protesting why a user centric system is not in place. The time for complaining to platforms like Apple Music, Spotify, and others is going to be pointless because they are not going to listen. They are going to come back and say we don’t make any money from you. How could you possibly think that we would agree to giving you more? I do not fault the streaming services for feeling this way because they are paying the livelihood of their company by trying to get the rights to stream this music for users that are paying ten bucks a month. The entire system is broken, and the record companies need to go in to do something about it, not the streaming companies. Everything is being based on a model that is no longer in existence. All of that ended with the iTunes Store.

Now, what are some ideas that could actually help to offset this lack of money for music right away. You could go back to the fact users can own their own music again, but for most users they do not care. For me personally, I could care less if I own my own music or not, as long as it plays. They need to find some sort of model where people are paying for unique content again. My idea is you sell promotional videos because I for one would pay $1.99 to see a music video. You sell live concert experiences that you can get nowhere else. I thought this would be an idea to happen with live streams, but here is the problem with those. They are fundamentally acoustic, boring, and the content does not grab you whatsoever. This needs to be changed. I would like to see artists actually using electric instruments. They can also stop doing garbage songs that only make people sad. The lack of creativity that I have been seeing over the past couple months is unprecedented. They have an opportunity to do some things here with a wide open audience, but they are not doing it. Some other ideas that I thought could possibly generate revenue for these artists start like doing the craziest covers that you could possibly think of in your life. I saw Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day doing covers, but those are the covers that you would expect him to do. I want to see him do “Hard Knock Life” by JAY-Z. There is money to be made for artists within this live stream environment, but they need to improve the product. As social distancing requirements begin to be lessened, these artists who really cannot do large concerts until probably 2021 will need to create some sort of premium content that people will pay for. People will tire of new songs that are basically diluting the quality of the product. New music is not going to pay their bills until concerts come back. Artists need to start to get wise to that fact. New songs we’re not paying very much before, and do you think they’re going to pay a lot more now that everyone has truly limited means.

The hardest hit in all of this are the up-and-coming artists. Some of them will go away and not come back. Others will have to go on hiatus and find regular jobs. Hopefully, the smaller club venues are able to open up rather quickly allowing for artists to play some shows. Now, the person hit the hardest when it comes to that is going to be the fans. You will not be able to pay $15 to go see a major band ever again. Everything is going to skyrocket from face value tickets to third parties StubHub tickets to the cost of using a venue to everything else in between. People were talking about venues not being able to stay in business because of the shut down. I feel sad about that, but I was never worried that these venues would go out of existence. There is simply too much money to be made when the concerts do open back up.

All of these things are contingent upon there being a lack of concerts, but when the concerts open up the sky is going to be the limit. People that did not attend concerts before will start to think about how much they miss them, so we are going to have a golden age of concerts. By that time, hopefully there will be a vaccine for the coronavirus. I feel bad for artists, but they had to understand this is how the system worked. If you were already starving before, then you have to take your lumps when a worldwide pandemic happens. Nobody saw this coming, but this could be very good for music. Perhaps, artists will now find new ways in which they could earn money besides the standard ones that really were not cutting it anymore. This will be a total eye-opener to some artists that new music does not make any money. If this forces artists to create new avenues of unique content, then the person to win is the fan.

[franeridart]

Soooo Tumblr tagged your new post as "Content for Adults Only" and I can't see it 😢😢 srsly tumblr is pissing me off rn

Anon said:I don't understand how your most recent post about Denki is blocked by safety mode????? Like it's just your art of his birthday! I love the art of it tho, it's fantastic! Keep up the amazing work.

Anon said:*whispers* the thing you just posted contains sensetive media apperantly

Yeah it’s most probably Mineta isn’t it

(jk it was probs my inclination to swear my way through life’s fault, I asked for a review so it should be visible in a bit but for now you can see it here !!)

Anon said:!!! I didn't know when Kaminari's birthday was but his is the same as mine and I'm even more attached to him now !!! Thanks for bringing that info to my attention and also your doodles were amazing I love them and I hope you have a nice day!!

Yay for you and yay for him too!!!!!!!! I hope you’ll have a great birthday tomorrow, anon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And thank you!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:I can't remember if you've already answered this question but in light of Kami's birthday - you once did a comic showing what everyone from the Bakusquad would get him for his birthday, so I wanted to know what do you think Bakugou would get all of his friends for their birthdays?

Bakugou has the hardest time coming up with birthday presents, presents are just Not A Thing He Does, he tries but it’s just ???? I mean think back to how he tried to cheer Kirishima up, that boy is so damn awkward - that said, given how all his friends gave him something he felt the need to show them he could reciprocate, so this is what he came up with: 

Sero’s actual tastes in material possessions are a total mystery for everyone, they make absolutely no sense, but what Bakugou KNOWS is that the fucker likes to eat his greens, so that’s what he did for him - he cooked the healthiest and tastiest meal he could manage to make, spent a whole damn lot of time researching it too, and Sero was honestly so touched (he loved it)

Jirou got a offer to go with her to a concert she couldn’t find anyone to go with - she hadn’t outright asked anyone, but it was clear she wanted to go but not alone - the band was too much for all of her friends, so she was sorta letting the idea of going go. Which is when Bakugou offhandedly mentioned that he’d heard there was the one gig from that one band and he was thinking of going since he liked that band and whatever she wanted to come or something? Bakugou had just spent the last day and a half listening to the band’s discography for the sake of making it believable and Jirou saw right through him (she didn’t mention it) (but man Bakugou could be seriously nice couldn’t he)

Mina’s present was to actually agree to go to her party. That was it. Mina’s parties are the opposite of Bakugou’s ideal place to spend a whole night at, they’re loud, and there’s drinking, and dancing, and the whole school is invited and it’s packed, so when she asked him to come she never thought he’d actually agree to go and stay the whole night, but boy did he. He also let her pick his outfit (Mina recognized the effort for the present it was. She was delighted)

Kaminari got a shopping trip - it went like this: Bakugou mentioned he was going to the mall, which always ends up with Kaminari tagging along just to go window shopping. So he stopped in front of the windows, pointed at stuff, made noises about the deals, and Bakugou went “wait here” and then went in and bought whatever Kaminari had been excited about. It happened four times before Kaminari caught on, and then Bakugou literally had to threaten him to make him stop holding back “I’m deciding I wanna do this so I’m doing this” (he still held back, but by the end of it Kaminari had actually whined the sentence “Bakugou please” pointing at yet another jacket or shirt of necklace way more than once) (he was so damn happy he didn’t even think about how he had absolutely no space for everything he’d just bought to fit in his room)

Kirishima was the hardest one (pun intended). Kirishima was actually so difficult Bakugou spent months thinking about what to get him and came up empty handed anyway. He was so damn complicated that Bakugou sucked up his pride and straight out asked him what he wanted for his birthday. “I don’t want to fuck this up”, he said, and Kirishima smiled so hard and so wide and so bright, it felt like enough of a present for him just hearing that. He told him he wanted to spend the day with him, so they did that - studied, sparred, ate, hung with the others. Bakugou didn’t think it was enough of a present since honestly it felt like any other day, but Kirishima was happy, so he guessed it was fine (he found and bought a super rare super expensive Crimson Riot figure to gift him anyway) (Kirishima cried)

Anon said:You are so awesome!!!

sob thank you SO MUCH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ;A;

Anon said:It's t[odobak]u week! It's honestly a ship I never thought about, but ever since I saw fanart about them I've been thinking about their dynamic as a couple. How would that even work with their personalities? I know you don't really ship Katsuki with anyone else but Kiri, but let's say for some reason Bakugou and Todoroki got together. How would you describe their complicated relationship/dynamic? I've been thinking about it ever since I saw that fanart Q_Q

I talked about my feelings for these two’s relationship here!! But in all honesty I just can’t see them as romantics (if I could I’d probably ship it hah) so I can’t say how it’d work for them in a relationship of that kind... mostly because all I can think of as an answer is “it wouldn’t work” haha rip

Anon said:I love when you draw Bakugou being a big old softy

Fun fact: I take the fact that Mitsuki is unapologetically soft to Masaru as a good enough proof that in a romantic relationship Bakugou would be the softest to his partner - he’s already soft enough for Kirishima, can you imagine how much more he’d be after being openly in love with him for years? (I can) (it’s beautiful)

Anon said:More adult!AU please!!!!!!!!!!!

Uhhhhhhhhhhh sure, but it wasn’t really an AU tho! It’s just me playing around with their designs a bit, I’ve been drawing them aged up now and again for a while now (tho I admit mostly what stays constant in the design is only the hairstyles, everything else changes based on how I’m feeling it atm) anyway yeah, more will come in the future! Can’t promise the designs will stay totally unchanged, tho haha

Anon said:We only have to last one more day until the next chapter (probably) kills us all with the feels. Thank you to you and your art for getting me through this terrible week of waiting.

;A; you’re welcome, I’m trying to keep myself sane with my own doodles too so helping you along is a beautiful most welcome side-effect

Anon said:Could i have a ref of your adult kiribaku scars? if not i understand! have a great day!

No probs, just, I can’t draw right now cause of hand-problems so you’ll have to make do with me telling you where they are? Also that’s just how I went for it in that drawing, it’s nothing set in stone, really, I keep on adding and moving them around every time I draw them

The only scars Bakugou has there are on his palms - cover the whole of it and reach a bit on the inside of his wrist too, they’re burn scars and come from overusing his quirk one too many times. Kirishima’s got more - aside from the canon eye one he’s got one on the left side of his mouth, one on each forearm in the same spots he’s been hurt in the latest chapter, and one covering most part of his upper back (this one he got protecting civilians with his own body too often and breaking one time too many)

Anon said:I don't know if you take request or not but if you do, could you draw adult bakugou with baby kirishima and vice versa, please? 😙😊

I already have tho!! x x x

Anon said: Holy crap, scarred up hottie Kirishima with the black roots saved my life

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! glad you liked him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *O*

Anon said:denki at the end of your last post is me xD

*whispers* honestly same

Anon said:Okay but think about how fucking pissed Baku would be if Todoroki tripped and fell and broke his ankle walking up the the battle arena and they didn't even get to fight because Todoroki can't even stand.

