#edit from hours and hours later but man i remembered the lyric 'every day felt like someday and i just wish we had stayed home'

[mbat]

this was an idea i had last year that i found in my files and decided to revive. woe, angst be upon ye

[killaura]

I was 14 when ioh came out. It was the first time I had ever anticipated an album release and held on to announcements and teasers like gospel. I was already a massive @falloutboy fan at the time, spending all my time on the fobrock forums and going on with my best friend about how we had to ‘get out of this town’ while sitting on the swings at the elementary school or in the grocery store parking lot. Classic. It was also a little gay. Classic. I’d babysit the neighbor’s kid in exchange for an order on the clandestine website because my parents didn’t own a credit card. I made fall out boy and associated bands my entire personality and all my weirdo friends were doing the same. I don’t know what the general public was feeling in anticipation to this album release but me and my friends were electric. We would comb through the q&a section looking for hints and it felt like the guys were talking directly to you, letting you know to be patient. The day this ain’t a scene dropped we knew ~something~ was coming and after refreshing the homepage a million times in my best friend’s basement on the family pc, the webpage changed. it turned ioh blue and there was a singular play button in the center of page. we screamed like only middle school girls can and listened to that song on repeat for hours, it felt like the most exciting day of our lives. my local CD store got in a 5 foot tall promotional poster for the album and I harassed them daily over the phone until the young 20something manager agreed to let me take it home when the displays changed. Once the album finally released I remember it more sombrely than the wait was. I was going through some typical teenage heartache at the time and would listen to golden on repeat looking up at those little glow in the dark stars on my bedroom ceiling. it was SO cliche, but it’s important and integral to the experience anyway. I wore that thing out. I stuck the little tarot cards on the wall next to my life size poster. I had no concept of limited edition, I just knew I needed to see them in front of my face all day, every day.

I did end up getting out of the aforementioned town, about ten years later to the major city I live in now and I made good on promises to my 14 year old self. I saw fall out boy for the first time in 2017 and I won’t even lie to you, that wrecked my shit. by the time they played saturday, I was a weeping mess, dragging the lyrics up from my guts and shouting it back at them. that night I messaged the golden repeat boy (now man) who broke my heart at 14 and told him about the concert. he messaged back very sweetly and indulged in a bit of nostalgia with me. (he also jumps into my dms every few months trying to fuck now, but I digress.)

I’m seeing fall out boy twice this coming summer, once in my (now home) city that saved my life and once in their home city. I’m sure there will be a whole new round of emotions to come up and dig through, but if I’m being honest, I love being a bitch with big feelings and I can’t wait.

Happy 16th, Infinity on High. Stay classy, baby.

[onyxheartbeat]

Dear HIM/Ville Valo fans,

this is a long post but I must discuss this.

________

I came across this interview of Kat Von D from a few days ago. Before I get into my thoughts, below is a passage from her old book “Go Big or Go Home” which you may or may not have read. She wrote about Ville:

________

“I only knew his music, and I loved it on first listen. It was dark and it was beautiful. It was metal and it was poetry. It was love loaded into a gun, and I wondered about the man behind the songs.  Two years later, our paths crossed, and like the majority of the connections I’ve made in life, tattooing brought us together. Through our first tattoo sessions, we began to get to know each other. For the next few years, I just thought of him as my friend from overseas, and that was all. Then, after knowing him for six years, something changed. It could have been the wine, the music, or the moon. Most likely it was just perfect timing. Just one kiss, and he changed my world. We were both sad back then, and lost. I was depressed, having finally ended a marriage that had been doomed from the beginning. I was also dealing with the pressures of filming a television show, which was totally new to me - and drinking my way blindly through it all. His story mirrored mine, and he had been feeling just as low. We had been waiting for something to happen, for someone or something to come along and save us from ourselves. And when it suddenly seemed that that someone was each other, it took us both by surprise. We shared darkness, and doing that bought light back into our somber worlds: for once, we didn’t feel alone.He’s the reason why I wanted to write music to begin with - and learn to sing. I remember the exact moment I made up my mind about making music. It was something I felt I needed to do, not for any reason other than a way to respond to him. It didn’t matter if the songs I’d write never saw the light of day, as long as he was able to listen to my music, my message to him. He had told me to look for a package at my door step, prefacing the delivery of the contents, his new album, saying, “These are all of the things that are easier sung than said.”I knew what he meant, but never imagined that each song would be filled with direct messages to me. I put the album on, and the music rushed out of the speakers and filled my house. His voice rang all around, making it’s way to the core of my heart with every word he sang. As cryptic as those lyrics may have been for anyone else, I knew exactly what each word meant and recognized every event and place he referred to. The songs were so beautiful, I just wished so badly that he could have said everything out loud just once to me. How should I respond to something like this? Where do I even start?The first time I saw him after I got sober, he was in town working on music. We sat in my office at the shop until the late hours of the night, talking and catching up about everything - music, home, art and work. Did we talk about love? No. We constantly danced around our past instead. What happened to us? I couldn’t find the courage to ask because I was scared of the answer I already knew. We decided to draw, with pencils and paper in front of us, we sat at opposite ends of the table. He pulled my three-minute timer from one of the nearby shelves, and placed it at the center of the table. He suggested we draw each other, and I was game. With a flip of the hourglass, the grains of sand moved from one vessel to the other, and we began.Sketching these timed portraits forced us to stare at each other, making it practically impossible to focus on the drawing itself. I had almost forgotten how beautiful his face was. He has a combination of eyes, lips, and a darkness to his looks that makes him look almost otherworldly. With him, I felt like I was at the center of an orderly, tranquil, magnificent universe. For those short three minutes, there were no questions about life or purpose. It was as if we never needed any more from each other than this.Like all people, I’ve suffered from love sickness and tasted the pain of love. The theatrical director of my mind, the one who staged all these versions of him and my life with him, seemed to be unaffected by reason. I was finding myself constantly day dreaming of the past.His eyes, his hands, his crooked smile - I’d ruminate over his features. Things he said. Things he did. Things he wrote. Things he drew. Things he sang. Over and over again, I’d sift through these images and memories as if they somehow contained the answer to my prayers. But I was living with a long-age memory of him; living so far away from the present moment.If we had spoken about what we were or what we thought we were, back when we got sober, I wouldn’t have been so confused, wandering what if, and writing the rest of our story in my mind. What did I expect? For him to magically not hear about me being in a relationship? And to not be bothered by it? If only he would have asked….. I would have….. If we could have only talked….. then things would be….. if we allowed ourselves to transform our fears of being open, vulnerable, then, I’d convince myself, we would be together. I realized that none of that mattered now. If I wanted to be free of this unrequited longing, I would have to make peace with the past and finally let it go. There was no way around it. But did I want to be free of it? - and him?I listened to one of his songs the other day. Out of all the songs he wrote on that album, this one was the most direct. He sings my name in the chorus. By the time the song is over, I’ve felt a range of emotions - I’m sad but happy, frustrated but calm. He sings about how I alone bring him to a place of stillness and peace within when we are together. What a victorious feeling - to enter into a place with him where no one else has been. To be able to bring goodness to and draw it out of someone. Those sweet thoughts were interrupted by  an e-mail from him. Impeccable timing as always. It’s just a short note, letting me now he’s somewhere out there, thinking of me. He ends the message by calling me “Star Face” - his pet name for me from long ago that no one else uses. At that moment, I loathe him for it. I loathe him because I love him. Sometimes it feels like it would be so much easier to walk away from this if he’d just tell me that he hates me, that he wants nothing to do with me. But instead he calls me “Star Face.” There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not letting go, either.‘Ultimately, it is the desire, not the desired, that we love.’The silver plane hurtled over Newfoundland, over the Labrador sea. Someone told me I might see the northern lights as I fly east and north, but I wouldn’t have noticed as I was deep in writing the letter that I had already mentally composed long before I decided to make this trip to see him over New Year’s Day. I didn’t have to edit myself this time, I knew exactly what the letter would say.I reread the note to myself before sealing the envelope. Then I drew out the first letter of his name in pencil on the front. What a beautiful letter it was, probably my favorite out of the entire alphabet. A letter I was so used to writing myself. With ease the swirls and curves of each arch seemed to flow from my heart, my mind’s eye, drawn in and through my arms to my hands, releasing themselves onto the pale ivory paper envelope. My plane landed soon after.I had missed this country, I had missed him, too. I wondered how time had treated him ,for it had been a few years since I had last seen him. I wondered if I still had the ability to quiet his heart when he was feeling manic. He always said I had a way of doing that when I was near. And I wondered if he even needed me in that way anymore.When we met up, he looked just as beautiful as the day we saw each other for the first time, almost ten years before. And as if no time had passed, we started right where we left off - hours flew by in the comfort of each other’s presence. Talking. Catching up.He asked if I was getting sleepy, and my attempt at concealing the tiredness was transparent. I looked at the clock; maybe it was the jet lag or the clock hands pointing to midnight, but I knew it was time to say good-bye. Reluctantly, we both stood up and tried our best to part ways. As good as it felt to be near him again, I gave him the letter I had written letting him know that I was letting the nation of us go. He took the sealed envelope, and then I watched him walk away for what I assumed would be the last time.My heart didn’t belong locked up in a tower across the ocean from my home. It belonged in my chest, beating, living, feeling, sometimes hurting, but always loving. I deserved to be free, and understanding and needing that more than a dream, I was finally able to let him go.”

_________

Now, let me start by saying, I’ve never understood this and I still don’t. I’ve had that passage saved in my drafts for years because I keep almost anything pertaining to Ville. 

I’ve been a HIM fan since I was about 15 years old, and have followed Ville’s life and work closely. The friendship between them was always apparent to HIM fans in those days, because we saw her in photos with the band often. I used to watch Miami Ink and LA Ink as regularly as pretty much anyone in those days, and I remember when this particular passage of her book was brought to light, the HIM fan base read it and we all had our thoughts. We were all aware of Screamworks being written about Kat (it’s obvious in the lyrics of the album) even though Ville never specifically said Kat’s name when asked about it in interviews.

I remember being baffled back when we as HIM fans discovered this passage from the book. I couldn’t imagine not making that relationship work if it was true love. I’m a bit biased because I adore Ville and he’s like a dream to me, but I just couldn’t understand it. It seemed like she took the relationship for granted or she didn’t love him enough to make it work; but I digress. I get it; love and relationships are complex.

Still, flash forward to this recent interview (the screenshot), she says it was unrequited love, and I’m still not understanding it. Why release all the songs now? Why didn’t she make it work if it was true love? Who is she trying to say was the one not reciprocating (as the word “unrequited” suggests) in the relationship? I don’t understand any of it. More than anything, I’ve had so many questions that I wish I could ask Ville about it all because he only spoke briefly about it all, and it was always rather cryptic. 

I’m only writing this as a HIM fan, and because I love Ville and his lyrics on Screamworks so, so much (it’s an extremely underrated album in the HIM discography, in my opinion) so I’m letting any fellow HIM lovers know she wrote an album in response to it, in case you’re interested. I haven’t followed Kat or her work in many years, so I don’t know what to make of all this, but it’s always been extremely apparent to me when listening to Screamworks that a lot of heart went into it and even pain, not that his lyrics on other albums aren’t like that too, but I felt it more on Screamworks. I feel that Ville was the one who was truly heartbroken.

You all probably know from following my blog that I’m obsessed with love and unrequited love. Any romantic stories, bittersweet letters, heartbreak, longing etc. is just my favorite thing in the world so please excuse the long post, haha.

[rapsgoddess]

Washing Machine Heart Part 1. (Erik Killmonger x OC)

This is unedited so please have mercy on me in the notes 😭

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a thing to him. Next to being a mercenary, Erik was a player. He came and went as he pleased, spent his nights with more than one woman, and didn’t feel a single shred of regret whenever his girls would pour out their hearts to him. 

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a single thing to him, yet she still somehow fell in love. 

It was a painful realization. One that she came to during one of Erik’s many long term absences. It was another sleepless night for her and she was sitting in bed with her laptop open to her right and her keyboard directly in front of her. For the past week, the same melody had been on loop inside her head. A broken tune that conveyed so much sorrow that it nearly brought her to tears whenever she hummed it. Each day after she got home from work, she would add onto the melody bit by bit, putting in different instruments and sounds to create a beautiful symphony. 

When it came time to write lyrics for the song, all she could envision was a tune about unrequited love. The same unrequited love that she had been feeling for a while. 

It wasn’t until she put a name to that feeling when she finally realized how she truly felt about Erik. 

She decided to try and keep things suppressed for a while, hoping that her childish feelings of romance would disappear after a few days. 

They didn’t. 

When Erik returned a few weeks later, she didn’t, know how to act. The man made it known that he was not committed to anybody, and Nahla was no exception. On the rare occasion Nahla would catch a glimpse of him on social media, she would see him surrounded by women who looked as if they could be models. Women who were leagues ahead of her. The photos never failed to resurrect her insecurities. They made her question why Erik even bothered to give her the time of day. Yet those insecurities melted away whenever he came to visit her. 

Flash forward to the present, and Nahla found herself laying next to Erik’s naked frame in her bed. The faint sound of her washing machine echoed throughout the house, giving a sort of rhythmic banging as her shoes tussled around inside. The night was still fairly young, having only been a few minutes past seven, but all of the plans that Nahla had for that evening were discarded the moment Erik showed up on her doorstep. 

It didn’t take much for his words to lull her into bed and for his lips on hers to enrapture her. His low, smooth voice was like music to her ears, and her moans being music to his. Each praise that left his lips was like a toxic lullaby. Nahla knew that he had repeated the same words to dozens of women in the past, yet in the moment, they made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. 

“You feel so good around me baby…”

“You don’t know how much I missed this pussy.”

“Say my name so everybody know who’s fuckin’ you right.” 

Thinking back to his words sent shivers down her spine. She was wide awake, restless and too excited to fall asleep. It was rare for Erik to stay after having sex, let alone fall asleep before her, but her inner turmoil prevented her from falling asleep. 

She turned back to look over at Erik, taking in every aspect of his being as if it were the last time she would see him again. No matter how many times she laid eyes on him, she would never be able to find the words to describe how beautiful he was. He had a smile that could light up a room and warm eyes that made her heart flutter each time she looked into them. It often left her wondering why exactly he even entertained the thought of her when he was way out of her league. 

A heavy sigh left Nahla’s lips and she threw the covers off the lower half of her body. She looked back at Erik one last time while putting on her robe, making sure that he stayed asleep. Slowly and quietly, she crept out of the room and down the hall to her makeshift studio, closing the door behind her and turning on the lights. She used her studio as an escape from both the real world and her own mind, and right then she needed an escape from both. Turning on her equipment and opening up her laptop, she opened up the file that held her latest project. The one that helped her come to her realization in the first place. She made sure the speakers were low as to not wake Erik up and pressed play, listening to her voice blend with the gentle melody. 

She had only written a few lines so far and could feel the next verse just on the tip of her tongue, but lyricism had never really been her strong suit. Muttering random words under her breath, she opened up the notes section on GarageBand and began writing down whatever sounded nice, replacing and adding words where she deemed fit. 

“Might as well give it a go,” she sighed, getting up from her chair and walking over to the small corner where her mic and the rest of her recording equipment was set up. She pressed record on an empty track and began singing the second verse, her voice coming out soft and almost broken in contrast to her usual strong, belty tone. She was tired, both physically and emotionally, but she couldn’t walk back to that room. Not with him still laying asleep in her bed as if the two of them were a couple. 

After a few more takes, she had finally gotten her voice warmed up enough to where it didn’t sound completely like shit and she walked over to her work station to edit the track on top the music. 

With her mind now completely engulfed in her music, she didn’t noticed the sound of her toilet flushing or her bathroom sink running down the hall. She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps leading to her studio and her door opening slightly. 

It wasn’t until the feeling of a hand snaking its way around her neck drew her from her work as she jumped in her seat while clutching her chest in panic.

“Whatchu scared for? It’s just me,” Erik muttered, his voice still laced with drowsiness. “What are you doing up? Any other day you’d be knocked out.” His fingers gently squeezed at her neck and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. It was weirdly intimate of him.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to work on something.” Nahla spun her seat around to face him. He had on a pair of low hanging shorts. She recognized them as being one of the pairs she bought for him whenever he decided to stay over. She mentally scoffed at the thought; buying clothes for a man who she wasn’t even in a relationship with. 

“You’re not leaving?” She asked. It had just dawned on her that, miraculously, Erik was still there. 

“Nah. I haven’t seen you in a while so I figured I’d stay for a little bit.” 

The sentiment made her heart flutter but she quickly grounded herself back to reality. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up. 

“So, what are you working on?” He asked, his arms folded across his chest as he looked past her and at the open editing software on her computer. 

“Oh. Well I had a melody that was stuck in my head for a while so I put it down and write lyrics. I lowkey wanna find a mini orchestra to record it though.” 

“Well can I hear it?” He suggested. 

Nahla’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Despite knowing each other for the better part of two years now, this was the most he had ever expressed genuine interest in her music. 

“U-Uhh, I’m not sure… I get really sensitive about my stuff. Plus it’s not what you’d expect it to be,” she said, swirling her chair back around to face her work station as she hesitantly placed her hand on the mouse  and moved the cursor over the “play” button. After taking a deep breath, she played the song and closed her eyes as she waited for it to be over. Throughout the entirety of what little she had to play, Erik was silent, giving no response, comment, or critiques. When it was over, she reluctantly turned around to face him. 

“So? What do you think?”

“Yeah, I can definitely hear an orchestra going behind that. Maybe start off with piano first, then bring in strings or some shit during the hook,” he suggested, walking over to the other chair in the corner of her studio and sitting down. 

“Okay. Thanks.”

For about an hour or two, the two of them stayed up in her studio talking about random things while sharing a blunt together. They eventually migrated back to the bedroom and made their way beneath the covers together, Nahla’s body molding perfectly into Erik’s as they cuddled. 

“Nah, I’m deadass. I thought I had locked his cage, but he always finds a way to get out,” Nahla giggled, referring to her pet chameleon who always managed to get out of his cage. “I remember a few day ago I had just woken up and went into the kitchen to get some juice and I see him inside the sink just sitting there. Then he have the nerve to look up at me like ‘what are you doing here?’ No sir, what are you doing here.” 

Erik laughed softly while shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think I could handle an animal just freely roaming my shit like that.”

“You get used to it after a while. I was low-key thinking about getting a snake too, but I gotta figure out where to put the tank.”

“Oh hell nah. If you get a snake, I’m not coming by anymore.”

“What?! You used to be a whole Navy Seal and you’re scared of snakes, E?” She asked, a bit surprised that he even shared that information with her. 

“Girl, I don’t know how you can even stand them things,” he mumbled, “slithering around and shit. What if it gets out when you’re sleep and starts choking you?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she giggled, earning an eye roll from Erik. 

Though it didn’t seem possible, she pressed herself against Erik even harder, somehow managing to get even closer to him. Resting her head in the crook of his neck, she had a perfect view of the many scars and keloids that littered his body. She could tell some of them are new. Whether or not they were accidental or self inflicted, she didn’t want to know. 

It was times like these where Nahla wished that her outlandish fantasies of romance weren’t fantasies at all. Having never been in a real relationship before, she constantly longed to be loved by someone in a romantic sense. Though she knew that Erik probably never thought of her as more than a fuck buddy, it was nice to feel his warmth underneath her. Even if it was an illusion, it was nice to imagine him as her lover while he was holding her close. 

“What’s on your mind?” He pried, letting out a deep sigh before closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles. 

“Where do you go when you disappear?” She partially lied. Even though that wasn’t what truly was on her mind, it was still a question that lingered over her head for a while. 

