#he left his shitty company he started his own band he releases the music he wants without caring about popularity

[sunmisbf]

yesterday i told my boyfriend about how woodz made a post on fancafe saying there’s so much he wants to do n he’s planning a lot of things n how he realized he really loves his job after he started the military n he said they should send sunmi to the military too so she can realize she loves her job n start releasing music like stop 😭

[asterlark]

ok. samwell college of music au. i wrote all four years let's go babey

eric bittle is this lovely southern tenor (sounds kinda like mitch grassi or ben j pierce) who posts covers (& sometimes originals, but always with neutral or no pronouns because he can't post anything that says he or him ☹) on his youtube channel and has major stage fright but is very talented; he also plays ukulele

he got into samwell college of music on a voice scholarship and his dad doesn’t exactly approve but eric was never the 6′2″ masculine football player he wanted anyway so why not go for his dreams

he auditions for the very competitive samwell men’s contemporary chorus (there’s like 20 choirs; chamber choir, jazz choir, a cappella groups (lax bros do a cappella), combined choirs, etc- smcc does contemporary pop/rock music) and while he’s very very nervous and shaky as he auditions, directors hall & murray see a lot of potential in him (with major grumbling from student director jack)

(the rest of this ridiculously long au under the cut)

the group is small, for a chorus, because the point of the group is not a wall of sound but a focus on all of the very talented guys’ voices coming together in these gorgeous harmonies and basically they’re like one of the best choruses on campus and all the male singers want in

so there’s jack zimmermann, who of course eric knows because everyone knows who he is, he’s the son of bob and alicia zimmermann, both incredibly talented and famous musicians, and basically those genes were in his favor because he’s mega fucking talented

(jack was supposed to sign a recording contract to be in a band with his best friend kent parson when he was 17 but something happened between them and the pressure was too much and jack overdosed on something- there’s so many rumors no one knows what’s real- and kent signed solo in LA & went on to win grammys for his albums about a mysterious ex and jack disappeared for a few years to be a counselor at a music camp and reappears at samwell, knocking everyone’s socks off again like he’d never left, except with a renewed vigor and intenseness that freaks everyone out)

jack is a contemporary writing & production major, freaky talented and sings like a modern day frank sinatra, and he plays like 20 instruments and can read music like breathing air and writes songs like if he stopped he’d die; his music is folksy and mournful and he plays all the instruments on his tracks himself- guitar, piano, strings, drums- it sounds like a full band but nope. just jack. he’s intense

“we all get nicknames in this choir,” justin informs eric on his first day, “we’re those kinda guys.” so he’s bitty, which he finds vaguely offensive (bc he’s not that short!) but still cute, & the rest of the group is introduced to him:

“shitty” knight (voice like colyer) is a musical education major and an enigma of a singer with this awesome, earthy, raspy voice that’s really interesting to listen to and a very.... unique style & look; he writes cheesy but shockingly good raps about social justice topics and he will sing-lecture you if you’ve said something offensive (he also plays banjo)

justin “ransom” oluransi is a music business & management major with an angelic voice you can’t help but listen to; he’s sultry and has an incredible range and does runs like nobody’s business (with a voice like daniel caesar or leslie odom jr UGH)

adam “holster” birkholtz is a voice performance major, wants to be on broadway and it’s all he ever goddamn talks about basically, he’s a belter and has a lot of charisma and starpower and he’ll charm the pants off of you within one note; can also play piano and irritates everyone constantly because his regular volume is like a level 11 (voice like the frontman of my brothers and i combined w/ x ambassadors lead singer)

larissa “lardo” duan is at the local art institute because performing arts is not her jam and she’d much rather paint; she’s a barista at annie’s and supervises open mic nights and keeps the annoying choir dudes from driving away all her patrons

“i’m not even in your dumbass choir,” she says when the group gave her her nickname. holster just told her that she was an honorary member and then started sing-shouting a song at her about how good she is

bitty’s first year is hard because he’s talented and he works hard but he shies away when anyone asks him to sing outside the group and like, he can sing to a camera by himself but being on a stage with everyone looking at you and the sole responsibility of the song on your shoulders is terrifying and no thanks

jack does not. understand this. he’s been performing practically since he came out of the womb and he doesn’t really get performance nerves (what he gets is anxiety about how he did after he gets off stage that follows him home and makes it so he can’t sleep) - so he bothers bitty about it constantly like “you just need practice, you just have to sing by yourself a lot and then you’ll get over it” which like.... that’s true but it’s also hella scary and bitty’s like “no thanks!!!!”

but jack’s annoying and intense so he makes bitty do open mic with him every saturday night and it’s going okay and bitty loves his choir and loves his school and these new friends he’s making and he finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them during his second term

then during their spring choral showcase at the end of his freshman year bitty has a solo and he’s worked really hard on it and he’s feeling good- okay he’s completely freaked out but he’s trying to feel good- but when he gets up on stage there’s so many people and the stage lights are so hot on his face and he flips out a little and maybe he passes out from anxiety and stress right on stage and it’s terrible and he’s so embarrassed and ashamed that he ruined their set at the showcase

of course jack blames himself because “we shouldn’t have given you a solo before you were ready, i misjudged it, i’m sorry” - and they all feel kinda bad bc holy fuck they didn’t know his stage fright was that bad like they didn’t know someone could pass out just by being anxious to sing

he practices all the time over the summer and goes to his local open mic at jack’s insistence and it actually helps a lot because instead of a sea of strangers judging him it’s a bunch of people he knows and they’re all smiling at him and when he finishes his song they cheer for him and it boosts his self-confidence a lot

his sophomore year they have three new members- chris ”chowder” chow (voice like ieuan), an excitable music education major with impressive rapping skills, derek "nursey" nurse (frank ocean or leon bridges type), a songwriting major who can also play violin and guitar, and will ”dex” poindexter (like tom west), a production & engineering major who tried out with chowder bc he needed moral support and didn't expect to get in but impressed the directors with his voice

the year’s going pretty good, bitty’s still pretty scared of singing alone but more confident now and the open mic nights with jack haven’t stopped, so he’s getting better. and one night they’re hanging out at annie’s after closing waiting for lardo to be done so they can walk her home, and bitty suggests that jack sing with him one of these nights, and jack says he doesn’t know any of bitty’s songs and bitty says they can write one together half jokingly but then jack is like “yes.” with that Intense Look

SO they get together a couple days later in jack’s room at the house they all live in together (bitty moved in at the beginning of the year after previous smcc member john johnson called him- how’d he get his number?- and told him he could take his room if he wanted), jack with his guitar and bitty with his ukulele, and it’s a little awkward until bitty says jack should play him one of his songs

and, okay, he doesn’t really know what to expect because the only music jack ever released to the public was that one single he did with kent parson when they were 17 so bitty doesn’t even know if he has anything to play him, but he does- he starts playing these soft, sad notes on the guitar and opens his mouth and sings about being lonely and scared and unsure, about false starts and shaky ground and not knowing where you stand with someone, about expectations and lying awake at night and wishing so hard you were someone else, and bitty watches him sing and just kind of... realizes he’s head over heels for this boy and internally Freaks Out a little

he tries to put that aside and they start to write this song, at first it’s weird because jack’s like “all your songs are love songs i can’t really relate to happy love songs” and bitty’s like “listen... i’ve never even had a boyfriend i just write a bunch of sappy love stuff because it’s not about me it’s about whoever’s listening to it, they’re gonna project their own experiences on my music anyway so it doesn’t matter if it’s my real life or not” and jack’s like “alright while fake af that’s smart and i respect you” (what bitty doesn't say is that he writes about what he really wants which is to fall in love & be in a happy relationship)

they say they’re just gonna write this kinda vague sad song but they both secretly write lines about their actual lives so it ends up being really personal and real and raw for the both of them

they sing the song at open mic that saturday and the crowd at annie’s is never that big but they’ve never got a standing ovation here before, and some girl shouts “MAKE AN ALBUM” (it may or may not be lardo) and they both blush furiously and bitty’s like “... that was really nice, jack” and jack’s like “... yeah it was good good job you’re really getting some confidence out there nice work” (bitty: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AAAAH”)

around this time jack’s really thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’s done at samwell, talking with his parents and his agent and looking into different record companies and deciding if he wants to sign with anyone or possibly start his own company- the head of a small company called falcon records in rhode island has been talking to him a lot, and jack talks to bitty about how he thinks it’d be nice to start small, and the record exec georgia and the producer marty had both been really nice and welcoming, and bitty’s so happy for him but also just... sad that he won’t be around jack every day after he graduates

THEN at a haus party celebrating their win of a local choral competition, who shows up but none other than pop star kent parson to Ruin The Fun

bitty sees the way jack pales when kent walks in, notices them disappear upstairs together and feels a little sick worrying about jack but chalks it up to the highly alcoholic concoction shitty and lardo had cooked up but nonetheless decides he’s sick of the party and goes up to his room and hears.... a little too much

and YIKES he’s standing right there and kent parson, pop star, two-time grammy winner, is looking a little rumpled and staring right at him and he puts his hat on and clears his throat and snaps at jack- “hey. well. call me if you reconsider. but good luck with rhode island. ...i’m sure that’ll make your parents proud.” and jack’s shaking, and bitty doesn’t know what to do but jack goes back into his room and bitty’s just kind of standing there like What The Fuck

so.... he kind of stews over winter break but tries not to think about it too much and he and jack text a bit and jack tells him to practice and bitty’s like “oh, you” and jack’s like “im serious” and bitty’s like “>:( it’s christmas”

spring semester starts and they're doing well in competitions and they go to semifinals and then finals for a prestigious collegiate choir competition and the pressure is mounting but they all are so optimistic and really feel like they're on the same page and bitty’s confidence is better than ever and then.... they don't win

jack especially takes it very hard, but then he also has signing to worry about, which everyone helps him with and he decides to sign with falcon records and start work on an album after graduation

speaking of graduation, shitty and jack graduate and it's hard for them but harder for bitty who feels like he's losing jack in a way, he knows how intense jack gets when he's making music and it doesn't feel like he'll have any time for bitty anymore so when they say goodbye bitty goes back to the haus and listens to his and jack's song and just cries

but, like in canon, dadbob has words of wisdom to impart and jack has an "oh" moment and races across campus to kiss bitty

they get together and the next few months are spent with jack working nonstop on his album (which tbh, he'd had many of the songs written already so it's mostly recording and producing) and texting bitty constantly and coming to visit him and playing him demos of all the songs

jack also asks bitty if they can record the song they wrote together & have it as a bonus track on his album & bitty says of course, so when jack visits they set up an impromptu studio and record vocals in the guest bedroom and this deeply personal song they wrote before they were ever together means so much more to them now

and bitty is so happy but so scared and sad too because jack is playing him these songs telling him "they're all for you bits, & a lot of them are about you" and he just doesn't know how he's going to keep all this love inside even though it feels like jack's career is at stake

he tries to shove it down and stay strong though, especially since he's now an upperclassman and they're taking on new members- connor "whiskey" whisk (voice like finneas or the male singer in valley), a music business/ management major who seems to hate bitty's guts and tony "tango" tangredi (like chaz cardigan), a jazz composition major who astounds everybody with his endless questions but also his ridiculously impressive composition skills & naturally perfect pitch (he can also play saxophone??)

i want ford in this au so fuck it she is a composition major with dreams to write scores for musicals and she stars training as a barista at annie's (aka training to corral the smcc)

the pressure of it all proves to be a lot and bitty and jack have their hi, honey moment where bitty's like i can't be this deep in the closet!!! and so they tell the smcc and also jack's label that they're together and that eases things a bit

jack's album comes out to much critical acclaim and shouting in the groupchat ("#1 ON ITUNES BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!") and several months later, when smcc has already been eliminated from choral competition in an earlier round, jack is nominated for SEVERAL grammys including best album, song of the year, and best new artist

when the time comes he takes his parents and bitty on the red carpet which, everyone keeps being like "who are you here with jack?" and he's like "my family and my good friend :)" and yes it is awkward

jack wins... all three awards. it's the comeback everyone is stoked to see and when his third win is announced, he and bitty are so elated that they kiss before he goes to accept the award

his speech is basically just "um... wow. thank you. i just kissed my boyfriend on live tv. this is amazing and i'm so humbled. i'd like to thank my boyfriend and georgia and marty and my parents and my friends and my boyfriend"

obviously the press has a FIELD DAY with this but bitty & jack are honestly vibing and so happy that it doesn't matter untiiiillll bitty's mom calls and he has to tell her "mama i'm gay and i'm going on tour with jack this summer okloveyoubye"

the last few months of bitty's junior year pass quickly and he's voted student director which is a huge honor considering how much he struggled with stage fright and confidence & how he'll now be stepping into ransom & holster's shoes

r&h and lardo all graduate (the smcc basically crashes the art school graduation and all scream when lardo gets her diploma lmao), which is a bittersweet occasion and they all do a bit of tearing up

that summer bitty goes on tour across the u.s. & canada with jack and his touring band (snowy is a bassist, tater is a drummer and poots does backing guitar, he also brings nursey to play violin on a few songs) as well as georgia who's there to manage logistics

and tour is so fun & chaotic with many bi and rainbow flags in the audience that end up thrown on stage and draped around jack's neck and they spend so many nights in the bus drinking and laughing and fooling around on the guitars and bitty's uke and exploring new cities bitty has never been to before and it's the freest bitty has felt in a long time

summer ends though, and jack leaves for the uk/europe leg of the tour, and with the new school year brings a few new members- river "bully" bullard (voice like gregory alan isakov), a music therapy major who draws his own cover art for his songs, lukas "louis" landmann (like jr jr), an electronic production and design major with a penchant for EDM, and johnathan "hops" hopper (like keiynan lonsdale), a film scoring major who wants to write music for movies and video games

bitty meets and befriends some of the other student directors- shruti, sd of the women’s contemporary chorus; sharon, sd of the chamber choir; and edgar, sd of jazz ensemble (even chad l., sd of the all-male a cappella group)

senior year passes similarly to the comic; coach visits and sees one of bitty’s competitions, jack comes to madison for christmas, smcc does well in competition and goes to regionals etc

however… bitty keeps putting off and putting off gathering the songs for his senior recital

he has a hard time doing that because he’s so focused on the group and making sure they’re performing well and as they advance in competition, everything else starts to fall away

eventually the rest of the smcc has to lock away his uke and change his youtube password and FORCE him to choose songs for it and start preparing because he cannot graduate without doing this recital and doing well on it

he chooses (of course) a beyonce song, a few of his own songs, an ellie goulding song, and an adele song

with all that his breath hitches and his hands shake before he goes on stage, he does really well and his voice instructor prof atley tears up a little in the audience as does his mom

meanwhile smcc goes to semifinals, then finals, of the national collegiate choral competition they participate in

and i imagine bitty faces somewhat less homophobia in this au because i mean, he’s in the performing arts, but i think it’s still there and he also faces a good amount of classism from richer students and performers who think they’re better because they had the resources and money to be performing professionally from a very young age, and he has been practicing via filming himself on a shitty camcorder and posting it to youtube

but they still get there! and the national finals are fucking HUGE and a big deal and a little overwhelming

bitty’s stage fright is Present because this is the biggest stage and the biggest stakes he's ever had and he has a big solo in one of their songs so if he fucks up, he fucks up a national championship for his whole group and school

luckily though, when he steps on the stage with his best friends and sees his boyfriend and family and smcc alums in the audience and they perform their first song, a high-energy pop medley that always gets the crowd going, everything seems to melt away and it's just him living in this moment and singing his heart out

when it gets to the next song and his solo, he forgets to be nervous and belts it out, getting screams of approval from the audience when he finishes

(dex and nursey do have a duet together that they had to practice for many long nights in the practice rooms alone but that's neither here nor there)

their time on stage seems to last both hours and no time at all and then they're done, the crowd gives them a standing ovation and it's at least 30% r&h & shitty's hooting and hollering and jack's enthusiastic clapping that makes bitty & the others beam with pride

then it's just waiting, giddy and nervous beyond belief in their green room, for the judging to be over

after what feels like forever they're back on stage, arms linked together waiting and hoping for their name to be called and it is, they win and it feels like years have built up to this moment, and bitty tears up because years ago when he was fainting from anxiety at having to perform in front of people he never could've imagined that he'd do this, that he'd be the student director that led them to a championship

they get the trophy and a ridiculous amount of flowers from their loved ones and they all are just in giddy disbelief that this is happening, they're national champs!!! they are the best choir boys in the nation!!

they come home and the rest of the school year passes by so quickly that it's very suddenly graduation and bitty can't believe his college career at samwell is over 😢

(he and ollie and wicky take pictures together, o&w talk about how excited they are to devote full time attention to their band & wedding planning and bitty's just like wait you're gay??)

bitty got plenty of offers from record companies but he likes his freedom of creativity and he has a built in fanbase from doing youtube all these years so he decides to make an album independently (jack helps him produce & master it 🥰)

when bitty's album comes out about a year later, full of bops about being gay and in love and having struggled but come out the other side more confident than ever, it doesn't get any grammy nominations- and he didn't expect or need that.

what it does do is it resonates. it makes the rounds in youtube and queer internet circles; people his age reach out to him saying this is the music they wish they had as a kid and kids reach out to him saying he's a role model and they're so glad to have his music to listen to. his album is written about as an underrated gem that shines with queer brilliance and is sure to start a party when it comes on.

his parents may not fully understand the road he's chosen for himself but they're still so proud and promote the album as hard as any of his loyal fans (especially the one country-inspired song on the album that he wrote and dedicated to them).

and jack, jack who saw this album from its infancy to its release date, who took the film photo that ended up being the album cover, who worked with bitty to make sure his vision was realized exactly how he wanted it to be, is proud beyond words.

jack starts using his semi-abandoned twitter again to tweet "stream [album name]" every day and bitty retweets them sometimes, with just a "this boy. ❤"

and they're happy. they're good. they have come so far and they are reaping the rewards of all the hard work they put in to make the music that they truly love.

the end :)

[ssvgawara]

Haikyuu boys and some oddly specific crime they’d commit

a/n: I come back and the first thing I write is a shitpost!! enjoy </3 tw for drugs, murder, alcohol and general crime committing xoxo

Karasuno

Daichi- he’s a cop sorry that’s all there is to it man

Suga- Suga has multiple charges of 1st-degree murder against him but they can’t seem to find his identity so he continues committing murder and will continue until he gets caught or ends up murdering enough people to be put in a position of power

Asahi- everyone is probably like “Oh Asahi is innocent” NO. He has learned that his slightly scary face will let him get away with a lot, he is buying alcohol illegally because he looks old enough to, and he’s buying so much other shit and just getting away with it

Nishinoya- This man gives fucking pimp vibes I can just see him in the big leopard print fur coat with a pretty girl in his lap and he calls himself big poppa but no one else will

Tanaka- Drug dealer vibes, probably runs an entire fucking drug ring with his sister and not just a Lil weed these mfkas have the hard shit too like you could probably buy meth from them, he’s not using it but it’s good business

Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita- They literally rob a bank they have an entire scheme and get away with multiple bank robberies and this goes on for MONTHS

Kageyama- We know he’s volleyball smart but otherwise he’s so mfing stupid and I love him for it but he is a chronic shoplifter. Just picks something up and takes it, has walked out of a store without paying for an entire bed set once and got away with it somehow so idk props to him

Hinata- He is the little guy in any heist situation, he fits anywhere so he can sneak in and out the best, he gave himself the stupid ass code name tiny giant but everyone goes with it because somehow he is the best

Tsukishima- armed robbery, but he doesn’t have a gun just a knife like he’s tall and as an attitude, a knife will get him whatever he needs he doesn’t need the gun

Yamaguchi- He runs a catfishing scheme where he pretends to be a naive girl, scams old men out of their money, and then ghosts them and I think it’s what he deserves let him carry on especially because no one would believe it’s him. Also not really like a crime crime but still a crime in a way

Kiyoko- She kills men and I know it, Queen Kiyoko ending the patriarchy one shitty man at a time like she only kills men who deserve it bc some have rights.