Listen, listen, if anything like this happened Bakugou would take Todoroki off his list of worthy rivals asap why was he ever even interested in this guy why did he even waste his time like this he’s so done

Anon said:I just got my wisdom teeth removed and can't pronounce "f" , and all I can think ab is Bakugo, in the same case, being pissed as hell because he can't say "fuck" anymore

That’s the moment the squad learns that Bakugou uses the word fuck out of convenience and not because it’s the only one he knows, really (did all those swear words even exist) (how does he even know so many)

Anon said:Fran I just found out why you've stopped posting Haikyuu as much and?? I feel so bad?? Because you're absolutely right, the fandom might be pretty healthy compared to others but it a certain idea of what should be and what shouldn't be. Like the minute you get into the fandom you're bombarded with the "canon" ships (which aren't even canon smh) and then there's other ships which are just automatically designated as "brotp" and if you don't follow the norm then you get hate. (1/2)

And it just makes me feel terrible because you obviously love(d?) Haikyuu a lot, and drawing for it, but then the fandom basically forced you to leave. And that just makes me really really sad. I used to be sad that you didn't draw for Haikyuu much anymore (because despite fandom I do love the series very much) but now I'm just. Really glad that you found BNHA and are having fun drawing for it. Ahaha this is kinda pointless but I really respect you and so?? Just keep doing you

Thank you so much oh my god orz it’s... true, posting for hq hasn’t been half as fun as it used to be, lately, but I do still enjoy it! Between everything the fact that the fandom is sort of asleep atm does make me lose even the last motivation to draw more, so! I’m pretty confident as soon as the fandom wakes back up I’ll start posting more for it again! After all I love the show and all the characters a lot still~

Anon said:*chanting* Draw that hair angst! Draw that hair angst!

I’m trying !!! (tomorrow might just be the right day)

Anon said:i just recently started watching bnha and i'm IN LOVE!!!! i'm also glad i can appreciate your art more bc now i actually know who the characters are 😂

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m SO GLAD you’re liking it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And thank you SO MUCH for sticking around even while you didn’t know the show!!!!

Anon said:i love your art!!!!!! im gay!!!!!

tHANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and great for you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:  I can't believe Kirishima wears Franeridart brand knickers

It’s the most popular brand on this blog, really

Anon said:bro i don't even read/watch bnha. why am i so invested in these kids. it's,, it's your fault isn't it. you're being paid by horikoshi (is that the mangaka's name?) to reel us all in aren't you. EXPOSED, FRAN

Joke’s on me anon, I’m not even being paid for this (lol) (since you like the kids you should really give the show a try, tho *nudge nudge*)

Anon said:hi just a friendly reminder that kirishima eijirou is amazing and incredible and so are you

Being given the same compliments given to Kirishima might as well be the best thing ever happened to me.... oh my gods.............. thank you............

Anon said:There's only one way for me to find out if my Quirk is breathing under water

Anon no

[altobrandy31-blog]

There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than That Absurdly Historic Klay Game

Welcome to Good Stuff, HuffPost’s weekly recommendation series devoted to the least bad things on and off the internet.

Monday night, I found myself in the very top row of the United Center in Chicago, where I bore witness to an absurd bit of history, and what is quite possibly the most entertaining version of basketball ever invented: A Klay Game.

The game itself wasn’t that good, by normal standards. By the end of the first quarter, the Golden State Warriors had run up a 20-point lead on the hapless and injured Chicago Bulls. By halftime, the Dubs had 92 points and were winning by 40. It was pointless. Except for Klay.

Except for Klay. Thompson, that is, the Warriors’ gunner of two-guard who, up to that point in the season, had been trash. Thompson entered the evening having made just five of his first 36 three-point attempts of the season ― a 14 percent clip that was nearly 30 points below his career average from distance. But on Monday, he reverted to his old, dumb self, which unlike Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant ― his superstar teammates whose dominant nights always feel like reminders that they have absolutely broken basketball ― tends to feel more normal. Klay is the old dude at the gym who uses screens the right way, finds himself in the corner, and pummels you with an endless barrage of buckets ... if that old dude was also 6′6″ and one of the greatest shooters of all time.

He hit his first three less than 90 seconds into the game. By the end of the first quarter, he’d made five more. At halftime, he had 10, and at one point, he had made nine out of 11 threes. He finished the game with 14, setting a single-game NBA record in just 27 minutes on the floor. He had 52 points.

The amazing thing about it, though, wasn’t that he broke the record, but how. A Klay Game is a special phenomenon: on the occasions where Klay isn’t just hot but reaches thermonuclear status, the Warriors’ other superstars cease to even consider themselves a part of the game, and instead funnel the ball to him with a relentless, single-minded focus. So each time a Bulls shot clanked off the rim and landed in the hands of a Golden State player, they looked for Klay. In the corner. At the top of the key. Barely across half-court. It didn’t matter. Curry and Durant were passing up open shots to find him. Draymond Green, on one possession, set five screens in an effort to free Thompson from his defenders. They still got theirs, but the night was Klay’s, and they knew it.

So did the crowd. By the start of the second half, no one was paying attention to the score, or the Bulls. Not even their fans. Each time Klay touched the ball, the crowd urged him to shoot. Each time he did, the air burped with the anticipation that he was about to hit another one. And more often than not, it went in. The Warriors are dumb, and even though its cool in some circles to hate them now, I can’t. Not when they play basketball like this. And not when they can decide, on any given night, to let Klay be Klay, and remind us that there are still endless wonders in an NBA season, even when its ultimate outcome already feels certain. ― Travis Waldron

Kurt Russell As Cool Santa

I don’t really know how to explain the new trailer for “The Christmas Chronicles.” There’s Kurt Russell as cool Santa Claus throwing concerts in prison and bemoaning images on cola cans for making his butt look big. There are very CGI elves who don’t totally look like gremlins, but I wouldn’t want to feed them after midnight. The Netflix movie’s premise seems to revolve ― maybe? ― around the potential death of Christmas, which won’t be saved unless some kids travel around the world with Chris Pratt’s evil dad, who seems more worried about breaking out “Star Wars” references and dunking presents down chimneys. Hmm.

It feels like a Christmas miracle this is happening at all, so I for one will be counting down the days until it arrives in my queue. ― Bill Bradley

WHY IS LIZZO PERFECT?

A Very Good Paperback

Simon & Schuster

I know. I know! This book came out in February. But I missed it then, and this week I finally circled back to the book I’d heard glowing things about for months. If you haven’t read Halliday’s masterfully engineered debut yet, you should do the same thing.

The novel opens on the blossoming romance between Alice, a young editor at a publishing house in New York, and Ezra Blazer, an elderly acclaimed novelist who bears an unmistakeable resemblance to Philip Roth. Also an aspiring writer, Alice soaks up Ezra’s attention and guidance, as he showers her with blackout cookies, rolls of cash to spend at upscale department stores, and sacks of edifying books to read. Rather than fully flipping a narrative so often told from the older male perspective on its head, Halliday relates it from a remove that hovers between clinical and whimsical, as if their relationship is a case file put into the language of a fairy tale.

Then, just as Alice realizes she must choose between her own future as a writer or a real partnership with the ailing Ezra, Halliday throws us into another story. Amar Jaafari, an Iraqi-American economist, has been detained in Heathrow en route to see his brother in Kurdistan. In between dealing with the crushing bureaucracy ― repeated interrogations that cycle through the same questions, vague and inexplicable explanations for his detention ― he reflects on his life, the two countries that have been home to his family, and the violence that has surrounded his brother and other loved ones.

The novel ends with an eerily convincing transcript of a “Desert Island Discs” interview in which Ezra, some ten years on from the start of his relationship with Alice, recommends his all-time favorite songs, reminisces, and flirts with the interviewer.

A dazzling puzzle box of a book, Asymmetry melds ambition and restraint in its exploration of power, artistic imagination, empathy, geopolitics, and love. It’s recently out in paperback, so there’s absolutely no reason not to read it immediately. ― Claire Fallon

A Night of Short Horror Films (By Mostly Women!)

Nitehawk

"Cat Calls" (directed by Kate Dolan)

Every year, Nitehawk Cinema in Brooklyn hosts a short film festival. And every year, Caryn Coleman, director of programming and special projects at the theater, co-curates a midnight showing dedicated to mini horror flicks, the kinds that only require eight to 19 minutes to rattle your already fragile existence and catapult your adrenaline levels in glorious micro waves of fear.

This year’s showing will take place on Thursday, Nov. 8 at 9:30 p.m. And its lineup is like a pleasant middle finger to Jason Blum, a man blithely unaware of the many female directors working in horror today.

“When I read the Jason Blum article I had watched two brand new horror films directed by women in the previous 24 hours,” Coleman told HuffPost. “Genre films by women is nothing new to me or to the many people clued into what’s happening in horror. Therefore, what he said is a prime example of how out of touch certain parts of the film industry establishment are; they are completely unaware of a reality that is right in front of their face simply because they don’t care enough to look.”

Coleman and her co-programmer Sam Zimmerman have paid particular attention to women’s voices at her festival over the years. “This year we’re thrilled that our program not only features 70 percent female directors,” she said, “but that nearly all address the real horror of what it’s like to be a woman in the world.”

Three films to watch at the Shorts Festival’s “Midnite” screening this year are “Rape Card,” “Pumpkin Movie” (“I saw it the night of the Blasey-Ford testimony and it was utterly prescient, couldn’t get it out of my head,” Coleman said), and “Cat Calls.” Tickets are on sale here. ― Katherine Brooks

Rosé In October

Nestled halfway into Quavo’s new album, “Quavo Huncho,” is a track that dares to bring rosé out of the summer slums and into the autumn breeze. Understanding the pink-tinted bubbly should be a year-round affair, “Champagne Rosé” had the rapper “poppin’ bottles” in — gasp! — October. More significantly, he did so with the help of two incredible collaborators. One of them (Cardi B) comes as no surprise; the other (Madonna) is a left-field swerve that proves to be one of the record’s highlights.