“That, I can’t tell you ma. At least not right now.” 

She wasn’t satisfied with how curt his reply was. Sitting up, she supported her head with her hand, her elbow buried into the pillow beside his head as she peered down at him. 

“You can tell me,” she pried. A childish grin spread across her face. “If it’s something illegal I promise I won’t tell.”

Erik peaked one up up at her, a smile of his own taking over his featured. He pushed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Mm… Maybe I could tell you a little bit. I don’t even know where to begin though without you thinkin’ I’m crazy.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy.”

“You say that now.” There was a pregnant pause, and then, in the most serious tone ever, he said, “I’m apart of African royalty.”

“So there’s this country in Africa called Wakanda. At first glance, it seems like a small lil third world country, but in reality, they’re the most advanced civilization on the planet. They got this metal called Vibranium that allows them to all sorts of things, but they keep it hidden from the rest of the world.”

“How? And if they kept it hidden from the world, then how do you know about it?”

“They have a dome that surrounds the entire country. It’s practically impenetrable. And the only reason I know is because my father was the prince. He was sent here on an undercover mission in America but quickly saw how shitty thing were here, so he wanted to change it. “

“Wait, your father is the prince of an African country?” Nahla couldn’t believe her ears. Despite being secretive and mysterious, she knew that Erik wasn’t one to lie. After all, what could he possibly gain from lying about something as far fetched as this?  

“Was. He was killed before he could enact any change; by his own brother no less.”

She could hear a pain and vulnerability in his voice that she’d never heard before. Now she definitely knew that he wasn’t lying. 

Erik’s face had turned to the side in a fruitless attempt to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes. He’d never brought up his family or much of his life before he met her in a conversation, and now she could see why. 

Hesitantly, Nahla reached up to wipe away the tears that left his eyes. “So you plan on going back and getting revenge?” She pondered. It would make sense why he’d want to stay under the radar,  having no social media accounts, no permanent phone number, and constantly disappearing for months at a time. If he wanted to infiltrate an entire hidden country, then he’d have to be the closest thing to a ghost a person could be. 

“It’s on the list,” he replied, sitting up in bed while resting back against the headboard. “But, my main goal is to change the world. Wakanda has technology and weapons that people can’t even begin fathom. If our people were able to get their hands on that kind of fire power, we wouldn’t have to worry about the White man oppressing us any longer.” 

The sadness that was once present in his eyes had long disappeared, instead being replaced with a burning passion. It filled her with joy to see him get passionate about something, but it also put her on edge. Nahla knew what his plan implied, and she didn’t put it past him to sacrifice countless lives in order to see his vision come to life.

Staying silent, she simply nodded, too afraid that she’d say the wrong thing if she opened her mouth. Tearing her gaze away from the man, she began contemplating on everything she had been thinking about prior to his arrival. Her feelings for him were still unwavering, but now she was starting to ponder on whether or not being with him was a wise decision. It didn’t take being a genius to know that Erik’s path was a set one. He was a determined, goal-driven man, and when his mind was made up, there was no convincing him to go back on his decision. 

If she followed him down that path, she wouldn’t be able to turn back. 

“Do I scare you?” 

Nahla looked back up only to be met with obsidian eyes boring straight into her deep brown ones. His question threw her for a loop, no doubt, considering how Erik was never one to be considerate of other people’s feelings. 

“H-Huh? What do you mean?” She knew exactly what he meant. 

“That look in your eyes… You’re scared of something. What is it?” He demanded in an eerily calm manner. 

Attempting to spare his feelings would be a futile decision; Erik read people like his favorite novel. Yet, for some reason, Nahla had no control over the words that left her mouth. 

She almost never did when she was around him. 

“Nothing. I just get a bit spooked in the dark,” she chuckled. 

Erik simply blinked at her, a look of uncertainty and doubt dancing around in his eye before he shrugged it off and laid back down in the bed, facing her completely. 

“You should get some rest. Goodnight,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her. 

Upon hearing his words, Nahla felt an immense tiredness wash over her as if he casted a sleeping spell over her. She glanced over at the clock and noticed how it was nearly 4 AM. She had only three hours before she needed to get up and get ready for work. 

She was tired, but fear kept plaguing her mind. A fear that he wouldn’t be there when she woke up. Or, even worse, a fear that she had dreamt the entire night. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered. 

Nahla wanted to believe him, so she did, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

[vminity21]

+1 | kth

Pairing: HighschoolCrush!Taehyung X StillProcessingIt!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): slight language use, angst (if you read b/w the lines), pretty much smutty kissing, hand groping, mention of alcohol, breast worship, nipple play; Rated: 18+

Summary: When a crush you had in high school unexpectedly returns to your life six years later, this is the experience you have with him when you collected the courage to invite him over to hangout.

Credit to: @suhdays​ for the amazing cover!

Inspiration comes in the form of little expectancy especially when life seems to throw a curveball you never dreamed would be a potential possibility; but, here you are, tapping upon the keyboard of your five-year-old laptop decorated in stickers of celebs you've admired over the years mingled with relevant quotes that have bustled yet again- inspiration that motivates you day by day to continue to be the human being that you are. Inspiration though can appear in lyrical melodies broadcasted globally for millions to pine over; or, published in numerous pages creating imaginary worlds where ones can escape to; or, sketched in a meticulous design to build whatever idea had been desired to come to life; or, filmed in scenes of an edited story by talented persons determined to enter the spotlight in any way they can; or, painted along a canvas in colors of calculated detail bringing forth the picture of accomplishment. Inspiration derives from a mere moment- one that sparks the instinct to gather the materials needed to pour out your heart in ways that may bring a sense of peace.

For you, it used to be in the lines of a song penciled into a crinkled notebook from your backpack hidden away for no one to discover; it used to be countless childhood journals where you expressed your inward battles in order to find enough solace to sleep at night. You've lost your touch over the years because life changes in the blink of an eye, as you grow older, and work can distract from the time taken to focus on yourself; thankfully graduating college to gain the degree you now behold landed you a job, one you hope lasts for many years, and you are currently living in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend, Monica, who's presently slumbering as you brush some loose strands of hair from your vision.

Your dog is curled at the end of your bed as you write, which is something that you haven't done in what feels like forever, but the reasoning behind this sporadic urge ignited when the familiar pair of brown eyes from six years prior, re-entered your world without your preparation and his presence from a recent night shared seems to echo in every space of your brain to where you've finally had enough. It's about time to reach out, the devil on your shoulder whispers, but the angel sitting on the opposite begs to differ. Shaking your head, you pause momentarily, cracking your knuckles before resting your forehead on the desk, exhaling slowly while the memory of his touch seems to haunt your skin.

He was someone you once admired in high school- roaming the hallways where girls giggled giddily each time he'd pass by; star of the basketball team, rising popularity to the point everyone knew his name, collecting homework answers from budding friendships, and it all began once he started his junior year at a new school- the school where you attended. But the difference that set him apart from the typical cliché's of the prevalent students you never seemed to relate to, was that he talked to absolutely everybody and anybody- no judgment on what group the person took part in, his kindness won the hearts of many other than the evident attraction of his physical features. He didn't care who you were or what you were into, he would be your friend, and that, considering he was viewed on a higher level, made him even more special.

Despite never admitting it then, you had a crush on him. He was more of an acquaintance, but you enjoyed his company when he came around, and when a past friend, who is now married with a few kids, used to have a crush on the same person, your heart sank, because with every guy thinking she was hot, you felt as though you would never stand a chance. Especially not with this guy who made your hands jittery and the beat in your chest skip- the guy who is none other than Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung would frequent the chorus room at times when you and your past friend would practice music pieces and he always was fond of your singing voice- something he praised you for often, while his attention was received from his talent regarding sports. Something he was so good at that it was spread that he may have gained quite the scholarship for college if he decided to go. There were memories of bravery where you seized the day just to steal a conversation and a hug; at one time, scribbling the words 'hot af' with an arrow pointing where he signed your friend, Min Yoongi's, yearbook; Yoongi playing it off as though he had no idea who the culprit was when Taehyung asked who wrote it. Utter surprise can't even fathom when you along with Taehyung were voted 'Most Likely to be Famous' by your graduating class when senior year was conquered. The inside joke was for you to hold the basketball while he placed his hands upon the keys of a piano, the picture you still couldn't process happened, but always remained grateful for.

Six years flew by and the conversation never necessarily held, but there were the rare messages from social media where he'd reach out hoping all had been well with you. Interestingly enough, a cover you posted harmonizing with a fellow singer happened to be his absolute favorite, one of the few Instagram posts he'd commented on, and one of the few singing videos he continuously would listen to repeatedly without your knowledge until a few weeks ago when he revealed that to you. A cover that is now near to be a four-year-old video that he still finds uplifting when he hears you and the way your voice blended so well with the other female. Your mind is reeling because after all this time, and even now, there are remains of the aftershock, trying to forget the feel of him, when there's no way you can, not with everything so fresh on your mind. So fresh on your heart.

It all occurred when Yoongi, who kept in touch with you occasionally after graduation brought you up to Taehyung who happened to think of you earlier when listening to his favorite cover of yours, and he agreed he'd like to hang out. He asked if his friend, Hoseok could join you, Monica, and Yoongi which of course you said yes to learn how sweet you found it, that he had traveled within the span of a day after visiting his grandparents, because he is a man of his word, planned to come see you even though the drive was five hours out of his way. The night was filled with so much laughter mixed with serious conversations to the point the card game that was supposed to be played was never finished, and it sprung the desire of wanting to see Taehyung again, and you couldn't come to terms with never knowing so after some encouragement from Monnie and Yoongi, you messaged T to hang out a few days later, but never opened his reply until you were safely home from work.

Taehyung: Gotcha! Hmmm, I haven't decided on what I intend on doing. Either being with family or hanging out with friends. If I don't hang out with family, you could be my plus 1 or bring whomever or vice versa

[Y/N]: Sorry I just got home from work! I'll definitely be your plus 1 if hanging with family doesn't work out! Sounds like a plan!

He asked if you wanted anything from the store when it was confirmed he was on his way which you responded with your typical answer of no, and with music playing from your Bluetooth speaker, you were highly humiliated when you lost track of four minutes of time, opening a message from him to see that he had been there, at your door. Heart racing you rushed to unlock it, head spinning when you saw he leaned against the stair railing with a plastic bag of two Arbor Mist wine bottles dangling from his hand, him promising everything was fine despite your profuse apologies- him slipping his phone in his back pocket while he followed you into your home.

Monnie happened to be staying the night with her family, so it would be just the two of you tonight, besides your dog who bounced at his legs while he reached down to pet her fluffy head. Taking in the sight of him, now that was something you found hard to believe. Just a simple pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt with a black jacket complementing the dark tendrils of hair spread across his forehead leading to the carefully sculpted lining of his jaw nearly brought you to your knees, but you held it together long enough to settle across from him at your dining room table. He had taken off his shoes at the door remembering upon a few days prior, and he set out the wine while you jumped to retrieve wine glasses (Yoongi happened to purchase for you) while banter still related to greetings.

One thing that truly intrigued you when first seeing Taehyung after six years were words, he had said that touched your heart more than you'd like to profess. "That's why I try to enjoy every moment with people because you never know what day will be your last," and you knew right then, that if there was anyone you wanted to share a moment with, it was him, and there he was, right before you, smiling about something you said while the sound of the fruity liquid-filled each glass.

"I really truly do not understand what you are so afraid of. What do you even have to lose?" Monnie tinkered with the lens to her camera while she sauntered through the living room. Exasperated from anxiety, you sucked in your lips before teasingly throwing her the side-eye.

"My dignity,"

"Oh c'mon," she paused, lifting a brow. You had been talking nonstop on how bad you wanted to invite Taehyung over, but fear of rejection including the fear of humiliation seemed to overwhelm you, although deep down you knew your best friend in the entire world was correct. You did not nor do you have anything to lose.

"Well!" You squawked, raising your palms dramatically in the air before slapping them to the sides of your thighs, "Why the hell would Kim Taehyung ever want to hang out with me anyway? Do you not see how farfetched this all is?"

"Bold of you to assume that my life isn't already farfetched enough as it is-"

"Not! The point!"

Monnie sighed, and when she saw the way your shoulders slumped in disappointment that shouldn't have been an issue, to begin with, she stepped closer, placing her hand on your shoulder, "First off, you are overthinking this, and you shouldn't. Besides, I think after hanging out as a group, he only sees you as a friend, meaning no expectations. So, go into it with that mindset okay? I'm sure he'd love to hang out with you. Secondly," she smiled, her serene expression filled with promises she always kept, "You've waited six years for this. I think you should ask him to hang out."

"You really think so?" Your grin reached your hopeful eyes, and the feeling in your chest seemed to react more positively despite your earlier turmoil.

"Yeah. The dude owes us a chair anyways,"

"Ah!" You cackled, back pressed against the dining room table as you remembered literally a few days ago when Taehyung accidentally broke a spindle of the chair in half with his foot when Yoongi scared him just by suddenly walking down the hallway. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so embarrassed."

"I'm not saying to hold it over his head, but," Monnie held up her index finger, "I think that gives him enough reason to come back," she giggled, setting her camera on the dining room table before waltzing into the kitchen.

You shrugged, "At least we can still sit on it."

"Look at it, it's staring at me," Taehyung pointed swiftly at where the vacant spindle would have been, your laughter reverberated throughout the space.

"T, really, you do not owe us new chairs. I promise, it's fine," you reassured him, realizing your cheeks were sore from how much you'd been smiling since he entered your 'realm of refuge' as you liked to describe your apartment. He snapped a picture of it, probably with the intention of getting a new chair for you and Monica regardless, and you found that appreciative although you would be happy if he didn't.

Shit. You pause from the computer screen, leaning back into your chair before folding your arms tight across your chest. Eyeballing the cursor, your vision narrows as it blinks, waiting for you to add more words to the memory that seems to spin in a cycle with the subtle goal of not stopping. Or, so you figure. If recalling every little detail isn't already hard enough, reliving the reminiscence of his fingers twirling in your hair, his sweet laugh when he looked at you, or the way he held you so tight-

But, everything in between, leading up to those mesmerizing flashes are just as important to you as what it led to. Maybe it was the conversation- the three hours of conversation before the move to the sofa which it was hard to fully focus on what else was being said because how could you properly concentrate when the one person, you'd been so worried about spending time with was seriously conversing with you like the pair of you had been friends your whole lives?

Miraculously, you were able to gather the stories of past vacations that resulted in mild disappointment revolving around the complaints of people surrounding him, or the goal of visiting as many places as possible leading Taehyung to scribble down a list of where he'd been to reveal you both have equally been to the same amount of places. Of course, the thrill of going on a mini adventure with him brought an excitement you haven't felt in a while; even the story of why he was transferred to your high school years ago due to a misunderstanding, and when the pair of you made your way to the couch, he nestled into one corner while you gladly took the other, wishing you could snuggle closer but fear prevented you from doing so.

It seemed as though that he didn't want to watch the movie anyhow, because he talked to you as though he never wanted to stop, and eventually it led to you asking one too many times if he was okay with spending the rest of the night with you. "It's up to you, I'll stay if you want me too," he promised, the way your heart fluttered when you replied, "Yes, can you please stay? I don't want you to go."

"Alright, alright! I'll stay," he smiled widely, both of his large hands reaching out, and there was not one ounce of hesitation from you- your hands grasped his before your dog jumped to beg for attention, trying to lick at his face causing your hands to undo. Laughter was contagious with Taehyung, and still cuddled into the corner of the couch, you were so elated that he was going to stay, you reached to hug him, his arms wrapping around you, the feel of your bodies aligning putting the biggest smile on your face. It was crazy how everything was seeming to fall into place- the stars aligning as though it was all magic; and, you couldn't get past how right everything felt. How right he felt. Pulling away, his smile never left him, "Are you shy?" His arm remained draped around your shoulders, and timidly you peer at his surprised gape, his black hair almost covered his crescent eyes.

"I mean... Yeah, I can be," you murmured, reaching to hug him again, but something washed over you this time, a thought that had crossed your mind repeatedly that you just couldn't take it anymore. The side of his face was blurred, placing your palm upon his cheek, and without even a moment of doubt, you kissed him. A sudden decision, but one of the best ones you could have made.

His lips were so soft, the way his mouth just seemed to mold with yours for only a few mere seconds, and the shock on his face when you pulled away, paired with the realization that his hands were held in the air, you hadn't expected his reaction. Shit! You cursed inwardly, immediately jumping back to persistently make sure he was okay; even when he moved to cuddle with you, him claiming everything was fine, but that he couldn't believe you kissed him being the both of you never once saw this coming especially six years ago during the high school days. His hand was fidgety as he swiftly rubbed your shoulder, your head buried on his chest while your mind spun in a continuous loop of how you could not believe that you kissed Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung.

He became quiet- too quiet, concern etched in your expression, maneuvering yourself back to the opposite corner of the couch, so you could face him. "T, are you sure you're okay? Did I freak you out?"

"No, no, I just can't believe you kissed me," he was in awe, eyes dazed as he ran his slim fingers through his hair, "Like, really I never saw this coming,"

"I mean, have you looked in the mirror?" You teased, knowing damn well he'd been aware of you finding him attractive, and he shook his head in dismissal of your compliment as he chuckled; it took you a whole sixty seconds to realize you were holding his hand, fingers linked, and him asking if you were nervous due to your clammy palm, though you tried to swear up and down you were not, the next round of words he said nearly brought you to tears when he finally spoke.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he looked you in the eyes without any faltering, although you tilted your head in mild confusion as to why he was saying this, to begin with, "I don't think you realize how much of an impact you've made on others, especially guys," ah, he was letting you down easy, and you knew it, but you're too stunned to speak as you listened, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit either. You're a great singer, you're pretty much a musician, you love animals, you have a job, you live on your own. Really, you shouldn't sell yourself short-"

"T," you breathed, pleading almost, but trying not to make it obvious, but he never broke eye contact, "We don't have to date or anything, I just- I just wanted a moment with you." You mentioned what inspired you to spend time with him- exposing how a few nights ago when he said he wanted to enjoy every moment with people- you knew you wanted to have a moment with him, too. Memories from high school were spoken momentarily, thirty minutes passing by which included a made-up handshake as well as the subtle twirl of his fingers in your hair- him complimenting how good your hair looked which made you blush even more.

Just when you thought he wasn't already smooth enough, you noticed Taehyung started teasing your dog, her pouncing at his chest before he'd lean in closer to you. Eyebrows scrunching, it took you a hot second to realize what he was doing. Each time Taehyung would scoot closer to you, he'd kiss you, sending the pair of you in boisterous laughter when your dog would try to break the kisses by jumping in between your faces. The more your lips would touch, it'd last a bit longer and longer, your hand clinging to the side of his jacket to pull him closer when things really started moving fast, eventually your dog left the room with the hint that attention was no longer available for her.

Still lip-locked, Taheyung's hands gripped your hips while you willingly moved to straddle him, arms resting on the top of the couch on either side of his head, the tip of your tongue glided along his, while he fanned his hands along your ass. You refrained from moaning into his kiss despite how bad you wanted to, yet you held yourself together, involuntarily grinding your clothed heat where his erection was felt. T smacked your ass before slithering the tips of his fingers to your shirt, slowly unbuttoning one by one.... One by one. His eyes were hazed from how much he was craving your mouth, and with a seductive nod in his direction, he continued until he made it to the final goal, your kisses never planning to stop, the sides of your shirt being brushed away for him to take in the sight of you.

"Ooh my God," his eyes darkened in evident lust when he saw the way your black bra cupped your breasts, "Oh my God," his voice deepened, him hardly knowing what to do with himself while your smirk remained subtlety on your mouth. Though you hadn't needed him to ask, he politely waited for your permission to touch your chest, a quick pang of frilly nerves ghosted your stomach.