Yachi- She’s too anxious to commit an in-person crime so she does a lot of cybercrime, hacking government databases and releasing info to the people, truly the anonymous we deserve

Saeko- She’s running that drug ring with Tanaka, and she loves it because there’s a thrill to it even though yknow she’s dealing literal meth but like its fine plus she loves rocking people’s shit when they get too handsy, which bring me to my next point underground MMA Saeko, like the illegal one with no rules yeah <3

Ukai- this man probably sells all kinda shit to minors that he shouldn’t he is so unbothered a 7-year-old could probably walk in ask for a pack of camels and get them and leave before he noticed what was going on.

Takeda- Did y’all see how scared Hinata was when Takeda gave him that lecture? This dude could kidnap someone and scare them into giving all the information he needed, a legend truly

Aoba Johsai

Oikawa- took steroids one time. And of course in sports, that’s not allowed. But he only did it once and regretted it for months afterward. Never told anyone and was just relieved he didn’t have to piss in a cup and have someone find out.

Matsukawa- Without hesitation, I know this man takes dead people’s bones and sells them on the internet. Has dubbed himself the bone man and he feels so much power when someone buys a femur or sumn. It’s kinda funny honestly he has a hoard of bones to sell, his fave is the pelvis.

Hanamaki- He’s in between jobs because he stole money from his last job, like he said he was sorry he just needed a little extra for gas but was sad to find out that’s a literal crime and he was laundering money.

Iwaizumi- he’s a street racer, like the fast and furious style and it’s so sexy of him like late-night races ugh to be in an expensive fast car with him where he has one hand on my thigh okay that’s enough of that.

Kunimi- Look me in the eye and tell me he does not do drugs. He does and if you don’t believe me you are wrong and I will fight you on this one. 

Kyotani- If there is a crime he will commit it for fun. Like he will do it with no hesitation. He has a record longer than twilight and I’m not sure how he is not in prison actually nvm he escaped and is  a wanted criminal lol

Shiritorizawa

Ushijima- Assault, he just reeks of getting into bar fights when he’s absolutely wasted. Like he most likely didn’t start it but he will be finishing it

Tendou- grave robbing, he just goes into the cemetery picked the oldest plots, and gets to digging. Has made thousands on dead people jewelry and probably won’t get caught, like besides the groundskeeper there’s no security he will never stop.

Semi- he breaks copyright laws on the daily. He’s sampling music in his all the time but he’s doing it so sneakily it’s fine its what deserves stream his band on Spotify right now,

Shirabu- His bangs are criminal enough. No, but he has stolen drugs from the hospital before he just wanted to try the Xanax, and yeah he could just write himself a prescription for it nut like it’s so easy to just go get some and no report it so that’s what he did.

Goshiki- y’all want me to say arson don’t you?? Fine. He commits arson multiple times and kills 7 people with fire before getting arrested and he doesn’t even feel bad so in prison he probably fucking runs a gang he is crazy.

Nekoma

Kuroo- he is a capitalist and class traitor and that’s crime enough I don’t care is he’s attractive or rich, He commits crimes daily by just existing but I still love him anyway.

Kai- Could not commit a crime he just wants to garden and live his life. Jk there’s at minimum one body in that garden let him kill a man he deserves it just let him have one dead body

Yaku- he keyed someone’s car once just because they pissed him off. Was it kuroo? Yes. But that’s fine because he also keyed Lev’s car but blamed lev for keying kuroo’s and Kuroo for keying Lev’s. He just wants to watch the world burn.

Kenma- cyberbullying but man he is mean. Like no bars held we will dig into every insecurity he can and that shit hurts and he doesn’t even feel bad about it he will just be as mean as he can if you’re not careful

Lev- his crime is being tall and dumb also doesn’t understand the economy and prints counterfeit money because why can’t we print more money? The government should get on that.

Inuoka- He released all the animals from a zoo, like snuck in one night and just let them all free, I’m surprised the tiger didn’t eat him but hey the animals are free, there’s still some missing uh oh he’s very proud of himself for it. After the rush, he starts sneaking into shelters and freeing all the dogs and cats

Yamamoto and Fukunaga- Have egged a house before, it was Kuroo’s he deserves all this bullying and you can’t stop me.

Date Tech

Aone- Criminal Conspiracy, sure he had an entire foolproof plan to get away with the perfect crime but someone found out, and now his plans are ruined, damn </3 and no one ever suspects the quiet guy either.

Futakuchi- Having a prostitute, he just wanted some company like mans is lonely so he paid a girl to just spend a Lil time with him it’s all good.

Fukurodani

Bokuto- I know we all haha funny laugh at tax evader bokuto and sure maybe he evades his taxes but he’s also committed vehicular manslaughter, he cannot drive and has killed someone with his car maybe even multiple someones but he always drives off in a panic because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Akaashi- Hasn’t actively committed a crime but has been an accomplice in every vehicular manslaughter Bokuto has committed why the fuck does he keep letting bokuto drive? He really needs to stop that.

Konoha- A master scammer he is so convincing everyone gives him money even if they’re a little sus because he’s just that good each scheme is so convincing.

Inarizaki

Kita- He grows weed, you can’t tell me those rice fields are just for rice he’s got all this space he is growing marijuana and selling it, let him do it I want him to be my plug.

Atsumu- "What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning, the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting. I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years. She's never taken another lover. I don't care. I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier."

Osamu- resisting arrest. He just said no and ran. Granted he shouldn’t have punched the cop in the first place to have to be arrested but like that’s not the point here.

Aran- accidental child abandonment, like he just forgot he was babysitting and left the kid alone for like a day. He felt terrible but he still forgot the kid and now is fearful of parenthood

Suna- owns an illegal weapon, like he just never registered it and keeps it around and would use it if needed Suna please just point the weapon at me maybe

Others

Terushima- Graffiti, he loves painting on the walls of buildings and tagging them, has so much spraypaint and his day isn’t complete if he doesn’t tag at least one building or train car.

Daishou- Public intoxication- he got a little too fucked up and stripped on the street he will forever have to live with everyone knowing he has an ass tattoo like damn bruh

Sakusa- Perjury he simply wanted to get out of court so he said some shit so he could leave granted he lied under oath but whatever, did they ever find out? No, so he’s fine and he’d do it again if it meant he could leave faster. Like sure he was a witness to a murder but bruh he pretends he does not see.

Hoshihumi- driving without a license he simply thought you didn’t need one because why do you need a piece of plastic to say you can drive a car like??? Just know how to drive it.

[callmeblake]

Kerrang Issue #1103 (Sources 1, 2)

Photo Credit: Jeremy Harris

Magazine Release Date: 2006

Issue Label: April 15th, 2006

Transcription below the cut  (translated by google from Spanish):

You're not in this alone

April 15, 2006

Kerrang April 15th, 2006

Lostprophets & My Chemical Romance 

When it comes to million dollar studios / mansions, Los Angeles, where My Chemical Romance is currently doing pre-production for their new - and as yet untitled - album, is very impressive. Built in 1920 for a silent film star, it is covered in such a way as to simulate an Asian palace, with panoramic views of the city, an outdoor swimming pool, acres of gardens, and - according to vocalist Gerard Way - a ghost that opens and closes doors and even takes baths. Gerard crawled out of bed at noon as his old friend, Ian Watkins is coming soon. He and the Lostprophets frontman will meet to discuss their future performances on 'Give It A Name' - a festival that will see them perform to 30,000 people in two days.

When Ian appears the two greet each other genuinely affectionate, talking about many things; from Gerard's art to Bono's sunglasses and, of course, the ghost guest Gerard admits to fear. The two singers are pleasant company, laughing, joking and obviously relaxed, interrupting and finishing each other's sentences as close friends usually do.

When did you meet?

Gerard: It was at the Slims, in San Francisco and Lostprophets was running a show with Head Automatica. I didn't know them, so I got on his bus and he was the coolest singer I've ever met.

Haven't you met singers before, back then?

Gerard:I had met a few, but singers are usually weird guys. They often have a 'lead singer vibe' and he didn't have one, he was so kind, respectful and personable.

Ian: We knew his manager because he had toured with bands that we had toured with. Even before the first My Chemical Romance album came out, he was already talking all day about them. He sent me the record when it came out and I used to listen to it all the time, it was fucking awesome. Did they get along immediately? Gerard: Yeah. I think everyone in both bands hit it off right away. They were down to earth guys. We hadn't met anyone as great as them, so it was a huge impression on our band that they had that attitude. Ian:

And after that, we keep crashing at events, anywhere, like in Japan….

Gerard: That is a very funny story! You have to fly everywhere when you play (at the Japanese festival) Summer Sonic; you can't drive because Japan is made of a lot of big islands. This was when he still used to get screwed. It was one of the last times that I was drunk or high, actually… Ian was in front of me on the plane and he was turning around to try to have a conversation with me, but he couldn't.

Ian: I hadn't realized it at first. I was talking about the songs on the album I was thinking about…

Gerard:… And at one point I just thought 'I can't deal with this man'. I felt really bad about that I had already thrown up more than I had ever seen in my damn life while trying to get my pills; we were sharing a bus on the way to the plane. I must have looked like the most broke asshole. I was ashamed all the way.

How often do you get together?

Gerard: I would say once every five months, maybe more often. We always collide.

Ian: Yes, when you go on tours you always bump into someone. The strangest thing was when I was in New York, having a snack ...

Gerard:Oh yeah! And we just meet! We were on our way to a place called 'Toy Tokyo', which is one of our favorite stores. We passed a restaurant and Ian was sitting there hanging out.

Ian: They came by and I was like 'Oh shit!' because it was so unexpected.

Gerard: And then we did a full US tour together and it was fun, but Lostprophets was still on the UK schedule, so they would fall asleep on the bus at odd hours and stay up all night.

Ian: That was before the My Chemical Romance record took off, so it was before they became rock stars! But it was cool because we did our own shows on off days.

Gerard:Yes, it was fun doing our shows together, because there was always the same vibe.

Do you keep in touch when you are not on tour?

Gerard: Yes, Sidekick! (controlled email senders)

Ian: You're never in yours! He used to be online all day, but now he's very cool for it.

Gerard: I think I changed my username, but I didn't tell anyone, I just hoped they would notice! So no one talks to me now!

They grew up in places as remote as New Jersey and Wales, what common areas do they share?

Ian: I think we are both working class.

Gerard:When you come from a working class place, you have to leave soon or you will be stuck there forever. Jersey is definitely that kind of place. It's very different if you live somewhere in Los Angeles…

Ian: You don't need to try here, you can go to clubs and gigs every day in LA. It is very easy to believe that you are someone in LA until you realize that there is a whole world outside. It's like the same as London and New York.

Gerard: Yes, but to come from the places that we come from; Where you have shitty jobs, you realize that you are nobody.

Ian: And if you want to do something, make a difference or at least enjoy life, you really have to work your ass off.

Gerard:What's the most shitty job you had in Wales?

Ian: I worked in Iceland. A frozen food store.

Gerard: Oh wow that's weird because my first shitty job was at a frozen food stand at a supermarket. They're both sober now, but Gerard wasn't when they first met: Did his using drugs and alcohol affect their friendship? Gerard: No Ian: I just didn't realize I had a problem! Gerard: Yes, apart from that plane trip. But even though he had a problem, I think the press made him look worse than he already was. When we did that tour together, I was already clean.

The two are working on new albums. Has either listened to each other's new songs?

Gerard: No. We haven't played anything for anyone.

People are predicting that they will both transcend the rock scene and come back with a more pop album this time. Is there any truth to that?

Gerard: I think that's what they expect us to do! On the other hand, some people may believe that our album will be more aggressive to compensate for that.

Ian: A lot of bands do that and screw themselves up. They succeed and say 'we have to prove that we are real' and confuse being real with being shit.

Gerard:That is completely true. So people might expect a more aggressive record from us, or maybe one that makes a lot less sense. But I wouldn't say it's more pop, although it's prettier.

Did you see a lot of bands growing up?

Gerard: Yes, because our only escape was to go and find the local show. There were two places that I would go, ' The Pipeline ' and ' Studio One '. The latter was completely hardcore, bands like Downset, Madball, Dog eat dog…

Ian: Dog Eat Dog! Dammit!

Gerard:The most taboo thing there was as a teenager was Slayer. The [Anti-obscenity lobby] PMRC was so big in the US that they made it almost impossible to get their records. They thought Slayer was satanic. You couldn't get WASP or Venom records, but Slayer was a sure door to evil! I remember when I got 'South of Heaven'; it made a big impression on me. Have you been in front of any other band performance? Gerard: Not in the mosh zone, but I was on the floor for Slim's once. Most of the time, I watch from the side of the stage. Ian:

Everything is ground at Slim's! That was a great show, because we met there. As I said; We got to know each other before these guys took off, and that's nice because I think meeting them after that would have been kind of weird.

So is it weird to meet bands that are already big?

Ian: Yes, because they don't care. As Gerard was saying, singers sometimes have attitudes and it is strange to meet a successful band that is still humble. I don't think My Chemical Romance would have been like that but bands get very reluctant when meeting people. They think 'you only want to be my friend because you want something.' It was great meeting Gerard before they grew up, because I know our friendship is honest.

Do things change when you get to the same level as other bands?

Ian: If we played in the US now, My Chemical Romance would top the list, whereas last time we were on them, but that's okay.

Gerard: Yes, when you go out with a band that you love, there is respect and it shows on stage. But if you play with a band that you don't respect, then you go out and destroy them.

Ian: And it's not like we release two albums at the same time. We left and their time came.

So what if both albums were out at the same time? Would they be aware of the other's sales position?

Gerard: Well we're both rock bands, but we offer something very different to people, so I don't feel in competition with these guys.

Ian:If they were assholes it would be horrible to see them get so successful, because it sucks to see idiots doing well. The only thing they do is add to your stupidity! But when you like band music it's always great to see that they do well.

Gerard: Yes, you will always be supporting your friends even if they are kicking your ass!

Ian: And if they're kicking your butt, it just makes you work harder- It's not a sour rivalry, it's a great thing -a friendship and respect.

My Favorite My Chemical Romance Song (by Ian Watkins)

I love 'You know what they do to guys like us in prison'. The first time I listened to their second album, that song grabbed me as soon as it started playing. It had some really cool changes; the way it starts off with a piano staccato, and the lyrics are fantastic. It conjured up a lot of images and I liked the fact that the verse is on the piano.

My Favorite Lostprophets Song (by Gerard Way)

It's easily 'Last Train Home'! When we were working on Three Cheers for sweet revenge, that damn video came out every five minutes and no one could help but sing it. We were saying 'Man, this is great!' I think the chorus is really beautiful. They weren't trying to capitalize on some kind of junk-young culture, the song really meant something, especially when they were playing it live. If someone is really honest with a song, it will always become a favorite song, and that one really stood out.

Translation: Liz

[bngtanah]

I'm (not) With The Band. | Prologue

summary: Adrienne is an indie producer who is hired to help co-produce BTS’ next album alongside their resident producer; Suga. Despite the initial opposition on both ends, the pair spend time together, share a few stories, dreams and aspirations and begin to hit it off really well. Wrapped up in the whirlwind of late nights and heated disagreements and reconciliations, Min Yoongi and Adrienne Rolle find themselves growing closer and closer. One night they decide to cross the barrier between personal and professional and do their best make a relationship work against all odds.

pairing: Min Yoongi  x Named OC

genre: drama, romance, smut

chapters: prologue| o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11|

warning: light angst, smut, fluff, workplace relationship, slow burn, sexual themes, ambw, enemies to friends to lovers, developing relationship

a/n: still a fool. still re-uploading.

"It's good money, Adrienne."

Adrienne rolled her eyes quickly underneath her eyelids and switched her attention away from the woman sitting next to her.

"I get that but there is no way I'm moving to Korea, I can't even find Korea on a map!"

Adrienne and her older sister had been having this roundabout conversation for at least an hour and a half with no end in sight since neither side seemed interested in giving in.

"So what are you going to do? Just stick around here and make amazing songs for shitty rappers and musicians that don't wanna pay you?" Danielle's voice was monotone and completely lacking any tangible emotion but Adrienne could understand that this was her sister's way of trying to appeal to her common sense. "An opportunity like this doesn't knock twice, little one."

Adrienne bit back a witty remark because despite how much she didn't want to admit it she knew that her sister was right. She was barely making ends meet with the seedy pool of customers she had now and the select few that actually paid her on time only wanted to shell out pennies for what Adrienne considered high-quality work. There were times over the past few months when the money wasn't coming in and reactions from her clientele had her seriously doubting her talent that Adrienne genuinely regretted not going to college. There was no a guarantee that she would have been any better off than she was now but the constant 'what if' always made her second guess her choices when things weren't going her way. Her life now wasn't perfect but it was comfortable, she rented an efficiency from one of her sister's friends and worked a few odd jobs here and there to keep up with the bills. It was a simple life that she enjoyed and Adrienne wasn't so sure she had the courage to give it up.

"Alright, let's say I go for it" Adrienne stated in a softer voice.

"What happens if I can't keep up or they hate all my songs or they hate me? I wouldn't be able to come back here as a failure and honestly, Dani I don't know if I have what it takes to do this." Her voice wavered with raw insecurity as she nervously she began pulling on the ends of one of her long braids.

If Adrienne was being honest with herself, her own self-doubts were the main obstacle holding her back from just accepting this job. She was reasonably excited about the thought of moving to a different country and Danielle; who was married and expecting a child of her own, was the only family she had left. It was time for her to stop depending on her for so much and start carving out her own place in the world.

"Do you really think they would have contacted you if they didn't think you were more than good enough?"

"To be honest, I don't know why they reached out to me in the first place. All the music on my SoundCloud is in English and I've never heard of this company before they emailed me."

"Because it's good, dumb-dumb!" Danielle exclaimed while tugging on one of her sister's braids. "What's the name of these people again, you know I have to google," She asked with her phone already in hand.

"BigHit, I already looked them up. It's legit"

Danielle nodded but dismissed Adrienne's statement with a flick of her wrist, she needed to research everything for herself if she was going to send her baby sister off to some strange company for a job that may not even be real.

"Seriously, Dani I've looked it up they are an actual music company" Adrienne leaned forward to snatch the phone out of her hands, "They told me that if I decide to work with them I'd be working with a boyband called BTS."

"Boyband? Those still exist?"

"Yes! I was so confused at first but they're the real deal...which is another reason I don't want to go. I've been researching their songs from last year and the year before that and I don't know who's doing their music now but it's really good. Here, listen to this-"

Adrienne tossed her sister's phone back onto the couch and pulled her laptop off the coffee table and onto her lap, "It's all in Korean so ignore the words and just pay attention to the melody like I did" she informed as she pulled up 'Let Me Know', one of the recent tracks she'd been replaying.

Her eyes fell closed gently once she hit play and the first note rang out and Adrienne allowed herself to become lost in the music once again, she couldn't understand the lyrics but even without knowing the language Adrienne knew too well the feeling of heartache and desperation this song was meant to make you feel. That was always something she appreciated about music, no matter where you were from or how old you were a good song could bring people together in ways that words often couldn't. To Adrienne music truly was a universal language.