Dominating the song with a high-pitched autotune, Madonna’s is the first voice we hear. She stretches “champagne” to three syllables and turns wine into sex the way only she can (“Please drink me up”). Her presence is the yin to Quavo’s full-throated yang, perfectly accentuated by a flute that graces the intoxicating beat. And then, before the four-minute bop ends, Madonna nails a verse that again lets her bend and elongate words with a crisp, clarion cadence: “Let me entertain you / Get inside your vein, too / Intoxicate your brain, ooh / Crazy, what I’ll make you.” It’s a frothy morsel, likely to remain an under-appreciated footnote in all three artists’ repertoires. But listen to it and try not to hit the repeat button a dozen times. You can’t do it. ― Matthew Jacobs

Witch Hunting

Halloween may be over, but witches rule all year long. If you haven’t yet checked out two spooooky witchy reboots ― The CW’s “Charmed” and Netflix’s “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina” ― the time is now. Both series take beloved ’90s shows and turn them into something darker, more complex and more overtly feminist. Neither show is perfect, but they both have done something interesting and timely ― and, dare we say ... magical? Plus, with all the talk of “witch hunting” powerful white men, it’s about damn time we saw some real witchy women get their due. ― Emma Gray

Martha Rosler Forever

In the 1975 video “Semiotics of the Kitchen,” one of multidisciplinary artist Martha Rosler’s most famed works, Rosler stands at a makeshift kitchen station in front of a refrigerator and stove. It looks like a cross between a Rachael Ray cooking demo and a Francesca Woodman photograph.

“Apron,” she says, as she pulls one over her head. “Bowl,” displaying a bowl to the world while pantomiming stirring. “Chopper,” plunging it into the bowl violently. “Egg beater ... fork ... grater,” she continues, rubbing the fork up and down the grater, emitting a jarring racket. She continues down the alphabet, naming different kitchen appliances and simulating their use for the viewer like an alien mimicking domestic rituals. When she picks up the nutcracker, Rosler glares at the viewer while spreading and shutting the tool’s legs with vigor. The video, critiquing the oppressive, domestic roles women are often forced to embody, becomes a jagged dance to the tune of a grating metallic symphony.

This is Rosler’s most well-known piece, but far from the only one worth knowing. A retrospective at the Jewish Museum spans Rosler’s five-decade career. Featuring installations, photographic series, sculpture, and video, the exhibit probes far beyond “Semiotics of the Kitchen” to show us one of the most witty and dogged feminist artists of our time. In one photo collage, blond women snap selfies in a mod mansion as flames blaze outside the windows. In an installation, various women’s lingerie and sleepwear congregate around a white mattress. The cluster of thongs and spanx and granny panties alludes to the stories clothes tell about the women who wear them. Or perhaps just the stories we buy into.

The show opens on Friday, Nov. 2 and is up until March. All feminists, Jews and bad chefs are encouraged to attend. ― Priscilla Frank

The Drawing of Lines

Screenshot

We’re all blessed to have lived long enough to discover that the Gateway Pundit apparently does have a line, and that line’s name is Jacob Wohl. ― Ashley Feinberg

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/there-were-zero-things-better-this-week-than-that-absurdly-historic-klay-game_us_5bdccf96e4b09d43e31efd6c

[weekegg2-blog]

There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than That Absurdly Historic Klay Game

Welcome to Good Stuff, HuffPost’s weekly recommendation series devoted to the least bad things on and off the internet.

Monday night, I found myself in the very top row of the United Center in Chicago, where I bore witness to an absurd bit of history, and what is quite possibly the most entertaining version of basketball ever invented: A Klay Game.

The game itself wasn’t that good, by normal standards. By the end of the first quarter, the Golden State Warriors had run up a 20-point lead on the hapless and injured Chicago Bulls. By halftime, the Dubs had 92 points and were winning by 40. It was pointless. Except for Klay.

Except for Klay. Thompson, that is, the Warriors’ gunner of two-guard who, up to that point in the season, had been trash. Thompson entered the evening having made just five of his first 36 three-point attempts of the season ― a 14 percent clip that was nearly 30 points below his career average from distance. But on Monday, he reverted to his old, dumb self, which unlike Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant ― his superstar teammates whose dominant nights always feel like reminders that they have absolutely broken basketball ― tends to feel more normal. Klay is the old dude at the gym who uses screens the right way, finds himself in the corner, and pummels you with an endless barrage of buckets ... if that old dude was also 6′6″ and one of the greatest shooters of all time.

He hit his first three less than 90 seconds into the game. By the end of the first quarter, he’d made five more. At halftime, he had 10, and at one point, he had made nine out of 11 threes. He finished the game with 14, setting a single-game NBA record in just 27 minutes on the floor. He had 52 points.

The amazing thing about it, though, wasn’t that he broke the record, but how. A Klay Game is a special phenomenon: on the occasions where Klay isn’t just hot but reaches thermonuclear status, the Warriors’ other superstars cease to even consider themselves a part of the game, and instead funnel the ball to him with a relentless, single-minded focus. So each time a Bulls shot clanked off the rim and landed in the hands of a Golden State player, they looked for Klay. In the corner. At the top of the key. Barely across half-court. It didn’t matter. Curry and Durant were passing up open shots to find him. Draymond Green, on one possession, set five screens in an effort to free Thompson from his defenders. They still got theirs, but the night was Klay’s, and they knew it.

So did the crowd. By the start of the second half, no one was paying attention to the score, or the Bulls. Not even their fans. Each time Klay touched the ball, the crowd urged him to shoot. Each time he did, the air burped with the anticipation that he was about to hit another one. And more often than not, it went in. The Warriors are dumb, and even though its cool in some circles to hate them now, I can’t. Not when they play basketball like this. And not when they can decide, on any given night, to let Klay be Klay, and remind us that there are still endless wonders in an NBA season, even when its ultimate outcome already feels certain. ― Travis Waldron

Kurt Russell As Cool Santa

I don’t really know how to explain the new trailer for “The Christmas Chronicles.” There’s Kurt Russell as cool Santa Claus throwing concerts in prison and bemoaning images on cola cans for making his butt look big. There are very CGI elves who don’t totally look like gremlins, but I wouldn’t want to feed them after midnight. The Netflix movie’s premise seems to revolve ― maybe? ― around the potential death of Christmas, which won’t be saved unless some kids travel around the world with Chris Pratt’s evil dad, who seems more worried about breaking out “Star Wars” references and dunking presents down chimneys. Hmm.

It feels like a Christmas miracle this is happening at all, so I for one will be counting down the days until it arrives in my queue. ― Bill Bradley

WHY IS LIZZO PERFECT?

A Very Good Paperback

Simon & Schuster

I know. I know! This book came out in February. But I missed it then, and this week I finally circled back to the book I’d heard glowing things about for months. If you haven’t read Halliday’s masterfully engineered debut yet, you should do the same thing.

The novel opens on the blossoming romance between Alice, a young editor at a publishing house in New York, and Ezra Blazer, an elderly acclaimed novelist who bears an unmistakeable resemblance to Philip Roth. Also an aspiring writer, Alice soaks up Ezra’s attention and guidance, as he showers her with blackout cookies, rolls of cash to spend at upscale department stores, and sacks of edifying books to read. Rather than fully flipping a narrative so often told from the older male perspective on its head, Halliday relates it from a remove that hovers between clinical and whimsical, as if their relationship is a case file put into the language of a fairy tale.

Then, just as Alice realizes she must choose between her own future as a writer or a real partnership with the ailing Ezra, Halliday throws us into another story. Amar Jaafari, an Iraqi-American economist, has been detained in Heathrow en route to see his brother in Kurdistan. In between dealing with the crushing bureaucracy ― repeated interrogations that cycle through the same questions, vague and inexplicable explanations for his detention ― he reflects on his life, the two countries that have been home to his family, and the violence that has surrounded his brother and other loved ones.

The novel ends with an eerily convincing transcript of a “Desert Island Discs” interview in which Ezra, some ten years on from the start of his relationship with Alice, recommends his all-time favorite songs, reminisces, and flirts with the interviewer.

A dazzling puzzle box of a book, Asymmetry melds ambition and restraint in its exploration of power, artistic imagination, empathy, geopolitics, and love. It’s recently out in paperback, so there’s absolutely no reason not to read it immediately. ― Claire Fallon

A Night of Short Horror Films (By Mostly Women!)

Nitehawk

"Cat Calls" (directed by Kate Dolan)

Every year, Nitehawk Cinema in Brooklyn hosts a short film festival. And every year, Caryn Coleman, director of programming and special projects at the theater, co-curates a midnight showing dedicated to mini horror flicks, the kinds that only require eight to 19 minutes to rattle your already fragile existence and catapult your adrenaline levels in glorious micro waves of fear.

This year’s showing will take place on Thursday, Nov. 8 at 9:30 p.m. And its lineup is like a pleasant middle finger to Jason Blum, a man blithely unaware of the many female directors working in horror today.

“When I read the Jason Blum article I had watched two brand new horror films directed by women in the previous 24 hours,” Coleman told HuffPost. “Genre films by women is nothing new to me or to the many people clued into what’s happening in horror. Therefore, what he said is a prime example of how out of touch certain parts of the film industry establishment are; they are completely unaware of a reality that is right in front of their face simply because they don’t care enough to look.”

Coleman and her co-programmer Sam Zimmerman have paid particular attention to women’s voices at her festival over the years. “This year we’re thrilled that our program not only features 70 percent female directors,” she said, “but that nearly all address the real horror of what it’s like to be a woman in the world.”

Three films to watch at the Shorts Festival’s “Midnite” screening this year are “Rape Card,” “Pumpkin Movie” (“I saw it the night of the Blasey-Ford testimony and it was utterly prescient, couldn’t get it out of my head,” Coleman said), and “Cat Calls.” Tickets are on sale here. ― Katherine Brooks

Rosé In October

Nestled halfway into Quavo’s new album, “Quavo Huncho,” is a track that dares to bring rosé out of the summer slums and into the autumn breeze. Understanding the pink-tinted bubbly should be a year-round affair, “Champagne Rosé” had the rapper “poppin’ bottles” in — gasp! — October. More significantly, he did so with the help of two incredible collaborators. One of them (Cardi B) comes as no surprise; the other (Madonna) is a left-field swerve that proves to be one of the record’s highlights.