"Yeah," you breathed seductively, gradually moving to capture his lips, trying to hold back a giggle when he gently moved his hands to your back, "You're not going to find it there," you mused, referring to the clip. He paused as if panicked, "It's in the front," you finally admitted, but failing miserably, Taehyung let you take initiative, you unclipped your bra uncovering what is now widening his brown eyes. "Oh my God!" His reaction made you want to cum right then and there, especially when his fingers made their way to squeeze your nipples when his mouth returned to yours. Taehyung worshiped your breasts, and for some odd, yet arousing reason, you lived for it.

You're uncertain of when the tv was switched off, and even now, as your hands continue to fly across the keyboard, one thing you do recall, one of the lingering memories of the evening was your shirt being off, thrown onto the floor mingled with your bra, and without any warning, Taehyung hoisted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso while he tightened his hold around your body. His steps were painfully careful, kissing you roughly while your arms kept their place behind his neck, and the direction was being taken to your bedroom where your heart pounded so anxiously to be. His jacket was shed before the bold act, and all that was left was his gray t-shirt and jeans. Laying you down with a bounce from your mattress, he remained above you, and your eyes refused to stray especially when he reached to remove his shirt- his smooth skin greeting yours sending waves of goosebumps spreading among your limbs.

There was no one like him in your eyes, and there never would be. Not in your heart. And with how perfect everything was going; you were not prepared for how hard it was going to be to stop before things went too far. Because what if he doesn't exactly feel the same? He was letting you down easy not even an hour ago, and here you were, hopes so high, you weren't sure how you were going to erase them back down. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, your fingers dug into your comforter, while his palms glided all over your frame for however long you let him, but when he went to remove your leggings, you halted him.

Now, this is where your heart aches when you relive this part, because a conversation was held, one where you mentioned what if someone catches feelings if the both of you decided to solely be just friends with benefits? Taehyung said all you had to do was communicate with him because he was easy to get along with, and you've known this about him for six years. He was always someone easy to talk to, and you knew he would never treat you poorly over a situation like this. And, he hadn't. You made the executive decision to not sleep with him for you wanted him to remember you as the woman you are, and the woman, you've always been, and with the fear of going all the way being something that could change his image of you, you were satisfied to hear the loud echoes of his snoring after you changed into pajamas, gazing at his sleeping demeanor before you drifted into slumber as well.

When the morning came, you were not ready for him to leave, but he asked if you would walk him out, him throwing on his shirt and jacket while you rushed to brush your teeth. T asked if you had any other plans for the rest of the day which you proceeded to answer honestly with a no, as he mentioned that he was going to get breakfast.

"Let me know when you make it home," you said tenderly, "I want to know you're safe,"

"I will," he promised before you embraced him, turning just enough to place a peck to his cheek. It was his smile that decided to enter your recollection- the boxy smile that would plague you until the day you accept that you will never forget it.

And when you opened the door to the apartment where he gracefully waltzed through, you merely caught a glimpse of him leaving, ahead of you quietly shutting the door to whatever could have been.

Or, what could have started a beautiful story that has yet to unfold.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {12}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy

Words: 4.2k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: How are you guys liking the pacing of this story? I think this might be my slowest burn of all.  😬😬

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

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When one thinks of a vacation, you think of beaches, sand, salty ocean water that you can see right through, a blazing sun that is a joy to be burned by, tropical drinks, lounging by the pool in a hammock with an endless supply of bathing suits. When one thinks of the quintessential French vacation, you could think of waking up the smell of flowers from the countryside and the ocean salt, the warm caress of the sun as you sip your French coffee, lounging on the beaches, touring the countryside by day, feasting on the best authentic French cuisine, sipping the best of wine country offered all the while soaking up culture and relaxation. In other words, live like the French.

 Your vacation, though it started awkwardly, didn’t remain that way for too long. You and Henry had made it a mission to take relaxation and freedom to the max and, by doing so, you had created somewhat of a routine. Usually, either you or Henry would make breakfast and coffee then have it outside. After breakfast, you’d both lounge by the pool for an hour or two. That was before you found out he liked to work out first thing in the morning. Though you weren’t much for working out, you vowed to do it with him. which led to you having your coffee and then out for a run through the fields. He often went four miles out then four miles back, but when he realized you were not a runner, he cut it down to two and two. Even that was torture for you.

 Then once you’d returned and showered, whoever came out first would make a simple breakfast that you’d have out back and then to the pool. After you’d take a drive, often going miles and miles checking out neighboring towns seeing sights. On each day, Henry always had something planned. One day it was a tour of a vineyard where you learned all about the winemaking process, helped harvest grapes, and even did the traditional squishing grapes with your feet. That was the day Henry had the brilliant idea to play up your ticklishness, which led to you falling in the barrel staining your white shorts ensemble red. He laughed his ass off to that. By the time you left the vineyard, both of your outfits were ruined, but you had plenty of pictures and a crate of the wine you’d made.

 Another day it was sailing around the Mediterranean in a boat that Henry manned himself. You couldn’t help but watch in awe as he steered it like a pro and taught you the proper terms for things on the boat. When he’d found a good spot to drop anchor close to some rocks, you lounged on the hull soaking up the sun, then taking a dunk in the ocean when the heat became too much where you snorkeled around the reef. On a particular day, he took out a speedboat to St. Tropez for shopping and spa treatments that really had your entire body feeling like jello.

 While he liked to spoil you with luxurious options, he also liked the rugged things too. He taught you how to fish and took you on multiple nature walks. While you enjoyed nature, you realized you didn’t like it as much as he did. According to him, he would choose to be out in nature as often as he possibly could. You were slowly beginning to enjoy it as much as he did. A few times, you took him to a club where you saw firsthand that he was a real party boy in another life. You liked the club nights because it showed you a whole other side of him. The side that was carefree, able to cut loose and not take himself seriously. It was a side you made a silent vow to bring out as often as you could.

 To round out the experience, he did as the French and took advantage of France’s natural romance. There were plenty of romantic dinners at romantic restaurants that overlooked the ocean or the cliffs or the city lights and even a few at romantic vineyards with the view of the rolling hills and a sunset. The romance was not something hard to find, and it wasn’t always in going out. You spent plenty of nights in the villa lounging together with candlelight in the room and a gentle breeze wafting through the opened doors while watching something on tv together. While it was awkward before, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. 

This comfort also helped you feel closer to him and though you teased each other often, said sly things to one another, and even flirted shamelessly, nothing else of significance had happened. Henry didn’t make any moves to kiss you or cuddle or even hug you, really. The most he’d done was hold your hand at the most sporadic moments, for the shortest amount of time. It made no sense, and it drove you crazy because you could feel the attraction between you in everything you did. You could sense the desire in the air was strong, but everything remained lukewarm.

 Though your comfort level rose, your insomnia never subsided. When Henry had gone to bed, you often remained up just writing music, journaling, or making things with the pictures you’d taken throughout the day. Your sleepless or low sleep nights gave you the chance to either reformulate your plan or think about your progress. A lot of times, thinking about the progress had you thinking about him, and if you did that, it was only a matter of time before your mind drifted to your want for him.

 It was funny to you that before him, you could push affection, intimacy, and sex to the side and act like they were not even actual things, and it never bothered you or had any effect. Since Henry, it was damn near impossible. You thought about his touch at every turn, about his lips more times than you could count, and imagined him between your thighs at least once every other day.