Once the song finished Adrienne put her laptop aside and looked up at her sister with a childlike stare, anticipating her reaction. "What? It's pretty" Danielle responded and Adrienne's shoulders immediately slumped downward.

"Pretty? Is that all you have to say?" 

"Yup. That's my review, it is a pretty song." 

"You sicken me, do you know that? If you weren't carrying my niece we would be pillow fighting right now." Adrienne grumbled and leaned down to pressed a kiss to Danielle's rounded tummy. She wasn't big yet but she was definitely beginning to show. 

"I keep telling you not to get your hopes up, Lloyd's siblings are all boys."

Adrienne pursed her lips and ignored Danielle then whispered to her stomach. "Shhh, I can tell you're a girl." 

"Stop talking to my fetus and get back up here, I'm not joking with you Andy I really think you should go for this job"

Adrienne bit the inside of cheek and slumped back against the cushions, she was silent for a few minutes as she tried to collect her thoughts and recall all the points that were made in their previous conversation.

"How am I supposed to fly half way around the world and tell these people that I can make better music than what they have now?"

Danielle sighed, her fingertips grazing over Adrienne's shoulder to gain her attention before pulling her into her arms to hug her and rest her chin against the top of Adrienne's head. 

"Do you think you're talented?"

"Yes....but-"

"Butts are for ashtrays, Adrienne. You are talented and that's the end of it, when you worry too much about comparing yourself to other people then you start in with the doubts. You didn't go to them they came to you, that wouldn't have happened if they didn't know that you were more than qualified for this." 

"I don't want to leave you."

"Oh little one," Danielle cooed and kissed Adrienne's scalp, threading her fingers through the younger girls braids, "I am going to be fine, I have Lloyd! And you're going to be making so many new friends you won't even have time to miss me."

Adrienne sniffed and wrapped her arms around her sister in a tighter hold, "You better not have this kid until I can come back and visit" She replied through the few tears that were falling from the brim of her eyes.

"Does that mean you're going?"

"I guess I'm moving to Korea."

"This isn't a joke, right? There aren't any hidden cameras, you're really going to let me do this?"

The excitement in Yoongi's voice was as foreign and authentic as the short happy dance he did in the middle of Bang Si-Hyuk's office before he caught hold of himself and regained his cool composure. 

"Yes I'm being serious" Si-Hyuk answered with a tiny grin "You've been showing a lot of improvement lately and I think you should take the lead on producing the group's next release."

Pale pink lips spread into a wide and almost child-like grin, those were words that Yoongi never thought he would hear. He always appreciated being able to contribute a song or two to their albums but to have the control and relative creative freedom over an entire body of work for his group was a professional goal that he never thought possible so early in his career. It really was too good to be true.

"Of course..." Si-Hyuk spoke up again and Yoongi came crashing back down to reality. 

"With your schedules and other responsibilities, it wouldn't be ideal to leave all the work on your shoulders alone."

"I assumed the producers here would be assisting me"

"Most of them are busy with other projects, we've decided to contract someone from the outside to co-produce along with you."

Yoongi nodded and leaned back in his seat, pressing his index finger against his lips in thought and to prevent himself from speaking out of turn. He didn't like this idea one bit and the previous feeling of excitement he had was dulled significantly by the thought of having to collaborate with someone he didn't even know. He wanted to speak up, voice his opposition before he was saddled with the dead weight of a co-producer who probably had no idea what they were doing. But he knew it wasn't his place to say no to a plan that was already in motion and he didn't want to jeopardize the opportunity he was being granted. 

"Okay, when do we start?"

[winterromanov]

keeping all the promises (we made years ago) - a romanogers fic

Peter’s mixing a bad gin and tonic when Natasha and Steve finally come into the back. Her tiny frame guides him through the throngs of people as a The 1975 song plays in the background, crooning about skinny jeans and spare time and she’s got a boyfriend anyway. They disappear down the basement steps and Natasha must be a little drunk, he reckons, because the door is barely shut when they start kissing. And this—this, he realises, is the only narrative of the two of them that matters. (rock band au. chaos, man.)

/one

It’s Uncle Tony that gets him the job. Well—perhaps gets isn’t quite the right word, because get implies a bit of shuffling behind the scenes and handshakes when in reality Uncle Tony can get whatever he wants whenever he wants. He’s not even his biological uncle. Sometimes, Peter wonders if Uncle Tony just fancied having a nephew and saw him in kindergarten and thought, hey, he’s the one. May’s never told him how Tony ended up being his sort-of guardian, usually financially but sometimes otherwise. He’s just…always been there.

The always been there feels a little more literal now, ever since Peter mentioned that he might not want to go to college after all. Yeah, sure, the Princeton physical sciences program is like, the best in the country, but is that really all there is? He likes music and evening walks and the shitty little apartment he shares with May in the city. He likes the familiarity and the way it covers him like a safety blanket.

It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that Uncle Tony was pretty fucking pissed at the idea. Of, you know, not making the most of the thousands of dollars he’s invested in Peter’s education and not going to an Ivy. Nevertheless, there’s not much he can do about it. Even Tony Stark can’t force him to go to college, even if he looks at him with that disapproving glare every single goddamn day for the rest of his life.

(Uncle Tony’s disapproving glare is one of the scariest things Peter has ever seen, period. And Ned once made him watch all The Exorcist films in one sitting back in freshman year. Took him a good few weeks (months) to shake the paranoia and realise that, realistically, he probably wasn’t going to get possessed by some angry old spirit anytime soon.)

But Uncle Tony can ask him what he’s doing instead of going to college, and Peter quickly discovers that a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders is not an adequate response. He thought that maybe Tony would get him some sort of starter position in his company, but Tony isn’t the kind of guy who gives out jobs to anyone (even if they’re his sort-of nephew). No, if Peter ever wants a job at Stark Industries he needs a college degree first, and a good one at that.

“You need a taste of the real world, kid,” Tony had said, Peter idly spinning on the office chair in front of his desk. “And then you might think twice about giving Princeton the boot.”

And that’s how he ends up in front of Endgame.

-

Peter knows a hell of a lot about Uncle Tony, but also absolutely nothing at all. There are things he deliberately keeps hidden and Peter knows better than to ask about but he’s also ridiculously open, especially about how fucking rich and clever and sexy he is. May says it’s a confidence thing—that he must be hollow under all that blithe arrogance, but Peter has never met anyone more solid. He thinks. Tony cannot be anything other than whole, because he’s sure helped keep Peter’s foundations stable all these years.

He knows that Tony’s business is his life. That he’s a bit more…forward, with women than he should be, but it’s all talk because Pepper wouldn’t stick around if it wasn’t. He knows he prefers Turkish food over everything else and that he cares more than he lets on, always.

But he absolutely didn’t know that Uncle Tony kind-of owns a nightclub in the city; the super cool kind that has live bands and plays British indie rock and a menu with over fifty different kinds of cocktail on it. It makes so much sense, when he thinks about it. It’s exactly the kind of place he imagines Tony heading to after a day working non-stop at the tower.

It’s only three in the afternoon but the place is unlocked, Tony pushing open the double doors at the front with his shoulder. Inside, there’s a jarringly bright room with a bar and a stage that feels wrong not swathed in darkness or the muted glow from overhead lighting. A woman with long, brunette hair that falls down her back is mopping the floor off to the side. She looks up when she sees them enter.

“Wanda,” Tony greets, pushing Peter forward. The girl smiles bemusedly, shoving the mop back in a red plastic bucket. “Working hard?”

“As always, Mr Stark.” Her accent is soft, European. Peter likes the twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve just missed Nat, but Clint is still in the basement, if you’re looking for them.”

“Barton. Perfect.” He tugs on Peter’s arm, and Peter vaguely feels like some naughty kid being dragged around by their dad. This must be what that feels like, he muses, not that he knows much about the whole parent thing. “Come on, Peter.”

Peter rolls his eyes. Wanda catches him, and she laughs a little, returning back to the mop.

Tony drags him through a hallway lined with black-and-white checked squares and down a set of stairs labelled staff only, the walls covered in aggressive-looking graffiti which he assumes are song lyrics he’s never heard of. He likes music, but he’s the soft-spoken acoustic type. Not the mosh-pit type.

(Alongside Tony Stark’s disapproving glare and horror movies, he’s also kind of terrified of being swallowed by crowds. He doesn’t like the feeling of being lost or untethered. He likes being anchored to something. Someone. It’s kind of ironic, really, considering.)

Tony opens a door at the bottom of the stairs that leads onto what he assumes is some sort of staff common room, the walls all exposed brick and lined with tattered leather sofas probably pulled from a garage sale. Band posters either hang loosely with blue thumb tacks or, in some cases, in black frames—some scribbled with messy signatures. A makeshift bar stands in front of a small kitchen, lined with more liquor bottles than he cares to count. A coffee table is littered with vinyl cases and sloppily written notes, a wire charging an iPhone trailing all the way from the door. A man with brown hair and a strong jawline sits on the sofa nearest the back wall, Doc Martens kicked up on the table, scrolling through his phone. His eyes barely flicker when they enter the room, like he’s waiting for Tony to talk first.

“Welcoming as always,” Tony remarks, urging Peter to walk further into the room. The other man snorts.

“If you want a fucking parade every time you enter a room, Stark, you should stick to those dumb expo things you still insist on doing.” He’s still scrolling through his phone. “Who’s the kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter can’t help but say, because he’s eighteen and a high school graduate, for God’s sake. Both Tony and the man raise an eyebrow, in that patronising way Peter is all too used to. Like, you’re basically just fresh out the womb, boy.

“You’re a kid until you stop thinking like one,” Tony says, and it looks like Peter is still going to be getting a lot of that. He gestures towards the man and back again. “Clint Barton, Peter Parker. Peter, Barton. He’s your new boss.”

“Half-boss,” Clint quickly corrects, “Nat would probably slit your throat if she heard you say that. Also…” Clint pauses, finally putting his phone down. He seems to examine Peter carefully, eyes flicking up and down. He feels oddly exposed. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be doing AP Literature homework or something?”

Peter sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m not in high school. I graduated high school.”

“I refuse to believe that. How old are you? Fourteen?”

“I’m eighteen!”

Clint narrows his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know my own age.”

Clint hums. He shifts his feet from the coffee table and to the floor, leaning forwards. “Don’t get me wrong, Peter, but are you sure you want to work here? Aren’t you better suited to…like, a computer science major? You just don’t look like the kind of guy we’d usually hire.”

Peter takes that to mean you look like a massive fucking nerd, moron. Well, Clint’s not wrong, but it’s always a bit jarring to hear someone say it actually out loud. He’s not the kind of person who works in a cool bar with cool people who wear Doc Martens and listen to the Arctic Monkeys.

“He’s hired because I say he’s hired,” Tony interjects, pressing his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “And because this little punk thinks that he doesn’t want to go get a STEM major.”

Clint smirks a little at that, like he’s gone from zero to just a touch of respect for him. “Teenage rebellion, huh?”

“No,” Peter replies, not that convincingly. “I just don’t want to go to college, alright?”

“Not right now, but a few weeks of working with these absolute head-cases will have you handing in your transcripts before you can say Ivy League,” Tony states and Clint chuckles, “You will be begging for the sweet release of the Princeton marching band and that compulsory calculus class.”

Peter looks over at Clint, who merely nods in a faux serious manner. “We’re special here, Parker. Absolutely one-of-a-kind.”

“Who’s one of a kind?” Another voice rings out behind them, clearly feminine but surprisingly low and sultry in tone. When Peter turns, he sees a petite woman with red hair that scuffs her shoulders, skinny jeans hugging her legs and a leather jacket over her shoulders. She clutches a shopping bag in her left hand, her nails painted the same shade as her hair. Her Converse sneakers are black and streaked with dirt, but like they were made that way, like it’s all staged.

He has to actively fight his jaw from dropping open. Because, Jesus—he isn’t blind. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen…and there’s something about her, a familiar quality he can’t quite place, like he’s seen her before in another time or place. She smirks when she finds him staring. Peter flushes, looking away, and thinks idly about beautiful gardens and being tempted in by a Devil.

“You are,” Clint replies effortlessly and, like that, Peter realises that there must have fucked at some point. Her eyes glint as she drops her bag on the counter.

“I assume you’re here for a reason, Stark,” she says, “If this is your new intern, I’m dying for a coffee.”

“Funny,” Tony shoves his hands in his pockets. “And as I was just telling Barton, this is your new employee.”

“As of when?”

“As of right now.”

When this woman assesses him, it feels more scathing than it did with Clint. Her eyes are slower, her expression less readable. Clint was clear in his uncertainty. It’s impossible to tell with her. Eventually, she halts, lips pursed. “Huh.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Clint responds. He’s back on the coffee table, like he’s bored by the whole situation.

Tony stands back, folding his arms. “You have an opening now the other Maximoff has moved on, and this moron needs a reality check. You lot are probably the worst people I could think of to give it to him.”

The redhead blinks slowly. She rests her chin in one hand, her elbow on the bar. She’s looking straight at Peter, green eyes blazing like exotic jewels. “You have any bar experience?”

“Uh…” Peter scratches his head sheepishly, “No?”

“You train him, Nat,” Tony says when Nat looks skeptical, “You train the hell out of him. Or get him to do the 4am bathroom cleaning shift. Your choice.”

“We have Clint for that,” she says, and Clint throws a scatter cushion at her. She catches it with ridiculously quick reflexes and dumps it on a bar stool before hopping onto it. Her shopping bag is exclusively filled with grapefruits. “Although, we do need a new bartender now Pietro has fucked off.” She pulls a knife from seemingly nowhere and points it in Peter’s direction, which gives off a threatening air that Nat looks all too comfortable with. Worryingly. “But no doing homework at the bar. It’ll ruin our image.”

“I’m not…” Peter starts, but Nat’s smirking again. So. He’s just going to have to accept the fact this is going to be a running joke, right? Anything that gets Tony off his back.

“You’re kind of adorable,” Nat says, looking over at Clint. “Steve will love him.”

“Steve will try and adopt him.”

“Steve will try and adopt anything that looks vaguely pained and puppy-like,” She chops a grapefruit in half, then into quarters. “It’s taking everything I have to convince him we don’t need a golden retriever right now. It’s exhausting.”

(At this point, he stands gormlessly and watches both Clint and Nat bicker back and forwards about this Steve, this guy that Nat must be dating, and nothing clicks. Nothing clicks yet. He feels like a bit of an idiot when he eventually does, though, because of course. That’s why Nat looks so familiar.)

“Well,” Tony interrupts in a tiny pocket of silence where Clint and Nat aren’t snarking at each other, “Consider Peter your anniversary gift. He’s every bit as charming as a golden retriever without having to pick up the shit. I think he’s already potty-trained. I think.”

Peter shakes his head out of disbelief. Not biological, but every single bit as embarrassing as a blood relative in front of anyone cool. Nat doesn’t take her eyes off the grapefruits.

“Our anniversary was last month, asshole, and all you gave us was a fucking star named after us. You know, one of those dumb certificates you buy online for about ten dollars.”

Tony clutches his heart dramatically. “It’s romantic, not that I’d expect you to understand. Imagine looking up at the night sky and knowing a little piece of you and Steve is up there, glimmering just for you, courtesy of me. That’s special, Nat. Money can’t buy that feeling.”

“Money can buy that feeling. You bought it for ten dollars. Fortunately for you, Steve is a gullible and the sappiest son-of-a-bitch we know so at least someone enjoyed the sentiment.” Natasha pauses for a moment, resting the knife down on the counter. “Now. You—Peter—how much, exactly, do you know about cocktails?”

-

There are things he learns incredibly quickly when working with Nat—facts, logistics, statements. Both Clint and Nat have known Uncle Tony for a while, but he’s not sure why or how. Tony helped Clint and Nat buy Endgame and he continues to invest in the business, taking a share of the profits. It’s been open five years, but Clint and Nat have known each other way longer than that. He’s not sure why or how. Actually; he’s sure why, because Clint and Nat are pieces of the same puzzle, irrevocably interlocked. The way they look at each other is haunted by years and years of shared history. You’d have to be blind not to see that.

Also—Nat mixes drinks with a speed and precision that is impossible to replicate. He watches hopelessly as she grabs spirits off a rack on the wall from memory, barely glancing at the labels. Wanda occasionally brushes past and Peter can see the amused look in her eyes, like she’s in on a joke he doesn’t know about.

She’s trying to teach him how to mix a basic mojito—not their most popular drink, but one of the easiest—when the front doors swing open and a man walks in, tall and broad-shouldered, blonde hair mussed from the motorcycle helmet that hangs in his right hand. His shirt is way too tight for his torso and arms but he looks so good anyway, in a way that Peter could only ever replicate in his dreams.

It takes Peter a moment to realise, when the man smiles at Natasha like she’s every good dream he’s ever had, that this must be Steve. And then it takes another moment once he gets a decent look at his face, that this isn’t just any Steve. This is Steve fucking Rogers. And Nat… Nat is Natasha Romanoff.

“You certainly took your time,” Nat says coyly as Steve sidles over to the bar. He reaches over and takes her face in his hands, kissing her gently and casually on the lips. It’s like Peter isn’t even here. It’s nothing too intimate, though; Nat seems aware of her privacy and what she wants other people to see. She seems to have a strict code on showing and telling. Peter isn’t part of her exclusive inner sanctum (yet).

(Clint struts in, then promptly struts out again, muttering something about letting someone else be the third wheel for a change.)

“Meeting overran,” he confesses, still curved over the bar, “Honestly, I keep telling them I’m retired.”

“Show them your birth certificate. Can’t possibly expect a man in his nineties to record another album.”

Steve laughs, and honestly, it’s like watching a scene out of a romantic movie. “For some reason, they just won’t believe me. They might believe you, though. You have a way of getting people to do what you want.”

Natasha pats his cheek gently. “Absolutely. Oh—and this is Peter, by the way. Anniversary gift from Stark.”

Steve’s eyes settle on him for the first time since he arrived, because it’s very clear that he’s the kind of guy who tunes out the rest of the world when his girlfriend is in the room. “I thought Stark got us a star for our anniversary. I love that star.”

“Of course you do,” Nat titters, “And Peter is filling in for Pietro.”

Steve offers Peter his hand, and he shakes it tentatively, because this is still Steve fucking Rogers. “Great to meet you, kid.”

“Oh,” Nat lowers her voice, “He’s not a kid. He just graduated high school.” When Peter’s mouth opens, she grins. “This is Steve. He hangs about here sometimes. Can’t seem to get rid of him. I have tried, believe me.”

“You’re Steve Rogers,” Peter breathes, dumbstruck, and it’s only when Nat and Steve share a bemused look that he breaks out of his stupor, cheeks flushed. He nervously looks at his feet. “Sorry—it’s just I’m a big fan.”

There isn’t anybody who hasn’t heard of Steve Rogers, as far as Peter is aware. He’s got all his albums on CD stacked on the shelves of his bedroom and he listens when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic, pressing them into the portable player May got him a lifetime ago and lying back on his bed. Steve is the Golden Boy of America’s pop music scene, his songs soulful and sad with a quiet, yet constant, lingering optimism. It’s the kind of music that reminds him of leaves in the fall and sitting alone on the subway. The kind of voice you could get lost in, but not in the unknown, terrifying kind of the way. It’s like he’s trying to guide you home.

Steve and Nat share a look and Peter fears that he’s made a bit of an idiot of himself. Again.

“Whatever you do, don’t ask for his autograph,” Natasha scrunches her nose, glancing up at her boyfriend. Steve looks mildly entertained. Like he’s used to it. “His ego is big enough as it is.”