Dominating the song with a high-pitched autotune, Madonna’s is the first voice we hear. She stretches “champagne” to three syllables and turns wine into sex the way only she can (“Please drink me up”). Her presence is the yin to Quavo’s full-throated yang, perfectly accentuated by a flute that graces the intoxicating beat. And then, before the four-minute bop ends, Madonna nails a verse that again lets her bend and elongate words with a crisp, clarion cadence: “Let me entertain you / Get inside your vein, too / Intoxicate your brain, ooh / Crazy, what I’ll make you.” It’s a frothy morsel, likely to remain an under-appreciated footnote in all three artists’ repertoires. But listen to it and try not to hit the repeat button a dozen times. You can’t do it. ― Matthew Jacobs

Witch Hunting

Halloween may be over, but witches rule all year long. If you haven’t yet checked out two spooooky witchy reboots ― The CW’s “Charmed” and Netflix’s “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina” ― the time is now. Both series take beloved ’90s shows and turn them into something darker, more complex and more overtly feminist. Neither show is perfect, but they both have done something interesting and timely ― and, dare we say ... magical? Plus, with all the talk of “witch hunting” powerful white men, it’s about damn time we saw some real witchy women get their due. ― Emma Gray

Martha Rosler Forever

In the 1975 video “Semiotics of the Kitchen,” one of multidisciplinary artist Martha Rosler’s most famed works, Rosler stands at a makeshift kitchen station in front of a refrigerator and stove. It looks like a cross between a Rachael Ray cooking demo and a Francesca Woodman photograph.

“Apron,” she says, as she pulls one over her head. “Bowl,” displaying a bowl to the world while pantomiming stirring. “Chopper,” plunging it into the bowl violently. “Egg beater ... fork ... grater,” she continues, rubbing the fork up and down the grater, emitting a jarring racket. She continues down the alphabet, naming different kitchen appliances and simulating their use for the viewer like an alien mimicking domestic rituals. When she picks up the nutcracker, Rosler glares at the viewer while spreading and shutting the tool’s legs with vigor. The video, critiquing the oppressive, domestic roles women are often forced to embody, becomes a jagged dance to the tune of a grating metallic symphony.

This is Rosler’s most well-known piece, but far from the only one worth knowing. A retrospective at the Jewish Museum spans Rosler’s five-decade career. Featuring installations, photographic series, sculpture, and video, the exhibit probes far beyond “Semiotics of the Kitchen” to show us one of the most witty and dogged feminist artists of our time. In one photo collage, blond women snap selfies in a mod mansion as flames blaze outside the windows. In an installation, various women’s lingerie and sleepwear congregate around a white mattress. The cluster of thongs and spanx and granny panties alludes to the stories clothes tell about the women who wear them. Or perhaps just the stories we buy into.

The show opens on Friday, Nov. 2 and is up until March. All feminists, Jews and bad chefs are encouraged to attend. ― Priscilla Frank

The Drawing of Lines

Screenshot

We’re all blessed to have lived long enough to discover that the Gateway Pundit apparently does have a line, and that line’s name is Jacob Wohl. ― Ashley Feinberg

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/there-were-zero-things-better-this-week-than-that-absurdly-historic-klay-game_us_5bdccf96e4b09d43e31efd6c

[pocket-luv101]

I Won’t Say I’m in Love

Characters: Lawless and a bunch of singing whales Ship: LawLicht Summary: Some things were better off never spoken. Lawless could never say he was in love. It hurt too much. But his Subclasses were determined to make him admit it. {LawLicht//Songfic}

Link to Fanfiction

“Lichtan, I’m home~” Lawless said in a songful tone as he walked into their hotel room. He was expecting Licht to yell at him or kick him but only silence greeted him. The room was dark and empty which was strange to Lawless. It was too early for Licht to be asleep but Lawless didn’t turn on the lights in case he was. As quietly as he could, he opened the door to Licht’s room and peered in.

“Is my Angel-chan sleeping?” Lawless asked the dark room but there was no response. He walked into the room and turned on the lights only to find that it was empty like the rest of the hotel room. Something close to panic tugged at his heart and he dashed out of their room. Where could he be?

Lawless had been at his part time job most of the day but their contract would’ve told him if something happened to Licht. Kranz would’ve told him if they going to leave the hotel as well. His mind raced, trying to think of where Licht could be.

“Gil!” Lawless saw his subclass at the end of the hallway. He ran quicker and grabbed his arm. “Have you seen Lichtan? He’s not in his hotel room.”

“He’s downstairs. He overheard the manager talking about how the singer canceled on him and he offered to play the piano for them.” Gil told him and could see the stiffness leave Lawless’s body. Any worry he had was quickly masked with a cocky grin.

“That’s my Angel-chan. He won’t refuse the chance to play the piano for anyone. I wish he would call me before he wonders off like this. I keep telling him that we can’t be apart but he never listens to me. Next time, tell me if he goes anywhere so I don’t have to run around looking for him. You call yourself my subclass but you never think of me.”

The words triggered a memory for both of them and regret crossed Lawless’s face. It was only for a brief moment but Gil recognized the grief. Lawless clicked his tongue and quickly regained his usual expression. “I’m going back to my room. I’m tired from work.”

“You don’t want to go watch Licht play?” Gil asked and Lawless yawned exaggeratedly. It had been a long time since Gil had seen Lawless worry about his Eve and he didn’t know if he was right to be hopeful. His Servamp could be irritating and a brat at times but Gil wanted to see him happy.

“Maybe I should. We don’t know when I’ll get bored of him so I should listen to his music while I still can.” Lawless joked but still walked towards their hotel room. He only stopped when two of his other subclass blocked his path. Their large whale costume didn’t allow him to walk around them.

“Maybe he’ll last longer than the others.” His subclass wearing a green whale costume insisted and Lawless rolled his eyes.

“Does it matter how much he outlives the others when the end is still the same? Lichtan might go on and on about being an angel but he’s still human. He’ll die eventually but he goes on living his life like it actually means anything. His delusions are almost laughable but entertaining.” Lawless tried to walk past his three subclasses but another two stopped him.

“You’ve only been in a contract with him for a month. Give him time before you judge him.” One of his subclasses began to lecture him and Lawless sighed. He didn’t understand why they would always treat him like a child when he was their Servamp and master.

“If there’s a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I’ve already won that. I know the truth now,” Lawless said bitterly. He had seen with his own eyes what came to people who tried to make something out of their worthless lives. “No one is worth the aggravation. That’s ancient history. Been there, done that.”

“It’s okay to try to love someone again.” Gil told him and something snapped in Lawless. He forced his way through his subclasses, intent on returning to his room to be alone. They followed him and he screamed over his shoulder.

“Stop spewing nonsense. To be wise and love exceeds man’s might.” Lawless quoted. He didn’t know if he was speaking to his subclasses or trying to remind himself of what he thought was truth when he said: “I’m not foolish enough to love. Who even said I fell in love with that delusional angel, anyways? He’s just a little entertainment for me. He’s a way for me to kill time, nothing more.”

“Who d’you think you’re kidding? He’s the earth and heaven to you.” One of his more persistent subclasses followed him and Lawless groaned. The other subclasses followed his lead and it was obvious that they weren’t going to leave him alone. “Try to keep it hidden, honey, but we can see right through you. You can’t conceal it. We know how you’re feeling and who you’re thinking of.”

Lawless walked out of the hallway and into the lobby, hopeful that they wouldn’t follow him. His hopes were dashed when they surrounded him. He was forced to face them. “Just drop it guys. I don’t feel that way. There’s no chance, no way. I won’t say it. No, no.”

“You swoon, you sigh. Why deny it?” One asked.

“It’s too cliché.” Lawless clicked his tongue at them. “I won’t say I’m in love.”

Lawless saw an opening between his subclasses and he used it to escape. He found himself running but he didn’t know if it was from his subclasses or his feelings. He wasn’t sure how long he had ran or how far until he ended up on roof. He looked up at the full moon but its beauty did nothing to console his heart. The moon had been full when…

“Don’t think about it! It doesn’t matter and thinking about it is pointless.” Lawless ordered himself and leaned back against the door. He thought that his heart had learned its lesson about love. But it feels so good when you start out that even wise people forget to be wary of love. His head screamed over his heart, Get a grip, man, unless you’re dying to cry your heart out again.

“There you are!” Lawless jumped when he realized he wasn’t alone on the roof anymore. One of his subclasses was pointing an accusatory finger at him. It was a silly scene and Lawless would’ve laughed at his own situation if it wasn’t for the confusing emotions inside his heart.  “Lawless, you can’t deny it: who you are and how you’re feeling.”

“I’m not—”

“Lawless, we’re not buying that.” Another of his subclasses interrupted him. “We saw you hit the ceiling.”

“Just face it like a grown up.” Gil said. “I saw how you looked at her— how you look at him. When are you going to own up that you got it bad?”

“No chance! No way! I won’t say I’m in love!” Lawless walked off the roof of the hotel, hoping to escape his subclasses in the crowded street. Why were his subclasses being so persistent? They should know as well as him that nothing good could come out of becoming attached to a human. But, despite his own insistence, he felt conflicted.

“Don’t be a fool, Lawless. You’re not in—” Lawless couldn’t complete his sentence when he came face to face with Licht. He stood in front of a billboard promoting Licht’s next concert. The serene expression he had and the lights illuminating him made Licht look like an angel.

He tried to remind himself that human life was a finite thing and no human could use it to create anything of themselves. Everything they did could be undone by the action of another. But those thoughts weren’t as convincing when he was staring at Licht. He said that he only wanted to entertain himself with Licht but could he want something more from Licht?

Did he want Licht to prove him wrong?