 One night it had gotten so bad from remembering him swimming in the pool in slow motion. Everything he did was in slow-mo like he was posing for some men’s porn magazine. That was the night you had to please yourself to thoughts of his wet lips, memories of his voice, and body as it moved through the water and muscles as he hoisted himself up out of the water with it dripping off of every inch of him. that night, it was the quickest you’d ever come. You wondered if he was struggling the way you were, but throughout the days, you saw no evidence he was, and that made you more insecure than you’d ever felt in your life.

 ~~~~~~~~~

-Nine Days Later-

 The night was young—well, young for you. While Henry slept, you found yourself in the back yard with the breeze brushing against your bare skin. The glow of the moon beamed down on you, bathing you in its pearlescent illuminance, making you feel like a goddess of the night. It could have been the moon, the fact you were naked under it, or the 2nd bottle of wine you were on. It didn’t matter what it was; you felt good. The wine made your thoughts flow more freely, and where your thoughts went, your pen in your notebook mapped. You got your best writing done at three in the morning when you were naked and feeling wine-nice.

 With your pen hooked on your bottom lip, you looked over the new lyrics you’d written for a song that Henry had inspired. The notebook was filled with at least ten more from the same muse. This song was the night’s second one. The first centered around your anxious thoughts about making the first move and how to do it in a way with little to no risk, and your worries of being in the friend zone the second was drastically different. This one focused on you admitting your attraction, the possibility you were falling for him, and your fear of him making you feel out of control. It was raw and real, the realest you’d been in a long time when it came to your feelings.

 The words across the page were sensual and painted a clear picture of arousal and desire. As you hummed to yourself the way you imagined it flowing, you began replacing your hums with words. You quickly got lost in your process and zoomed through putting everything down on paper. Once your brain sparked off, it never stopped until it finished the mission.

 “Aliya?”

 You turned to the sound of Henry’s voice, forgetting your state of undress. Almost immediately, you gasped and grabbed the blanket holding it to your breasts.

 “Shit.”

 Henry was already turned away, his back facing you.

 “Um--.”

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, I—shit.”

 Henry snorted then slowly released a breath in a loud huff.

 You rearranged the blanket then spoke, “You can turn around.”

 Slowly and cautiously, Henry turned to you again. With your lips pressed together, you gave him your best apologetic face.

 “I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t think you’d come out here,” you explained.

 Again, Henry snorted then chuckled to himself as he nodded his head. You were so embarrassed that you covered your face.

 “I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time.

 “No need for sorries,” Henry began trying not to make eye contact. “It’s um—it’s okay.”

 The awkwardness had returned.

 “I didn’t see anything. Don’t worry.”

 You didn’t believe him one bit but pushed any remaining awkwardness deep down and fought through it.

“Don’t you sleep at all?”

“Not really. Remember, insomniac.”

 “I know you said that, but usually insomniacs can manage something,” Henry said.

 “Um, well, since I was diagnosed, I can on occasion get three or four hours tops.

 “Wow. We’ve been sharing this house for a little over a week, and I didn’t know that much.”

 You smiled and took another sip from your glass. “You’re off the hook, you actually sleep, and it’s great.”

 “How long have you had it?”

 “Since I was maybe eighteen,” you explained.

 “So what do you do when you’re not sleeping?”

 After finishing your glass, you moaned and leaned back in your chair. “Walk around, find a good spot to sit, write, sometimes go for a drive, online shop, work. Usually, it is mainly work,” you confessed.

 Henry gave you a stern daddyish look. “Are you working now?”

 You bit your bottom lip and scrunched your face. “Guilty but only sort of. I’m writing music. That’s not work for me. For me, it’s a component for my sanity.”

 Henry nodded. “So you sit up all night naked writing music?”

 The way he put it had you laughing out loud.

 “Wow, pretty much. Fuck, when you sum it up like that, you make me sound like an insomniac exhibitionist.”

 You laughed together for a few short moments. “Can’t they prescribe something?”

 “They have, quite a few things actually. When I was eighteenish, I was on several sleeping pills. I was the guinea pig, and I must have tested at least twenty brands and formulas, but none of them seemed to work well with me. Of course, they had to monitor my intake to make sure I didn’t become addicted, but after a few years, I said, forget it let’s not try anything anymore. I just stopped taking the pills and sucked it up,” you clarified.

 Henry looked impressed. “So you function on three hours of sleep?”

 “Pretty much.”

 He whistled then bowed his head. “Wow.”

 “it’s not bad. Honestly, it might be a blessing in disguise. I get so much work done they wouldn’t believe.”

 “You literally make money while others sleep,” Henry joked.

 You softly snickered and nodded.

 “Do they know why it started?”

 He was asking all the right questions, you thought to yourself.

 “Yeah, we know.” You really didn’t want to say anything else, and you had a mini internal fight. Groaning, you continued. “Trauma.”

 You could feel his eyes on you, and you rearranged your things on the table and picked off invisible lint off the blanket, all in an effort to not look at him. Though you were physically naked, you felt emotionally so as well. Taking a risk, you glanced at him and held his gaze. He was unreadable.

 “Here,” Henry said, holding out a spoon to you.

 “A spoon? What’s this for?”

 Henry smiled and took a step toward you. “Close your eyes.”

 You scoffed and wrinkled your nose before you closed your eyes and waited. You didn’t hear anything and wondered what he was doing.

 “Uh—hello? Henry, are you there?”

 The sound of Henry clearing his throat told you he was in a different location that was somewhat closer.

 “I’m here. Open.”

When you did, you looked around expecting something but not sure just what. When your eyes landed on the ice cream before you, you smiled.

 “For your massive sweet tooth.”

 You couldn’t help but giggle. He’d learned a few things about that sweet tooth over the last week. This was him being cute about it.

 “This Is my favorite flavor and brand. You don’t play, huh.”

 “Of course not. I pay attention.”

 “Thank you.”

 Henry nodded, then pulled another spoon from behind him. “Cheers?”

 You knocked your spoon against his and said the same thing. Henry sat beside you while you opened the ice cream, then both of you dug in. the first spoonful had you moaning so loud it echoed around you.

 “That good?”

 “Mmmm, so good, better than sex,” you joked.

 “Then I am sorry, Ms. Taylor, you are having sex with all the wrong ones.”

The spoon paused at your lips as you quirked your eyebrow at him. Henry wasn’t backing down, though. He held your gaze almost like he was challenging you. Damn, you thought before you looked away first.

 “So you write all your own songs?”

 Nodding, you put another spoonful of ice-cream in your mouth. “All by myself.”

 “Impressive. I know artists try, but not a lot do it alone. There will usually be a few co-writers,” Henry added.

 You were a little surprised he knew that. “You’re right. More and more try to get on it for the added profits that being a writer brings in. for me, I do it for far more selfish reasons.”

 Henry quirked his brow, silently asking you why.

 “I need an outlet, something to get everything in my head out. I’m up for twenty to twenty-one hours a day, and I have a lot going on in there. So, I need to be able to get that out to start fresh the next do, that means---I write.”

 The way Henry’s eyes rested on you made you feel like he had so much to say, but he was holding back with doing so.

 “It’s good to have an outlet.”

 “What’s yours?”

 His goofy smile made a return, and you couldn't help but smile back.

 “Don’t judge me, okay, but it’s video games.”

 You smiled and raised your hands. “No judgment here, ever.”

 “I like video games, Warcraft, Witcher, Call Of Duty, HALO. Anything bloody, I’m there for it. I also use exercise a lot. I have to work out, have to.”

 “Have to?”

 Henry took another spoonful of ice cream and sighed out. He looked like he was thinking about something, and you gave him the time needed.

 “Yeah, when I was a kid, I was heavy--,” he began sighing. “I was a fat kid, and it meant I got teased and bullied a lot. My nickname was fat, Cavill.”

 “Oh no, that’s horrible.”

 “Yeah, plus I was at private school. Let’s just say—it was hard, really hard. I had some dark times, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me some even to this day.”

 You bit your bottom lip, reached your hand out, and rested it on his knee. Your heart sank thinking about what he’d gone through. You knew how painful words could be, especially as a child. “I’m sorry. Kids can be such assholes.”

 Henry snorted and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “They sure can.”

 “Plus, I could tell working out is a joy for you. I’m not blind, and neither is the female population of the world and some of the male.”

 Henry’s laugh was unexpected but welcomed all the same. You liked his laugh, and the more you heard it, the more it was becoming one of your favorite sounds.

 “Seriously though, I’m sorry you went through that. I know it couldn’t have been easy to work through.”

 He looked down at your hand that was still on his knee and nodded before he cleared his throat.

 “You mentioned you’re close with your grandmother?”

 Taking your hand back, you rearranged the blanket again and nodded. “I did. Yeah. She’s my mother’s mother, and she is—she’s my world.” With a soft smile on your lips, you quickly went through your fondest memories with her.

 “I don’t think it’s healthy to depend on her as much as I do, but--.” You shrugged. “She helps me with so much, like being forgiving, being more open, being a better person in general. She gets me and doesn’t judge me or make me feel like something is wrong with me. In her eyes, I’m—Corrin, my middle name, and it’s great. All the pressure I constantly carry around is gone.”

 Talking about how much your gramaw meant to you made you emotional, and the sting of tears in your eyes told you just how emotional you’d gotten.

 “That’s great to have at least one person in your life that can do that for you. you’re lucky.”

 “Yes, ha, she’s—uh, she’s the reason I’m here,” you confessed. Henry looked very interested to know what you meant.

 “How so?”

 “She uh, she just reminded me of a few things and pointed some other things out to me,” you said, giving him the CliffsNotes version. You could tell it wasn’t going to cut it, though, so you continued. “She pretty much made me think from a  different perspective, the one that I was desperately trying to ignore.”

 Henry still looked interested, but he nodded. “I have to thank her because I’m glad she changed your mind.”

 You studied him for a little while as you put another spoonful into your mouth. “Are you?”

 Henry didn’t look away or give way to any emotion on his face. He just nodded. “Yes. I’m glad you’re here.”

 You didn’t see any indication that he was lying or stretching the truth. You did notice that the pull between you was still there. Henry was the first to look away this time, and the two of you continued to share the half-gallon container of ice cream while chatting. He told you more about his private school days and painted a clearer image of what he was like as a boy, and the image you got was absolute adorableness and tenacity.

 By the time you both walked back inside, two hours had passed, and the beginning of the sunrise was peeking out behind the mountains. You stood in the long hall that separated your room from his clutching the sheet wrapped around you and your notebook.

 “So, in the morning—or a few hours we’ll catch a flight out,” Henry confirmed.

 “Still won’t tell me where to?”

 Henry smiled, rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “You don’t like surprises, do you? This is the fifth time you’re trying to pry it out of me.”

 You pinched your lips then groaned. “No, no. It’s not that I don’t like surprises. I love surprises—well, good ones. I just like to know every detail. I like--.”

 “Being in control,” Henry finished, hitting the nail right on the head. You knew it was the loss of control that was making you antsy.

 You closed your eyes and slowly breathed out.

 “Yes. I guess I might have a control problem.”

 Henry looked very amused. “Might?”

 The two of you laughed together, and you couldn’t believe the call out.

 “Shut up.”

 “It’s okay. I get it. I like control too, a whole lot, and I don’t usually like when control is taken from me, but I’ve gotten better with it. Now, I won’t die if my control is taken. Then—it felt like it.”

 You nodded at yet another thing you had in common. It was becoming more than you could count on your fingers.

 “Good for you, but I—I might die.”

 Henry laughed again, this time not with you, at you.

 “I’m going to make you a promise. By the end of this vacation, you will be better at giving me control,” Henry said, his voice so deep and commanding that your spine tingled. When the tingling traveled around to your gut and moved downward, you clutched the sheet tighter.

 “Oh, will I?”

 He smirked; it was a cocky one. “Yes, you will. I don’t break promises. Never have.”

 Your eyes locked, and that tingling intensified, making your lady parts beg for some attention. He was downright captivating, and it was so hard staying on your side of the hall.

 “All you have to know is that I won’t abuse my control. You can trust that. You can trust me.”

 You almost made the yikes face hearing the T-word. You knew he remembered you saying that trust was a tricky thing for you, and you also knew this was probably a test. You were in between a rock and a hard place. After sighing out, you spoke.

 “Okay.”

 “But, you do have to say these five words, though,” Henry said with a smirk.

 “What?”

 “I—relinquish—control—to—you.”

 With every word, his voice got deeper and deeper, his eyes more and more focused on you. It was so easy to get lost in them, and he must have known it.

“Uh—no. I can’t say that.”

 “Sure you can. I know it’s not easy, but I promise you will not regret it.”

 Your nose flared, heart raced, mouth went dry, all points of your anxiety. You hated feeling backed in a corner, and you hated giving away your control even more.

 “Will you relinquish control to me?”

 With a grin, he spoke, “I will.”

 “When?”

 “One day,” Henry said, that grin still on his face.

 Of course he’d say that you thought. “How about, I will try,” you appeased.

 “Nope. Not good enough. I want it all, Aliya.”

 You groaned and ruffled your curls, still clutching the sheet with one hand. He was not going to let up.

 “God, Henry.”

 He didn’t say anything, just waited. He didn’t even look pressed like he was worried you’d say no. He looked confident, commanding, and in complete control, and it called to you. There had never been any other man who you’d ever thought about giving control to. None of them felt like him. He felt different.

 “I,” Henry perked up but kept his eyes firmly on yours. another thing you loved about him. “Relinquish—control,” you paused again, feeling the full weight of the words you were going to release. You weren’t just saying that you were giving him control to make the decisions. You were giving him control, period. That was when the panic picked up. “Control to,” you rolled your eyes then hissed. “You.”

 The silence stretched, but the longer it went on, the less anxious you felt. Yeah, there was some residual panic lingering, but the look in his eyes only comforted you.

 “Thank you. I know how hard that was for you,” Henry softly said.

 You looked down and took a shaky breath. “You have no idea.” When you looked back at him, he was still staring at you. “Okay. Well, good night, Henry.”

 “Good night, Aliya.”

 A visible shiver ran through you, but you ignored it and turned around to walk to your bedroom door. After a few steps, you stopped and smiled as an idea formed. Instead of walking forward, you turned around and walked back to him. Once close enough, you tiptoed, threaded your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, then pulled his head down to yours. It was then you pressed your lips to his.

 From the second your lips touched, it felt like you’d been standing out in the rain and gotten hit but a lightning bolt. Your moan was loud, and once it slipped out, Henry grabbed you, pulled you flush against him, and held you there. The hand on your hip squeezed while his right hand sneaked around your back to press his palm against your tailbone. That was when you realized you wanted more—a lot more. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, then nibbled, sinking your nails into his curls. You were second away from dropping the sheet, so you pulled back, grasping to the fraying threads of your self-control. Henry’s eyes were still closed, giving you a few extra seconds to admire his beauty. He still had the same effect as the first time he’d kissed you. 

 “Good night, Henry,” you said again, pecking his lips once more before walking away again.

 Though you’d given relinquished control, you just took a little of it back. It felt good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[dalleray]

If I hadn't been very good interviewing [Patricia] Highsmith in Aurigeno, there was someone I was downright bad at, and yet it must have been the start of a surprising, singularly charming story: Edwige Feuillère....

I arrive one afternoon at rue de Longchamp in Neuilly. Rather banal building. I get on the elevator, my throat a little tight: I felt her authoritarian. They open the door for me and show me into the living room, I find it a little too pink, a little too sweet. She enters. Not very much makeup on; she wears a funnel neck sweater. Her body no longer has the firmness of my memories. Still, there is the way she carries her head. It's her, but she's an old woman.

Today, I'm sure she saw it all in my eyes in a second. So, she pulled out all the stops. She offers me a seat on a couch and sits next to me, almost thigh to thigh. I move back. She raises her eyebrow and just says: “You are sitting very badly. Lean on the cushions.”

“Sorry, but I can't work like this.” “Okay, I'll take the cushions away.”

And we start. She responds, but very quickly interrupts me and brings her face closer to mine. "Ah, now that I see you with my glasses on… But you have very pretty green eyes," with that voice that makes all screens shudder. I do not know where I am. I pick up the thread as best I can.

“You read my book! You are indeed the first journalist who comes to see me for this book to have read it.”

I stammer. I am getting worse and worse. I bend down to turn on the tape recorder. She lifts my face, touches my hair, on the forehead, to the right. "But you have a strand of white hair. Is it natural or are you doing it on purpose?" There, I feel that I am confused, maybe even that I blush, I flounder, I sink. That’ll teach me to betray that, in her sweater, I couldn't find the one I had placed on a pedestal at all. I'm mad at myself, but at her too. Now she wants me to eat chocolates. And tell me that she is a great reader. As if! I wonder what literature she likes, but I don't feel like digging. I want to go. She goes to get my item of clothing, a black leather jacket and helps me put it on. She runs her hand all the way down my back and says, still her voice, "I love the feel of leather.”

Okay, she's seventy-seven, I'm thirty-three, but she took over and covered me with the ridicule I deserved. Let's run away together.

I was not at the end of my punishment, though. I listen to the tape. I am lamer than lame: I don't raise the right questions, I don't push her to explain, I say totally incongruous things. Nothing to get out of it. Unreliable. And, to make matters worse, she wants to reread before publication. What to do? Meet with close friends to whom I dare not even speak out. Common sense advice, but easy to say: "Try to remember what you wanted to know, what she started to say when she stops and you forget to start her again. Rewrite everything: there will probably not be a word of what's on the tape, but we'll see what she says about it." A whole weekend, for an interview page in Le Monde. And a close reading by my friend Monique Nemer. Questions at last intelligently formulated and answers reconstructed, but perhaps just a bit “off.”

On Monday, the interview is printed. Two hours later, Feuillère on the phone: "My little one, it's absolutely perfect...I've never read an interview so true to who I am.” That’s when I realized she was extremely intelligent.

She offered for me to see her again. She told me about what she read. A very sure taste for literature, the classics—she had not forgotten Claudel's lessons. She was very attached to her hand-annotated edition of Dante's The Divine Comedy in Italian—her father's nationality. She gave it at the end of her life to Hector Bianciotti, whom I introduced to her. But she had a curiosity for everything that was published—I brought her my favorite recent books—and the eclecticism of avid readers. She happily returned to Claudel's side, but discovered with the same interest Philip Roth, who made her want to reread Joseph Roth. Dante would bring her back to Philippe Sollers' side, and she would go back to the Italian side to read Svevo and Elsa Morante. She read the ones I told her about: Eudora Welty, Anna Maria Ortese, Annie Ernaux, Danièle Sallenave. But Highsmith's murky tales seemed too worrying to her. When we went to dinner, I always tried to convince her, to make her love this "black queen” without much success.

When she played at the theater at night, we used to go to lunch. She seduced me in every way—because she liked to seduce, because her conversation was brilliant, humorous, her language sometimes deliciously old-fashioned. One day when I was talking to her about a man, she said to me, “Alors, vous êtes éprise?” (“So, are you in love?”) with a sort of ‘h’ sucked in front of "éprise.” She lunched “en chapeau” (“in hat”) as it should be if you arrive in a restaurant wearing a hat, but nobody knows how to do it anymore. After coffee, without using a mirror, she reapplied her lipstick. She would sometimes use an indignant grandmother's voice to say, "My little one, stand up straight. This is an absolute rule.” When I complained about a married man who liked neurotics—those who harass you to snatch an evening, a weekend—and I told her that I hated these behaviors and that, asking for nothing, I did not get anything, she punctuated with a laugh: “But my little one, this is the story of my life! Men, if not burdened with recriminations, give nothing."

I loved going to see her at the theater. The presence on stage of a person with whom you have a form of intimacy is always moving. Anguishing, too. When, at the Théâtre Montparnasse, she took over La Maison du lac with Jean Marais, I went there almost every evening. Marais-Feuillère, for the last time, you had to see and see again. One day when she invited me to lunch in a restaurant near the theater, whose old-fashioned and provincial character, like the clientele, amused us, she reproached me: "Stop coming to the theater!" Seeing my crestfallen face, she added, “But this is not a good play! How can you listen to these banal lines over and over again?” “Of course, it's not Claudel, but I'm not coming for the lyrics, I'm coming for your shoulders and for the melody.”

“Cheeky and incorrigible, that's what you are. So, come on tonight, I'll introduce you to Jean."

Juliette Gréco, who laughed at this improbable friendship and imitated Feuillère so well, would sometimes call me, mocking her voice. I hesitated for fear of saying to the real Feuillère: "Stop your stupid jokes! " One morning, I hear Feuillère's phrasing on the phone, too over-played for it to really be her: “My little one, I had a great time last night.” And Juliette Gréco tells me, with her own voice and the tone of a kid delighted with her triumph, that she was at a party the day before, and that seeing Feuillère at a table she approached silently, passed her arms around her shoulders, and leaned over say to her ironically: "So, are we seducing the same young woman?"

Despite my protests, I admit that I was rather entertained by imagining this scene between these two. The tastiest was yet to come. Call from Feuillère, the same afternoon: "My little one, we mustn't tell Juliette Gréco that we are seeing each other, she is very jealous"

I joked: "No, she knows very well that we have incestuous loves.” “Incestuous, perhaps, but not Sapphic.” There is no one left to utter such phrases!

Talking about her relationships with women, one day, when once again I had just passed a passionate admirer on her doorstep who was chasing her and whom she received, while remaining aloof, even disdainful, I joked: “You are a tease.”

“At last, my little one, how dare you?”

“Sorry, but it's the truth!”

She didn't comment. I thought of Sartre telling Sagan, who was cutting meat badly, that he could no longer cut himself: “Respect is lost."

I was a little ashamed: I had crossed a line—thin, barely perceptible, and yet very present, beyond which she wanted to safeguard her unalterable dignity. More than Claudel, it was Mallarmé's Hérodiade that she made think of: "Who would dare touch me, a respected lion?”

- Josyane Savigneau on her friendship with Edwige Feuillère in Point de côté

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU :)

Chapter 12 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here. 

yes i updated twice this week my foot is broken i can’t do anything else

The Beginning (of the End)

Three Years Earlier

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on Moving Pictures, and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone that long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished Lord of the Rings last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “Lord of the Rings is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection. 

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming. 

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever rise again. 

 Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, A Christmas Story playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of Houses of the Holy. When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

 They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the Harry Potter movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas liked hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, bring that up again, and I’ll kill you. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder… 

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean. 

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again. 

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab. 