Steve shakes his head. His hand reaches across the bar and squeezes Natasha’s shoulder. She softly runs her hand over his knuckles—it feels weird, to use the word soft to describe Natasha, because from what Peter has seen (in his admittedly limited experience) she’s never anything but razor sharp. “You’ll come to realise, Peter, that this woman never has a day off.”

Natasha’s smile is wistful, longing. “I don’t have time for days off.”

The room suddenly feels heavy and Peter can feel something lurking under the surface of their dialogue, something that’s not being said while he’s there watching. Steve looks away, smiling at the ground. Look—he’s not that into tabloids or dumb E! News twitter threads where their pictures are plastered about like incriminating photo albums, but he’s not totally unaware of it either. He knows Nat’s surname because he’s seen her red hair on the cover of magazines at the drugstore countless times, on May’s coffee table. Some of them have been holding Steve’s hand. Some of them are just Steve. Some of them are Steve with other women.

He’s got enough knowledge to know that this relationship mustn’t be…easy. Or conventional, at the very least. Not that he knows much about that. He knows about as much about romantic love as he does parental.

(Aka, not much at all.)

Wanda is the one who breaks the moment. “Nat, Clint is asking—oh, hi Steve!”

Steve smiles and the two share a quick embrace, because Steve definitely seems like the hugging type. Meanwhile, Natasha walks round the bar and beside him—Steve slings an arm casually round her shoulder, and it’s so comfortable and natural that Peter feels something shift in his chest. Wanda lets them know that Clint needs to run over the inventory before opening in a couple of hours, so Nat leaves Peter in Wanda’s capable hands while her and Steve head down to the basement together. Peter can’t seem to drag his eyes away from them.

“You too, huh?” Wanda remarks, one eyebrow raised. Peter blinks, not sure what she means. “They’re magnetic, right? And not just because they’re both ridiculously attractive.”

Peter flushes—for what seems like the millionth time since he arrived—and covers his hands with his sleeve. “I don’t—“

“We’ve all thought it, one time or another. There isn’t anybody else like them.” Wanda smiles softly. “They haven’t had it easy but they’re happy now, so. Every cloud, yes?”

Peter nods hesitantly. “What do you mean…haven’t had it easy?”

Wanda’s smile is still gentle, but there’s an unwavering nature to it. She seems to float past him, like she’s not quite real, an ethereal ghost. “That’s not for me to tell. But I can tell you how to make more than just a mojito, if that’s adequate?”

Peter feels himself relaxing, the tension vanishing from his shoulders. Wanda is a little less terrifying than Natasha. Her eyes are big and touched with melancholy, but there’s no bitterness there. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be really adequate, thanks.”

-

His first shift—well, his first shift is insane, and he completely and totally understands why Tony thought this place would cure his college related existential crisis. The bar is packed from the moment the door opens because even though there’s no live music tonight, Clint and Nat’s sick playlists seem to reel in people from all over the city and further out. A bearded guy in a Led Zep shirt drunkenly tells Peter that he’s come all the way from Toronto to listen to Hawkeye and Black Widow, and he’s really not sure what that means.

There are also people who are here when they realise Steve is about, from Twitter or whatever. He’s not exactly under the radar as he seems to spend a lot of his free time in Endgame (for obvious reasons) but as soon as the customers start coming in, he edges away, disappearing off into the basement while Nat, Clint and the rest of them work. Other than Wanda, there’s only one more employee who turns up—a tall, buff British guy called Thor who wanders in about fifteen minutes before opening time with hair off a Herbal Essences commercial. He slaps Peter on the arm and almost knocks the wind out of him.

By the time closing time hits Peter feels battered, bruised and a little like he’s fallen out of a top floor window, his shirt covered in shit tons of unnameable alcoholic combinations and his head beating like a bass drum. Clint, Nat, Wanda and Thor weave between people and the bar like it’s ingrained in them, grinning and laughing and seemingly knowing everybody. As the cool, 2am air of August hits his face like a slap round the face, Peter wonders if he’d actually been holding his breath the whole time, waiting for the storm to be over.

He almost throws up on the stairs. Almost. He kind of wants to go home, go to bed, and never come back here again. Everything—it just happens a lot, always. Maybe he is just a kid. Maybe he’s not ready for a life outside of education, like Tony had said.

He feels a hand curl round his shoulder and he starts, but when he turns he sees Steve, oddly reassuring and stable in this new world that makes no sense whatsoever.

“You alright, Peter?” he asks, warm and empathetic, “Maybe you should sit down.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting on the damp, stone steps that lead up to the entrance. Peter sighs heavily, goosebumps bristling up and down his arms. Cautiously, he eases down next to him. Wonders how his life got to this.

“It can get pretty intense in there, huh?” Steve nudges him with his shoulder. “I thought that when I first started singing in public, like my heart was just going to rip out my chest. But it gets easier. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

Peter laughs a little at that. There’s a scab on his left thumb and he picks at it out of habit. “I think Clint was right. I’m not the kind of guy they like here.”

“God, don’t let him hear you say that. Clint can’t ever be right. The universe would implode.”

Natasha appears at the front door from nowhere, as is the pattern, and it’s the first time Peter’s seen her all evening properly—she’s wearing a black lace camisole and leather pants that leave very little to the imagination, but Peter knows better (and is better) to let his eyes hover for too long. Her lipstick matches the color of her hair. She’s absolutely breath-taking, like a rebellious Hollywood starlet. It’s the first time he’s seen her tattoos, too; she has a spider on her left shoulder, an arrow on the other and there’s the smooth curve of a circle that peaks out of the waistband of her trousers. She hands Peter a paper cup filled with water. Come to think of it, not drinking anything all night was probably a bad idea, adding dehydration to a general sense of, you know, existential dread.

“It’s just your first day, buddy,” Steve says, “It’s new. That’s all.”

“I think you did pretty well for someone with no experience,” interjects Nat. Steve gives her an exaggerated look of shock. “Hey. I said pretty well. He’s still got a lot to learn.”

“Praise indeed! You should be proud, kid. Took her over a year for her to say anything remotely nice about me.”

“That, and also I’d take every opportunity to prove Tony Stark wrong about something.” Nat smirks. “You just got to get into the music, then you won’t be able to fucking wait to come back.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, looking up at her, “She’s pretty exceptional at making mixtapes.”

He’s entering yet another moment that feels like an intrusion just being there, another conversation without words. He’s been the third-wheel before—countless awkward dates at the Cheesecake Factory—but this feels like a whole other level of it, because the worst kind of couple to tag along with are the ones that use silence like it’s not silence at all.

“Am I…alright to go?” Peter asks quietly, folding the cup in his hands. He’s not sure how all this works.

Nat nods. “Yeah, seeing as it’s your first day. But tomorrow you’re helping with the clean-up.”

“How are you getting back?” Steve is already sifting through dollars in his wallet, “Get a cab on me.”

“Oh—Mr Rogers, I couldn’t possibly…”

“It’s Steve, and you absolutely can.” He hands him twenty, and Nat audibly sighs from behind him. “What? What is it?”

Natasha looks totally unsurprised. “Clint was right about something. You’re totally adopting our new bartender. He’s only been here a day!”

Peter has to admit, having Steve Rogers look out for him is hardly the most disastrous thing to come out of this shift. He half-smiles, mostly to himself, unfurling the twenty between his fingers. Steve just shoots Nat a withering, long-suffering look, because this is what Steve calls being nice.

“Thank you, Steve,” Peter says, standing up, “And thanks for the water.”

Steve salutes a goodbye and Nat walks down the stairs, filling the space Peter leaves. As he saunters down the sidewalk, he picks up snippets of their conversation:

“Which star do you think is ours? You know. The one Stark bought us.”

“Oh, shut up about that goddamn star. Stark will really try and buy anything, won’t he? Even bits of the universe. You’re supposed to—I think you should just leave the cosmos the hell alone. We don’t have to understand everything.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” A pause. “The science is neither here nor there for me. And Stark’s capitalist consumerist ideology aside…I just like to think the stars all come out for you.”

(He thinks about that all the way home, in the slow hum of the cab, the buzzing tinnitus in his ears. He thinks about loving someone so much you want the whole universe to exist just for them.)

-

The first thing he does when he gets home is Google them. He can’t help himself. He just—he has to know more. But as soon as he types in their names, and a ton of unsavoury articles mentioning other women and possibilities about Natasha’s past come up, he feels disgusted with himself. This isn’t the truth. This is just hearsay and shady sources and the edges of facts cobbled together with hyperbolic adjectives and PVA glue. This feels voyeuristic and weird, like he’s doing something explicitly wrong, like he’s listening to high school gossip.

He turns to Instagram instead. Natasha’s—predictably—is on private and he’s too awkward to send a request, and the blur of red on the icon might not even be her. Steve’s is a lot easier to find. He’s got almost three million followers and a blue tick, his photo an outtake from some shoot where he’s laughing like a maniac. His most recent picture isn’t even of him. It’s Natasha, caught off guard in the basement of Endgame, looking through the stack of records he’d seen on the coffee table. When he swipes along there’s another where she’s using a Bon Iver vinyl to cover her face, looking beneath her eyelashes at the camera. The caption reads though she be but little, she is fierce.

And this—this, he realises, is the only narrative of the two of them that matters.

-

The next day he wakes with a thumping headache. When he asks May if there’s any aspirin, she looks at him with a mix of disappointment and muted shock.

“Yes, I agreed with Tony when he said getting a job would be good for you, but really Peter?” she tuts, to Peter’s confusion, popping two tablets out of the tray and into his hands. “What was it, then? Beer? Rum? Vodka?”

Oh. Oh. She thinks… “Relax, May. I didn’t do anything. The music was just loud, that’s all.”

May doesn’t look entirely convinced, her eyes slightly narrowed, but it admittedly isn’t in Peter’s character to engage with any underage drinking (even though that’s what he’d probably do in college, if he was still going). Clint had slid him across a jack and coke with a wink at some point after midnight, but he’d let it go warm on the counter. The only time he’d ever really drunk was at Liz Allan’s New Year’s party at the end of junior year, and that was only to prove to that dumbass Flash Thompson that he wasn’t a pussy. His puke tasted like beer and then that just made him puke more.

“I just worry about you. I’ve never pictured you working in a place like that.” May sits at the kitchen counter, watching him as he swallows back the pills. “Couldn’t you send your resume to a bookstore or something? Bryony from Pilates says she’s looking for a new waiter at her place. Maybe that’s more your… thing.”

It’s quite likely that’s more his thing, but the told you so that would come out of Tony’s mouth is persuasion enough to keep on at it. Yeah, he feels like death and another night like yesterday is not going to make that any better, but surely he’ll get used to it. Right?

“I’m not quitting already. It wasn’t so bad. Plus, I got to meet Steve Rogers.”

May’s eyes almost bulge out of her head. “Excuse me? Steve Rogers as in…?”

“Yep,” Peter pops the ‘p’, grin tugging at his lips. His aunt isn’t exempt in the nationwide crush everybody has on Steve Rogers. “The manager—well, one of the managers—is his girlfriend. You know Nat Romanoff?”

“Oh, so she’s Nat Romanoff to you,” May chides, “Didn’t realise you two had got so close already.”

“Shut up. She’s kind of terrifying. So is the other guy who runs the place. But there’s a girl there—Wanda. She’s pretty awesome.”

May purses her lips, studying his expression. “Is she pretty pretty too?”

“No!” Peter replies a little too quickly, to May’s delight, “No—she’s… nice, but she’s a bit older than me. Anyway, I’ve told you before. I’m not looking for anything like that.”

(It’s been almost a year since Liz Allan tore his heart to pieces and he’s still not over it. It’s kind of pathetic, really. They were never really dating to begin with, but it all felt so real anyway.)

“Alright,” May hums, “Just…be careful, okay? I heard you come back late last night and I hate thinking about you walking about on your own.”

He wants to say that he’s eighteen and basically an adult and that New York City at 3am doesn’t scare him, but him and May have been so close his whole life and it must be difficult, her watching the little boy dropped abruptly on her doorstep all those years ago growing up and moving on. Other than Uncle Tony, who walks in and out of his life when it suits him, May is all he has. And she’s only got him. There’s a lifeline there that holds them indefinitely together and she hates watching it stretch, fray.

“Steve got me a cab,” he says gently, “And I’ll bring my bike tonight. I’m totally fine. I promise.”

She gets up, kisses him on the top of his head, between the curls that are still damp from the shower. It makes him feel like a kid, but not in the restrictive, controlling way Tony does when he’s pissed at him. It makes him feel nostalgic for the time where May would kiss his scraped knees better when he tripped on the sidewalk and make him peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off for his lunch box.

“I love you more than anything,” May says, her mantra. You don’t have a lot, but you do have me.

Peter smiles. Blinks slowly. “I love you too, May.”

-

Just before he leaves the apartment for another round, a notification lights up his phone. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he opens the text anyway, and it’s a link to a Spotify page ran by username blackwidow. The playlist is titled for peter.

-

“You’ve looked them both up on Instagram, right?”

Wanda says this as she drops on the sofa next to him, propping her feet on the coffee table. Clint and Nat are bickering in the office adjoined to the kitchen and occasionally he can see one of them through the window—he’s almost certain at one point Nat had Clint by the throat, but Thor looks at him, shaking his head. You just gotta let them ride this one out.

“Uh…what?” Peter absent-mindedly replies, dragging his eyes away from the pot of pens that has just collided with the window. Wanda doesn’t react. It must be normal.

“Steve and Natasha,” Wanda elaborates, “I did. It’s the first thing I did, after I met them. You wanna know about someone’s life, you find their social media. Or lack of it.”

Peter sighs. Well, at least it’s not just him. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m assuming you haven’t sent Natasha a request.”

“Nope.”

Wanda grins. “She’s meticulous. Natasha. Obsessed with privacy and who gets to see what. I’m surprised she has social media at all. I mean…it’s not illogical, considering, but she does not reveal her soul to just anybody. Steve, on the other hand, is an open book. Not very good at hiding anything. Which is usually a good thing, sometimes not.”

Peter tilts his head, taking Wanda in. She’s wearing makeup today, black smudged round her eyes. May’s right, she is pretty pretty. “You seem to know quite a lot about them.”

“I’ve worked with them for a while now. And anyway. They’re interesting. You see it, too. Sometimes it’s hard to look away when they’re together.” Wanda doesn’t flinch when another crash comes from the office. “You wonder how they work, because they seem so very different.”

Peter shrugs. She’s not wrong, obviously, but he doesn’t want to look too interested, like the creepy fans that leave leery comments on Steve’s pictures. “People do say that opposites attract.”

“People are stupid. And vague. What even are opposites?” Wanda’s laugh is low and sort of croaky. “I am just glad they found their way back to each other.”

“How did they even meet?”

Wanda’s smile is the same one he saw yesterday, like he’s encountered a dead end and she knows it. This is not her story to tell, like so many others. “I am sure you will find out eventually.”

Clint bursts out of the office, then, dabbing at a cut on his cheek with a napkin. He looks kind of like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, flustered and breathing hard. His eyebrows lift when he sees Peter sitting there, offering the two of them a quick greeting.

“Oh, and Clint!” Natasha calls out, appearing from behind the door, “Could you get me an iced latte?”

Clint considers for a second, before nodding. She throws him her reusable mug and he catches it with one hand before turning to leave.

“Don’t even try and get me to explain that relationship,” Wanda says, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Peter laughs under his breath. It’s like Nat said, in the conversation he shouldn’t have heard. We don’t have to understand everything.

-

At about 11pm that night he joins Wanda for a cigarette out the back fire door and for the first time, he feels kind of cool, watching as the end burns a tiny amber dot, ripping a hole in the black. He’d never smoke one himself—the fact that May is horrified by him consuming alcohol is bad enough—but he likes watching her, how oddly and decadently beautiful the smoke unfurling from her lips is.

At the bottom of the alley, a motorbike pulls up and a man that looks vaguely Steve-shaped jumps off of it. Wanda glances at him with a smirk, stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of her boot. His arms fold out, and a woman runs into them, their laughter echoing down the street. They obviously don’t know that him and Wanda are watching; it feels like a private glimpse that they’re not supposed to see, a privilege. Natasha’s legs wrap round his waist. They hold each other for what feels like minutes, hours.

He can’t take his eyes away the whole time.

“I told you,” Wanda elbows him, brushing past to get to the door. “They’re magnetic. You’re pulled into their orbit.”

“I just…I don’t know why,” Peter says, dumbfounded, “Maybe it’s the way they look at each other? Like the whole world could burn to ashes and they’d just…stand, in the afterglow.”

“You’re poetic, Parker,” Wanda muses, “But you’re not wrong, either.”

They’re pulled back into the heat of the club when Clint realises they’re not working, grabbing them both by the shoulders and violently shoving them back onto the bar. He’s not paying them to gossip about snapchat and heelies, or whatever the kids are into these days, apparently. And Thor can only handle so much attention before his ego combusts.

He’s mixing a bad gin and tonic when Natasha and Steve finally come into the back. Her tiny frame guides him through the throngs of people as a The 1975 song plays in the background, crooning about skinny jeans and spare time and she’s got a boyfriend anyway. They disappear down the basement steps and Natasha must be a little drunk, he reckons, because the door is barely shut when they start kissing.

-

It takes about two and a half weeks, give or take, for things to start to feel normal. The hours fuck up any semblance of a sleeping pattern, but he’s no longer waking up with a thudding in his skull like a second heartbeat and Wanda’s tip about earplugs help a ton. He arrives at about three, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. He’s usually off again by two unless Nat or Clint are feeling generous about clean-up. The bar is shut every Sunday and the freedom is near divine. He doesn’t get up until midday and spends the rest of the day in his pajamas, eating pancakes and watching shitty reality television about people who are paid to sing badly or hate each other.

Steve is in the bar most nights and whilst he doesn’t always talk to Peter, he begins to miss him when he’s not there. He’s usually got a motivational speech or two in his back pocket, and it feels pretty fucking awesome that Steve Rogers seems to care a little about his wellbeing.

He hasn’t had the nerve to ask about how they met, yet. Wanda is still tight-lipped and Clint is borderline psychotic anyway, so each of them feel like a dead-end. He’s stuck with assumptions and watching them from his peripheral.

“You know, he wrote his last album about her,” Clint says in a rare moment of honesty, while they’re preparing for opening. Steve and Nat are tucked in a booth by the door, her knees brought to her chest, speaking impossibly close together. “It’s abhorrently adorable. Almost puked when I heard it.”

“What?” Peter says skeptically, “You mean the whole of See You In a Minute is about Natasha?”

“The whole goddamn thing. Sickening, isn’t it? I think the title is some sort of private joke between them.”

Peter doesn’t mention that Steve’s last album is his favorite, because he doesn’t need more excuses for Clint to bully him. Plus, he needs to push on. He needs to know more. “Have they always been like that? You know. Close.”

Clint pauses. He’s polishing glasses, but lays the cloth on the counter, looking over at him. “I’ve known Nat a long time. Long enough to know that it takes…a lot, to impress her. To pull her in. Even with me—and with Steve—it took her months to realise there was a mutual trust there.” He grins a little, showing the softer side to all that strident energy. “If you tell her this, I will violently murder you, but I love that girl to bits and I wouldn’t accept just anybody taking her away from me. But I accepted Steve immediately. So take from that what you will.”

It doesn’t really answer his question, but he supposes it answers a bunch of other unasked ones.

There’s a moment of silence. And then—

“Have you and Nat ever…?”

The look Clint gives him makes him realise he knows better than to finish that sentence.

-

(He brings up See You in a Minute on Spotify the moment he has time alone before opening, back on the leather couch in the basement. He figures the songs might have a new meaning now he knows who they’re about. His thumb taps the titular song—a slow, atmospheric ballad that sits in the recesses of his heart as soon as he hears the opening piano chords.