“You call yourself an angel but you’re really the devil whispering promises to me, aren’t you?” Lawless thrust his hands into his pocket and forced himself to turn away from the billboard.

“Given up on running now?” His subclasses were behind him and only spoke when he turned. They knew that he was most likely confused by his own feelings but he had to face them. One of his subclasses patted his head. “Give up. Give in. Check the grin, you’re in love.”

“You guys been watching too many romantic movies. Even if this was a great Shakespearean romance, this scene won’t play. I won’t say I’m in love. Now stop following me.”

“You're doin' flips. Read our lips: ‘You're in love’.”

“You’re way off base. I won’t say it so get off my case! I won’t say it!” Lawless walked back into the hotel, hoping to lock himself in his room and away from his subclasses. He was glad they didn’t follow him but he could hear Gil’s voice trailing after him.

“Lawless don’t be proud. It’s okay, you’re in love.”

Lawless couldn’t understand how Gil could say that with any conviction. Love? The admittance of that short word doomed people to disappointment. Even someone as powerful as a Servamp. Love could fade. Love could leave. Love could die. But no matter how it ended, someone was left to grieve. He wouldn’t be that person again. By not admitting to the feelings within his heart, he could assure himself of that.

The soft notes of a piano made him look up and he saw Licht. It wasn’t a poster, but instead the person haunting his heart. He had intended to return to their hotel room but found himself going to Licht instead. Even without the expert lighting in the poster, he looked like an angel. He was focused on his piano so Lawless doubted Licht knew that he was watching.

“I won’t say I’m in love.” But like every time he heard Licht’s music, Lawless felt overwhelmed with emotions. Licht seemed to put his honest feelings in his song and Lawless couldn’t help but respond in turn.

His whisper was drowned out by the music. “At least out loud, I won’t say I’m in love.”

A/N: I made a post about making this fanfic a long time ago and only now got around to writing it XD This might be my last time writing a songfic because it was kind of difficult to incorporate all the lyrics naturally into the story and dialogue. I usually use "Hyde" instead of "Lawless" but at this is before the Greed Pair arc and it seems more appropriate to use Lawless.

I was debating where to post this since my tumblr is for my short one off things but I like this enough to post on my ff account. So I posted it on both here and there.

[atommadchen-blog]

Greenhouse Effect (GreenhousEfect) on Twitter – “Manipulation” 1992 Palle Carlson Drummer. SuperNetCelebrities.Com 2010.