“Prudent,” he deadpanned. 

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes. 

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked. 

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said. 

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar. 

“Ready to go?” 

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said. 

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?” 

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. Shit. 

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret. 

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object. 

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again. 

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say. 

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong. 

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — fuck, I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence. 

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?” 

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering Cas with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?” 

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice. 

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback. 

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?” 

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense. 

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my car. What am I, sixteen?” 

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.” 

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.” 

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.” 

“— Because you thought I hated you.” 

“A little bit.” 

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.” 

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.” 

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.” 

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.” 

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort. 

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said. 

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh. 

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.” 

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.” 

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

 Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. Us. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real. 

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue. 

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.” 

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him. 

Oh. 

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming. 

“Mornin’,” he said. 

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. Beautiful. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider. 

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas. 

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways. 

MM (1:12 p.m.)

holy shit!!!! 

MM (1:13 p.m.)

ur going to tell me everything tmrw

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg. 

CN (2:32 p.m.)

Absolutely.

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class. 

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest. 

“Too early,” he mumbled. 

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless. 

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake. 

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.” 

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer. 

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest. 

“Class is important,” he reminded Dean. 

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?” 

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him. 

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.” 

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?” 

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.” 

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.” 

“Y’all are throwing me a surprise party?” 

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.” 

“But it’s a party.” 

“Yes.” 

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?” 

“Only a week.” 

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once. 

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated. 

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?” 

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention. 

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.” 

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.” 

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door. 

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.” 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile. 

 They didn’t make it to the party. 

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television. 

“Fucking asshole,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly. 

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?” 

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?” 

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing. 

“Dean?” 

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement. 

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic. 

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out. 

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face. 

“Dean!” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot. 

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop. 

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?” 

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground. 

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick. 

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.” 

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him. 

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

——

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[adamwatchesmovies]

Adam Watches the 92nd Academy Awards

The 92nd Academy Awards have come and gone. As always, there’s plenty to be happy about and plenty that’ll make you wonder what the heck the voters were thinking. I watched the ceremony and while I may say that I don’t care… I do. Those awards are a big deal. Legions of people who would’ve otherwise dismissed Parasite as some movie that requires them to read subtitles saw it because it was nominated. One of those golden statues can make a career and let’s face it, you like to hear your love for something validated by people who have even the semblance of authority on the subject.

But here’s what you may not know: most of the voters really don’t know what they’re doing. While cinematographers NOMINATE what films are up for that Best Cinematography Award, EVERYONE in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences gets to vote for the winner and there’s no guarantee they’ve actually seen every nominee, know what the technical terms mean or are voting because what they saw is what they actually believe was “the best”. Once you take into account the dollars required to produce a nomination campaign, the stigma many genre films face, the prejudices against certain types of roles and/or actors, and how popularity influences votes, a win hardly means more than a bunch of people you don’t know saying they liked a movie.

If you want a better idea of which of 2019’s films were “the best”, you’re better off asking someone you know and trust, someone who can prove they’ve done their homework and aren’t just voting for their friends, the one they’ve heard is good from their kid, or got a special gift basket from. I may not be a paid professional, but I have put in the time and effort to see EVERYTHING nominated (with a few exceptions I’ll detail below). Reviews for some of these (The Irishman, Judy) are coming to the blog in a couple of days. If it were up to me the list of nominees would be different but we’ll get to that later. Without further ado, here’s who SHOULD’VE won. 

Best Visual Effects

1917 – Guillaume Rocheron, Greg Butler, and Dominic Tuohy The best special effects are the kind you don’t even notice. I couldn’t tell you where the explosions, sets, and actors in 1917 begin, and where the computer-generated imagery takes over. It’s seamless.

Best Film Editing

Parasite – Yang Jin-mo Got to hand it to Parasite for its amazing use of montage and the way it stitched its footage together. Some shots I initially thought initially were one take I realized under carefully scrutiny - and by that I mean frame-by-frame examination - were actually two melded together. The scenes showing how the Kim family infiltrate the Park’s household should be shown in film class to demonstrate how the art of montage is at its best should be done to maximum effect.

Best Costume Design

Little Women – Jacqueline Durran Funny how every single film nominated at the 92nd Academy Awards was a period piece. My vote goes to Little Women not because it was necessarily the most accurate (I couldn’t tell you what people wore in 1868) but because of the way the costumes were used. You can tell a lot about the characters from the multiple outfits they wear throughout the film - check out that purple bonnet adorned by Aunt Marsh (Meryl Streep).

Best Makeup and Hairstyling

Bombshell – Kazu Hiro, Anne Morgan, and Vivian Baker I called it when I reviewed the film. The makeup used to transform John Lithgow was nothing short of incredible. It was an easy pick.

Best Cinematography

1917 – Roger Deakins I’m glad to see The Lighthouse on this list but I have to hand it to 1917. The one-shot motif adds so much to the story. Then, there are the individual shots I remember so vividly. The quiet meadow just outside of No Man’s Land, the raging inferno Schofield sees when he wakes up, the trench he must run in front of to reach the Colonel are all shots that permanently imprint themselves into your memory.

Best Production Design

1917 – Production Design: Dennis Gassner; Set Decoration: Lee Sandales Tempted to hand it to Parasite for the house they constructed for the movie but I’m give it to 1917. The trenches, the blasted landscape of No Man’s Land still haunt me. When you see the craters, it’s jarring. Then, as your eyes become adjusted, you notice the rats. Then, the chunks of bone and charred meat that have now become part of the landscape. It’s horrific.

Best Sound Mixing

Ford v Ferrari – Paul Massey, David Giammarco, and Steven A. Morrow What you remember most from Ford v Ferrari is that big race at the end. The climax wouldn’t have been the same without the sounds we heard. The roar of the engines, the clacking and grinding as the pedals are pushed and gears are switched… the air rushing by. Out of the nominees, it’s the one whose sounds I most remember.

Best Sound Editing

Ford v Ferrari – Donald Sylvester This year, the Best Sound Editing award goes hand-in-hand with the sound mixing. Obviously, the actors were never moving at the kind of speeds depicted in Ford v Ferrari but you wouldn’t be able to tell because of the foley and sound design.

Best Original Song

Stand Up from Harriet – Music and Lyrics by Joshuah Brian Campbell and Cynthia Erivo Stand Up plays during the end credits of Harriet and it perfectly caps the film. Whenever I hear its lyrics, I’m transported back to that moment. It’s the most memorable and emotional song on this list.

Best Original Score

Joker – Hildur Guðnadóttir I chose the best song for its ability to stand out. In this category, Joker wins because its music doesn’t stand out… at least not at first. While you’re watching, those notes don’t draw attention to themselves. They subconsciously build the mood, augmenting the performance by Joaquin Phoenix, the visuals, and the story. You don’t notice how much of an effect it has on you until you see isolated clips. When you do, it’s shocking.

Best Animated Short Film

Abstaining (I’ve only seen Hair Love)

Best Live Action Short Film

Abstaining

Best Documentary Short Subject

Abstaining

Best Documentary Feature

Abstaining

Best International Feature Film

Abstaining, as I’ve only seen 2 films (Pain and Glory and Parasite)

Best Animated Feature Film

I Lost My Body – Jérémy Clapin and Marc du Pontavice I Lost My Body is the most audacious and inspired of the animated films nominated. The only movie among these to be aimed at adults, it often tells its story through visuals alone but when you get to the end, you realize it’s about more than just what was on-screen.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Little Women – Greta Gerwig based on the novel by Louisa May Alcott Greta Gerwig does more than merely adapt the classic novel, she breathes new life into it, makes it her own, makes it feel wholly new and modern. This version of the film surpasses all others we’ve seen before because of the changes she’s made to the story’s structure. 

Best Original Screenplay

Knives Out – Rian Johnson What a ride Knives Out was. It’s got so many twists and turns, so many delightful characters you want to re-watch it the second it’s over so that you are no longer distracted by its central mystery and can simply step back and admire the handiwork by Rian Johnson. A sequel’s been announced and I can’t wait to see it.

Best Supporting Actress

Laura Dern – Marriage Story as Nora Fanshaw Laura Dern was also in Little Women and her two roles couldn’t be more different. Here, she’s loathsome and captivating. As soon as I saw Nora take off her shoes before she kneeled down on the couch to console Nicole, I knew there was a whole lot more to her character than what we were told. The more you see her, the more you want.

Best Supporting Actor

Al Pacino – The Irishman as Jimmy Hoffa Al Pacino has the advantage of getting A LOT of screen time as Jimmy Hoffa. The Irishman clocks in at over 3,5 hours and he isn’t in the whole movie but when he is, the seasoned performer gives us so much. At different periods of the story, you’ll feel differently about him. There’s no point comparing him to the real-life person. He takes the meaty role and makes it his own. His voice, his mannerisms, I can’t think of anyone who could’ve done it better.

Best Actress

Renée Zellweger – Judy as Judy Garland Judy was the very last movie on my list to watch, having missed it when it came to theatres. When I think back to Zellweger’s performance, I don’t see her. All I see is her character, a rich, complex person you sometimes hate, sometimes love and feel sorry for. The movie is not going to be on my “Best of” list but she is.

Best Actor

Joaquin Phoenix – Joker as Arthur Fleck / Joker To me, there was no question Joaquin Phoenix would take this one. I saw Joker three times and each time, I found something new in his performance.

Best Director

Sam Mendes – 1917 With this award, I’m awarding Sam Mendes for the craft he displayed in 1917. It’s such a visceral experience that when people asked me how it compared to Dunkirk, it felt weird to lump both together. This is coming from someone who gave both pictures a 5-star review, who put both on their respective “best of the year” lists. It’s a movie I’m going to go back to and wondering “how did they do that?!

Best Picture

Little Women – Amy Pascal It’s a tough call for me this year, partially because I loved Parasite, 1917, Joker, and others so much. I’m planning on adding those three films to my collection so I can pop them into my Blu-ray player any times I feel like it. That said, I would’ve given the Best Picture Award to Little Women. You’re so emotionally invested in this little story that telling you why with merely words is impossible. You fall in love over and over. It made me cry and every time I think back to that scene at Christmas, I tear up again. I’m choosing it because of all the things it does differently from the other films. At the end of the day, it isn’t a big story. It isn’t about people with guns, corruption, war, a turning point in history or even necessarily the biggest event in the lives of the characters but it feels like it is. That’s exactly why it’s so good. 

Disagree with my choices? I don’t blame you. What kind of idiot finds a way to leave out Marriage Story from their list? You let me know where it should’ve gone. Hopefully, commenting keep you warm until MY Best of 2019 list gets posted in the next few days.

[grimelords]

October Playlist

My October playlist is finished and it’s complete from Rico Nasty to Rachmaninoff. I absolutely guarantee there’s something you’ll love in this 3 and a half hours of music, and probably something you’ll hate too! Something for everyone!

If you’d like to have these playlists delivered to your inbox instead of having them randomly appear on your dash, please subscribe to my tinyletter here.

listen here

Santeria - Pusha T: In anticipation of Jesus Is King I relistened to the entire Wyoming Sessions project a few times, and a year removed from all the hype and controversy here's the thing: it's fucking great. The individual albums ranged pretty widely in quality and felt slightly unfinished for how short they were sometimes, but taking the project as a whole 5-album 120 minute playlist it turns out it's a masterpiece. My personal tracklist goes Ye/Daytona/Nasir/KTSE/Kids See Ghosts, which isn't release order but I think makes it flow the best - both Kanye albums bookending it and the less impactful Nas and Teyana Taylor albums buried a bit further in where you can appreciate them now that you're deep in the mindset of the whole thing rather than alone on their own.

Puppets (Succession Remix) - Pusha T & Nicholas Brittel: This remix is such a perfect match: Pusha T’s corporate villainy finally given a context and prestige it deserves. It’s also short enough that it could feasible be the actual theme song next season, which would be a marked improvement imo.

Use This Gospel - Kanye West, Clipse & Kenny G: I am and remain a Kanye stan, even after everything. It’s nice to see him going back to the extremely uneven mastering of MBDTF era, it’s a sound that is uniquely his and it’s fun to see him revisit it. The thick vocoder harmony is so soupy you get lost in it, and the way it opens up to include the full choir in the No Malice verse is beautiful. Kanye reunited Clipse through Christ and we have Him to thank for that at least. The Kenny G break is great, and the grain and dirt on the whole track when the beat kicks in is so gritty you can feel it.

Man Of The Year - Schoolboy Q: I didn't love the Chromatics album they surprise released but it did thankfully remind me of the time Schoolboy Q sampled Cherry for Man Of The Year. Taken exclusively on lyrics, Man Of The Year is a triumph: he's the man of the year and it's all worked out but the sample and the beat underscores the dead eyed melancholy that runs through the whole of Oxymoron of never winning even when you've won.

Cold - Rico Nasty: This song fucking tears your face off. Imagine STARTING your album at this level of intensity. She just goes straight to 100 and burns the house down. Outside of Lil John so few rappers can get away with just straight up screaming in the adlibs but the way she just lung tearingly screams GOOOO through this is fucking sick.

Fake ID - Riton & Kah-Lo: TikTok songs are becoming their own genre, but it’s a very nebulous sort of a mood encompassing everything from aughts pop punk hooks to skipping rope raps like this. It’s a strange new way for songs to blow up that everyone seems compelled to write articles about but my take on it is it’s exactly the same as ads were in the old days. Remember how many songs did absolute numbers because someone put it in a Motorola ad? Same thing except you’re not being sold a phone this time, so in some ways it’s better. Anyway, this song bangs. The spirit of 212 era Azealia Banks lives on even if she’s doing her best ever since then to kill it.

Doctor Pressure - MYLO & Miami Sound Machine: There was a very good era in the mid-2000s where you could just put mashups out as singles and they’d chart, it was sick. My only two examples are this and Destination Calabria but I’m sure there’s more. Drop The Pressure is a masterpiece but as an alternate version this mashup is equally masterful.  

If You’re Tarzan, I’m Jane - Martika: Martika is unfortunately best known for the 1989 one hit wonder Toy Soldiers, a sort of boring overdramatic ballad which is best known for being sampled by Eminem in 2004 in his quite bad super duper serious song Like Toy Soldiers. I say unfortunately because every other song on her first album is great, it’s all hypercolour 80s synthpop and I love this song especially because it is so completely stuffed with activity it becomes dizzying. It gets so lost in itself that they completely abandon the dramatic pause before “I’m Jane” for some reason toward the end and instead just layer three different tracks of vocal adlibs. Every part of this song is great, the weird ‘o we o we o’ chant before the second verse? The neighing horse guitar before the bridge? The musical tour of the world IN the bridge? The part where she says ‘I want to swing on your vine?’. This song has everything.

You Got Me Into This - Martika: Every part of the instrumentation in this is amazing. The bass sound, the main synth, the extremely athletic brass, the wonderful echoing 80s snare that’s as big as a house. I just love it. She also does some really intriguing slurs on the word ‘love’ all the way through, just moving it around absolutely anywhere.

Space Time Motion - Jennifer Vanilla: I love when someone has such a clearly defined aesthetic and mission from the very beginning. Jennifer Vanilla is the alter ego of Becca Kaufmann from Ava Luna who I've had in this playlist before but never competely investigated. Jennifer Vanilla feels like an episode of Sex And The City where Samantha gets really into Laurie Anderson and she is incredible. This video is the best mission statement I’ve ever seen and is currently criminally underviewed so please do your part and support the Jennifer cause by watching these two videos.

So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings - Caroline Polachek: Caroline Polachek said watch me write a Haim song and did it. Apparently the very early versions of this album started when she was in writing sessions for Katy Perry, but then it started to turn into something else and she took it for herself, and I think you can hear that. With more normal production and a little faster this is a hundred percent a Katy Perry song, but instead it’s completely uniquely Caroline Polachek and it’s all the better for it. And also Katy Perry must be furious because her new songs are simply not good at all.

Electric Blue - Arcade Fire: I just love the obsession of this song in the outro, chanting over and over and over “Cover my eyes electric blue, every single night I dream about you”

Promiscuous - Nelly Furtado and Timbaland: I got a youtube ad for one of those Masterclass videos the other day and it was Timbaland teaching production. This ad went for five minutes for some reason and I watched the whole thing and it made me admire Timbaland even more. He’s demonstrating his compositional technique which is basically to just beatbox, and then loop it, and then add some extra percussion layers with more beatboxing and hand percussion, then loop that and add a little melody by singing or humming. ‘It’s that simple’ he says. Then later he goes back in and puts in actual drums or synths or whatever. I was stunned because suddenly a lot of his music makes sense. Without the barrier of instrument or timbre to get hung up on it allows him to write from this instantly head-nodding place of just making up a little beat you can sing and dance to immediately. Listening to a lot of his music now you can hear the bones underneath everything so clearly, all his beats are supremely beatboxable and all his melodies are very hummable, they’ve never overcomplicated by instrumental skill or habits, they just exist to serve the song.

Serpent - TNGHT:  TNGHT are back baby and this song is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It feels like afrofuturist footwork from another dimension, the mbira sounding lead against the oil drum percussion in this cacophony of yelps and screams that just builds to an irrepressible energy without a bassline in sight.

Ghosts Of My Life - Rufige Kru: I'm reading Mark Fisher's Ghosts Of My Life right now and some good person has put together a spotify playlist of all the songs he mentions. He has a whole essay about why this song is sick so I’m not going to go into it here but it’s interesting to hear about someone growing up with jungle when it’s a genre that has always felt very niche to me. I guess partly as a result of it never really making it mainstream as a genre here, and also me being a little too young for it.

Renegade Snares - Omni Trio: My biggest introduction to drum and bass comes from the game Midnight Club 3: Dub Edition and this really great song from the soundtrack that is finally on spotify after a very long absence. At almost the exact same time as I discovered this song with its spacious piano and repitched snares, I discovered Venetian Snares and breakcore in general. Having no particular frame of reference for breakcore as an offshoot of drum and bass only amplified its appeal to me as a completely alien genre that sounded like nothing else I’d ever heard, and so my personal history with drum and bass is a story of walking backwards into it after the fact which is interesting if not helpful.

Punching In A Dream - The Naked And Famous: The Mark Fisher book also mentions the Tricky song which I’ve never heard from which The Naked And Famous got their name and I thought ‘man remember The Naked And Famous, they were sick?’. The sort of harder edged Passion Pit instrumentation mixed with pop punk, a winning combination.

Vegas - Polica: My favourite part of this song is the unexpected blastbeats after the chorus, using their two drummers to their full advantage and just shaking the song by its foundations every now and then lest you get too comfortable.

Right Words - Cults: I’m beginning to suspect I may be the last surviving Cults stan but if this be my lot I’ll gladly do it

Running From The Sun - Chromatics: The new Chromatics album got me to relisten to their definitive document Kill For Love, and something new I appreciated this time about an album I love a lot is its length. Kill For Love is almost 80 minutes long and it luxuriates in that length. It’s sequenced perfectly so it never feels like it’s long for no reason, but large chunks just completely space out and go out of focus in the soft neon light and the second half of this song is a good example. The whole thing just evaporates into smoke and it feels perfect. If this were a shorter and more concise song that had a proper ending it wouldn’t feel right, this whole album has no straight edges at all and it’s all the better for it.

Chance - Angel Olsen: I cannot belive this song. This feels like she wrote her own version of My Way looking forward instead of back. Instead of the ruefully triumphant "I've lived a life that's full / I've traveled each and every highway" it's “I don't want it all / I've had enough / I don't want it all / I've had a love." before the turn from the future to the present at the end, where she gives up on a forever love in exchange for right now. I love how raw this vocal take feels. It's not her best voice but it feels very very honest as a result. She's just singing her heart out in this huge showstopping closer. In an interview she said "I didn’t love the recording of it very much, and now I just feel in love with it as a closing statement, because it’s a way of saying, ‘Look, I have hope for the next thing in my life.’ I’m not going to anticipate negativity or hate or an end. But instead of us looking towards forever, why don’t we just work on right now?"