I have one last dance all saved up for you

He really wishes he wasn’t crying, but he just can’t help it.)

-

A band is playing that night called The Guardians who everyone but Peter seems to know well. They’re a six-piece retro rock band that the crowd goes wild for—they all have crazy hair colors and equally crazy names, apart from the lead singer, who’s messy brown hair is barely brushed and is weirdly also called Peter. They stay for a while after their set has finished, building up a substantial bar tab that Clint’s on their ass about. Peter Quill and his girlfriend Gamora (the other singer and guitar player of the band, her hair bright green and her lips painted black) sit on the stools and tease Peter (who they call Little P, hilarious) until closing time.

“Are you even allowed to serve alcohol?” Quill jibes, sipping a beer, “Isn’t there a rule against children being anywhere near liquor in public?”

Gamora pokes his shoulder. “Maybe it’s some sort of psychology project. He’s studying us for a paper.”

Peter can’t even be bothered to argue at this point. He still gets this same genre of comedy from Clint on a daily basis so what’s a couple more age-related jokes? He just smiles, mixing a cosmo for Gamora’s scary looking sister who silently glares at him from the stool next to her.

“You know what would be a fun psychology project,” Quill points a finger in Peter’s direction, “Nat Romanoff.”

Peter pauses for a second. “What makes you say that?”

Quill’s limbs are loose from all the drink he’s been downing before, during and after his performance, so his movements are all exaggerated and floppy. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested. Clint too. They both have shit in their pasts they don’t want us to know about.”

Gamora is decidedly more composed. She shakes her head, looking at Peter seriously. “All conjecture, of course. And none of our business.”

“I heard she was a spy for the Russian government,” Nebula casually mentions, her tone completely void of inflection. “She can slit someone’s neck with an envelope.”

All three of them look at Nebula, slightly aghast, but Nebula’s expression is so stoic and emotionless Peter can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Even Quill blinks heavily, knocked speechless.

“That’s…not what I meant,” Quill slurs, leaning in closer, “But there’s something there.” He taps the side of his nose. “Mark my words.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Gamora says, “Having a past you want to remain in the past is hardly rare.”

Peter’s beginning to notice a pattern with his colleagues. They all guard their memories under heavily armored doors and it’s only in occasional moments of softness or weakness where anything is ever revealed, and rarely by the person themselves. Clint let’s something slip about Natasha, Wanda about Clint. None of them really know anything about him.

“How long have you guys known Nat and Clint?” Peter asks, before tentatively adding, “And Steve?”

Quill and Gamora smile knowingly, like maybe this is a question that’s been asked before. Gamora presses a hand down on Quill’s shoulder. Peter hides the urge to sigh at another dead end. “We’ve been performing here since they opened, but if you actually want to know anything about them we’re probably the worst people to ask.”

Quill nods. “They don’t talk. If you ever find anything out, though, feel free to let us know.”

Peter laughs disbelievingly. “As if they’ll ever tell me anything.”

“Have you asked them?” Gamora replies, and Peter’s expression answers her question. “Little P, if they didn’t think they could trust you, they wouldn’t have hired you. They don’t let just anybody into their inner circle.”

“My uncle got me the job—he’s like, an investor, or something. Trust had nothing to do with it. Probably the opposite.”

Gamora’s lip curve, unconvinced. “I think you know it’s never quite that simple.”

“I don’t…I don’t even know why I’m so interested.”

“That’s what everybody says,” Gamora says wistfully, sliding him a tip across the counter. “And we should probably leave before he makes a fool of himself.”

(The he in question is Quill, who has since disappeared to join the dancing crowds with his shirt off. Nebula’s eye roll is mechanical, like the rest of her. Peter wonders if Quill and Gamora are her Steve and Nat; two wildly different individuals that seem joined together by something no-one else can see, that no-one quite understands. She downs the rest of her cocktail and makes her way towards the couple, who have since started kissing in the middle of the dancefloor.)

Gamora kind of reminds him of Michelle. Clever, beautiful, existing on a plane that floats way above everybody else. He swallows hard. He’s not sure where that thought came from.

-

By coincidence, MJ actually messages him about a week later. He’s been so busy either sleeping or working that all his friendships outside Endgame have taken a bit of a back-burner, texts stacking in his inbox that he’s been too tired to respond to. Besides, the only person he really keeps in contact with from high school is Ned and he’s spending the vacation before he goes to college with his family in Hawaii—he’s kept updated with sunkissed snapchats from the beach, exotic flowers and drinks in coconut shells. He’s hovered over Michelle’s name a few times over the past few weeks, but she isn’t always the kind to message back. She flies off grid as soon as school is out. There’s no point in tormenting himself over her lack of read receipts.

But when she messages, asking if they want to meet at the mall, he types sure before he can properly think about it. It’s a Sunday, after all, and he’s been thinking an awful lot about the limited relationships he has lately. What he wants them to be.

(That’s definitely a bi-product of Nat and Steve. He can’t put it down to anything else.)

MJ is sat by the fountain in the middle of the shopping complex reading a copy of Marx’s The Communist Manifesto, making notes with a tiny wooden Ikea pencil. Her dark hair is long and loose and she’s wearing a plaid shirt with sneakers, casually beautiful in the way she’s always been. It takes her a minute to look up and actually see him standing in front of her and when she does, her mouth opens a little, curved in a bemused grin.

“Woah, Peter,” she says, closing her book, “Didn’t realise you were edgy now.”

(She’s talking about his new Doc Martens that Wanda helped pick out. They’re shiny black leather and extremely uncomfortable, but you know, he’s getting down with the culture.)

“I’m…not,” Peter says. MJ laughs at his awkwardness. “You should see the people I work with.”

“This your new job, huh?” MJ eases back into the bench, crossing her legs. “Now you’ve decided to fuck college. Is this the beginning of a crisis? I’m getting vibes, here. Smart kids who screw college to work in a nightclub are definitely going on some sort of downward psychological spiral.”

Peter shrugs, smiling. Trust MJ to be brutally honest about his life choices. “Do you wanna grab coffee?”

“Yeah, as long as it’s not Starbucks. I’m not using my limited finances to fund their crooked corporate empire.”

They trail around for a bit before they find a cripplingly expensive but decidedly independent coffee house, filled with mismatched vintage furniture and hipster-types crowding the front windows with their moleskin notebooks. Peter feels out of place but Michelle fills the space like she owns it, lounging in an armchair angled away from the counter. She closes her eyes and asks for a chamomile tea and a blueberry muffin which he—he just gets for her.

He returns with an Americano for himself, because for some reason he wants MJ to think he’s the kind of person who drinks black coffee now, when in reality he’d prefer something fruity and sugary that has him flying off the walls.

“So…” Michelle starts as he falls into the sofa opposite, “You’re definitely not going to Princeton?”

Peter folds his legs. Tries to get comfortable. “I’m definitely not going to Princeton.”

“Interesting. Even though Tony Stark will probably fund, like, all your tuition fees?”

Peter rolls his eyes. He hates her insistence on bringing up the fact he has Tony in his life, a handy billionaire safety-blanket, like he can’t complain about anything ever. Yeah, sure, Tony would probably fund his way through college—but he wonders how much of that is guilt money, the dollars his mom and dad would have scraped together if they were still alive. Not everything is about money. Tony Stark is the kind of person MJ hates with every fibre of her being, but… Peter still loves him, and not just because he’s rich as shit. Even when he’s being super annoying.

Michelle smiles sadly when he doesn’t reply. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s just hard for me to get my head around, you know? I would commit homicide for someone to fund my way through college. Maybe I already have.”

Peter chuckles. Has a sip of his god-awful coffee. “Where are you even going for college? I don’t think you’ve ever said. In-state?”

“It’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually,” MJ admits, “It’s a bit further out than in-state.”

“Oh. Right. Pennsylvania?”

“Bit further than that.”

“…California?”

“Not exactly.”

“MJ, are you going to make me run through every college I know about? Tony’s shoved just about every prospectus in my direction so we might be here a while.”

“I got accepted onto a philosophy program,” MJ starts, bringing her teacup to her lips. “At University College London.”

Peter almost spits his coffee out everywhere.

“I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it. The whole admissions process in England is completely whack, and they don’t have SATs and stuff over there so I didn’t think I had a chance. But—I don’t know. Something happened, and I got in. So I guess I’m moving to London.”

He’s not completely sure what she’s saying, just watching her mouth move and nothing but blurred, incoherent noise reaching her. She said London. MJ is moving to London, and that’s a hell of a long way from anywhere.

“You’re moving to London?” he just about manages to squeak.

“Yep. Totally aced it, dude. Time to live my English dream. You know. Try and abolish the class system they have over there and stage a revolution against their monarchy.”

A vacuum opens in his stomach, like he’s just now realising that he doesn’t really want to live in a country that isn’t the same as MJ’s. But she looks so happy. He doesn’t want to be, but he can’t help it. He can’t not be happy for someone who is about to do everything they’ve ever wanted.

Nevertheless, it’s an inconvenient epiphany. Wanting to hold onto someone as soon as they tell you they’re going to leave.

“Congratulations,” he says, hoping there isn’t a crack in his voice. “That’s…incredible, MJ. You’re awesome.”

“I know! And now you’re earning a proper wage like an adult, you can totally come and visit me over there. We can eat scones and laugh at how ridiculous British accents are.” She kicks him gently, grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter says quietly. “Yeah, of course I will.”

“Cool. Now we’ve got that out the way…” MJ reaches into her bag, bringing out her little black copy of The Communist Manifesto. “Can I interest you in a dialogue with my new BFF, Karl?”

He sinks back into his chair, feels his whole body bleed between the fabric and through the floorboards.

-

He walks into work the next day and finds Steve and Natasha sitting in one of the booths. Steve has an acoustic guitar and he’s strumming chords while Nat is nodding along, pointing at something on a scrap of notebook paper in front of him. Occasionally, he’ll grab a marker and cross something out or scribble something down. When the door shuts behind him, the two of them look over. God. He’s got a running habit of ruining moments.

“Hey Peter!” Steve calls out in his usual, friendly way, “What’s up?”

He’s about to reply, but Natasha edges in first. “Come over here. Let’s talk.”

There’s something ominous in her tone but Natasha is impossible to predict, so a vague sense of anxiety haunts him as he sidles over to the booth and sits slowly in the space Nat has made for him. He wonders if she’s firing him but Steve looks chipper—surely he wouldn’t look that happy if he was about to lose his job, right? Maybe his not so discrete interest in their relationship has…got back to them? He’s already imagining the look on Tony’s face. I said you needed a reality check.

“Am I in trouble?”

Nat laughs. Even that is low and sultry, somehow sexy. Steve laughs too. “Peter—I know we tease you about it, but you do realise you’re not in school, right? And…calm, measured conversation isn’t usually how we deal with things here.”

He recalls the argument in the office a few weeks prior. Yeah, sounds about right.

“We just want to know about you,” Nat continues, “Because—I know a lot about the people I work with. But I don’t know anything about you, other than what Stark has said. And I trust his judgement about as much as I trust Steve’s.”

“Hey!” Steve says with a pout, “My judgement is perfect, thank you very much.”

“It’s the opposite of perfect, but okay, Mr I-trust-everybody-I’ve-met-ever.”

Steve shakes his head at him. “This is what I get for not being openly hostile all the time.”

“It’s got me and Clint this far. Anyway, I digress.” She nudges Peter gently. “Tell us something about you.”

Peter is mildly suspicious about the whole thing and doesn’t know what to say, so just stares vacantly at the two of them.

“Okay…well, at least we know you’re not a talker,” Nat murmurs, “So how about I ask you a question. Who was the girl you were with at the mall yesterday?” Peter’s jaw swings open like a door on a loose hinge. Nat half-smiles. “I saw you when I was coming out the Urban Outfitters. I’m curious.”

Steve glowers at her. “Peter, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. She’s insatiable.”

“Oh, yeah. But if you don’t answer it you’ll be kind of answering it, if you get what I mean.”

Peter’s taken aback. For someone who is so private about everything, she’s appears to have no qualms investigating his private life. He coughs on nothing and shifts in his seat awkwardly. “Just a friend. From school. It isn’t—she isn’t…”

Nat laughs under her breath, looking over at Steve. “He’s right. It’s none of my business. But you two looked good together. That’s always a good start.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, and she sighs.

“I think so,” Nat splays her hands out on the table. He notices her fingernails are painted electric blue. “But, sure. It isn’t everything.”

“What is everything?”

The question catches both of them off guard and Peter instantly regrets asking, wishing he could catch his words back in a butterfly net and shove them back inside of him. The two of them are…they’re untouchable, Wanda and Clint have both made that equally clear. It’s something you find out, not something you’re told. But it’s too late now. Steve and Nat look at each other in a minute of an intense, burning eye contact and not for the first time Peter imagines being swallowed up by the seat whole.

“I guess…” Steve begins but trails off. Peter watches as his fingers inch closer to Natasha’s on a table, like they’re playing a complex game wherein they discover where their boundaries are, how far they can go while he’s still there. “I guess everything is when you’re sat in a room, and there could be just one person it or thousands, but it doesn’t matter because none of those faces are the one you want it to be. The only perfect room, the only one you’ll ever be happy in, is the one they inhabit with you. To leave it…or for them to leave, feels like you’re constantly just gasping for air.”

Natasha looks away. Somehow, Steve manages to drag his eyes away from her, after saying all that, and back to Peter.

“But sometimes everything is just knowing the favorite brand of ice cream they like to eat when everything is awful or the setting they prefer their washing machine on. It’s all about striking a balance.” He half-smiles. “Sometimes it takes a while to find it.”

Peter frowns. He likes Michelle, likes her more than he’d ever let on if the uncontrollable reaction his body had after she said she was leaving is anything to go by, but how can he know if it’s everything? What Steve is saying sounds suspiciously like soulmates, if they exist. That not being with them feels like dying. What he feels for MJ is blurry, inconstant; but it’s there all the same. He’s not sure if that flame is supposed to become anything more. Not that it matters.

“Michelle is moving to London for college,” Peter says desolately, then rolls his shoulders. “She’ll be living a whole other life over there. I can’t expect her to fit me into it, even if she liked me back.”

“Hey, Peter?” Nat says with a sympathetic smile, “Distance sucks, but you know what sucks more? Waiting too long. We know a thing or two about it, and I’d recommend quite heavily against it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve adds his two cents, “I’d give it a one star review on Amazon for being the worst ever. Not what I ordered, arrived broken, the lot.”

Clint enters and asks if they need a witness to sign the adoption papers and Nat throws a dirty washcloth at him, everything returning to normal. But there’s a warm feeling in Peter’s chest, because this is the closest he’s ever got. Maybe Gamora was right.

-

He sends Michelle a text that night, asking if they could maybe meet up again. She doesn’t reply. Maybe she never will, because that happens. But he’s not waiting too long. It’s not what he ordered.

-

They have an evening off a couple of weeks later because it’s Nat’s birthday. Apparently it’s tradition that whenever her or Clint turn a year older they fuck potential profit for a day and spend the night drinking whatever they can get their hands on. Instead, Peter’s invited to a small party that is hosted at Clint’s apartment across town—he’s still dragged to the bar a couple of hours before, however, to roll kegs of beer and various bottles of multi-colored spirits from the storeroom to Clint’s car for the occasion. He vanishes back home to shower and change before returning, May hastily shoving a bottle of wine into his hands as a gift as he leaves. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Nat drink white at all, but hey. He’s only little. He doesn’t know much about liquor.

Clint buzzes him in and he follows the drum beat in the corridor to his top-floor apartment; the door is open so he just walks in, but is surprised when he sees nobody about. The speaker is blasting music into an empty room and if it wasn’t for Wanda entering the kitchen, he’d assume he’d come to the wrong house.

“Peter!” she says excitedly, squeezing him into a tight hug. Her dark hair is loose across her shoulders and she’s wearing a burgundy dress that floats above her knees. He can’t help but smile at her. “So glad you could make it!”

He leans out of the embrace, putting the wine on the counter. Glasses are spread out without any clear design, interspersed with opened bottles of various drinks. As far as he can see, there’s no non-alcoholic alternatives—May would probably freak out. “Where is everybody?”

“Did Clint not tell you? We’re on the roof. I’m just off to the bathroom but if you go through the door off the kitchen and up the fire escape you won’t miss it.”

She bounds away so he slowly makes his way up as per Wanda’s instructions. As soon as he opens the door he can hear chatter and laughter, and upon reaching the top he finds an area covered in strings of white fairy lights and odd chairs from jarring furniture sets. A bar runs along the edge near the wall where Clint is mixing drinks, rows of glasses filled with a very generous amount of vodka and garnished with olives. There are people he recognises—Steve and Natasha are tucked into a loveseat, finally comfortable with the eyes on them, with Thor perched on the edge—but mostly people he doesn’t. A man with white hair sits comfortably with a brunette woman, while two unknown men stand deep in conversation off to the side. Nobody notices him straightaway and he feels little odd, the youngest there, but Clint dramatically fist-pumps the air.

“Parker!” he exclaims, walking over and clapping him ferociously on the shoulder. He wonders just how long the drinking has been going before he arrived as he tries not to cough up his lungs. “No extra-curriculars tonight? Lacrosse, maybe?”

“Leave him alone, Clint!” Natasha says, to Peter’s surprise, but then— “He’s way too little for lacrosse. I think he’s more of a mathlete.”

“Who’s kid brother is this, then?” One of the men he clocked earlier calls out before heading over, “Could be Rogers, I suppose. You both have that needy white boy look about you.”

Peter sighs, stretching out his arms. “Should we just get all the insults out the way now? Then we can move on with our lives.”

Needless to say, the insults don’t decrease with time—if anything they continue to spike as more vodka is consumed and less fucks are given, which are outstandingly little to begin with. Sam—a friend of Steve’s from his touring days—is by far the most scathing, not letting him rest for a second. Peter kind of likes it, though. It’s the way a lot of them show affection for each other, brutally kicking the shit at every opportunity. Steve’s other friend is Bucky, someone from childhood, and the white-haired guy is Wanda’s brother Pietro who left Endgame for music management somewhere. Maria and Phil work in legal and know Clint and Nat from wherever they were before Endgame. A good-natured yet authoritative man called Rhodey turns up later, who Peter recognises from Tony’s offices but has never actually met. Maybe Tony and Pepper will turn up at some point. Maybe they won’t.

Clint offers him one of Nat’s Special Birthday Martinis. He’s on the edge of turning it down, but everybody is laughing and he kind of feels part of this, so why not. The taste is bitter and awful and Clint laughs at him for a very long time, until his eyes water and he has to go and sit down. He talks to Wanda and Pietro, about their life in Sokovia before civil war ripped it to pieces, and Steve mentions how he took Nat out for Chinese food and champagne.

Steve brings in Natasha’s cake and Nat flushes—just a little—as she sees the candles flicker in the relative darkness, like Steve is holding a fire in his hands. Her eyes flutter closed as she blows out the candles and Peter muses on what she wished for, or if she wished at all. The alcohol makes his stomach feel warm, and the people make him feel warm, and he thinks this little party in this pocket of New York City may be one of the happiest moments of his life.

As the hours lull into the coolness of the morning, guests in various states of drunkenness either leave or continue on into Clint’s apartment. Peter takes a minute to steady himself, his heady heart and clouded head. He clings onto the metal railings until his knuckles turn white, staring out over the city. His city. He can’t go to college because he can’t leave here, all the lights and the heat and the music. New York is him and he is New York. This is something that cannot be ever taken away from him.