89,357 Views – The hillarious but highly Rocking Greenhouse Effect Videos from their “Final band meeting” Of November 1992 at El Segundo California’s Jet City Sound Studio have been spliced into other G.e clips. Four Songs were shot that night; Three Versions of “White Black Thang’, Search and Destroy, Two Versions (Or more) of the Beatles cover version of “Please Please me”, …and ofcourse several for the somewhat uptemp G.e. Rocker “Manipulation”. Clark Hagins calls the Video for “Manipulation” his favourite; “We look like we’re havin’ fun there,..we look silly but one can tell that when we played live – We Rocked,..and we rocked hard,…we were a weird unusual band,..to say the least.” Greenhouse Effect exploded in notoriety in 2007 with some of Google Videos Most watched clips World Wide; “Our drummer died in 1999 in a bizarre Gardening accident (Laughs)” says Clark Haggins. Ofcourse Hagins is only kidding as he is referring to hillarious Danish Drummer Palle Carlson , the Denmark Drummer who resembles Spinal Tap’s first percussionist in old 1965 black and white clips. “Greenhouse Effect was a World sensation for quite a long time,..we attracted alot of attention and 50,000 Twitter Followers,…I never wanted all the internet fun to end,…but I do see things now finally slowing down in 2010” says Clark Hagins. “We only get about two Million looks a day now,…thats pathetic compared to the kind of business we used to do in 2008.” – There are ofcourse no plans for Rock’s most watched band to reassemble any time soon and Hagins sees the 1992 demise of the band as just another bizarre mistake from his life’s journey; “We were around for like 7 years,…Me and Flipper (Phil Keegan Guitarist) had planned to be the biggest Rock Stars in the musical universe – but it never happened,… ,…until I was like 50 years old (Laughs) ” says Haggins. “We watched all those music industry bands like Nirvana and Green Day hit it big while we did things like work in cubes and clean Pools,..its just a damn shame” says Higgins. Hagins says that the tired band eventually grew ‘into futility’ by late 92′ ; “We had all these Great songs and a great live show but we made enemies with all of the biggest wigs in Hollyweird …there was no way I was ever gonna kiss their arsses – I would clean Swimming Pools before I would do that (Laughs).” Hagins calls the Video for “Manipulation” the absolute Last Hurrah for G.E. ; “The End of the video is hella fucking cool – it looks like Ted is trying to fuck me in the ass and then Palle just picks his nose,.. its pure Lame Rock n roll the way you love it,..it’s fuckin’ hella cool ” ================== 148,037 Views – “Ripping Reason” Comes roaring Out of the speakers with sheer Psychedelic Power !! This Track Sounds so Great in this ‘other’ version – A 1992 “Remix” by sound studio engineer Bill Krodel in El Segundo California with Clark Hagins. “Ripping Reason” is a personal favorite of mine” says Higgins. “I was trying to make it a ‘hit’ I remember,…sorta like “Brandy” but it is so much ‘more’ !! It’s not really a hit so-to-speak ,…its just a flat out Good solid song – A Great piece of Songwriting,…and it sounds Great At Jango Radio !! ‘Ripping’ was recorded in the frantic final days of G.e. and it doesn’t rely on gimmicks like punk speed or guitar solos to get by,…it drudges along in pure melody to near abstract rock perfection and brilliance !!! The confused and tortured lyrics make this track a real winner in cyberspace – and a somewhat ‘unusual’ song for the always quirky G.e. !!!!!!!!! =============== Irie Bob. This 1992 Track is a real Winner for Greenhouse Effect Music Online and in particular at Youtube and GoogleVideo.Com “I started SuperNetCelebrities.Com with Homestead Web hosting who I found through Michael Savage’s Website -…to help bands get exposure” says Clark Hagins in 2008. “Its my goal to make sure that Great bands like Los Angeles’s Batlord get seen more,….and man, do I ever get them seen – ALOT”. IRIE BOB IS THE Pixies-Like 60’s Stooges Like track that appears as the second song on the 1995 “Fountain Weird CD” available at itunes and CD Baby. “The Song was originally entitled ‘Yuri-Bawb’ says Clark Higgins; “But when I suddenly saw the Red CD out of the boxes that day – In October of 1994 from Rainbow Records in Los Angeles – ,…I was horrified to see that they called the Song “Irie Bob”,..I just laughed in horror because the CD was all printed and all done !! And it seemed to be promoting all that 420 Marijuana culture cliche crap,….’Something I personally never wanted any part of in my life,….but now after 17 years,..the name has stuck,…and sometimes people email me,..thinking that I am this pot-head,..because I wrote Irie Bob by G.e. !!! (Laughs) – IRIE BOB Has become a cult classic of G.e. lore what with it’s annoying repetition, distorted bassline, fuzzy guitars (Which Haggins feel need to be turned up more in the final mix), and meandering lyrics and singing which yappily tell the story of a guy who “has been too apathetic,…and thus finally ‘approached Gold thats gleaming”….all in a 4/4 beat of some of Hagins’ best dance beat drumming. This 1992 pop emo song would certainly influence the likes of Beck, Weezer, and others; “When ‘Irie’ was all done and recorded, I just loved the whole ‘feel’ of this little tune,..it was so built around it’s beat and chorus,….Recording Engineer Bill Krodel did an incredible great job at Jet City Sound Studios in El Segundo,….I played all the instruments on this thing myself ,..except then, I got Billy to come in and add these keyboards,..which today – turn out to be the ‘key’ as to why this song is so killer !! I would direct Billy on which sound to implement on the synth,….all the keyboards were always my call with G.e. – though there are many in the South Bay today who try to say that Billy did everything for me,…thats NOT true at all,…Bill Krodel let bands do their own thang,…though he did put in alot of input,…I always had the final calls,…the silly 1960’s keyboards here were entirely my doing,….I dreamed up all my songs,…my songs are good ,..not because of alcohol or drugs like many in the South Bay try to say,…they are good songs simply because I am creative,..and I have been since i was four years old when I drew all those ‘paintings’ at 251,…” Irie Bob, Like all G.e. material Would be rejected by the Program directors at KROQ back in it’s day; “Well,..I would painstakenly try to set up appointments with KROQ Radio Fm programming way back then and they would just say that my songs suck,….I would give them all my tapes,…and nothing would happen,…I would follow up and call back but it was pointless,…thats just the way it is in music industry – even way back then in 1992 and 94′,….you simply ‘had’ to have some kind of major label affiliation in order to achieve FM Airplay,…so thus, songs like IRIE BOB and BRANDY,….NEVER saw their potential back in their day,….I couldn’t do it all alone,….nevermind the fact that I had all the shit goin’ on with Bam Magazine and all. Today, IRIE BOB has racked up Great ‘views’ numbers at Google, Mefeedia, and other websites as it is simply one of cyberspace’s catchyest little secrets. – Originally Recorded September – November 1992 and Appears as part of the 1992 “Big Teen Dollar$” album cd. Produced By Clark Hagins and Bill Krodel. Greenhouse Effect Photos – ?µe???? ???s??? Rock s?????t?µa “fa???µe?? t?? ?e?µ???p???” t?a???d?a.Description199,403 Views – ?µe???? ???s??? Rock s?????t?µa “fa???µe?? t?? ?e?µ???p???” t?a???d?a. – “Misogynistia” is the Great Song that is heard thousands of times a day in 2007 for G.e. – This August 1992 Song was recorded right around the same day as “Five Years” (Which sounds nothing like Miso) and the epic classic “Addicted”. These Songs would compile the September 1992 “Big Teen Dollar$” CD that Clark Hagins Would issue through Massachusett’s Label “Rock City Records’ as well as on sale locally in Redondo Beach at Goboy Records and Mark Theodore’s Alternative Groove Store in Hermosa Beach. “BIG TEEN DOLLAR$” Would be recorded in Early September 92′ with Sound Recording Engineer Of the South Bay Bill Krodel at Jet City Sound Studio in El Segundo Ca. “BTD” Would be a cultural and Lyrical triumph for Haggins as he belittled and attacked Music industry Standard Barers from Kurt Cobain to Henry Rollins to Sammy Hagar to Def Leppard and Bon Jovi too; “BTD” is definitely one of my favorite songs ,..just for how silly and retardedly angry and ironic it is” says Hagins. “Misogynistia is like the anti-dote to BTD,…IT IS just like such a cheesey confused song from 1973 by the Who or Chicago ,..or maybe 80’s-like Duran,…the Song is so serious where-as BTD is absolutely toungue n cheek and DEFINITELY ‘NOT’ !!”……”Writing Sarcastic funny songs from “Star” to “Ben is dead” to “Hey Negrita” in early 91′ had prepared me for some of my ultimate Songwriter moments,…and these would be among my final recordings as I had run out of money by late 92″ Says Higgins – “Waiting 4 Your Love 2 Fail!” explodes with brutal anger, punk speed, angry passion, technical guitar and drumming and plenty of Angst from the World’s Most watched band; Redondo Beach California’s Powerful Greenhouse Efect !!!!! Guitarist Phil Keegan (Dr. Phil) blazes a revolutionary hard rock guitar path here that no other band after the Mighty G.e. could quite copy or capture (Nevermind keep up with !!) …. Clark Hagins pours every ounce of his tortured angry soul into the chilling lyrics and bassist Rick Carmody hangs on for the ride !! – “So Much Better” or Simply “Better” is an ‘ahead of it’s time’ G.e. Song From November 1992 that would also effectively function as quite possibly the last ever idea that Greenhouse Effect and Clark Hagins would ever record. “The Bam Magazine Scandal devestated our band, ruined my concerts, and shook our group’s confidence to the core,…Our bassist Rick Carmody left and soon joined up with the South Bay Redondo Beach Punk band ‘The One Handed Readers’ says Clark Higgins in January 2010 from his offices in San Diego’s “North County’ where today he is a full-time Swimming Pool cleaner,…a job that Hagins says ‘pays the bills’ in the household with just him and his wife; “My life is nothing today,…People say that back in the 90’s I shoulda been a huge Star,…after G.e. flamed out,…I turned more and more to alcohol and by 95′,…I felt my life was technically “Over” up there in Bel Air ,..where I was a Professional Landscaper,…people and other organized bands would still call me, wondering if G.e. was ever coming back,..or if I was ever gonna start throwing concerts again,…but I couldn’t get my psyche into it,…in 96′..i took my Swimming Pool cleaning job with A To Z Pool and Spa in Torrance Ca,..when I moved back down there to the South Bay, ..thats when I knew music for me was over,…I tried to get some people into my shit or to help me but no one would,..nobody cared,…I financed the Rock Opera “White Suburban Liar$” all by myself in 95′,…’put it on sale at GoBoy in Redondo,…but I was 30 years old and not in an active playing band,..man, ..it was over,…I couldn’t do it without Carmody,..atleast I knew I had to have him there”. – Today, Greenhouse Effect explode on the internet (and at itunes) with their old tracks like 1991’s “Brandy” but Hagins calls the scene of music today “almost pointless”. “You got bands like Green Day and Foo Fighters and all their songs sound the same,..they are completely boring people who have never suffered or been picked on in their lives,…they are robotic and their music reflects this,…Dave Grohl is like some jock on a football team,…that guy is ‘NOT’ Rock n roll at all,..yet today, he passes for like as if he is Great like Pete Townshend and the Who or Zeppelin or something,…its disgusting,..People today are so fucking stupid and addicted to drugs and video games,…they don’t know shit about fucking piss ass nothing !! Music sucks now,..and thats all there is to it,..I think Rap music is pathetic….People hear my music,..and suddenly, they hear a trully fucked up person who is ‘really authentically’ fucked up,…thats why I work with a large World audience,…people will never understand what i went through as a child,….but when you hear Greenhouse Effect music,…you suddenly hear it all crystal clear !! I’m a Great drummer and a great guitarist who ‘got that way’ because I had no friends,…I had nothing else to do,…I didn’t fucking learn shit in a book like Dave Grohl,….that guy is not the last of 8 kids,…fuck that guy,..he doesn’t know shit about shit !!” Hagins says that his number one goal and desire would be to see Barack Obama impeached from Office; “If me and my music can play a small part in getting Democrats un-elected,..and getting people out there to ‘learn’ about rightwing politics,..and to stop voting for these assholes,..then that is Great and more power to ‘THAT’,…DEMOCRATS ARE ELITEST TYPES OF PEOPLE WHO RAISE TAXES AND STEAL YER MONEY,…I’m not saying Republicans are all that much better or different,…but they are definitely the lesser of two evils,…..I think that drugs are one of the most serious evils of our Western culture,…We need tougher laws to stop people from using them,…People get high on weed and then they simply naturally are gonna vote for evils and snobs like Your typical Democrat type person,…’when I hear some fucker in a suit and tie say that he wants to ‘help’ people out there,…well, to me,…that is an immediate code RED FLAG word for he wants to ‘rule’ and be bigger, more important, and better – ‘OVER’ the people,…!! Because he is an insecure piece of shit !! Used car salesman,..and ,..like some Leo mother-fucker,…he naturally knows how to get over on people,….I DON’T WANT ANYONE FUCKING HELPING ME,….I HELP MYSELF THANK YOU !!” Hagins says that people need to get ‘properly educated’ and learn to stop voting for socialist minded individuals at all cost. “I practically virtually feel that we need to “Outlaw” people from saying that they are running for office because ‘they want to help people – FUCK THAT,…THEY TAKE THE POWER AND CREATIVITY ‘AWAY’ from the individual – thats what they are really trying to do – period – THEY ARE TYRANTS IN SUITS !!” ============================ In September 2009, Greenhouse Effect achieved a very important personal goal for Los Angeles Top Musician Clark Hagins. The Goal you ask ?? 