Something To Believe - Weyes Blood: This album just keeps paying dividends. I’m systematically going through long obsessive periods with every single song on it and now it’s Something To Believe’s turn.

Don’t Shut Me Up (Politely) - Brigid Mae Power: Without meaning to, Brigid Mae Power seems to have created some incredible fusion of folk music and stoner metal. The way this song absolutely sits unmoving on one deep and resonant chord for so long is amazing. When it does change chords it feels like a full body effort to get up and shift. She has a similar feeling to Emma Ruth Rundle, who more explicitly wears her metal influences, but Brigid Mae Powers' strength is in how much it resembles the traditional folk side of the spectrum. Her voice is also amazing, with the huge effortless runs she goes on about halfway through just coming unmoored from the song completely and floating off into space.

Sweetheart I Ain’t Your Christ - Josh T. Pearson: I had a real problem with Josh T. Pearson for a long time because of how he presents as so authentic on this album, and as I’ve previously discussed in these playlists the concept of authenticity in country music is a source of neverending anguish for me. But his newest album The Straight Hits! has largely cured that for me because it’s not good at all, is extremely contrived (all the song titles have the word ‘hit’ in them) and he’s shaved his beard and replaced it with one of the worst irony moustaches I’ve ever seen. So now I’m free to enjoy The Last Of The Country Gentlemen as a character construction, which allows me a far deeper and truer engagement than the idea of a man actually living and thinking like this which is frankly a little embarrassing.

Codeine Dream - Colter Wall: I love this song, it has that feeling that great folk songs do of feeling like you’ve always known it. The strongest moments on this Colter Wall album to me are in songs like this that chase this particular feeling of morose isolation, and where he leans away from storytelling like his biggest hit Kate McCannon - a kind of cliche country murder ballad. This song is fantastic because of the way it wallows in this black depression not as a low point, but as a reprieve from the lower previous point. Things are as bad as they get now, and they’re always going to be like this, but at least I don’t dream of you anymore.

Motorcycle - Colter Wall: I only just found out about Colter Wall this month and have been listening to this album over and over. When I first heard him I though it was strange I'd never heard of him before because he's obviously some old country veteran based off his voice, but it turns out he's 24 and this is his first album he just sings like he ate a cigar. I love this song especially because it's so straighforward. It's a simple and supremely relatable mood: what if I bought a motorbike and fucking died.

Who By Fire - Leonard Cohen: I watched American Animals a couple of weeks ago and it’s a great movie, highly recommended. This song plays near the end and I waited for the credits to find out what this great song was, and like a rube found out it’s only one of the most celebrated songwriters of all time. I’ve never had much of a Leonard Cohen phase, somehow. In my mind I always get him mixed up with Lou Reed, which I’m learning is actually way off. I love the harmony vocals in this, and the way they move around into the shadows in the ‘who shall I say is calling’ parts.

Words From The Executioner To Alexander Pearce - The Drones: Alexander Pearce was a convict who escaped Sarah Island’s penal settlement in Tasmania with seven other convicts in 1822. He was recaptured two months later alone. In 1823 he re-escaped with a fellow convict, Thomas Cox and again was returned alone.He was executed by hanging later having eaten six men during his escape attempts.

It Ain’t All Flowers - Sturgill Simpson: I found this album going through the Pichfork 200 albums of the decade list and I feel like a fool for not having heard it sooner because now I am completely obsessed. Sturgill Simpson is doing the very best work in country music right now because he's looking backwards with one eye and forwards with the other and this song is a great illustration: a perfect Hank Williams Jr type country song with big voiced hollers that morphs into a surprise psych freakout for the whole second half.

Desolation Row (Take 1, Alternate Take) - Bob Dylan: I’ve always liked Desolation Row a lot as a song but the acoustic guitar on the album version is simply not good, it's just kind of mindlessly playing this long directionless solo the whole time and over the course of a song this long it really adds up to just being annoying. Luckily because it’s a Bob Dylan song there’s a whole universe of alternate takes and mixes and this is a great pared down version I found without it. The best kind of Bob Dylan songs are the ones where he just makes an endless stream of allusions and bizzare imagery, and this and Bob Dylan's 115th Dream are my favourite examples of it.

Living On Credit Blues - El Ten Eleven: This is a groove I get stuck in my head a lot, and this is also a song I think would work well as a theme for a tv show. I've been meaning to do a 30 second edit of it just for my own amusement, maybe I'll do that soon. El Ten Eleven are a duo where one guy plays drums and one guys plays a double necked guitar/bass and looping pedals and somehow against all the odds of that description they manage to make emotional, driving instrumental music of very deep feeling, like this song which is one of my all time favourites.

Dusty Flourescent/Wooden Shelves - Talkdemonic: This is sort of a companion Living On Credit Blues, and Talkdemonic are similarly an instrumental duo with good drums. This entire album from 2005 is highly recommended, it's a sort of halfway between the post rock of the time and a kind of acoustic hiphop instrumentals that ends up sounding very rustic and homemade, like a soudtrack for a winter cabin.

Turnstile Blues - Autolux: This is a perfect song, built around a perfect beat. Every part just fits perfectly.

Fort Greene Park - Battles: The new Battles album is finally out and I absolutely love it. I cannot think of another band that has shed members in the same way as Battles; originally a quartet on their first album, then a trio for their second and third and now down to a duo for their fourth album - and somehow still performing material from their first album live. The paring down has seemingly only servers to focus them and the new album sounds fresh but still distinctively Battles, with no sense of anything lost or missing. This song is my standout so far, and the guitar line in particular is so good and interesting to me because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ian Williams play something so distinctly guitar-y in his whole career. This is a straight up pentatonic riff with bends and everything. Filtered through his usual chopped and looped oddness it feels like he’s almost gone all the back around the guitar continuum and is this close to just doing power chords next album. And I’ll support him!

Diane Young - Vampire Weekend: I've listened to this song a lot in my life and I only looked up the lyrics the other day to find out that the opening line is 'you torched a SAAB like a pile of leaves' which I somehow never noticed. What a power phrase. There's also this very good quote from Ezra about it: "I had this feeling that the world doesn’t want a song called ‘Dying Young’,“ says Koenig, "it just sounded so heavy and self-serious, whereas ‘Diane Young’ sounded like a nice person’s name.”" and he was right to do it. This song is 100 times better because he’s saying Diane Young than it would be if he was saying ‘Dying Young’. That’s a songwriting tip for you.

Monster Mash - Bootsy Collins & Buckethead: Hey did you hear Bootsy Collins and Buckethead did a cover of the monster mash? Thank god for freaks.

The Dark Sentencer - Coheed And Cambria: There's not that many bands that I absolutely loved as a teenager that I've completely abandoned. I've moved on from a lot but I'll still keep up with them if they have a new album or something. Coheed And Cambria are one that I've almost completely turned my back on. They've had 3 apparently pretty patchy albums since I stopped listening after Year Of The Black Rainbow, which was extremely bad and really taught me what people mean when they say an album is 'overproduced'. On a whim I decided to see what they're up to now and listened to their album from last year and guess what: it rocks. It's got everything you'd expect from them: big riffs, bad and confusing lyrics, his weird high voice, overwrought and overlong songwriting, cheesy muscleman solos. Everything about this band is sort of cheesy and embarrassing and takes itself way too seriously, but I'm discovering slowly that that's what's so good about it. The weird pulp sci-fi story and mindset that underpins this whole band is ridiculous and overwrought and as a result it gives the music a reason to exist the way it does. It’s so big and dumb because the story it serves is so big and dumb. It feels exactly like reading Perry Rhodan or some increidibly long and dense but not especially good series like that, it’s pulp music and that’s what I love about it.

Romance In A (6 Hands) - Sergei Rachmaninoff: Piano works for 4 hands (where two guys sit next to each other on the same piano) have always seemed to tend towards the realm of the gimmick or party trick, and works for 6 hands (where three guys do it) even more so - but this Rachmaninoff piece is just beautiful and I can’t believe I haven’t heard of it before this month. It doesn’t overload everyone with a million things to do, it just builds this very wide harmonic bed for the simple melody to swim in - then the way the melody transfers over to the middle register is just magical before the tension of the final section takes over and builds.

Love's Theme - The Love Unlimited Orchestra: I’m so glad I got to learn about the Love Unlimited Orchestra this month. Aside from having one of the best names in music, they were Barry White’s backing band and had their own solo instrumental records too. Here’s a fun aside: Kenny G was a member when he was 17 and still in high school. This is a genre of music that has seemed to totally disappear into the realm of parody and farce only which is sort of a shame because it is unironically very beautiful and dense in its own way.

Dancing In The Moonlight - Liza Minelli: Can you believe I thought Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader was an original until the other day when my girlfriend played this Liza Minelli version that predates it by several decades? This also isn’t the original! It was written by a band named King Harvest in 1972, with this version AND a version by Young Generation both coming out in 73 and a whole bunch of others in between (including a Baha Men version in 94) before Toploader finally had a proper hit with it in 2000. Truly the world works in mysterious ways. This version is the finest I think, it just goes and goes, frenetically unwinding at a breakneck pace before opening up into a flute solo of all things and then winding up again even and finishing in a kick line breakdown. Absolutely no limits.

Girls - Royal Headache: The sheer amount of power and melody that this song manages to pack into a minute and a half is incredible, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more instantly relatable opening lyric than “Girl! Think they’re to fine for me! Oh girls! And I’m inclined to agree!”

Pov Piti - Matana Roberts: In anticipation of Matana Roberts new volume of her Coin Coin album series that just came out I relistened through the three previous albums and they are even more powerful than I remembered. This song serves as a pretty good mission statement for the whole project, and the heartrending tortured screams that open it set the tone for the rest of it. Matana Roberts sings the injustices of slavery into being, and her sing-song delivery highlights the trauma - her indifferent delivery mirroring the indifference of the world at large. The way she rattles off this story like she’s gone over it a million times and grown numb to the facts only accentuates the pain in the telling, a pain that rises to the surface in the screams of her instrument and herself.  

Kingdoms (G) - Sunn 0))): This new Sun 0))) album is one of my favourites they’ve ever done because it’s so straightforward and back to basics. Every song is just ten minutes of straight up no-nonsense, big, rich, drone. They even put the notes in the track names so you can drone along if you like.

listen here

[ladylillianrose]

You’ve Got SPRQS a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke fanfiction

A/N: Thank you all so much for your overwhelming support for this fic! I really do appreciate every single one of your comments and kudos!

Special thanks to aubreyrichman for putting up with me writing this at 1AM, making edits and then deciding to change a bunch of things later! *kisses*

Caroline belongs to @jade4813​ (she's just too good a character not to use!), while Evelyn and Ollie were collectively decided by the discord group!

All the other characters are Austin Winsberg's, he can have them back eventually....

Song is "She's Got a Way," by Billy Joel (Listen to it here https://youtu.be/p0iOEOtSyB0)

Summary: Max reflects on his day, and Zoey gets a special message from PianoMan

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Max headed home with a spring in his step. He still couldn't believe he'd allowed Tobin to pester him into signing up for SPRQS. He’d signed up with the younger man peering over his shoulder and offering advice for what to put in his profile to “help get the ladies”, all of which Max ignored.

Thankfully, Tobin hadn't said anything about him signing up in front of Zoey. Max had implied that he had no intention of signing up for the app, and Tobin willingly played along. Though, he did get the third degree from him later about it.

“Why didn’t you just tell her that you had already signed up?” Tobin asked.

“I don’t know, I panicked. I didn’t want Zoey to know, it seems a little desperate,” Max admitted.

“Bro, you’re already kind of desperate,” Tobin grinned. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you smiling every time your watch buzzes.”

“What...no...I don’t….” Max was interrupted by his watch alerting him to a new message from Red, he felt his lips quirk.

Tobin just looked at him knowingly.

“Shut up,” Max grumbled good naturedly. 

Tobin clapped him on the shoulder, grinning, “Nope, not desperate at all.”

He hadn't intended to ever use the app, but he'd glanced through a few profiles just out of curiosity. But then he found Red's profile and he just had to ask why she preferred Star Wars.

He hadn't been joking when he said that most of the women, he knew preferred Star Wars. Zoey, his sister Evelyn, even his sister-in-law Caroline all claimed that it was the superior franchise. Who knew such a ridiculous question would be the start of…. whatever this was.

He grinned thinking of the messages they'd exchanged already. She was smart, funny, and she wanted to keep talking to him, all wins in his book. Even if nothing romantic came of this, at least he had found someone else to talk to. 

Max tossed his backpack on the counter, said a quick hello to his cat Ollie, and headed straight for the piano.

He spent nearly an hour getting the recording ready to send. He was so nervous, though he wasn't sure why. He had played the piano for people before, but there was something just more intimate about recording it for only one person to hear.

Before he could change his mind, he hit send on the message. She had mentioned something about learning more about music, but just in case he had attached a lyric sheet with the recording.

He glanced at Ollie, who was sitting next to him on the piano bench. "What do you think, Ollie?"

Ollie tilted his head and looked up at him.

*Mrowr?*

"Hopefully, she likes it."

*Prowr?*

"Just someone I started talking to online, today," Max responded, reaching over to pet Ollie.

*purr*

"Now, we just have to wait for her to respond. How's Chinese for dinner sound? I'll even let you have a shrimp."

*MROWR!*

Max chuckled as he ordered dinner, hoping food would provide a distraction for him. Anything to keep from worrying about what she might think of his playing.

An hour later he was picking at his food, with still no response from Red.

He sighed, setting the container down, she must have hated it and was too afraid to tell him.

His watch buzzed, almost as though it had sensed his despair.

He took a deep steadying breath before opening the message.

"Wow…. that was…. wow…" She sent him.

"Is that a good wow or a bad wow?"

"Are you kidding me? That was an, ‘I'm so impressed that I can't even form coherent sentences,’ wow."

Max felt himself blushing, embarrassed by her praise.

"You really liked it?"

"It was amazing."

He grinned, feeling pleased.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm happy to play more for you anytime you want."

"Careful, a girl could get used to that."

Was she flirting? It seemed like she might be, but he never really could tell. Max was flustered, how was he supposed to respond, did he flirt back?  Luckily, he didn't have to wait to figure it out. 

"Oh God, that came across way flirtier than I intended. I promise, I don't go around just throwing myself at strangers online."

He chuckled, she seemed as nervous as he was about all of this.

"I believe you, though for the record if you were flirting with me, I wouldn't object."

"I'll keep that in mind. ;) It's getting late though, I should probably turn in. Goodnight, Billy. Thank you for the song."

"Goodnight, Red."

He glanced up with a grin at Ollie, who had his head in the abandoned carton, deciding to help himself to the leftovers. 

Max scooped him up, and spun around the room, grinning like a fool. "She liked it, Ollie! She liked my song!"

*Prowrr?* 

"Well, no I'm not sure exactly where this is going. But it definitely feels like it's the start of something."

*Mrowr* 

Ollie leapt out of his arms, and gave a big yawn.

"You're right, we should turn in." Max put away the leftovers and tossed the empty containers. He headed to his bedroom, all the while grinning and humming ‘She's Got a Way’.

________________________________________________________________

Zoey knocked on Mo's door as soon as she got home, eager to tell him all about her foray into the world of online dating.

Mo opened the door and Zoey walked in, "So, my boss decided to sign me up for a dating app….and I may have spent a good portion of today talking to this one guy on it. Long story short, he is sending me a recording of him playing the piano."

Mo raised his eyebrows and headed to the kitchen to pour them both a glass of wine. "So, you met someone on a dating app and talked to only him all day and now he's going to play piano for you? Color me impressed; you've had a busy day."

Zoey smiled and took a sip of her wine.

"So, what does he look like? Is he cute? I mean if he plays piano, he probably has those lovely pianist's fingers…."

Zoey coughed as she inhaled her wine. "Pianist's fingers?" 

Mo looked at her, "Oh yes, child. Have you never noticed a man's hands before? Mmm, they can be a thing of beauty. And as a pianist, he definitely knows how to use them."

She turned bright red, "Can't say I had before, but now that's literally all I can think of."

 Mo grinned, “Come on now, tell me about this new man."

"Well, the app is all based on getting to know one another through messages. So, I don't know what he looks like, where he works or even his real name." Zoey explained.

"So, let me get this straight. You don't know who this person is, what they do or what they look like?"

"Pretty much," Zoey nodded.

"Well, if that doesn't sound like an easy way to get murdered."

"That's not what will happen!" Zoey insisted. "It's all about building a meaningful connection without having to worry about how you look or how they look. Besides, you don’t ever have to meet them if you choose not to."

"Well, if you do decide to arrange a meeting, let me know."

"Aww, so you can be there to support me?"

"No, so I can practice what to say to the news channels when they ask about your disappearance." Zoey rolled her eyes as Mo laughed. "Of course, to go with you."

"Joan has called dibs on going, too." Zoey drained her glass.

"Oh good, she can bring the popcorn."

 Zoey felt her watch buzz and saw that she had a download available from PianoMan.

"I, uh, need to go listen to this...alone…" she said, standing up.

"You go listen to his song, just remember what I said about his hands," Mo winked at her as she headed back to her apartment. 

She snuggled up on the sofa with her favorite blanket, before finally pressing play.

The sounds of delicate piano chords swept over her as she listened. She had never heard the song before, but it sounded so beautiful, it took her breath away. The song finished and she sat there in silence, absorbing what she had just heard.

She glanced down and saw a second attachment. He had sent her a copy of the lyrics, and included a note, “Just in case you don’t know this song.” She smiled; he had remembered that she mentioned not knowing much about music. She pressed play again, following along with the lyrics as she got lost in the feeling of the song.

She's got a way about her

I don't know what it is

But I know that I can't live without her

She's got a way of pleasin'

I don't know what it is

But there doesn't have to be a reason

Anyway

She's got a smile that heals me

I don't know why it is

But I have to laugh when she reveals me

She's got a way of talkin'

I don't know what it is

But it lifts me up when we are walkin'

Anywhere

She comes to me when I'm feelin' down

Inspires me without a sound

She touches me and I get turned around

She's got a way of showin'

How I make her feel

And I find the strength to keep on goin'

She's got a light around her

And everywhere she goes

A million dreams of love surround her

Everywhere

She comes to me when I'm feelin' down

Inspires me without a sound

She touches me and I get turned around

She's got a smile that heals me

I don't know why it is

But I have to laugh when she reveals me

She's got a way about her

I don't know what it is

But I know that I can't live without her

Anyway

She was even more moved as she read the lyrics, it was a beautiful song, and he played it wonderfully.

She listened to the recording several more times, until she had it memorized.

Glancing at the time she realized he had sent it to her over an hour ago and she still hadn't responded. Hopefully, she hadn't made him panic.

"Wow…. that was…. wow…" She sent him.

"Is that a good wow or a bad wow?"

Zoey laughed; did he really not know how talented he was?

"Are you kidding me? That was an, ‘I'm so impressed that I can't even form coherent sentences,’ wow."

She smiled, thinking about how many times she had listened to it already.

"You really liked it?"

She could tell he wasn’t fishing for compliments, he genuinely wanted to know what she thought.

"It was amazing."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm happy to play more for you anytime you want."

She felt her pulse quicken. He wanted to play more for her, and she wanted to hear him play.

"Careful, a girl could get used to that."

She panicked as she realized what she had just said. She blamed the wine for bringing out her flirtier nature.

"Oh God, that came across way flirtier than I intended. I promise, I don't go around just throwing myself at strangers online."

'Even if said strangers are sweet, kind of dorky and can play piano,' she mumbled to herself.

"I believe you, though for the record if you were flirting with me, I wouldn't object."

She gasped slightly. So, flirting was something he was open to….

"I'll keep that in mind. ;) It's getting late though, I should probably turn in. Goodnight, Billy. Thank you for the song."

"Goodnight, Red."

She headed off to bed, humming the song he had played her as she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of her mystery man with pianist's fingers.

[wandererslyric]

YOGURT DREAMIES

((A story of pure silliness for my dear sister, inspired by the following prompts: ‘Soulmate AU: Where if your soulmate is listening to music it will be stuck in your head until they stop listening to it. Chloe and BTS haven’t met yet. Chloe is going through their emo phase and BTS is listening to bubblegum pop.’ And: ’Chloe and Yoongi meeting because they’re neighbors. Yoongi is singing in the shower at night, and Chloe comes to complain because they have very thin walls.’ Silliness to ensue. 😝))

Chloe wasn’t quite sure when it started. It was something that creeped up on her, the way that a particularly sneaky snake might creep through the grass towards its next victim. She first noticed it on a sweltering Tuesday, after she caught the bus from Starbucks. Noontime sun glinted from the windows whizzing past while Chloe rested in her seat, scrolling through her Twitter feed while ‘Car Radio’ played through a pair of lovingly-used earbuds. She was scrolling through a thread of epic dumpling edits, mindlessly mouthing the words to her jam when she noticed another melody growing her mind, contrasting the current one she listened too, growing louder and louder until she caught herself humming something far too cheery to be Twenty One Pilots.

It made her pause, and flip over from Twitter to her music player, glancing at the dull phone screen with furrowed brows. Sure enough, the song hadn’t changed. And yet another song was clearly stuck in her head. A song that was... cheery, with a beat that popped like bubblegum bubbles, contagiously catchy. The kind that felt as if you listened to it through earbuds sparkles would come pouring from the speaker.

Poom, Poom, Poomki, Bop-a-bop-a boongles

She mouthed mindlessly, confused, and then pressed replay and locked her phone with a click. The cardboard sleeve holding her matcha latte snug crinkled under her fingers as as she shuffled more comfortably in the seat. Maybe she just needed to hear ‘Car Radio’ again.

——-

A week later, and it became too noticeable not to notice.

“Poom, Poom, Poomki, Bop-a-bop-a boongles, Yogurt Dreamies, Wop-a-wop-a woongles

Shubble, shubble sunshine, just for you, just for you,

Meowgi mew mew, avocado sunshine, just for you, you!”

The song looped in her mind at the oddest of hours: when first she woke up every afternoon, when she was stepping past the boxes from the recently moved-in neighbor, and even now, as she strolled through the aisles of Whole Foods, the shopping basket leaving a mark on her arm as it grew heavier with the groceries she’d need for this week. Sometimes it would happen randomly and suddenly stop. And it wasn’t that the song was bad, she had to admit it wasn’t her style but it was clearly growing on her. But still it drove her near to madness. Intelligent and ever questioning, it was the lack of an explanation of it that bothered Chloe the most, but for now she passed through the soy sauce aisle and tried to distract herself from the conundrum that was this cotton-candy melody.