He hears footsteps and instead of you know, staying, like a normal person, Peter’s instinct is to duck behind the bar. He’s not ready for anyone to see him yet. He just wants a couple more moments alone with the world—plus he feels a little drunk, and being drunk is the best right here.

The footsteps come to a halt barely feet away from him. He’s not trying to listen as this is weird enough as it is, but it’s difficult not to. It’s Steve and Natasha.

“Another year, another one of Clint’s illegal martinis.” Steve’s voice. “Or two. Or several.”

Nat laughs lightly. “I’m going to go with several. I better not be holding your hair back while you puke tonight, boy. It’s my birthday.”

“Well—technically it stopped being your birthday a few hours ago, Nat, but I’ll let it slide because I love you.”

“You love me, huh? That’s certainly a new development.”

“Nah, it isn’t. Loved you the moment I saw you.”

“You fall in love with everybody.”

“Not in the way I love you. God, Nat. Do you actually realise what you do to me? Every time I look at you—you rip all the air out of my lungs.”

“That sounds pretty painful.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s agony. But it’s worth every second because…because you’re you. After everything. You’re you.”

There’s a few seconds of quiet. Peter wishes he’d just gone because as much as he wanted to know about them, to feel closer to them, this isn’t…this isn’t it. This is too private. Maybe if he edges along, he could sneak…

“Marry me.” Steve’s voice hangs in the night, like one of his songs. Poignant. “Marry me, Natasha.”

Nat is quieter than Peter’s ever heard it. It’s quiet, and it cracks in the middle. “Is that Clint’s martinis talking?”

“No. No. This is me talking. Marry me. You know—you know I’d be happy, forever, with what we have now. But I want to. I really, really want to.”

“Steve…” her voice is barely a whisper. Peter’s hand balls into fists. He’s here and yeah, he shouldn’t be, but he’s goddamn invested at this point. “I’ve been told that I can be pretty hard to deal with, sometimes. I’m reluctant to inflict that on somebody forever.”

“For you to inflict your inconstant, confusing, ridiculous self on me forever would be a privilege, Romanoff.”

“You really do have an answer for anything, don’t you? Insufferable asshole.”

“I’m your insufferable asshole.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

At that moment Peter’s leg just…involuntarily spasms. His foot collides with a nearby chair and it shifts across the concrete loudly, his cover completely blown. Shit. There’s no hiding now, so he peeks round the edge of the bar, finding Steve and Natasha stood with their arms around each other.

“Hello,” Peter says sheepishly, pointing towards the door, “I was just—“

“Parker, you’re not going anywhere.” Nat grabs him by his shirt and pulls him up, but there’s no malice on her face. Instead of violently throwing him off the top of this very high building for perving on their proposal, she drops him on one of the sofas. Steve hands him a nearby martini, amused by the whole situation if anything.

“You’re sitting there, and I’m telling you everything you want to know.”

[nomediaplay]

If Tumblr shuts down, where do you go?

Most likely nowhere. In my good-bye note on onehallyu I said I might decide to answer questions somewhere. Then I regged this tumblr, but after a while decided to not do that as I wrote in the first post on this page. But with my usual “luck” in timing, Jessica left SNSD just some days later so I ‘had’ to post a bit.

supermofficial.*com/#events weren’t you bragging SM never forces their artists to do free events             

Sigh. All artists of course have to do promotional events for new releases. And this is even some new group. And not just artists. If an author has a new book coming out, he’ll have to be on TV shows to promote it. If there’s a musical, the cast need to promote it on TV etc. Heck even the very top star Hollywood actors have to go all around the world and be on TV shows and events to promote their new movies.

What I’ve complained about is how many shitty idol companies make their celebrities constantly do lots of promotion for free, and also especially when they use very big established celebrities for events to which fans get “free tickets” by buying CDs.

What would happen to Taeyeon’s music if she were to leave SM? Would she still be able to perform these songs or she’d literally have to start anew?

She (and anyone else) can continue to perform her music however she wants, but she (presumably) can’t make new recordings without SM’s permission. Look here: when it comes to music, there are 2 different types of intellectual property rights:

The first is for, so to say, the ‘creation/invention’ of the song, and belongs to the composers/songwriters.

The second is the copyright of a specific recording. This typically belongs to a record label. That’s literally what record labels do: they organize the recording of music, then market and sell copies of that recording. And the record label will typically sign deals with songwriters, producers and singers to make a recording from which these get a royalty % cut of the total sales of that recording.

Anyone can perform whatever song anywhere without needing anyone’s consent. But if you do it for commercial purposes you need to pay the songwriters. This is handled by collective agreements and organizations such as ASCAP in the US, JASRAC in Japan and KOMCA in Korea which work to collect money for song usage and distribute it to the songwriters.

But to make a new recording of the song (for commercial purposes) you need explicit permission of the songwriters. However, whenever any record label signed a contract for a recording to start with, that agreement would typically stipulate that the record label now has the right to determine who can make new recordings of the song.

So, surely, if you’re a fan of a kpop group, you must have experienced that members of the groups have performed covers of other songs in concerts (because they can perform whatever song they want) - but if there’s a DVD release of the concert some of those covers might be missing (because record labels have refused the right to make recordings of the song).

What does it mean for an idol to have a lot of copyrighted songs, like the ones on those lists?

Per the above answer: it means he/she is listed as one of the ‘creators/inventors’ of a song as composer and/or lyricist. So whenever that song is used for any commercial purpose (such as played on TV, played on radio, performed by at any concert/event, etc) he/she will get paid some money.

However, as I’ve said countless of times before: for any really successful artists the payments from songwriting are really small compared the very big money they can get paid in other ways, particularly from performing at concerts and from doing CF/endorsement deals.

Also, I’d like to point out that it’s difficult to know how much an artist really have contributed to creating a song. Sometimes I get the feeling that YG lists whatever people that happened to sit next to Teddy while he composed a song. And it’s well known that many big western artists throughout history have demanded to be credited as songwriters even though they didn’t actually contribute anything at all.

Does Jessica have the right to use Girls’ Generation’s name to promote herself? Other girls who left SM - left the group as well (at least for now) but they all still use GG’s name when promoting their new projects. OT8 stans believe GG should never be mentioned anywhere near Jessica but I don’t think their situations are that different actually? but maybe I’m wrong?

I doubt that there are any legal constraints, but really, your question is strange because she’d be laughed at if she went around saying she was still an SNSD member. Any ‘group’ in society is defined by how the members of the group recognize each other as part of the group. The other 8 members have made it quite clear that they define SNSD as 8 members without Jessica, so it would be ridiculous for her to call herself as SNSD. Of course, she could if she want have journalists write news-articles calling her ex-SNSD Jessica and she could do interviews talking about her time in SNSD etc. I’m not sure if that would help her or not.

How so many bands and solo acts in japan are able to survive for a long time even though they don’t have good digital or physical sales?

But the Japanse music sales have been completely fucked up for the last 15 years as I’ve ranted about plenty of times before.

Can those bands and solo acts actually sell decent amounts of concert tickets in Japan? If yes, they’re living a good life no matter what their music sales are.

what is more important for a company, the success of their newer groups or their established artists? sorry if it’s a dumb question

Err, it’s not entirely black and white. But for a company to make really big profits (as in money for the owners of the company) it’s most important to get a new group to become really big really fast. This is partly about how new groups are on worse contracts and partly about how fans of these new fresh trendy groups spend huge money on buying albums and streaming like maniacs etc which are things from which the company gets most of the money (unlike for example concerts).

But it’s not all about contracts. Several of these smaller companies have absolutely horrible contracts. That doesn’t mean the companies make any profit. Because their acts simply aren’t successful enough. They spend so much money on everything from music videos to stage outfits and make up to road managers and security guards so there’s no money left.

And so on the flip side, for most of the normal employees who work in these companies to sort everything from music videos to stage outfits and make up to road managers and security guards, it’s really just important to have successful acts period (no matter if new or old) in order to make sure they get paid safely.

It is true that GD alone bring as much money as blackpink?

Per above: yes, GD alone would generate much more revenue than Blackpink. But they are both profitable in the sense that they generate much more money than what’s spent on music videos, outfits and managers etc. And obviously Blackpink has a much worse contracts than GD, so after splitting profits per their contracts YG probably makes bigger profits on Blackpink than GD.

Why do you think YG did a fanmeting in seoul for blackpink instead of another concert?      

Well, considering the amount of negativity YG has ended up in recently:

I thought it had been well established that much of the audience at their previous Korean concert was in fact not paying for tickets, but people who had been given tickets through corporate sponsorship of the concert. In this current situation, there’s probably not a single company willing to sponsor a concert.

Secondly, even with regards to that fans actually would pay to go, I think it’s likely that media would have put out critical articles about YG doing concerts in this situation. By calling it a fan-meeting they’re pretty much making it impossible for journalists to write such negative articles.

Did that super junior member really leave because he got married or there is something more to it?

As I’ve always expressed: save humanity - disband Super Junior.

So no I really have no idea about what they’re doing. But I used to say some 7 years ago that there will probably be a Super Show 10. And we’re soon there. Because members seem to be aware of their own short-comings and their joint success and are OK with doing group activities.

But it was my understanding that this member not only didn’t really contribute with anything to the group, but that he also really pissed off the few fans he had with his actions (such as drawing symbols for his girlfriend when signing autographs for fans).

Is Mnet bigger than SM and YG?

If you just mean Mnet as in the cable-TV channel, the answer is that SM/YG are bigger. But this question is not straight forward to answer. First off it’s difficult to define what one mean with ‘bigger’ company:

By profit? By market cap (value)? By number of employees? By revenue?

My take would be to in most cases (such as this) go by revenue as the most relevant measure of ‘big’ company.

Secondly, in Asia in general and in Korea in particular they have this horrible habit of building conglomerates and interlinked companies. And it just runs in their culture/society. Both SM and YG were new small independent startups initially. But look at them now. They have used all the profits they’ve made over time to start all kinds of businesses very vaguely related to their core businesses and invested in a myriad of other companies and started to become big conglomerates in entertainment.

And Mnet goes way back and to the very top. Mnet is just one cable-TV-channel. The actual company here is CJ ENM. CJ ENM also has a lot of other cable-TV-channels and a huge home-shopping-channel. CJ ENM are also very big in for example producing musicals and concerts in Korea. CJ ENM once upon a time also almost had a monopoly on music distribution in Korea, but nowadays the music distribution business (now called Stone Music Entertainment) is far from the leading distributor. CJ ENM is also the biggest producer of Korean TV dramas and films. That was spun off into a separate company (Studio Dragon) but CJ ENM own like 75% of that company still. CJ ENM has also spun off its music streaming business (but they own like 15% of Genie Music) and its gaming business (but they own like 25% of Netmarble). So CJ ENM is a very big and powerful company in the Korean entertainment industry and much bigger than SM and YG.

And CJ ENM is in turn owned by and part of the CJ Group. The CJ Group also own a whole lot of other companies primarily into food production, restaurant chains and entertainment. Most known to kpop fans is probably that they also own the biggest cinema chain in Korea, but the main businesses are food related.

And CJ Group was in turn part of the absolutely gigantic Samsung chaebol group. CJ was one of the parts of the Samsung chaebol that was split off around 1990 following the death of Samsung founder Lee Byung-chul. It’s a separate group now, but basically, CJ Group is run by 2 siblings who are grandchildren of Lee Byung-chul. Other parts of the former Samsung chaebol are run by other relatives of Lee Byung-chul.

(PS, Lee Byung-chul had TEN children who in turned had a lot of grand children, hence why his gigantic corporate empire is nowadays a bit of a drama mess)

[strawberryjamsara]

So because I’m obsessed with this idea now what the other survivors would be doing in this AU:

Keiji: He’s had a huge mental health relapse. He doesn’t contact any of the other survivors thinking he failed them, and is basically conducting a one man investigation to take down Asunaro and get Sara back. He pretty much knows it’s placing a huge target on his back and he knows the only reasons he hasn’t faced the same fate as Mr Policeman is because he’s ineffectual on his own and because they’re keeping their leader in custody by way of his safety. Hell he wants them to go behind her back and shoot him dead so she can have a reason to get out of there. Speaking of Mr. Policeman, Sara has joined in on his hallucinations, always begging him to save her.

Gin: Gin keeps in contact with other survivors but Keiji never picks up. Gin often cries for big sis Sara saying it’s not fair that he can’t see big sis Sara, when she just wanted to protect him. The fact that both him and his mother are under asunaro custody does no favors to their state of mind. Gin often checks over his shoulder when he’s walking around and doesn’t trust therapists because of Midori. He writes a lot of letters to big sis Sara even though he can’t send them.

Shin: Shin has come away with no clue what to think of Ms Sara. The strong, charismatic, 15.5% girl who killed Kanna, then gave herself up to that madman to let all of them walk free. He gets caught up thinking about it constantly, despite his best efforts not too. He does remember her asking him to take care of Gin, so he does so, trying to babysit to the best of his abilities, and he can’t deny that he enjoys Gin’s company. He wishes Keiji would pick up once in a while. He has a small indoor garden filled with flowers, a memorial to Kanna. Sometimes, when he sees the flowers in full bloom, he starts to hope that Ms. Sara is suffering right now. Then he runs to the bathroom and pukes his guts out.

Kanna: She returns to her parents with the news of two dead siblings, and one who is alive, but no longer with her. She tries to make memorials to everyone who died, and Kugie and Shin have special ones she puts next to each other. It starts to strike her over time how quiet her house has become now that grief has taken over. She sees Gin’s writing letters to Sara method of coping and tries it herself, and starts to do the same for all the dead. She often is quick to identify Asunaro agents in the distance and will quicken her footsteps accordingly. Of the survivors she’s been the one caught with the least ‘suspicious’ activity since she knows how to act

Alice: He doesn’t regret anything more than letting Sara Chidouin go to Asunaro. He could’ve stopped it if he’d shouted at her more! Told her to use her good for nothing brain! Upon Sara’s request he is released from prison. He comes home to his parents and explains what happened, expecting to not be believed and rejected, but is embraced by them for the first time in years. He often tries to protect them knowing Asunaro is always on the horizon. He starts his own band to continue Reko’s music career but his songs are more like fun pop songs. He can’t bear to think about the suffering everyone dear to him went through, all for nothing, enough to write a song. He visits Gin and Kanna often to babysit, and leaves many upbeat messages on Keiji’s phone wishing he’d respond. He’s scared for him most of the time. They’ve already lost Sara Chidouin. He doesn’t want to lose him too. Especially since he has an idea what he’s doing. He’s not stupid. Still he has an unspoken admiration for Keiji’s work. He knows he’s too cowardly to even try.

Reko: The first thing she did was write songs for every member of the death game. The most powerful songs were for Alice and Sara. She blew up at Keiji when they first left pinning the blame on him for Sara leaving before taking a deep breath and realizing this was shitty and trying to call him up and failing. She takes care of Gin and Kanna and the kids have a lot of school clout for Reko Yabusame being their babysitter. Unfortunately, Reko is also swamped by Asunaro a lot since she’s in the public eye and thus, could easily leak unwanted information. She has a lot of contracts to sign before every debut which makes her uneasy but it’s that or give up on her dreams. And she knows that’s the last thing Sara would want. She constantly performs her song for Sara at live concerts hoping she’s watching in.

Oh em gee i just realized… when Sara first realizes the meaning of the consent form she begins thinking about the possibility of what if she just signs away her life to end the death game… what if that’s foreshadowing… what if when she finds out that the game is to decide Asunaros heir and Meister wants her to become heir she offers to become the heir right there and then to let the others escape… what if everyone’s telling her to stop… what if one of the endings is that everyone goes back to normal life while Sara is Asunaros heir under the coercion of their safety and never sees them again?

[dop-jon]

A Place, But at the End

I think I've always loved Detroit. I remember as a very young boy hearing of Detroit's census numbers in 1980 and how it was the the fourth or fifth-biggest city in the US. Just being so proud of that fact, like I had a hand in it. I'm not sure from whither that love came, but I suspect two sources and they both involve family. My mom's side of the family, the men in the family, worked as stagehands. Back then, stage entertainment was still a decent draw and my step-grandfather or uncles would pick up either myself or my brother, or both, and we'd get to watch the play or musical from the wings, or from the spotlight room, or from the sound room. If that was all it was, it still would've been cool. It was the ride down there, tho, going from our shitty little house in the nearby suburbs, down onto the Lodge Freeway, The Ditch, and as early evening was settling on Detroit, I'd look out from the backseat at the adjacent neighborhoods and marvel at the houses, becoming larger and less familiar as we drew closer to downtown, the lights on the high rises blinking on and off slowly, or remaining on, illuminating the office of some obviously well-connected tycoon. I knew even then that I liked the closeness of a city, that lived-in, pavement and horns feel, that dangerous feeling, like befriending a whore for practical and platonic purposes. And so we'd find a parking spot behind the theater and take the back way in, under the gathered drear of that breaking cityscape and find a place to sit, inconspicuously, in some of the grandest rooms designed by men for the purposes of entertainment while my uncles or step grandfather plied their trade. Needless to say, I was impressed. I never really cared what the entertainment was, although I'd certainly namedrop the event around potentially envious company. It was being down in those aging beauties, or darting over to grab a bite to eat around the corner, keeping your eyes peeled for anything that might happen because of...well...because of the second possible source of my love for Detroit. My dad's cowardice and his youngest brother's advice might be that source, in tandem. My dad, for his part, has always been afraid. I don't see anything wrong with that, as it were. I'm afraid every day as well. My fear keeps my feet moving. My father's fear keeps him in place, and as events come and go that others might find engaging, he rationalizes being disengaged, after the fact, on the ostensible grounds of either his or our personal safety. In a word, Detroit was too dangerous. His brother, 11 years my father's junior, spent all the time he could down there, and never missed a chance to tell me his more appropriately themed doings. They were all tame stories, but that was hardly the point. "Your dad doesn't know what he's talking about," he'd tell me. "He's never been down there. There's just too many people down there for him and it's a shame because he missed out on a lot of fun." My dad's reply to that, after I filtered the sting out Uncle Jimmy's assessment, was a variation of "yeah, but I'm *alive*". Yeah, I see that, dad.

So through my teens I tried to get downtown as much as possible, to get that addictive whiff of a life spent on concrete, of being surrounded by the symmetrical masses that Man raises in his own honor to celebrate his victory over chaos. I always knew my hometown was shabby, a bit. All it would take, in my view, was for people just to get hip to going back down there. To be in a crowd for an event downtown, to have that feeling like there is something happening in the world and you are not only witnessing it, but viewing it somewhere that was made for the sole intent of you seeing it. Imagine for a moment, or recall if experience provides, a downtown sporting event. Cities are male by nature and design, phallic and angular and aggressive, filled with an unthinking kinetic energy. A sporting event, a football game, say, thrives in such an environment. It's just a game played on a big field without it. And after living those moments in the now, when victory was uncertain and collective breaths were held, when the ebbs and flows of so much unfettered emotion plays upon the minds, upon the singular mind that the crowd shares at events such as these, and then victory is secured and 60,000 people feel the relief and release that such moments engender, and at that moment when they leave the fantastic cathedral and pour out into the heart of the city, you can't help but feel that this, this, happened here. A shadow of that feeling was always upon me when I was down there then. Checking out a band, or a famous bar, or taking in what sites I could in the relative safety of downtown.