10,000 Twitter Followers. “We got our 10,000th Twitter follower at One of our many Twitter accounts, but in reality, We really have over 63,000 Followers because we have like 33 different accounts,…its hard work” says Hagins. The pressure is always on Haggins because he is probobly Los Angeles’s “Most seen” musician along with his other bandmates Bassist Rick Carmody and others as his band is always loaded at the very tops of all search engines with the Net’s Top tracks of indie music from “Brandy” to the classic “22nd Street” and “Coke Snortin’ Love Boyz”. “We get seen alot – way more than any other band,…its attracted the attention of several Cable TV Networks,..among them Halogen and others,…People want us to go do a brand new album but I am now nearly 50 years old and I am a swimming Pool cleaner kinda stuck in ‘that’ life,..I doubt seriously today that I could pull off another song like “Brandy” in the studio although I am very intrigued by this new idea for “The Famous on TV”,…thats this new track I’ve been fuckin’ around with…” Hagins says that the Potential for the Halogen Tv Show could produce a windfall of itunes mp3 music sales for G.e. that the band badly needs; “Well,..My wife and I ,..we watch alot of Halogen Tv here with our new Cable Company Time Warner Cable in San Diego’s North County,..I could really improve their Tv network,..it needs to be more gritty and hip and there is nothing more hip online with people than G.e.” 10,000 Twitter Followers isn’t a small thing in an era where some of Mtv’s biggest Hip Hop artists only have 900 or so; “We are a big band online,…we are like this huge phenomenon where websites and businesses fight to link and exchange with us or just be word associated with us,…you know yer big when even porn wants to be near you” says Hagins. “I’ve been tryin’ to convince Halogen Tv to let me do it all my way and let me be 100% completely in charge of my project,…They will get big ratings if they listen to me” says Higgins. – Guitarist Clark Haggins Blogs about his band’s ability to get ‘heard’ on the Web and the importance of Jango Internet Radio and other Web Radios such as Pandora. “The key to something Like Jango.Radio or Last.Fm, Pandora, and all these is ya gotta have good songs first and foremost,…..if yer Songs suck, then its really not gonna matter what you do. You gotta have a good recording too. If you have a song or a demo that sounds like a piece of shit,…then Jango and alot of these are probobly not gonna wanna play it,…and even if they did,…a potential new “Fan” or Twitter follower is probobly gonna wanna change the channel,..just like a TV….” – For many consecutive years, the Greenhouse Effect Song “Brandy” (and other songs of theirs) have been able to fight their way to the tops of search engines and into constant rotation at Jango and Pandora. “Our Song sells itself,…because it’s a great song,..we got lucky there when we wrote that one,…alot of people say that it doesn’t even sound like a typical Greenhouse Effect Song,…but then again,..what does ??” says Hagins. “I would recommend at Jango, if yer an artist there,…don’t let people just ‘play’ yer song at yer profile,..instead rather,..let them “add” it,…that way , you will get into more playlists and stations,..you will become ‘preferred’ more,…it will add up to ALOT of Airplay” Hagins and the band’s Management Team say that “Brandy” is responsible for “about 75%” of G.e’s success in cyberspace. “We are known primarily for one song,…but we got other good tunes,..its not like we’re a complete one hit wonder on here,…When people see me in the street, they always comment on Brandy but some have said it’s really not our best Song in reality,..but it ‘is’ the one that the web seems to like and that Jango and Pandora seem to ‘use’ to get listeners to their network sites,….I would advise bands to stick firmly with just one indie radio site,…Jango is the biggest and the best,..it is sorta like a version of Myspace or Youtube in it’s own rite,…Pandora forces you to ‘mail them’ a cd and as we all in bands know – ‘that’ is a big hassel,….at Jango,…you just upload songs,..its easy,…its sorta like i-sound or Sound.cloud ,..or one of those,…all of those millions of little ‘indie’ so called web radio sites are sorta a waste of time,….yer better off just sticking at Jango,…if you get into a zillion different little sites – and i mean places like Echoboost,..well,..if you got alot’a money sittin’ around to burn ,…then maybe,…but i think it’s more likely that you’ll just go insane at night,….just get yer band onto Jango Radio,…and stick with one -‘that’ one !!” Haggins says that Last.FM has in recent years become kind of a hassel. “I used to love LAST.FM but they mix bands profiles together and they do some weird shit,..i admit that i rarely go there really anymore,…there and Pandora”… – Hagins says that if You are an indie band that the odds of getting on to a Real Fm dial Radio Station like KROQ FM or KLOS FM In Los Angeles are at best slim to none. “Alot of those so called ‘real’ radio stations are just shills for the Record Labels , lawyers, and Hollywood,..theres alot of shady shit goin’ on where there are back room ‘pay offs and payola’ no better than back in the 60’s,…I’m sorry but thats just the way it is and reality…..it would be great if you can manage to get your band played on them,…but you probobly gotta be on some major label or lndie label that gets big cred and respect,…but i would say that a good band that likes it’s own independent sound and image would have to adapt and change too much,….and that can be a bad thing,…all in the name of airplay,..its not worth it ,…but….theres really Great good news though now !! – These days in 2009 and 2010, the ratings for real FM Dial Radios have really fallen,…infact many of them are struggling to stay afloat and are going off the air too … ,..EVERYDAY,…..THE REALITY IS now, more people listen to Jango Radio than they do listen to a station like say KROQ FM,….ALOT of new bands are really gettin’ discovered and getting their sound ‘out-there”,….I would say that technically, its probobly more important to have a hit song at Jango than at KLOS, POWER 106, or Kroq FM,….because now, nobody is listening to those three anymore,…not nearly as much anyway,…the web has taken over,..as a vehicle,…plus things like Talk Radio on the AM DIAL in people’s cars – Stuff Like Michael Savage and Hannity,….nevermind the fact that alot of today’s pop music sucks,..I mean just watch the Grammys if ya don’t believe me,…it all sounds the same and it’s boring,…things like Rap music have been a God-send to guys like me,…people get sick of Rap and they listen to Songs like Brandy by Greenhouse Effect – So it all works out well” ———- “22nd Street” is the Soaring classic from G.e’s 1991 epic cd “Going Legit” which was an album Simply recorded by Haggins and Bassist Rick Carmody alone in the studio; “They Shoulda just signed me long ago” says Hagins “Now,..I’m one pissed off hombre,……I won’t stop until i take over EVERYTHING,…..I see my Google Stats n shit at Webilizers,…I get big plays,…it gives me alotta fuckin’ confidence,….I know I got good shit” – Rock City Productions Pro Management SuperNetCelebrities.Com ============== “Big TEEN Dollar$” is the Hillariously ironic Song and anthem from August 1992 that Clark Hagins wrote over the long hot 92′ summer while mowing lawns “up in Bel Air” and “talking to himself” for inspiration and “coaching”; “Bel Air was a very beautiful place,…I worked for this wealthy Arab at Owlwood Estates – thats where Tony Curtis and Sony and Cher once lived,….and Jane Mansfield lived next door at the big “Pink House” on Carolwood,…at the time, Englebert Humperdink lived there next door,….and Marylin Monroe once lived in our Dog House,..where we kept the German sheperds,…Molly, Marko, and Midnight,….Some people suggested that her ghost was in there (Laughs),….I remember those beautiful hot Beverly Hills afternoons and drinking my 40 of beer….I don’t drink now though,..i’m 45 years old,…” – Backing Vocals ; Jeff Crisfield, Bill Krodel, Mark Nathanson ��� Remainder; Clark Hagins. Idea for Song conceived in Redondo Beach at 251. Lyrics @ www.LyricsMode.Com – SuperNetCelebrities.Com ===================== Hagins admits that websites Like Blip Tv allow Over-self indulgent bloggers like himself to fully ‘create’ their own arenas and that unlimited blogging spaces are a Heaven ; “Vimeo and BlipTV are awesome incredible things,….I can really vent my spleen thoroughly,…and ofcourse many people read,..and thats the goal,…to get them reading,..then they go to my other sites, ..or Youtubes,…and then they go to itunes,..and they buy,….the bottom line is they get interested in me and my music,…and they get to read alot,…it gets them more intelligent,…its way MORE educational than a video game,….Video games are something that Democrats cooked up so you will just sit there and be a moron and smoke pot and be a fucking idiot,….and thats how people like Barack Obama and other Democrats get voters,…they create their own pool of morons THAT THEY CAN EASILY CONTROL,…..I would prefer to get the intelligent, more informed votes of hard working American people ,…People like electricians and or Swimming Pool People,…they tend to be way more informed and intelligent because alot of them listen to Dr. Michael Savage in their trucks during the day as they work – Him and Mark Levin talk radio too.” – “Wilson Phillips” comes barrelling out of the Speakers as a heavy Black Sabbath like G.e. Anthem of hard rock. “Ted told me on the phone one day about 1995 that he thought that ‘newer G.e.’ wasn’t as heavy and was too “Happy”,…man,…I guess he was referring to stuff like “Addicted” and “Irie Bob”…, i just fuckin’ laughed at that shit,…I think Ted just started to smoke too much pot and it fried his head !! Clark Hagins blogs that his ‘ideas’ for society and his ability to ‘copy and re-paste entire blogs elsewhere’ is as important as the music itself ; “Shit like Tubemogul can be awesome,….Everybody knows that I don’t do all this writin’ shit so much for the music,..infact, I really don’t even give a rat’s ass about the music so much as I care about getting my politics and society philosophies across to the general public,…..Greenhouse Effect was always about being political,….We were good irish boys who went to church and who had fears,….but then others in the world would come and try to corrupt us,…and try to make us be like everybody else – to conform,….I say ; fuck that,….I keep the same shit that I was at 16 and 23 today still at 44; I am an old fashioned conservative – what-ever that means,….I’m against abortion and Gay marriage and legalizing or promoting lame drugs that I know destroy great minds,…you can write better shit whilst sober !! I listen to Michael Savage,…and if people don’t like it,..then what the fuck,…they can suck my cock” – Tags – tagcloud, asher roth, politics, lil wayne, eminem, asher roth, susan, mel gibson, brandy, wayne gretzky, kroq most played, paramore, muse, radiohead, tom delonge, weezer, pork, hole tour, hip hop, bmo, brandy, lmfao, sky blu fox, cnn, smokey robinson, michael savage radio ———— ============ The exciting Greenhouse Effect are the New “Nirvana” of the internet for these times of the new millineum of 2008, 09, and 2010 !! Great Songs that evoke melody of the 1960’s and bands like the Mersey Beats to the Sounds of the 70’s and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer to Zeppelin !! High Melody is always G.e’s aim !! This little Redondo Beach three piece band has spread their music all around the World like no other band in History !! They use a tight mix of Jango Radio constant Airplay, Pandora Radio attack with the classic “Brandy”, and millions of constantly running Google Videos and Twitters !! Virtually every person you know HAS SEEN A G.E. VIDEO and probobly Downloaded it !! Clark Hagins considers himself every bit as much a “Politician” as a Great musician; “I can see why all these Arab Countries hate the west and the United States in a way sorta… – They don’t want our shit in their countries !! We despicably take our freedoms for Granted and we abuse and take libertys wrongly,…..Hollywood is a buncha fucking Liberal scumbags,….But Thank God, Our Country is on the right track now,….We have won three key races in a row in Late 2009 and here in 2010,….We won in Virginia, New Jersey, and Massachusetts and even though this Scott Brown character just seems like another RINO,….I will still choose ‘that’ over the Obama-Liberal Martha WTF her name is !! Thank God Almighty that we won that Massachusetts one – that was critical !! I am certain that the angry things that I write definitely play a role with the TeaParty Protesters,…THEY READ MY SHIT – THEY’VE BEEN READING IT FOR YEARS !!,……NOT ALL MUSICIANS are Liberals,…Some of us listen to Dr. Michael Savage and Mark Leven Talk Radio,….We are informed,….but we already ‘knew’ from the beginning,….I’ve been a conservative from birth ,…probobly because I am a Taurus born April 27,…..people say that I am crazy – and I fucking AM !! BUT I know that music is the key,….it takes beautiful music to get people to the ballot booth and pull the lever !!! As the unofficial “Leader” of the Tea Party movement, Hagins blogs are often caustic, terrifying, angry reading – but effective. “People used to pick on me,..back in the South Bay and I figured it out,…it was ‘Liberals’ that WE’RE PICKING ON ME,…..tryin’ to say how I’m so “close-minded” when all along it’s THEM who is really that… Liberal Pot-heads and People who sit around listening to Rap and playing Video Games who DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING – ‘THEY’ ARE THE ONES who are always putting other people down,…and usually because they are insecure Gealous Motherfuckers who got no TALENT – ATLEAST NOT LIKE ME !! ” ========= Tags ; tags, tagcloud, asher roth, politics, lil wayne, eminem, asher roth, susan, mel gibson, brandy, wayne gretzky, kroq most played, paramore, muse, radiohead, tom delonge, weezer, pork, hole tour, hip hop, bmo, brandy, lmfao, sky blu fox, cnn, smokey robinson, michael savage radio Likes: 40 Viewed:

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[thedgreene-blog]

the TOP 10 albums I saved to my Spotify in 2017

Seasons greetings friends. I write to you from icy cold Vernon, BC. I’m fighting a sore throat, dried out sinuses, and an eye infection I got from the pool at the Vernon Lodge (formerly the Best Western, currently featuring a Don Cherry branded sports bar). But enough about me. Grab a cup of hot cocoa and kick up your feet. It’s time for another one of D. Greene’s horribly written year end top 10 lists.

10. The Guess Who - American Woman (also Wheatfield Soul and Canned Heat)

 We’ll start off with a perfect double whammy example of why you should stop reading this right now. Seriously. Ok well don’t say anyone even remotely recommended reading this all the way through. First off - These albums came out over 40 years ago. Second - I listened to them all 5-10 years ago. But guess what amigos - they weren’t saved to my Spotify library until this year. I have a beautiful memory of driving around getting together production requirements for a weekend of shooting Gritzmore Season One which is available for your viewing pleasure on YouTube and Funny or Die. With me were my friends Derek (listens to Black Sabbath and Queens of the Stone Age), Justin (listens to Tragically Hip and Anime music), and Melissa (listens to only Japanese folk songs and Lady Gaga(Zef if you’re reading this please DM me)). Despite our wildly different tastes in listening; all genres were transcended by the heavy yet clean and spatial Canadian dad rock majesty that is the Guess Who. While most dad bands force you to listen to a best of because of the sheer monotony of a pentatonic rock album produced in the 70s, The Guess Who’s albums hold up. You’ve got the sounds of jazz, hard rock, 60s referencing psych and more. I’m really running out of steam here and I’m still on number 10 oh my god. Be a good Canadian and listen to some Guess Who.

9. Painted Fruit - PF II

And now to completely stray from the previously mentioned guide lines seemingly rendering this piece of “journalism” more pointless than it all ready is. This album isn’t on Spotify but it is on Bandcamp. Painted Fruit are some old friends from the mother land, Vernon. I shot a video for them a while ago. It still kind of holds up even though it’s on YouTube in 720p. This album sports shiny reverberating guitars influenced by beach rock, drums caught up half way between garage and math rock, and vocals obviously influenced by Talking Heads or similarly uninhibited post punk wailing. My favourite track is “Primitive” it really heats up near the end. Very upbeat but dark. It’s not too common an album can keep you tuned in start to finish but the Fruit’s second album is mentally stimulating all the way through whether it’s on in the car or if you’re taking a more scrutinizing listen with headphones.

8. Fleetwood Mac - Future Games

If you’ve ever spent any time around me you know I don’t shut the fuck up about pre-Stevie Knicks Fleetwood Mac. I think I’m SO god damn cultured because I can say “ACTUALLY they started out as a blues band before transitioning in psychedelic and eventually soft rock”. Wow David. Mr. Rock and Roll trivia. You don’t know shit about what’s going on in the world politically or even in your own city for that matter. You don’t watch sports. You don’t even watch current TV and movies even though you claim to be a writer and director. But I bet you’ve got some sick ass trivia about Fleetwood Mac. They’re that band that does “thunder only happens when it’s raining” right? They’re pretty good - my mom has a few of their CDs. Whatever don’t tell me how to live my life. One day I’m going to get on Jeopardy and then we’ll see who’s laughing when I burn the fuck through the entire rock and roll trivia category and the $1000 daily double is “this guitarist played in Fleetwood Mac before departing and eventually joining the religious cult known as the Children of God” “WHO IS JEREMY SPENCER, ALEX!?” Anyway this album is really good and it’s finally on Spotify. And not to confuse you, Jeremy Spencer plays on Then Play On, which is not on Spotify yet. Danny Kirwan is on Future Games.

7. Kanye West - 808s and Heartbreak/Graduation

Hey Kanye how you doing buddy? Seems like you’re thinking about a lot. Got a lot going on upstairs. Glad I got to see the Life of Pablo show before you cancelled the rest of the tour. If you need to talk or anything I’m right here. It can’t be easy keeping up with those krazy Kardashians. What happened to the album you said you’d put out by this past summer? Can we have a little teaser at least? I was going to DM you on Twitter but you deleted it. Well I just wanted to write and say that I was listening to 808s and Graduation and was thinking about how 10 years ago you literally laid the ground work for the majority of current pop and hip hop. Every dance track lately has the same synth sounds as Graduation. Even rock artists are writing easy listening yacht rock inspired songs again. And who did you sample on Champion? That’s right Steely Dan. You were pumping out vocoder and heavy minimal bass 10 years before Future and 21 Savage. You’re truly an artist my friend even if I compared you to dads who use Facebook last year. Gimme a call man let’s hang out - I miss you.

6. Once and Future Band - Once and Future Band / Brain

The best kind of satisfaction is the kind you didn’t even know you were after. I came across Once and Future Band and realized I had an itch for prog rock I didn’t know needed scratching. If you’ve ever rocked out to Yes, early King Crimson, late Led Zeppelin, Supertramp, I urge you to check these guys out. Every song plays for around 5-6 minutes. Each track an adventure. They even pepper in elements of classic rock and pop but keep you guessing with messy yet precise fills and time signatures. I just noticed their EP “Brain” isn’t on Spotify anymore which is a huge bummer but you should try and track it down.

5. Arcade Fire - Everything Now 

Arcade Fire are a band that “get it” in every sense of that expression. Lyrically I haven’t identified with songs like the ones on Everything Now since...I want to say ever. They’ve completely found their place sonically after the somewhat experimental “Reflektor.” We can all pretend the song you put out with Mavis Staples doesn’t exist, don’t worry. The singles off this album are perfect. The album tracks leave nothing to be desired. Your music videos - MOIA *kissing fingers hand gesture*, your concert OH MY GOOD GOD it was a work of performance art. It’s hard to put into words how Arcade Fire pleases me as a band so I’m going to stop now. Please keep making records forever. Also u kno Arcade Fire can get it ;)

4. Vulfpeck - Mr. Finish Line

This year I was introduced to one of the tightest bands of I’ve ever heard. I’m not using tight like I’m a snowboarder from 2009. I mean musically this band is tight. Vulfpeck is based around 2 guys who went to music school and became gods of building beautiful, happy, upbeat songs around a bass guitar and a drum kit. There is one fill in the track Baby I Don’t Know where the saxophone and the guitar walk down some sort of mind mending jazz scale that just about broke me the first time I heard it. I feel like I intended for this article to be funny but I’m getting really earnest with these entries which isn’t good because it’s not funny and it’s not written well why are you still even here. Hang in there. If you prove you read it all the way through I’ll shake your hand, look you in the eye, and say say thank you.

3. The Lemon Twigs - Do Hollywood

A studio band built around 2 kids who were 17 and 19 or something when this came out. I’m not a real journalist do your own fact checking. I just know when I saw them play at the Cobalt they weren’t even close to old enough to drink in Canada. The Lemon Twigs are part of a fascinating group of LA musicians who seem to all be associated with Johnathan Rado - member of Foxygen, produced this album for the Twigs, produced Tim Heideckers album that came out this year. (How Tim Heidecker is spending his time creatively recently is very questionable. Wareheim remains my favourite. Also Tim and Eric shaped modern comedy but that’s a different essay). Rado also worked with Diane Coffee, former Foxygen drummer, former child actor - like the members of the lemon twigs. The Twigs went to the same high school as Billy Joel which probably doesn’t mean anything but hey isn’t LA neat? In their circle as well is Alex Cameron whose latest album is pretty fun. Basically what I’m getting at here is I’m a big Hollywood wannabe who feels left out of the fun. I just wanna be famous ok? Dammit. This album is great check it out.

2. Sufjan Stevens - Carrie and Lowell Live

Sufjan Stevens is a fascinating artist and person. Who would you sit down and have a 4 hour conversation with if you were given the chance? Sufjan Stevens is on my list. I want to know his creative process, how he spends his days off, how he decides what clothes to wear, why he would cover Hotline Bling live (not complaining - it was incredible to see in person). I got to see Sufjan in concert twice last year and while the experiences were almost too good to be true I was left both times with the bittersweet feeling that I may never experience this or something quite like it again. It’s definitely not being there but if any of Sufjan’s work needed a live recording it was Carrie & Lowell. 

HONOURABLE MENTIONS

HAIM - Just the song You Never Knew. Devonte Hynes is one hell of a producer and song writer. I think I tricked myself into liking HAIM just because I have crushes on all three of them. When I get to Hollywood I’m going to ask Alana on a date.

John Lennon - Mind Games

There’s so much post Beatles music I feel like I’ll never get through it all. I’m usually turned off by Lennon’s cynical lyrically driven basic rock songs but there’s some really good stuff on this album.

Kevin Morby - City Music

New music that sounds old. This album is great and led me to listen to a bunch of his old stuff too. If you don’t know Morby listen to Singing Saw, Harlem River, and follow him on Instagram.

LCD Soundsystem - american dream

I’m more into dance music than I’ve ever been. Not EDM but music by bands that makes you dance. Also my friends got to see them live in New Orleans and I’m definitely not jealous and didn’t have FOMO the whole time they were there and I was back in Vancouver.

Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffit

Zeppelin’s best album that isn’t made up of songs completely stolen from black musicians.

Loving - Loving

Cool easy listening woozy Mac DeMarco rip off tunes.

Nick Hakim - Green Twins

Cool soulful spacey psych music that doesn’t cross into sounding like Hozier.

Paul McCartney - Pure McCartney

Best of Paul who is the best Beatle.

Shintaro Sakamoto - various

Awesome Japanese psych pop.

Steely Dan - Aja

The best of all dad/yacht/jazz rock there is. The bench mark for easy listening melodic rock. I listened to I Got The News probably 200 times this year.

The War on Drugs - A Deeper Understanding

I call bullshit on every music writer who put this in their year end list. No one has played this album past like track 5. It all sounds the same.

NUMBER ONE BEST THING ON THE SPOTIFY OF 2017

Mac DeMarco - This Old Dog

I love Mac. I want to be his friend. Actually I just want his life. I follow him and Kiera on Instagram. His cover of Wonderful Christmastime he just put out is great. I hope Mr. DeMarco keeps making music for decades. What a guy. He doesn’t even shave or dress up when he goes on network late night talk shows. Unfortunately I don’t go to his concerts anymore because they used to be $20 and now they’re like $60. Anyway man keep doing your thing. I don’t care if I come across as a mindless hipster who happens to also roll up his pants. I like your songs. You write great lyrics about love and life. You can shred guitar. Your live cover of Reeling In The Years is amazing. I still laugh about the time I saw you cover Enter Sandman and Smoke On the Water. Mac 4ever.

Well that about does it. Hope you all had a great Christmas and a great time reading this. I’m gonna go put visine in my eyes and watch Elf.

Love, David. (go watch Gritzmore Season One and email it to all those network executives you’re secretly friends with)(here’s a picture of me in my dad’s old clothes)