Soy sauce. That’s right. As she mindlessly scanned the labels on the glossed glass bottles, she remembered her neighbor, the one who she’d met when he first knocked on her door at 3am, politely but desperately asking if she had any soy sauce. He had run out and what had he said he needed it for? He was cooking... ‘kogi’? She remembered it because it sounded like her name. It was... a meat dish? For his new roommate? He truly seemed heartbroken and it tugged at her pity and generosity, so she gave him the bottle, telling him not to worry about returning it.

As she picked up a 64oz low-sodium jug of tamari, she thought more about her neighbor, who was indeed incredibly attractive, with a blindingly brilliant smile, charming beyond belief. And yet he seemed more wonderful to her as a friend and brother, and so the growing attentions he gave her, perhaps due to their shared love of cooking, she treated with nonchalance. Soon the flirtatious glances and teasing jokes he directed towards her seemed to respectfully subside, and now Jin was a neighbor she got along well with, and perhaps in time could call a friend. Sometimes, due to the incredible paper thinness of the walls, she thought she heard humming coming from his apartment, humming of -her- songs that she had been listening too through the week. But as curious as this coincidence seemed, she dismissed it. Music truly had been driving her to insanity. Oh no. It started again, softly but growing more insistent.

Shubble, shubble sunshine, just for you, just for yooooouuuuuu,

Chloe pressed her earplugs further into her ears and headed towards the produce section.

—-

Chloe had finished dinner. And it was fantastic! A plate of cucumbers, without the skin of course (certainly that is the unhealthiest part?!), some sliced like paper and others the perfect thickness to scoop the lemon hummus. The platter complimenting the garlic perfectly, along with fresh cherry tomatoes, carrots, kalamata olives... It was a -masterpiece-.

And yet she was unhappy. And ‘poom poom poomki’ was to blame.

No matter how many other songs she listened too, this one melody -never- left her head. It looped within her mind, like the repetitive clack of a rock caught in a car tire against the road; for months this had gone on, and it was enough to throw off her day. But more so was the confusion on how it got into her head in the first place. She couldn’t find it anywhere. She even tried Googling the lyrics to see what song they belonged too, but nothing came up. It was as if the song didn’t exist. And today was the one day it consumed the last ounces of her endless patience.

Her supreme mildness was tested and for once she simply wished for -q u i e t-, to hear her thoughts uninterrupted. Uninterrupted by the muster of a melody that made her crave Fagé yogurt with honey and blueberries every other day. So she had a brilliant idea: Meditation. The one thing that could calm her even when the sky was falling on the weatherman. So she settled on the floor in the middle of her room, cross legged, basking in the gentle tinkling of her malicious wind chime. Perhaps this soothing meditation would calm her. At last. Her mind was quiet. Calm. Tranquility. Soothing silence.

“JUST FOR YOU, JUST FOR YOU, OH OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!”

Chloe’s sea green eyes smacked open in horror.

“Just... for... YOOOOOOUUUUUU”

The deafening, (yet undeniably enchanting) singing rung clear through the cursedly paper thin walls. Shattering her blissful quiet. Ever patient, she closed her eyes and tried to tune it out. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. By the time twenty minutes swung around, the camel symbolizing Chloe’s patience was crying. By the time thirty minutes had passed, the last straw... had been dropped. The camels back was broken. Poor camel.

She marched over to the wall and, wordlessly, pounded her fists of fury against it.

“SHUBBLE SHUBBLE SUNSHI-“

By the seventh knock the voice had waned to a quiet warbled, and then completely stopped. But the silence that followed brought more disturb than the singing had at first. Wait... the song he was singing...

Chloe’s eyes widened.

“Sunshine.” She murmured. “Shubble shubble... sunshine.”

It was the song, THE song, that had plagued her! At last! He was singing the song that had driven her to the brink of madness, yet was catchy enough that she had actually grown addicted to it, but hadn’t heard it anywhere else to relieve her ear worm.

Racing, she left her malicious wind chime to tinkle evilly in it’s wicked breezes and hurried next door, knocking politely but insistently. No answer. Another knock. Anticipation coiled in her heels, and by the time her knuckles hovered over the wood, ready to rap against the metal, the door swung open, revealing... oh my.

Chloe was blinded. Was it by the young man standing in the doorway, wrapped modestly (yet oh so temptingly) in a towel, with his damp hair pasted in his forehead, with his perfectly smooth skin and eyes that seemed to somehow hold the secrets of the universe? Was it by the disgrunted look in those very same eyes, eyes looking ready to set aflame and then stab whomever was bothering him at the moment? Was it by the pastey legs that clearly needed sun? Chloe wasn’t sure, she couldn’t tell. Where did the towel begin? Oh boy. That boy really needed some sun on them legs.

As she stood in shock, the young man, realizing a lady was standing at his door, flushed a deep shade of scarlet and blinked twice.

‘One minute.’

He mumbled, shutting the door swifter than it opened. Chloe was left in absolute silence, wondering when Jin has become so short and completely changed his insanely handsome appearance, but in less than a minute the door was opened again, revealing the same man fully dressed, hands in the pockets of his jeans, regarding the stranger quietly. Silence hung for a heavy moment.

“I’m guessing the music- Too loud, right?”

Stunned silence. He cleared his throat and glancing towards the ground continued, his voice mild, and carrying a low sort of rumble to it. “My roommate told me you were usually up late. Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to bother you.

“SUNSHINE.”

The stranger’s brow raised at the sudden quiet but very earnest scream. ‘SHUBLBLE SHUBBLE,” Excitement sped up and raised the pitch of Chloe’s words; if she were texting the words would have scrambled. Perhaps due to excitement. Most likely due to Autocorrect. But now as she spoke to the young man, she was practically breathless at this point; “Shubble, Shubble sunshine, avacado sunshine, just for you, just for you, AGGGGH.”

The stranger blinked twice, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side.

“What is that SONG?” Chloe screamed again, strangling the air with claw-like grabby hands.

His eyes widened at the earnestness, and his voice lowered a pitch, his words slow, “So you... heard it?”

“AAAH, I’ve only heard it like every day! It’s been on loop in my head for months and I have no idea where I heard it, it was just -there-, and I tried to drown it out with Twenty One Pilots, but nothing worked and then I heard -you- singing just now, and I just- AH.”

“Twenty One Pilots?” He murmurmed. He seemed to be drawn half into thought, regarding Chloe with a certain attentiveness behind his seeming passivity. What emotion was in his eyes? Amusement? Wonder? Confusion? Who could tell?

“It’s “Yogurt Dreamies” by Yoomburto Toomie.” He answered at last, “How did you... hear it?”

“I didn’t! That’s the thing, it just appeared in my head one day and no matter what others songs I listen to I can’t get it out.”

“You won’t find it anywhere.”

Now it was Chloe’s turn to tilt her head in confusion. The young man continued quietly,

“I had... written it. I’ve been playing it on loop because I’ve been composing it. But I was sure to be quiet. I haven’t sung it before today, so you couldn’t have heard the lyrics before.”

Silence. “How can that...“ Chloe words trailed off and they both stared at each other, perplexed.

“Does Twenty One Pilots have a song about a... radio? A car radio?”

Chloe’s pale eyes lit up, and she nodded excitedly despite the confusion laced behind her words, “Yeah! They do.”

“Because a song about a car radio has been stuck in -my- head. And I only heard it for the first time yesterday.”

In that moment, in the silence that hung between them so heavily, a sudden realization crashed over them. Not an answer to their confusions, no definitely not an answer, but an awareness... an awareness of the insane coincidence, of a thread that had seemingly connected them that they just realized had existed. A thread of fate strange, but inexplicably, there.

“You’re Jin’s new neighbor, right? I’m Chloe.”

“Yoongi.” They both nodded awkwardly, a handshake felt too formal, and yet, why did it somehow seem like they had already known each other? Perhaps that was why the introduction felt strange. Souls so deeply connected with each other never need to introduce themselves more than once.

“It’s awesome that you write music.” Chloe continued, bouncing lightly on her right leg,” I’m an architect.” Yoongi’s eyes widened ever so slightly and a gummy grin crinkled his eyes,

“Really? If I wasn’t a music producer that’s what I wanted to be.”

“Really?” She asked, but it didn’t feel like a surprise. “If you want to hear any more songs from Twenty One Pilots, I could recommend some based on which music you like.”

There was a clear shyness in Yoongi’s manner, but his smile came easily, and he gave her a soft nod. “Sure. I’d never heard of them, but I really like them now. Their music is raw, and honest. I enjoy it.”

And in that moment Chloe knew: That was the beginning of something that had already started. Long before. With avocado sunshine, and yogurt dreamies.

————

Some months later, Chloe was doing yoga, doing stretches with supreme skill in the still of her room when her phone buzzed and the screen lit up. She snatched it and saw a simple text, from Yoongi.

‘Hey’

‘Hey’ she typed back, with one hand.

‘Up for a walk today?

The architecture downtown is pretty awesome.’

‘Sure’

‘What time?’

‘00:00am?’

‘ok’

‘I’ll catch a bus and meet you’

The time approached swiftly, though it had seemed far too long, and after sliding her phone into her pocket and her backpack on her shoulder, she was ready to head off for another wonderful day spent with Yoongi. Ah, why did even his name spread warmth through her chest, like someone had taken a cup of wonderful herbal tea and filled her heart with it? She juggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked. And as she did, she could swear, another melody began to grow in her mind, faint and insistent...

“Lucky chucky, icey-cakey...”

[bthenoise]

Q&A: Hear How Frank Iero Wants You To Become The Future Violents With Third Solo LP ‘Barriers’

All photos by Julius Aguilar

When you think of Frank Iero, we’re sure a lot of things come to mind. He’s a musician, he’s a dad, he’s an active user on Twitter. What most people might not realize is that Frank Iero is a huge music fan -- like, the guy knows way more about things you didn’t even know existed in the first place.

For example, take a certain guitar used by a late-60′s early-70′s band called The Wrecking Crew. Frank, being the musical factoid that he is, was able to spurt out knowledge dating back years from a recent documentary he had watched. Knowing this, we knew we had to take the former My Chemical Romance member to Arizona’s approximately 200,000 square-foot Musical Instrument Museum.

There, Frank and Noise contributor Jimmy Smith were able to walk the halls, discover instruments dating back to the 1800′s and discuss the upcoming Frank Iero And The Future Violents record Barriers. 

For a glimpse into the knowledgable and insightful hang out, which also dove deep into Frank’s life-changing car accident between a city bus and his tour van, be sure to look below. Afterward, make sure to pre-order Frank’s forthcoming LP Barriers before it hits stores May 31st via UNFD.   

Alright, so maybe the easiest or the hardest question I’ll ask you all day: What was the best thing you saw here at the Musical Instrument Museum?

Oh man, Tommy Tedesco’s [Telecaster]. That was unreal. I had no idea that [they] had that here. Like, I’ve seen documentaries on The Wrecking Crew and you learn about the incredible players they all were and how many songs that particular guitar has been on that you wouldn't even know. And just to kind of see it sitting there, it's like, “Wow.”

Were there any out-of-the-box instruments you would want to get on a record of yours?

That's the thing. Any chance you have to get an instrument in your hands and try to learn the inner workings of it and what kind of sound you can get out of it, that stuff's amazing. I like to sometimes try to take a step back and approach it from a side I don’t know and think about like, “How would I think of this instrument if I had never seen anyone else play it before? Like, how would I get a sound out of it that I’ve never heard?” And that’s kind of fun.

What do you think is the most unique instrument you've actually used on a record?

Well, early on in the My Chem days, a theremin was on [a record] but it's definitely not like one [that’s noticable]. Because it was just really a bit of a little sprinkle on top. That's an odd one to play. On this next record that we're releasing at the end of May, there's a song on Barriers called “Basement Eyes.” I wanted church bells, I wanted the chorus to have this Phil Spector kind of vibe with like percussion and almost like that feeling you get when you listen to The Crystals. “And Then He Kissed Me,” that kind of thing. So we rented this piano -- I guess, you’re not going to be able to see this reading this -- but it's like a desktop kind of thing, like maybe three-and-a-half feet tall, not a lot of keys and maybe an octave and a half. It's called a Viber-Charm and they sold it to churches that didn't have a lot of money and didn't have the pipe organ sort of church bells and they can play different things on this keyboard. And I mean, it had to be from like the 50s. [It had] braided cables, everything looked like it was going to catch on fire at any moment. And that made a resounding sound on that song. That's how we achieved that.

So obviously with every record you do you want to spice it up and do things differently. What else did you bring to the table this time around aside from adding new members?

Well, this was this is a fun one to do because I was able to really chase tones that I wanted to get. Usually, you don't have a lot of time in a studio, especially when you're a smaller artist or self-funding and stuff like that. [Usually,] you’re going into the studio with, you know, say 17 days or two weeks or something like that and you're trying to get 12 to 14 songs out. This record, we did 17 days and we did 17 songs. Steve Albini is the one that engineered this record. He’s just such a master of his craft. And I mean, he’s the only person that you work with that doesn't have any help, it’s just him in the studio. No ones there. Like someone goes and gets coffee sometimes. Other than that, like no one touches a microphone or anything. Like, he sets up everything himself. He's at the board. He does edits on tape, of course, it's like straight two-inch tape. You need someone that is so unbelievably versed in their craft to be able to make that time work. And we mixed in that amount of time as well.  

Wow. Did you enjoy having that kind of time crunch?

[Laughs] There's definitely a picture of me [and] the whole band at the end of the session I posted on my Instagram. I look like someone that is like, “Oh my god, I can't believe we finished this.” And yeah, I mean, it's hard. You sleep at the studio too. So you record [all day] and then you can go in after hours and work on stuff. But like, you're there a lot and it's the second time in my life that I had an episode of sleep paralysis. Like, one of the nights, I woke up and my brain had woken up first but my body didn't. And I was like, “Oh no!” It's the scariest experience ever. So I was definitely stressed. But we got it done.

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Did the sleep paralysis affect any of the songs at all? Did it make you think differently about your lyrics maybe?

No [laughs]. Like, I've had it twice. Once it happened, I was in My Chemical Romance at the time, and I don't know if we were recording but I was definitely stressed out. And I didn't know what it was. And that [time] was like, “Oh man, there must be” -- I was in a hotel, I was like, “This must be haunted.” Like, immediately I went to that because it feels like someone's pushing you down and you can't move at all but you're fully awake and aware that you can't move and that's why it’s so scary. The second time it happened during this recording, I woke up and I was on my side, and I remember being like, “Oh no, it's happened again” [laughs].

The ghost found you!

[Laughs] Yeah! The ghost found me! Like, “Oh great, he’s followed me now.” But I heard this -- it almost felt like a laser starting from the top my head and going all the way down and I heard “zzzzzzzzzzz” like I was being scanned. It was crazy. And then when it finally got to my feet, [snaps] I woke up. I was able to come out of it and I immediately Googled it like “What the fuck is this?!” So I saw this sleep paralysis thing that said sometimes when your brain wakes up before your body, you can carry through a dream that you're having. So if you're having a nightmare, you'll see things from your nightmare and that’s why people think it's like, “Oh no, it's a demon holding me” and it freaks you out. But it's like, “Oh my god” [laughs].

So just talking about the people you brought in for this record, some of them you’ve known for a very long time. Like Tucker Rule, for example. What is it like to get to play in a band with him?

Oh, man, it's a dream come true. Like Matt [Amrstrong] too, I've known both of those guys since maybe 2000 or 2001. I saw them play in respected bands that I thought were just unreal. I mean, Thursday was one of the greatest live bands, and still is, that I've ever seen. And I remember being like, “Wow, I would love to play with Tucker.” And I got to play with Tucker later on in the 2000s when our drummer from My Chem Bob [Bryar] got sick and had to go home. I think Tucker came in for an Australian tour and that was really awesome. He was fantastic. I mean, he's a fantastic drummer it was great to play with him. But I remember being like, “I wish I could write songs with him.” Like he's playing parts that someone else wrote. And that's always weird. It's almost like putting on your dad’s suit. Like, you could look good in it but you're never going to look like it's yours. 

So I was like, “Wouldn't it be cool to be able to write songs with this guy?” And then Matt, he was in a band called Murder By Death. And I remember them when they were Little Joe Gould. And they came into the Eyeball [Records] family through Tucker and Thursday. And I remember being like, “Wow, I thought Thursday was good. Like, holy shit, this band is unreal!” And I mean, there was completely different instrumentation. Of course, there was a cello player and keyboard player and just the things that they were doing, I think let everyone in our little microcosm know it's not just about “I got these four chords, I'm gonna write this song.” It's like, “You should and can do so much more.” And I think that kind of blew the doors off for everybody and that's when we started to really take it seriously and try to get better. I remember thinking like, “Oh man, how cool would it be to be in a band with that guy? That kid can play.”

So is it kind of weird to think in a weird way you’re sort of their boss since it’s your band?

It's weird to be in that position because I never wanted that. I've always had bands and always started bands and ended up in that position because I was the one that started it or no one else wanted to do that job so it was like, “Alright. Well, someone's got to do it, so I guess I'll do it.” But I very much love that idea of a community being like, “Alright, we're all in this together. We all have equal say.” I like the writing process of that where you bounce ideas off of each other.

So it was collaborative writing with all the members for this project?

For this one, a lot of the songs started just in my head and that's kind of how this solo project has gone. But on this record in particular, because I think we had such high caliber musicians, two songs started with ideas that my brother Even Nestor had. And two songs, one of which made the record, started with Matt. So that was a kind of a thing like, “Hey, I have this riff. Do you think we could use it?” And we would jam out on it and all of a sudden it’s a song.

Do you have a favorite song on the record?

I do [laughs].

Which one is it?

It's called “Medicine Square Garden.” It was one of those where I wrote it, had it in my head and I was like, “This is going to be really difficult to explain to someone how this song is supposed to go.” And it's either going to work or it's not. It's going to be one of those things where if it doesn't work, I'm going to be bummed because I think it's really good but I need people to like -- I don't think I could have done it with anybody else other than this bad. It's crazy. It's one of those songs that I really took a leap of faith on. And since it did pay off and it is still one of my favorite songs, I feel like that's how I knew it it was a successful record.

Getting to hear the record early, it’s interesting that after your accident, you could have gone two ways with how you wrote it: Angry and pissed off at the world or calm and just looking to get back to basics. Was that something you considered when writing Barriers?

Well I think for me, having that accident, I knew I couldn't write a record without addressing it because it was such a huge moment in my life and it changed everything. I knew I'm a different person because of it. And there was this huge elephant in the room that I knew I had to talk about and I had to address it and it had to be, if not a focal point of the record, it had to be -- just, it was there within everything I was writing so I needed something to be dedicated to it. But everything I started to write about just didn't feel right. Like I didn't feel like I was getting everything out the way you do, there's so much to say. And the words just weren't there. I would write something and be like, “that doesn't sum it up.” It's hard to sum up a life-changing experience like that. So that was kind of my wall that I had. And I didn't think I was going to be able to do a record. That's why too I was like, “You know, I'm just gonna take some time.” And it just so happened that Tucker ended up being free. Matt became free. Evan was free and then, Kayleigh Goldsworthy, who's the fifth member of the band. And that's when I was like, “Oh man, this is a sign. It’s like now or never. If I don't write the songs, then I'm gonna miss out.” So then all of a sudden, it all started to come out and this song called “Six Feet Down Under” emerged. And it's basically just my conversation with my therapist of trying to explain how I'm feeling and like, “I know you're trying to help and the things you're saying are very nice and they come from a good spot and I know you're really smart and that's really awesome but like it doesn't mean anything [laughs] if I can't believe that this is all real.” And getting that across, I think really opened the floodgates for me to be able to finish everything else.

Have you had a wall like that in your songwriting career before?

That was a huge one.

Was there anything similar to that previously?

Minor things. You know, there's some childhood things that you have a hard time fully grasping until you get older. Like the divorce of my parents and things of that nature, like trying to make sense of all that. Family, addiction and certain things that I went through. But nothing like this one, because I feel like this was -- it's weird. Childhood trauma evolves. You know, you start to see different sides of things and you've had the time -- there are some people that say “You have your entire life to write your first record” and then you have like maybe six months to write your second basically. With this one, it was still so fresh. And [the accident] happened to me in my adulthood. It happened at a time where I kind of felt like -- like, I had a family. I thought I had things figured out. And immediately [snaps] everything changed.

It shook you up a little.

Yeah, absolutely. I feel like at 25 you go crazy. 30 you're like, “Alright, I'm okay with not knowing everything.” Around 35 you’re like, “Well, I'm starting to get my shit together. And then you get hit by a bus” [laughs]. And you're like, “Oh man, I know nothing again.”

Okay, so then just wrapping up. I was wondering if your three band names -- the Cellabration, the Patience, and The Future Violents -- have any sort of connection?

So the Cellabration was, in my head, it was my first time as a solo artist and I didn't feel comfortable in that role so I wanted to bring along something that felt boisterous and exciting so that would take away from my, you know, like, “It’s just me up here. It’s weird” [feeling]. And I spelled it differently because I like the idea of it being like a cellular thing, like this building block of life and it's going to start from here and evolve and grow and change. So that's where that came from. The Patience was me kind of getting over the idea that I needed something to take away from me. I really wanted something that would kind of even me out and just that self-fulfilling prophecy of bringing this virtue along where you kind of take a step back and appreciate the now. I've spent so much time like, “What's next, what's next? Alright, this tour is going, alright, cool. I'm gonna get home here and then when I'm home, the next tour I’m going to do is this.” And it's like, you live so fast that you don't appreciate what's actually happening. And I don't want that.

And then this time around, The Future Violents, I started to think about how life is kind of this -- it's like you're staring at a lake and you can passively take it all in and see the things swimming underneath and maybe how the wind kind of takes the current. And we do that sometimes, we live vicariously through other people and sometimes, you know, just having it be serene is nice. And then the “active” way to live by is to kind of pick up a stone on the side and throw it in and see the ripples that go on and really affect it. And I think that act is a violent act that disrupts things [but] doesn't have to necessarily have a negative connotation. You know, it's about leaving a footprint and changing things and being conscious enough to want to disrupt what's there and hopefully in a positive way and see that ripple go on and affect other people and like bellow out. So, collectively, I'd like to think that the band and the people that are listening to this record are The Future Violents, the ones that go out and create a change and hopefully listen to this record that we've made -- a record that I used to break down these walls and barriers that I had set up -- and use it to destroy their own barriers and go out there and do things that scare the fuck out of you. Because that's the only time that we do something really wonderful is when we're so frightened that we're not going to do it right. And that's the best part.

[hmel78]

In conversation with Doogie White ...