A brief practical history of Detroit is needed here. Since it's founding in 1701 until WWI, Detroit was fairly unremarkable as cities go. A naturally advantageous location along the river of the same name that joins the upper Great Lakes to the lower, it served as the first (or last, depending on direction) major Midwestern port. Growth was modest but steady. Then Henry Ford hit the scene. There were a handful of like-minded men in Detroit that developed then automobile, but no single man left a larger imprint on the area, and maybe this country, as Ford. He developed and perfected the assembly line and an affordable car besides, and the the world hasn't been the same since. This drove many immigrants and blacks north to find work there, and neighborhoods, city governments, roads, they all felt the guiding hand of Ford. With his employment came certain expectations of behavior, and even the number of bars and neighborhood layouts were done or undone with his blessing. This led to exponential growth thru the first half of the 20th century. Even here tho, the seeds of it's eventual decline and abandonment took root amongst this unprecedented growth. Larger, slightly older American cities grew vigorously during the first two hundred years of this continent's taming, and it was done mostly with immigrants, people in less hopeful war or famine torn urban locales that already had a feel for what to expect in city life, especially in cities that already had it's natural boundaries established and developed. Detroit's expansion grew apace and unchecked predominately from an incoming rural populace that had little notion or interest of what city life was like. They were here to work and provide for their families a significantly better life and future than they were used to. As a result, little thought was given as to how that growth would be maintained. In the early part of the century, I'm sure it seemed a question that answered itself; growth would maintain itself. What was to stop it? By 1950 it was the fourth largest city in America. A war had been one, a Depression had been reversed for over a decade, and there was relative peace and plenty for all. With all this wealth and disposable time, and with a keen eye for further developing commerce, freeways were put in. America's first freeway was built in Detroit, then another, then another. As city planners hadn't foreseen such an event, neighborhoods had to be partially demolished and people relocated to accommodate. Poor people, mostly. Blacks, Poles, Jews. Those that could afford it moved to nicer neighborhoods. The people people already in those neighborhoods, white, middle class types, well, they didn't go for that. So the expansion continued, but not for Detroit. Within two generations the whites fled to the suburbs, desirous of modestly more space and dramatically fewer blacks. Detroit stagnated, industry trickled away, infrastructure decayed, crime rose to unprecedented levels, and we know have the husk, more or less, of how I found the city in 1995.

In the November of that year, I went to work for John P., a master plumber by trade and a proud Detroiter, father of my girlfriend and child of a white flight family. He grew up in the Northwest side, Fenkel and Wyoming, hard by the Lodge freeway that had recently been built. I was without a significant college education and no practical trade. I was 22 and past time to start doing something with my life, begrudging as I might have been. John was a father figure to me, one that I needed. I had a dad, but his advice was basically limited to "keep it in your pants" and "keep your words soft and sweet". He worked hard, but it was mindless work and unprosperous. John worked hard, had a keen if practical mind, and prospered, after a fashion. Holding a job of one sort or another since the age of 5, when he would take a crosstown bus with his shine box and shine shoes at every bar between his bus stop and his house along Fenkell, he developed a work ethic that drove him to do whatever it was that he had to do. In a practical vein, he memorized every cross street along his route and eventually came to know, thru his extensive work around the city as a plumber, almost the entire West Side and much of the East. I found his capacity for that sort of thing compelling. Personally, I found the man to be a shortsighted boor. But whatever his reservations, he put me to work on a project he had going on, the renovation of an old apartment building in Detroit's first neighborhood, Corktown. Eighth Street and Porter, right down the street, on the other side of Michigan Avenue, from old Tiger Stadium. Corktown is the closest neighborhood still occupied and standing to downtown, and on my first day I went up on the roof of this four story building and looked around. West I could see the 30-odd story train depot, a beautiful building on the outside but long since closed and stripped of any value inside. The great white monolith of Tiger Stadium was to my north, northeast of there, roughly midtown, was The Masonic Temple, massive, a testament to the power of the Freemasons. Past that, The Fisher Building and The GM Headquarters sat across from either on Grand Boulevard, and then a large swath of old commercial buildings and random homes, many abandoned or failing, until, turning clockwise, the knot of downtown could be descried to the east, with the incongruous Renaissance Center hugging the Detroit River. It was my first glimpse of the heart of the city from such a vantage point, and as weather allowed I would take my lunches up there and just look around and wonder at what a marvel this city must have been when it mattered. Inside the building, which had been gutted by fire a number of years prior, held the social dynamic of the city within it's brick walls. Initially, it was staffed with day labor from the local shelters and local residents, a way to make $8hr for backbreaking work. Black manual labor and white skilled labor, and most of them union members. Being unskilled white labor, I hung with the black guys. Their stories were fascinating. All function and no theory, their lives were revealed to me with unaware candor. Mack, who bummed smokes from me all day with the implied agreement that he'd keep talking, comes to mind immediately. A wheel man for a bank robbing crew, Mack told countless stories of his misdeeds, without any regret. He was shot in the riots of '67, tv in hand, on Gratiot Avenue. He spoke of picking up snitches or other lowlifes, taking them to some hideout and torturing

them with tubs filled with piranhas, or simply beating them to death or very nearly so. Then he'd talk about seeing Hendrix at the Masonic, and how he sounded like he was just pulling music from the universe, and Mack would strum an air guitar while he talked, rheumy eyes partly closed, remembering how he felt when he got to hear Jimi's astral projections. All the brothers were cool with me, and I absorbed it all. A couple of them didn't think that there were any poor white kids, so it was a treat to share my stories of misery with them. The union tradesmen weren't as kind. Most were snarly and rude, white trash that had figured out a decent way to make good money but begrudged my presence as the sole nonunion trade on the job. One had taken the time to nail a dead rat to a board and write "Non Union Tradesman" on it. Tim, an journeyman plumber that kept me busy cutting pipe and running around drilling holes, took the time to put the numbers 1-12 around the body of the rat like a clock, then spin the rat in order to guess the time according to where it's tail and nose would come to rest. If I had any sense, I would've been scared. So for a year we worked like that, and on a handful of other jobs besides, all in Detroit. Although not as colorful, with the possible exception of working at Cass and Alexandrine, I slowly gleaned what I could from John and those that I came into contact with. I tried to absorb the facts but set aside the opinions given with them. There has never been a shortage of opinions on the city and it's woes, certainly by those with little knowledge of the city itself, so I took all I could with an open mind. Eventually John's little company folded and we went to work for an HVAC company in the suburb my dad grew up in, Redford Twp., which borders Detroit on the far northwest. There my exposure and education increased dramatically. Until this time, I met only other workers, tradesmen. Now I was in people's homes, installing boilers, furnaces, plumbing. I learned this fact quickly; if you really want to see someone's true self, observe how they behave in the comfort of their own homes. At some point, during each installation, I would fish for information from the occupant. Most of them were poor and basic, living squalid little lives. Some of the homes were well maintained, in vibrant neighborhoods. Others lived in older, grandiose castles from a bygone era, losing the battle to keep up with maintaining a 100 year old house. Still others lived in little shitbox Cracker Jack hovels, not built to endure yet still occupied. And everyone of those people had a story to tell, and being relaxed in their dwelling, I feel like I was getting The Truth, or at least their version of it. I recall giving an old black lady an estimate on some repairs to her boiler. She looked about 70. Six Mile and Nevada area, old neighborhood, not far from Woodward which divides the city in two. After I wrote up the estimate, she asked me if I knew why I was there. I said, naively, to write her an estimate. I had barely finished my answer when she came with the correct one. "I'd rather have flies in my house than niggers. You can get a fly out of your house." Then she paused, squinted at me to make sure I was paying attention to her, then said "you DO know what I'm talkin' about, right?" "Yes ma'am, I believe I do." And then she wished me a good day as another white contractor was coming up the walk to write an estimate for her as well. I remember a Mr. Langston, a black guy, that owned a huge home on the Lower East Side. He was 80 at the time. First black guy to move into the neighborhood. Worked at Ford his whole life, out three kids thru college. Had lived in that home since 1940. When we drove up to his house, he was outside, in a driving snow, snow blowing the walk. No evidence existed that any of his neighbors had been out of their houses in days. His marbled carpet, otherwise immaculate, had tracks worn in it from the path he had made from his bedroom, thru the living room, the dining room, and into the kitchen.

[againstthegrainphoto]

...too booked to be bothered...

....I might be a little overwhelmed right now...

...with all the work and photos and holidays and shit that’s going on.....

.....but I”ve been holding in so much word vomit, I really need to puke.

so unfortunately due to the fact that facebook is full of people who would judge me and tell me I am wrong and a horrible person and a victim shammer and racist and god knows whatever else after I get these thoughts out....you get them here tumblr! Call me whatever you want.....I couldn’t care less.

tumblr: where I hide nothing and am actually the most real to myself than any other god forsaken social media. I mean how well can you even know someone by their social media though? fucking ridiculous.

So sit down. buckle up. this is going to be an extremely long one, spanning many issues.

First off. I my uncle died on friday. I’ve been silent on the issue. Is it bad I mourn for my mom and his might as well be wife? Not so much him. He spent his life ruining it with drinking and smoking and bad choices that negatively affected those around him. He waited until he couldn’t talk before going to get a fucking TUMOR even assessed by a doctor. and didn’t even sign himself up for medicare until his brother basically did it for him after the “discovery” of the tumor. What do you mean he had throat cancer? I thought 60 years of smoking is good for you?!?!*shock* My heart breaks for my mom and his wife(ish). I am really worried that the wife(ish) is going to be like “well he gave up, so i might as well too”.....like even if it’s not a conscious thought or decision....maybe especially if its not. ya know? the whole situation just sucks.

People are so shitty to each other. So shitty. Like, I’m a not-really-participating-member of the “beauty community” or whatever you want to call it. But I am a fairly large consumer of the beauty world. I have a fucking addiction to makeup. I love it. I want it. I collect it. I spend way too much money on it. I buy it for my friends. I buy it for me. I buy it for my family. And I like to keep up on the front cutting edge of what’s happening and what’s new and what’s available and what is the very best product. I also can’t afford to purchase every high end makeup release, but I do like watching and hearing others opinions about them. It’s just sad to see that the more widely viewed/available/posting reviewers are such shady, backhanded, backstabbing people. And not just that, but fucking FAKE. their videos and such are so positive and good looking, but if you follow them in any other form they show they are such fake ass drama creating bullshit. not to name names, but I literally cannot stand jacylin hill or laura lee or nikki tutorials and thier fucking boring ass makeup and annoying high school personalities....yet they have their own fucking palettes? how are these people the ones that get their fucking name on the make up?? why don’t companies choose people with an ounce of creativity?!??! I’m not saying I love and adore jeffree star....but goddamn he makes cool original and creative products. I also am not a fan of kat von d......but if you make a fucking stunning product...I will buy it. (re: saint/sinner palette.......so far worth every penny....i love it....and really if you do the math you’re paying like $2.60 per shadow in that thing.....totally better than the serpentina palette I talk shit about every chance I get...).....Seeing them as so annoying makes watching their videos close to impossible because you develop such a hatred for them and who they are.

This halloween I had such a hard time stomaching all the bullshit that was being passed around regarding children’s costumes. In my mind I really do think that there is a line...and it’s not THAT gray.....between being disrespectful to a culture (ie “cultural appropriation”) and having an appreciation of a culture. Example: I shared an article about a Chilkat robe that was returned to alaska. I do not believe that having it hung in their house was WRONG. and I feel like I should have clarified this when I shared the article instead of just saying that I appreciated it. What I really appreciated was that an ORIGINAL FUCKING ARTIFACT was returned to its origin to be kept and studied and passed on for the heritage. Hanging native alaskan art I do not believe is wrong. FYI THEY FUCKING SELL IT. YOU CAN PURCHASE IT WHEN YOU GO THERE. THE NATIVE ARTISTS MAKE MONEY THIS WAY. THEY WANT YOU TO BUY IT AND HANG IT ON YOUR FUCKING WALLS. Hanging native american art in your house and admiring it’s beauty IS NOT FUCKING CULTURAL APPROPRIATION. Now what I do believe is not so great would be emphasizing things of a culture that are cliche or negative. Like dressing up as say like a Muslim terrorist for halloween.....That I believe is wrong. Most Muslims are not terrorists........you dressing up as that for halloween is not appreciating their culture...it’s you being part of the problem by promoting the idea that terrorists are Muslim and Muslims are terrorists......but your child wanting to dress up as Mulan or...what was it this year? Moana? right? like there was press about making sure your fucking 6 year old isn’t allowed to dress up as her. I do not think that is not cultural appropriation. The only reason why they would want to dress up like this is because they think this character is the greatest thing ever and want to be them. That is appreciation. And most likely they have zero regard for what color their hero’s skin is. It’s so horrible for a white little girl to want to be Pocahontas or Mulan but how many little not-white little girls wanted to be Ariel or Belle? or Aurora? AND STILL DO TO THIS DAY? no one talks about them? They should not be limited to only wanting to be the princess of their own skin color!! none of the children should. That’s how you fucking START racism is it not?? Jesus christ. I maybe pale as fuck......but just for the record I am a papered and registered native. Like I literally carry a card and have multiple certificates certifying that I am native. Like there is question to even whether or not “eskimo” is a negative slur now apparently. But that’s what my goddamn papers say I am. God I’m just so over all this “cultural appropriation” bullshit we are inundated with every goddamn day. We are all fucking humans. Let us (and children especially) appreciate what we personally like.

Moving on in this word spewing of views that I’m sure some of you don’t agree with.

Fucking sexual assault. Another thing I am so goddamn over right now. Does it need to stop? Fucking yes it does. Some of the things coming out of the woodwork are absolutely appalling. But the problem lies with.....well...THE LIES. Just like a dude is totally capable of sexually assaulting a girl....a girl is totally capable...if not even more capable...of lying about a dude assaulting her. And regarding this within the music scene.....Is there ARE groupies. There are tons and tons of fucking crazy fans out there. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. They’ve left weird comments on my own photos. And that’s partially the problem is that we believe an half crazed girl who says “*insert any talented hack with a bit of fame behind their name here* sexually assaulted me!!!” over any other facts. And if we don’t believe her we are “victim shaming”....Unfortunately, I have seen those that are crazy enough to say something like this to get a bit of fame. I have seen the girl who vaguebooks every goddamn day. I have seen the girl who fucks her way up the social ladder.....it’s only a matter of time before she’ll start claiming “abuse”. Do I think every case is fame fueled, career damaging, revenge for not paying attention to a fan, bat shit crazy bitch claiming sexual assault?....no. not at all. There are fucking disgusting dudes out there making music and have been proven time and time again that they are exactly what they are shown to be: sexual predators. I’m not going to name names.....but I know a couple names that come to the top of my mind. One never had my support......I mean you just can NOT have a target audience with an average age of 12 and have lyrics about “liking it better on the floor” and “make you wanna fuck all night” and “she sucks me till it snows, i’ll fuck her face so hard”.....I”M SORRY. NO. I’m getting pissed off just looking up these fucking horrible lyrics. fucking talentless joke of a human being. I also personally witnessed this person show his full ass to a crowd of fucking 12 year olds. Pretty sure that’s frowned upon and why the spd were out by his bus after the show. Of course....obviously....nothing serious came of it and it was swept under the rug. The other....just makes me sad. His own words were his own conviction. Calling out and berating girls while confessing his less than innocent relations with them in a public form seen by thousands. girl. bye.  So it’s totally not that sexual assault doesn’t happen in the music scene.....but I’ve literally seen more fucking batshit crazy bitches than I have seen sexual preditors. I just feel like no one takes an objective view of it??? it’s all “SHE WAS ASSAULTED!!!! HE DESERVES HIS CAREER RUINED AND DEATH!!!”....no one is listening to the accused in these cases. it’s all a fucking head hunt......I’m seriously concerned for the band decapitation. they’ve been stuck out of their home country for months now. their band is ruined. their reputations are ruined. and unless they ACTUALLY fucking gang raped this spokane girl......well...their lives as they know it are over regardless.....if they actually did rape her then their lives are actually over and they get what they deserve.....BUT so much inconsistencies???....and one of the girls was pulled over for dui?....and is it really going to boil down to whether or not the girl gave consent?....I mean who can be the judge of that??? it’s all going to be on her word.....and she has a documented history of providing false information to the police before??.....christ....what a shitshow......so far the only musician that I can 100% back up the ruining of his career and his death is ian watkins from lostprophets. that dude can die and then fucking rot in purgatory....hell is too good for him.

moving on.

My local scene. my peeps. muh regulars. The division amongst them the past few months has been sad to me. The solidarity that we had a year ago is gone for good. I really don’t think it’s ever coming back. it’s like it got divorced. What’s funny is while I am a part of this group.....I am not TRULY a part of it. even though I consider it my own. I actually have very few friendships within this group, sure I’m facebook “friends” with all these people. But I am more a documenter of this subculture. yeah I look and like and dress the part. yeah I’m at most the events. yeah people are beginning to recognize me without me having ever met them. But but my true real connections are very few. Am I sad about this? no. not at all. I am 120% ok with this. By being someone who is basically outside looking in.......I can see things perhaps others don’t see. Some of the most “popular” people in this crowd........they are not the most beautiful people. And this has nothing to do with appearance. We are goth. We are all beautiful on the outside. But that just means I will avoid them. Basically if I avoid you.....that means I see you as a either negative input in my life and I don’t want it or I am unsure of how you feel about me. If I make an effort to spend time with you....that means I see you as a positive energy and I’ll take all I can get. lol. Honestly though. it’s like the cool photographer’s club.....the same people. at the same shows. every time. I don’t need it. I don’t need others approval. I don’t take photos for others. I take photos for me. if others enjoy them. that’s cool. But they’re for me. it’s like my image journal and/or catalogue of all the cool shit i’ve seen in my life. all the songs i’ve heard. My boss was all “I went to a concert once”......I’m like.....I’ve been to four in the past week and I’m drowning in photos. I think it’s bullshit to do free photos for national touring artists then charge the locals to even take photos. that’s being part of the problem. What new good bands are there? Everything happening right now is shit from the mid 2000s if not earlier. in the past like 18 months or so i’ve seen genitorturers, my life with the thrill kill kult, lords of acid, combichrist, christian death, incubus, jimmy eat world, wednesday 13, pig, orgy/julien k, iron maiden, gwar, vertical horizon, everclear, fastball, sabaton, eve 6, vanessa carlton, john 5, dope, lordi, powerman5000, pretty boy floyd, buckcherry, sebastian bach, opeth, faster pussycat, marilyn manson, slipknot, korn, rob zombie, 16 volt, tim skold, filter......HONESTLY the only newcomer with any staying power is fucking GHOST. which is why I’m even on this godforsaken site. Also in this moment might *MIGHT* have staying power....their show is pretty goddamn epic. It’s just not my thing though. I’m not into it. I mean....not gonna lie.....I liked the beautiful tragedy album.....when they played live they had screens with their logo on it and she was in a little yellow sundress and converse sneakers. Let me know if you want to see those photos. lolz. I laugh at those who photo for likes on facebook or instagram. it must be such a sad existence. A cool photog i’ve connected with recently is photoslavery...look her up......we have a lot of the same views on things and it’s refreshing to find another photog doing it for the fucking ART of doing it. also we use a similar arsenal of tricks.....which is funny......cause it’s a pretty unpopular/unknown?(doubtful)/unappreciated set up. But I obviously don’t listen to what’s known and popular. I heard a phrase the other day that just resonated with me....”too booked to be bothered”.....THAT IS ME. lol. I do not have time to be bothered by trivial things from irrelevant sources....

well I’ve been typing for ages. and I feel a bit better after I’ve vomited all this out. it’s been a rough few weeks.