Circa 1994, when it was announced that guitarist Ritchie Blackmore was reforming Rainbow, rumours flooded the music community regarding who might feature in the line-up, but ultimately it was a collective of relative unknowns who made it onto the new record, and the tour bus ...

The album, “Stranger In Us All”, was issued under the name “Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow” in August 1995, and features Paul Morris on keyboards, Greg Smith on bass, John O’Reilly on drums, Blackmore’s Night’s Candice Night on background vocals, and fronted by Doogie White, the singer was an inspired choice; a huge fan of Ritchie’s career in both Purple and Rainbow, the singer formed a strong writing partnership with the guitarist. The album includes a reworking of The Yardbirds’ ‘Still I’m Sad’, which had been recorded for Rainbow’s debut, 20 years earlier ; Ritchie’s classical flights of fancy are truly achieved on his arrangement of Edvard Grieg’s ‘Hall Of The Mountain King’, and tracks such as ‘Wolf To the Moon’, ‘Hunting Humans (Insatiable)’ and ‘Ariel’ proved themselves to be worthy additions to the Rainbow catalogue. When it came to playing live, songs from both Rainbow and Purple were revisited, and fans are lucky enough - on the re-issue of “Stranger In Us All” -  to be presented with a unique live recording from a 1995 Swedish concert, of ‘The Temple Of The King’ - it also features a radio edit of the single ‘Ariel’, plus the song ‘Emotional Crime’ that has previously only been released in Japan.

Accompanying the extensive liner notes is a personal account from singer Doogie White, plus plenty of artwork and memorabilia from Doogie’s own Rainbow collection.

Doogie White has had a pretty extensive career as a singer / songwriter since his days with Rainbow - We caught up with him whilst on a train to Mannheim to find out more ...

HR : Having been a fan of Rainbow prior to joining them in 1994, how did it feel to suddenly have such a prominent role in the band?

Doogie White : It was a huge moment for me in every way.   There I was, a cheeky upstart who had long admired all that Ritchie did, being personally asked by him to come to America and join his band. He knew nothing about me and I thought I knew all about him. We hit it off straight away from the first notes we played together. We played old Purple and Rainbow songs and some bar band standards and jammed a few ideas just for him to see what I could do on the improvisation front.

I was only supposed to be there 4 days but he asked me to stay for a week. We discussed what kind of album we wanted to make. We played football. He did some magic tricks and we jammed for hours.

We had a good and healthy working relationship and a fine friendship. I knew my place and was happy to be part of his new adventure. He shared his hopes and fears. He trusted me.

I think we made a fine album with some good songs and a couple of real Rainbow classics. There were a couple we compromised on and we did have better ideas but we never finished them so that they could not be released as “bonus” tracks at a later date. I know how much he hated the re released Purple stuff with alternate takes.

I have hours of material but it’s in the Loft ...

HR : Despite the sudden nature of the break-up in 1997, was the overall experience of those 3 years a positive one?

DW : Yes!  Even at the very end when I decided it was here and no further,  it was all good and positive. It was sad of course as I felt there was more work to do and I had given him a tape with 6 song ideas for the next album. Some ended up on Cornerstone’s HUMAN STAIN and another on a TANK album. I treated my time in Rainbow like Ali treated the Heavyweight Crown.   It was the wrong time for the kind of music we were doing but we did it anyway.

Despite what Ritchie says, or in most cases does not say, we got on well until we did not.  His choice not mine. HR : To me it has always seemed strange that it literally ended over night - like a political coup d’etat! - Especially as You seemed to fit Ritchies criteria perfectly ; with what you contributed as both performer and writer. There are many citations which suggest that through Your input, there was a wider range of material that could be performed live, and also Ritchie stated [at the time] that Stranger In Us All was the best thing he had recorded to date - does  that reflect how You felt whilst working with him and Rainbow?  

DW : I don’t think Stranger In Us All is the best thing he did. I don’t even think it’s the best thing I have done. That’s just him promoting the album. It has its place and that is for others to judge. It was a good album though!

I just followed his lead. If he wanted to go off and jam some blues of folk or silly songs I was there as were the rest of the band (Greg Smith, John O’Reilly or Chuck Burgi, Paul Morris, and others) to back him up. He knew that we knew what was required, and also knew what I could bring to the party - he exploited that to the max some nights! He has said he does not like fun and that music is a serious business, but for anyone who saw that ‘95 tour you know that there was some serious music and some serious fun on stage! We were enjoying each other and pushing each other. He’s quite talented like that.

Then others got his ear and were feeding him negative stuff, whispering’s, designed to disrupt him, for his ears only and that was unhelpful - but it suited their agenda and just made him more suspicious, which he had never been with me before.

No one in the band was doing anything other than enjoying being in the band and RAWKin on stage every night. There were no egos just a happy band doing the best they could every night,  and those who saw it knew it was good. I did say if he had a problem with me, for him to come to me and we could sort it out - But that is not his nature and he never did. So when it came down to it he was prepared to believe what he wanted and what he was being told and have things done in his name that were quite frankly beneath the man. When his management were being obstructive I wrote directly to him and he honoured all his commitments to me and made sure that his management paid what was due at the time. That’s how it should be.

HR : And that’s where it stopped  - until now ... “Stranger In Us All” has just been re-released and given a new lease of life?

DW : Yes they have pumped out the frequencies and it really sounds lot better than the flat linear sound of the original.

We should have added some of the extra tracks I have of the demos. But there are far too many hoops to jump through and it would mean new agreements between him and I. That’s not a path he wants to walk. HR : No, understood - but going back to when the original album was released - Obviously you were unaware of the fact that it would be the only recording that Rainbow would make at the time (possibly the last ever one?)  - does it change the way that you feel about it? Do you ever listen to it?

DW : I don’t listen to it at all. I don’t listen to anything I have done other than a couple of times when I get it. Occasionally something will pop up randomly on my iTunes and and a wee nostalgic smile passes my lips. But actually with SIUA - I remember every ounce of effort ; every change of lyric, key, tempo - So it has a different flavour for me than for others. I am proud of it, yet I know that we could have done better. But I was new to the big spotlight and while I stood my ground for a bit every now and again, it was Ritchie’s band and he got to do what he wanted.  Pat [Regan] was producing it and had his instructions on how to guide me.   I was just happy to be waking up every day knowing that today was going to be a new adventure.

I had so much fun all the time. Even when the dark clouds were hovering as they kinda did for the last while. His management did go out of their way to make band, and on the road, life a little less inclusive or welcoming ... But It was that 90 mins on stage that made anything worthwhile.

From what people have told me it’s a shame he now has such a distorted view of our time together. But it’s not my business and I don’t care what he thinks about it or how he feels about me.  I have seen some of the comments attributed to him that people send me. He really does re write his own history and I always have a good giggle at some of the nonsense he comes out with.   He loved it at the time, but to be fair it was a long long time ago and perhaps NOT the most important endeavour he has done musically. I look back at it slightly differently because it was VERY important to me. It was the best of times and will never be repeated for him, or for me.

HR : Well thankfully it didn’t deter you from carrying on! You have been involved with many great artists and projects during your career - have you any particular favourite memories?

DW : My memory palace is overflowing with errr memories from my times with LA PAZ  and CORNERSTONE, YNGWIE and SCHENKER, through TANK and beyond. I have a wonderful life and I am having a wonderful career - And if I am honest, really honest, my career would have been very different had it not been for that one tape I passed to Colin Hart who passed it to Ritchie Blackmore,  who made that fateful call one Saturday night in April 1994. I am forever in his debt and do you know what? He will get no joy at all from me saying that, and that is kind of pleasing!

HR : [laughs] Now I don’t mean to offend you by comparing you to a musical nomad, but you do seem to have moved around quite a bit -  If you could have settled for any greater length of time, or even permanently with one of those bands, who would it have been?

DW : I always have plenty to do recording and writing and performing. There is no dirt on the back of my shoes.

I was with Ritchie for 3 years, Yngwie for 6, Schenker now for 5. I would have been happy to do another album with Ritchie but he had a time machine and went away to his beloved middle ages with all the comforts of the 21Century.

With Yngwie we had run our course but remain friends, if not in touch much.

With Michael I hope to continue our successful partnership. We needed time away to do other things after the 4 years of intense touring/recording - Just to get some fresh experiences and know what side the bread is buttered.

HR : That’s always a bonus! What about future plans? Any more solo work or new collaborations in the pipeline?

DW : I am doing an album with a Bulgarian metal band called John Steel. (Blaze did their first) I will be finishing it when I am back from my short run of solos shows with my band WHITE NOISE (Italian Chapter).

I am always working. Sometimes under the radar sometime soaring like an eagle. Its all good and its all fun.

HR : You always look content to be on stage, and just take it all in your rock stride! Ha! What’s the strangest gig you’ve ever played?

DW : With La Paz in the 80’s at a place called ‘Roots of Cleghorn’ run by a lad called “Chicken George”. It was farming country and George was the only black guy for 100 miles. We played to a farmer in a bunnet and his sheep dog,  and George was the door man collecting the money! HR : Haha! No way!? Well from ‘Roots Of Cleghorn’ to Stockholm Circus -  If you could take a ‘dream’ band on the road, who would be your line-up, and what songs would make it to the setlist?

DW : I would just want to be backing singer for David Bowie, and cover  anything from “Love you til Tuesday” to “Blackstar”.

[whatamessz]

Fic “A Song about Breakfast”

I asked for prompts and @dreaming-powder was as lovely to send me one <3 So here are Murdoc and 2D creating music, a mysterious commercial occupying the only TV on Plastic Beach, discussions about jellyfishes and a relatively smooth sea.

Cleaned up and edited version on AO3.

1846 words | rating: general audience | 2D’s POV | Phase 3 | TW: mentions  of substance abuse | 2Doc only implied, could also be read as platonic

A Song about Breakfast

It’s around six A.M. and 2D sits in front of the huge TV in the living room.The same ancient looking and awfully frantic commercial flares over the flat screen for approximately the thirtieth time since he had opted on residing here this morning. It doesn’t matter. Zapping is pointless. There was only this specific ad on every channel every morning around this time over and over and over.

His brain is pretty much offline anyway and he has stopped questioning occurrences like this a long time ago. He just knows the thing with the endless commercial loop because watching it had happened to become one of his sleeplessness routines here on Plastic Beach and he doubted that Murdoc would care to fix the issue if he would ever tell him.

Sometimes 2D manages to nod off with the telly running, sometimes he just reaches some kind of meditative state which he always considers as the only fitting kind of meditation on a pink island entirely made out of trash.

He snaps out of whatever condition he had reached today when the commercial clock rings again and he is remembered that it’s still an advertisement for an instant breakfast.

His stomach gives a painful growl at that and he realizes just then that he’s hungry. 2D drags himself up and in the kitchen when the obnoxiously cheerful bespectacled TV man asks the off voice if it’s kidding when it promises a full breakfast in only three microwave minutes.

The decision on what to eat quickly becomes overwhelming when he opens the fridge, so he just tiredly reaches for the milk. He looks for the Cheerios and reinserts himself back on his old spot with a full bowl of cereals. Eventually it strikes the magic hour in which the usual program flickers back on and 2D just watches Cartoon Network while he tries very hard not think of long past Sunday mornings with little Noodle.

*** *** ***

It’s noon and he still hasn’t slept, that’s why he sits in the studio now, entirely unprompted, and toys with ideas his sleep deprived brain produces seemingly out of nowhere. The studio is also one of the few places with internet access on this island (though Murdoc had ensured child safety locks in every browser and all of 2D’s or the bands accounts on platforms he’s still allowed to use are thoroughly disabled or have new passwords, however that was possible).

Today’s morning obviously had left its impression. He couldn’t kill the pesky earworm of the jingle from the commercial and thanks to Murdoc’s precautions and the unstable internet connection, it takes him much longer than he would like to admit to sift through a string of 80’s TV spots on YouTube until he finally finds it. He cuts out an audio sample.

By this time, his head is a hellhole of commercial voices, intrusive melodies and his own unconnected thoughts racing.

He starts to work a song around it as a coping mechanism.

Next act. Murdoc himself emerges in the studio’s door. He looks awful.

Like he didn’t sleep in days, too, and that was probably the case, but when he takes in the image of 2D sitting barefoot and straddle-legged on the thick carpet, hunched over his synthesizer, MacBook and notepad scattered around in an apparent working mood, an uncanny huge grin slides across his face, exposing his shark like rotten teeth.

So far, 2D is unenthusiastic about this encounter. He keeps on tinkering with beats from the drum machine and the commercial sample.

“I’m honestly delighted to see you are willing to work even without my gentle requests from time to time,” Murdoc greets him and puts an unnerving emphasis on the word ‘delighted’. 2D only pulls a sardonic expression in answer. He also hasn’t decided yet if he finds Murdoc’s sensible lighter moods more bearable then the… other ones. They’re probably drug-induced anyway.

Not that he was one to talk, he mentally scolds himself. Well, at least he wasn’t like Murdoc, yet. That was his only solace.

2D decides he is too tired and too busy to pick a fight today. Murdoc obviously decides to challenge this resolution and snickers.

“Not quite the Chatty Cathy today hu, sunshine? Well, my night was great, GREAT I tell ya. Threw a party with Cyborg and the pirates. When I’m thinking about it this would be a great name for a band. No wait, scratch that, we already have a great name. And a great band. The GREATEST, if I may say so hun hun hun.” He stops to catch his breath. “Anyway, what are you working on? Doesn’t sound like one of the songs I gave you.”

2D has stopped listening at the very first sentence and scribbles something on his notepad. “’M sorry, what?”

Murdoc sighs, impatient. “The sooong. What are you doing right now? I’m curious.”

“It’s… a new thing. A song… about breakfast,” 2D hears himself saying despite of himself. The truth is, that he wasn’t entirely sure what this was supposed to become.

“About what,” Murdoc snaps incredulous.

“About breakfast,” 2D answers promptly and, to his own surprise, advances a defensive bottom lip. “It’s a song… like a commercial. Catchy, fast living, colorful, you know? Seemingly disposable and about something short lived. Just trying to sell… sss-something for breakfast. Something you can just swallow down when you’re in a hurry.”

Ok, his thoughts are really just running loose right now. He hopes he can remember that later because in this moment the stuff he just bullshat at the same time made miraculous and perfect sense in his poor, tortured head.

Murdoc’s interest suddenly seems piqued. He snatches the notepad from 2D’s thigh and skims over the lines and sentences that may or may not constitute a first attempt on lyrics, nodding appreciatively while he reads. 2D looks up, his face scrunched up insecurely.

Murdoc strides around him, still staring at the notepad and clearly thinking. “Hmmm you know what, this could really work as a concept,” he mutters and lowers himself to the floor with a groan, back to back with 2D.

2D stiffs up at that and considers leaning away.

“Any ideas on how to call it already?” The question hits him offhand and he blinks, unsure.

“Uhn… Little…Pink…stink…fish?” he comes up with, very response delayed.

Suddenly, Murdoc just cracks up and laughs harshly and genuinely until he chokes on his own spit and the laughter turns into a coughing fit.

2D can feel the vibration of it rocking his own body. As if it was contagious, 2D can’t help the smile that spreads over his face then, partly over his own stupid answer, partly because he hears and feels Murdoc laughing and he hadn’t had that in a very long time.

“You know, I also had a new idea for a song last night,” Murdoc pipes up excited when his coughing finally has subsided. “Just wait!”

With that, he takes the pencil lying next to 2D and scribbles something on the notepad. Curious, 2D leans to the side to try and spy what the bassist was doing, but just in that moment Murdoc so much as thrusts the pad back into his face, brandishing it so close in front of his nose that at first, he can’t make out anything. 2D cautiously takes the pad and stares at it, baffled.

“Murdoc, that’s just a shitty sketch of one of these sodding jellyfishes,” 2D states irritated. Murdoc had drawn the silly grinning thing just over his “lyrics”.

“RIGHT??? These are just bloody everywhere!”

“But... that’s not a song,” 2D answers again, but he sounds interested now. He thinks his overtired brain is just about to produce another idea.

“But we need a song about them on the album! They embody the experience of this place!!!” Murdoc sounds frantic now and 2D can feel him gesturing wildly.

“They even look more like candy wrappers than real animals,” he agrees and nods along, even if the likeliness of Murdoc’s drawing with the actual strange animals he remembers seeing sometimes in front of his underwater prison or in the Stylo (submarine mode) is only minimal.

“They are a plague, I swear! There was a bunch – “, Murdoc interrupts himself. “A gang? A posse? A pack? – nah whatever! There were a whole lot of them almost clogging the seawater suction pipes for the cooling system of the engine room last week! Had to get on my good ol’ wetsuit and get rid of ‘em myself…”, he mumbles and 2D giggles at the image. He himself hadn’t noticed any of that last week.

“I… can show you what I thought so far for the music,” he offers.

“Yeah yeah, go on”, Murdoc encourages him and snivels, so 2D shows him the gruesome commercial sample and that he intends on putting it at the beginning of the song.

“Disturbing. I like it,” Murdoc states with a palpable shiver down his spine.

“Did you know this commercial is the only thing that runs on every channel for at least an hour every morning around six,” 2D suddenly admits and Murdoc half turns around.

“No… what in the seven hells? Why?”

“I thought you might know.” He shrugs and goes on with his demonstration.

Murdoc taps his foot to the beat of the drum machine and chimes in with comments here and there on what he might like or would change. He only stands up one time to pick up his bass, strumming along some very simple base lines in time with the drums and piano snippets the singer had patched together so far. Somewhere along, 2D had reached his dead point where he no longer felt drop dead tired and Murdoc had seemed to come down from whatever height he was in when he first entered. Surprisingly, the companionable workflow lasts.

That really was a rarity, since many other songs before had been a true fight.

At some point, he can feel Murdoc’s little finger creep over to rest on his own. 2D, who was lazily pushing some keys on his synth with one hand, bites his lip. He takes a deep breath.

“Muds?”

“Yeah?”

“We are having a good time right now for once, right,” he starts flat out. Murdoc pauses.

“I… think so.”

“Then don’t ruin it,” 2D says coolly and can feel how Murdoc’s retreats his hand instantly.

“2D I-“

“We can maybe work the jellyfish in you know,” he cuts Murdoc off and tries changing the subject.

“The jellyfish could be the theme together with the breakfast. The jellyfish could be the brand. Don’t you wish to stab those stupid smiles sometimes”, he goes on, even when animal cruelty really is the last thing he would like to promote and the jellyfishes for sure weren’t the ones that did anything to him. Sometimes he’s just so angry.

Murdoc huffs and chuckles lowly. “Actually…. That’s crazy but brilliant. I’m a genius for coming up with these  things.”

2D sighs in dramatized exasperation. “Yes, Murdoc, you really are.”

[noona-clock]

Please Subscribe

Genre: AU/Fluff

Pairing: Hanbin x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

You remembered the day you’d reached 1 million subscribers like it was yesterday.

I mean, it had only been six months ago, so really not that far back in the past, but you’d already gained a million more since then. Those six months had been a whirlwind.

You’d been sitting at your laptop for over an hour, watching the number of your subscribers on a real-time subscriber count website. You’d started biting your lip when you got to 999,980.

A few minutes later, you’d gained 10 more. And then 5... and then 4...

Your eyes had been glued to the screen, and when you watched 999,999 turn into 1,000,000, you had literally screamed. And then you’d started jumping around. And crying.

And then... What else? You had sat down and filmed a video.

Now, half a year and 1 million more subscribers later, you were happier than ever. Not because you had 2 million people watching your videos, but because you were doing what you loved, and you were doing a damn good job at it.

Sure it could be challenging to come up with original makeup tutorials and keep things fresh, but you thrived on pressure. You gained inspiration however you could, and your followers were always so flabbergasted at your ideas.

Your absolute favorite makeup look you’d ever done had been inspired by a Monet painting you’d seen on a trip to New York City. You and your subscribers alike had died over the pastel lips and the soft highlight and the watercolor eyeshadow.

Of course, you also threw in fun videos like hauls and Q&As and monthly favorites. Because who didn’t like watching those?!

You were actually in the middle of editing a Sephora haul currently, but you were suffering from major brain block. Your eyes were tired of looking at your face, and your ears were sick of hearing your voice.

So, naturally, you went to YouTube to distract yourself.

One of your favorite things to do was browse your recommended videos and find new channels to watch/become obsessed with. Even though you were almost strictly a beauty channel, you watched all sorts of videos. Daily vlogs, house remodels, cooking lessons, and lately, you’d gotten into watching those “So-and-so react to KPOP for the first time” videos. You found those extremely entertaining, and they’d gotten you to watch a few KPOP videos yourself.

As you perused the videos suggested for you, one, in particular, caught your eye. The thumbnail was just a black and white picture of a man sitting at a picnic table outside of a small shop, and the title was “Just Go (ORIGINAL SONG) - B.I.” It was only three and a half minutes, the perfect amount of time for a brain break.

So you clicked on it.

The video itself was a screen recording of the music software as the song played, something you thought was a nice touch. And when you heard the opening piano, you were almost instantly hooked. Already the melody was stuck in your head, and once the lyrics started, you felt like singing along even though you’d never heard them before.

“He’s got a pretty good voice,” you murmured, nodding your head along to the smooth, R&B music. But then he started rapping, and your head literally jerked back in surprise. “Oh, wow. He’s really good.”

When the song was over, you immediately wanted to listen to it again. But you also wanted to check out more of his songs, so you gave the video a quick thumbs up before clicking on his channel name (which was ‘HANBIN’). You were pretty shocked to discover he only had 50 thousand subscribers; he was incredibly talented! At least he seemed to be from the one song you’d listened to. But it was a really, really good song.

As you scrolled through his feed, you noticed he posted a good mix of original songs, covers, KPOP reactions, and vlogs. You clicked on the first vlog you came across, wondering what this guy was like. With a voice like that, he had to be super cool and thug, right?

The video opened with him just waking up, and - again - your head jerked back in surprise. Um... he was super cute.

And as you got further into the video, you realized he was pretty funny, too. He was very relaxed in front of the camera, and you could tell he wasn’t putting on an act or anything. He was chill but dorky at the same time. Not at all how you’d imagined him to be. In a good way.

You found yourself watching with a smile on your face, resting your chin in your palm and forgetting about every other thing you had to get done.

And then, all of sudden (though not really because it had been over 20 minutes), he said, “I’m about to go work on a new song, so I’ll leave it here for today. Leave a comment down below what your favorite ice cream flavor is. If you say anything other than Rocky Road, you’re wrong. Thanks for watching, and if you want to eventually hear the song I’m working on right now, give this video a thumbs up. Oh, and please subscribe.”

He smiled, waving to the camera before the video transitioned to his end screen.

Well, you had to listen to him, didn’t you? You moved your mouse over the red button and clicked ‘Subscribe.’

Part 2

Master list //  RULES // Submit a Request! // Read About the Admins