[ephemeralem0tions]

Hi! I've read your summary of Levihan fanfic recommendations and I've noticed that you are fond of the concept "pretend lovers". I'd love to read your version of pretend lovers, if you don't mind. (or post your Levihan art if a story is too much.) Thanks :D

*Casually inserts self in a cameo in my own fics* Can you spot me? XD

Anyways, college will start tomorrow and I’m so anxious! But for the mean time, your wish is my command ;)

P.S. I stan Coldplay 

Impress (LeviHan - Pretend Lovers)

Theme: Pretend Relationship

Rating: PG

Warning: Curse Words

send your requests/anons here x.

For the thirty-sixth time around, he turned around to face her and gave her a big fat “NO”. His face was already evidently annoyed, and a frown was already forming on her lips after so much persuasion, only to face rejection.

“Oh come on Levi! I know you also want to go to that concert! You can have the other ticket! I’m not even interested in that band!” she pleaded, but it only made him groan. He’s been hearing the same statement for the past four hours and she was still at it. Admittedly, yes, the offer is tempting, but its her purpose he questions.

“I’m not helping you get tickets for your boyfriend four eyes” he hissed. Yes, she wanted those tickets for someone else, not herself.

“He’s not even my boyfriend!” she countered “Well, yet. He promised me he’ll give me a chance if I manage to get him tickets. You know I’ve already spent my allowance money on my experiments, so this is the last resort I have”

His eyebrows furrowed. She’s worth more than a concert pass. Whoever the douche was, he sure didn’t know how brilliant and amazing the woman was, despite her frequent freaky behavior.

“No” he repeated again, firmly.

“Please! All you have to do is appear in the event. I’ll already study everything and you don’t even need to lift a single finger” she was already using her big doe eyes, but he wasn’t falling for that trick. At least not yet. He had managed to set his personal best at resisting them today. Two hours more than the past record.

She started pulling out the big guns. Making her eyes wider, glassier and more persistent than usual. Those pretty hazel irises she knew he cannot resist.

“Remind me why I have to be there again?” he sighed, and she perked up hearing those words. He definitely fell into her trap. Like always.

“Because its a couples event. You have to pretend to be my boyfriend for that time” his frown became deeper. “But you just at least appear so they see I’m with someone”

“Alright shitty glasses. I get it” he replied.

“Yes! Meet me tomorrow at the entrance of the Central Stadium!” she yelled at him from across the hallway. He didn’t even notice she was already away till her voice echoed from the distance. She gave him one final wave, and a heart melting smile before she disappeared.

Great. He was going to be her boyfriend for a day, to impress a guy who wouldn’t even let her be his girlfriend for a day without compensation.

“So what is this game about again?” he asked, as he trotted beside her who skipped excitedly. As promised, they met up in front of the stadium and now walking towards the event hall. He sighed upon seeing that she even wore the band’s shirt even though she had no fucking idea who ‘Coldplay’ was. She sure was really trying hard to impress the guy

“Its a guessing game. It will most likely be their songs and I have listened to every single album they have released last night” yeah, she reeked of coffee again.

“Welcome! May I get your names please, and your team name!” a perky brunette greeted when they reached the registration desk.

“Hanji Zoe and Levi Ackerman” she replied for the both of them.

“Your team name please?” she asked again.

“Team Titans?” it came off more like a question than an answer. He gave her a glare with her weird nerdish innuendos. This is why people avoided her, because they don’t get her.

“No silly” the receptionist chuckled. “Our team name requirement needs to be a combination of both your names. Like a ship!”

They looked at each other. He as always, had a stoic and cold expression, but she was rather embarrassed in his opinion. Her cheeks were flushed red and she was speechless, mouth hanging agape as if her brain suddenly hanged. And those moments are really rare for an intellectual girl like her. Damn she was cute.

“Well since you two can’t think of one. I’ll name it! You are officially dubbed LeviHan” she brunette declared, handing them both one sticker each with their team name to attach to their shirts. Her ponytail bounced from behind her, a sinister smile plastered on her face which give him creeps. What the fuck was wrong with this girl?

They slowly backed away from her and made their entrance to the event hall, where people were already looming and trying to find seats in the busy room.

He scanned the area. Pairs of seats are placed at least a meter away from each other, so no team could cheat and copy answers. A tablet and touch pen laid on the table, where they could write their answers after the host up front on the stage shoots the question.

The music started to die down, and everyone was requested to find their respective places. They opted for a more low key position, down at the back corner, where no one would mind them that much.

“The mechanics are simple! You just need to write your answer on the tab in front of you in the span of thirty seconds. If your answer is correct, your tab will glow green and automatically move on to the next question. If you are wrong, it will glow red and your screen will be stuck to your last answer” the host started up. “Now ladies and gentlemen, please write your team name on the tab”

Hanji immediately picked up the pen and wrote in the messiest way possible. He was almost anxious that it couldn’t be read by the android, but silently whispered his thanks when the sides of the gadget glowed green and automatically emptied the screen.

“Great! I see everyone is ready and registered. To win this game, you must be the last couple standing after answering all our questions. Only the top Coldplay fanatic can pass this test” the host spoke again. “Now for the first question. What is the full name of the lead vocalist?” he heard his partner cuss from the side.

“I memorized songs not facts and background” she murmured, panic evident in her features. He sighed and stared at her, she will definitely fail if he would not help out.

“Christopher Anthony Martin” he whispered, sight directed up front so it looked like he didn’t care at all.

“What?” she looked at him with wide eyes.

“I said Christopher Anthony Martin. Now write it on the board before we loose time” he repeated, and she did what she was told to do so. Soon enough, green light emitted from their own tab, making her smile wide at him. They were going to win this game.

“What song featured Beyonće?”

“Hymn for the Weekend”

“Who in the band is left handed?”

“The bassist. Guy Berryman”

“In 1997, the band’s name was?”

“Starfish”

She gave him a weird look.

“What?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Who names their band Starfish?” she questioned him.

“Says the girl who named her team Team Titan” he rolled his eyes. “Quit talking and start writing”

“Whose death wake did they perform for?”

“Steve Jobs” she continued with her disbelieving look but he did not mind her anymore.

“For which three companies did they turn down contracts?”

“Coke, Gatorade and GAP”

“Who married first in the band?”

“The drummer. Will Champion”

They continued doing so, for the rest of the day. Hanji did come up with her own answers once in a while, when the questions were about ‘what’s the title of the song’ or ‘complete the lyrics’. She most definitely did her research.

“Yes!” she giggled, staring at the two tickets in her hand for the fifth time around as the walk away from the stadium. The setting sun definitely made her prettier from his view. Her unique nose, glasses, eyes, smile illuminated by the warm glowing light. He considered it a mission success in helping her and making her happy.

“So you can go to your shitty boyfriend now shitty glasses” he stopped and folded his arms over his chest. He honestly felt annoyed by the fact that his hard work will go to someone else when he did it for her. But whatever makes her happy, supposedly could make him happy too. Right?

“Oh Levi!” he took a step back, as she took him in one of her bone crushing hugs. On any other day, he would have shoved her away or avoided it. But perhaps the afternoon nostalgia made him a bit softer? Or was it that he was mentally tired after remembering all the facts about his favorite band.

A piece of hard paper was suddenly placed in his hand. The other ticket, as she promised was right in his grasp. She gave him a wide smile but he returned to it with a frown.

“Take it shitty glasses” he put back the ticket inside her palms. “Just go and have a date with your boyfriend or whatever” he ‘tsked’.

“No silly” she gave it back to him, and this time, encased it with his fingers. Now she was holding his closed fist with her warm hands which sent shivers down his spine. Her touch is so comforting. “I got this ticket for you, not for anyone else. Because I know you wouldn’t shell out money even if your favorite band went to town. I couldn’t buy you tickets so I decided to get you one with your help”

His mouth hung agape. She did all of it for him? It didn’t quite process in his mind yet.

“You tricked me? This is for me? But what about the other ticket? I thought this was supposed to be for your boy friend?” his forehead scrunched up with his confusion. She chuckled after all his questions.

“Yes I tricked you. This is all for you. I’ll meet you at the concert hall tomorrow night, the other one is for me to accompany you. And yes, it is for my boy friend” she left him dazed and frozen on the side walk, while she ran away from him.

“O-Oi! Four eyes!” he tried to call for her, but she was already waving at him goodbye from the other side of the street. Damn that stubborn ass unpredictable woman.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pitchfork Music Festival 2017: 7/14-7/16

Clif’s Cassette Collage

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Last year’s Pitchfork featured wild-card non-headliners and a deep rest of the festival. This year? Not so much. LCD Soundsystem headlined last year’s Lollapalooza Sunday, and this year saw them headlining the first day of a smaller festival. Saturday featured a massive farewell tour in the form of A Tribe Called Quest. Sunday’s headliner was Solange, an artist coming off of her career best work that held up even in the face of her more famous sister’s equally strong work. There were reunions and rare performers. This was going to be the biggest Pitchfork ever, right? 

Well, only if you’re talking about the length of the lines. Instead, Pitchfork somehow retained its intimacy (besides those lines). Much of the music was undoubtedly laid back, even the hip hop sets decidedly minimal as opposed to past ones by the likes of Kendrick Lamar and Chance the Rapper. There was room for the experimental, the theatrical, and the combination of the two. Overall, the festival continues to book daringly and, more importantly, more women and people of color than almost any other major pop music festival. Like last year, there was no one true standout the way there has been in past years, but there were still sets that exceeded, met, and performed below my expectations.

Read on as I sort the many different sets I saw into distinct categories relating to everything from content to how they fit within the quintessential festival experience.

THE NOSTALGIC

Ride

It may have been delayed by over twenty minutes. You may not have been able to hear lead singer Mark Gardener that well. Their new album may be just okay. But as soon as Ride played the opening notes to “Seagull”, you knew exactly why even a 20-years-later version of the band is booked late in the day to play a major festival. Simply put, the songs from Nowhere and their early EPs were flat-out gorgeous.

The Feelies

Talk about a band that takes their time, whether it’s releasing albums or even just building up a song. The Feelies took from their earliest (Crazy Rhythms and The Good Earth) and their latest (2011′s Here Before and this year’s In Between). Lead singer Glenn Mercer’s gentle voice may have sounded a bit weak at times, but the band’s jangly guitar pop and krautrock arrangements were perfect for grooving on a temperate Saturday afternoon.

Arab Strap

One of the best sets of the festival came from a band that I love that I totally expected to not translate live. The Scottish electronica-imbued spoken word from Arab Strap sounded great, with more singing and noise than expected. Front-man Aidan Moffat sucked down Four Star Pilsners and complained how hot the stage was as if they were litanies in one of his songs. His penchant for remembering the lyrics of his own songs is impressive, and even if he had to read them by the time the anthemic “The First Big Weekend” came along, he was just as much the star of the show as the rest of the band.

THE OLD-TIMEY

Hamilton Leithauser

The Walkmen were always a band whose slower songs recalled waltzes or stories told by your grandparents. Hamilton Leithauser & Rostam Batmanglij’s I Had A Dream That You Were Mine one-upped that last year, with its clinking pianos and string flourishes going for an unabashedly retro aesthetic, including everything from doo wop to folktales. Live, Leithauser and his band recreated that perfectly. He’s always had a hell of a voice, his wail equally as strong as his Dylan-esque sneer. “Rough Going (I Won’t Let Up)” was an exemplary intro, “A 1000 Times” a giant sing-along, “1959″ an effective vocal solo as opposed to the duet album version. 

As Joey Purp played from the Blue Stage, Leithauser recalled being sonically overwhelmed by the nearby XX. “Everybody left NYC...because they couldn’t afford a practice space without a fucking band next door,” he shared before launching into the gorgeous “Where The Truth Is...” Old and bitter’s never sounded so sweet.

THE MELANCHOLY

Angel Olsen

As a band in matching suits entered the stage, I thought to myself, “Am I really about to see Angel Olsen?” The last time I had seen her was at Lincoln Hall on the Burn Your Fire For No Witness Tour, and apparently, she’s gotten way bigger since then. Her set started out strong with some country-indebted kiss offs: “High & Wild”, “Shut Up Kiss Me”, “Give It Up”, and “Not Gonna Kill You” all retained both the treble-heavy sheen and lyrical rawness of their studio versions. But the back half of the set was enough to put you to sleep in succession. Half Way Home’s “Acrobat” is a great song, as is “Sister”, the laid-back and jazzy “Those Were The Days”, and “Woman”, but after the first four in a row, they only served to bring you down.

Weyes Blood

Natalie Mering’s amazing, Joni Mitchell-esque voice is best suited for a club setting. Even last year’s Weyes Blood album Front Row Seat to Earth, a characteristically upbeat one for Mering’s standards, is not really ideal for a weekend day festival slot. Her voice on “Generation Why” and “Used to Be” was stunning and she either sang by herself on stage or played keys in front of her band, and the lap steel guitar on “Seven Words” gave a haunting quality to that song, but the set overall was too low key to keep non-die hard fans interested.

THE MIND-NUMBING

Colin Stetson

You know what you're getting with Colin Stetson, but that doesn’t stop him from mesmerizing me every time. His Pitchfork set was his most impressive from a curatorial standpoint. Stetson picked songs that showed off his limber playing (“The Righteous Wrath of an Honorable Man”), creative percussion (“Judges”), and even Aphex Twin influences (“Between Water and Wind). Earlier this year, Stetson released an album that was good but didn’t offer much new, but during his Pitchfork set,  Not one song sounded like another.

William Tyler

The word “virtuoso” is tossed around a lot, but it’s actually appropriate for William Tyler. With a great band at his side (including Phil Cook, doing double duty with Tyler and Hiss Golden Messenger), Tyler played most of last year’s Modern Country to sheer perfection. From the summery “Sunken Garden” to the described “country meets krautrock” of “I’m Gonna Live Forever”, the set was unexpectedly loud and jammy. The percussion breakdown of “Gone Clear” was even more haunting than it was on record, “The Great Unwind” noisy. He closed with “Highway Anxiety”, whose recognizable opening riffs caused anything but a sense of dread--more a sense of comfort and calm amidst a sea of festival-goers.

THE BLISTERING

Jeff Rosenstock

The most energetic set of the festival came from something I never thought I’d ever hear at Pitchfork: something resembling ska. Indeed, Jeff Rosenstock and his band played songs off of last year’s Worry to devoted fans who knew every single word. Rosenstock took the opportunity to do what he usually does--be a shithead with a sense of humor. The dynamic frontman walked out to Weird “Al” Yankovich Red Hot Chili Peppers parody “Bedrock Anthem”. He had the crowd do two different waves. He had a couple great wisecracks (“I'd like to give a shout-out to the Pitchfork worker who got fired for booking us at this festival.”) and admitted that he and his band received $7,500 to play, a hefty sum for self-labelled shitty punks but not for pretty much anybody else. All this Rosenstock brought with the desire to get the crowd to shout along, mosh, and look out for each other.

The crowd moshes--and cools off with sprayed water--during Jeff Rosenstock

Danny Brown

I’ve seen Danny Brown 3 times at Pitchfork alone, and he gets bigger and better every time. Far from the sex-obsessed weirdo who had just released XXX a year prior in 2012 (ok, not that far), this year’s clean-cut Brown didn’t need much besides his usual DJ. Without much of a breath, he burned through favorites like “Side B (Dope Song)”, “Monopoly”, and “Growin’ Up” before playing off of last year’s landmark Atrocity Exhibition. The four-punch of “Ain’t It Funny”, “Really Doe” (which he impressively delivered considering the best part of that song is Earl Sweatshirt’s verse), “When It Rain”, and “Pneumonia” showed that every time the workman comes to Pitchfork, he has a new batch to add to his growing list of classics.

THE POLITICAL

Madame Gandhi

Four years ago, Madame Gandhi found herself on a Pitchfork stage drumming for M.I.A. Four years later, she opened up Pitchfork on the same stage, this time her own show. She still did plenty of drumming--as did many of her dancers, all clad in yellow hazmat-looking suits--but mostly rapped and ready feminist literature. Too easy? Maybe, but the energy she brought to even a capella performances of her songs attracted crowd members looking to dance and feel empowered.

Priests

"You want something to move away for / A reason to colonize,” belted Priests singer Katie Alice Greer. Her stage presence and siren of a voice may have distracted a festival crowd from how subversive her lyrics are, especially on catchy songs like “JJ” and post-punk stompers like “Nothing Feels Natural”. Priests aren’t a perfect live band, either; the guitars on “JJ” were a bit out of tune, bassist Taylor Multiz’s mic was turned down too far on “Suck”, and “Nicki” was messy. But what’s important is that the same band who released Nothing Feels Natural was on display. (Drummer Daniele Daniele admirably performing the spoken word of “No Big Bang” was certainly a highlight). Love ‘em or hate ‘em, there’s nobody like Priests.

THE DISAPPOINTING

Dirty Projectors

Dirty Projectors played Pitchfork in 2012 at the top of their game, Amber Coffman and company’s harmonies the clear highlight, Dave Longstreth’s melodies and craftsmanship translating to the stage. This time around, even with the help of former Battles member Tyondai Braxton, it was painful. “Impregnable Question” missed Coffman. Longstreth’s singing on “Keep Your Name” was as out of tune as Brian Wilson was last year. “Little Bubble” failed to captivate anybody. “Up In Hudson”, the most in-tune, still ended up boring me to the point that I wanted to wait for Arca more than watch Longstreth continue to fall apart in front of an audience.

George Clinton

I could tell that George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadelic were amazing, great players, funk masters, and rappers. But this was just the classic case of bad sound and mic leveling issues making what could have been a highlight set exactly that: a big “what if.”

THE DAY-SAVING

Nicolas Jaar

At first minimal and noisy, which didn’t go well among the crowd dealing with the uncharacteristically dwindling July evening temperatures, Nicolas Jaar eventually led into a bass-heavy set more dance than anyone could have imagined. He occasionally sang-spoke into the mic but mostly stood at his laptops, his stage lights a blazing orange, his music drowning out American Football on the Blue Stage. For those wanting a party set from The Avalanches, who had to cancel their performance, this was the next best thing.

A Tribe Called Quest

I could have put A Tribe Called Quest’s set in many of these categories, but when they came on, all I could think about was how thankful I was to hear something truly energetic. The pinnacle of all no-bullshit hip-hop sets at Pitchfork, the now-trio launched right into “The Space Program” from last year’s excellent We Got It From Here… Thank You 4 Your Service. From there, they played highlights from that album but mixed in all the classics: “Excursions”, “Bonita Applebum”, “Electric Relaxation”, “Check the Rhyme”, “Can I Kick It?”, and “Award Tour”. Q Tip not only rapped but sounded great--at a stage earlier in the day experiencing sound problems, his voice rang clearly to a crowd wanting to hear him preach. Best, when any Phife Dawg verse came up, they let it play sans interruption, the screens on each side of the stage focusing on the empty microphone.

LCD Soundsystem

If I had to withstand any of Dirty Projectors and then leave Arca early, then LCD better put on a show. They did. They headlined in 2010 around the release of This Is Happening, maybe the best show I’ve ever seen. This time around, they played virtually the same set they did last year at Lollapalooza plus the two released new songs, the building “Call the Police” and night-time ditty “American Dream”. They may be a bigger band now, and they’re certainly older, but in the time they’ve been gone, you grow to appreciate not just their live brilliance, but their ability to get even curmudgeons to dance. Murphy may still be snotty; thankfully, he can still write great songs.

THE EARNEST

Vagabon

Infinite Worlds, the debut album from Vagabon, is one of the strongest debuts of the year, so it was quite the move to open with one of its most powerful songs, the slow-building “Cold Apartment”. The rest of the set, though, showed off singer and guitarist Laetitia Tamko’s finger picking and vocals. Her voice in particular was beautiful when isolated among minimal instrumentation, though at times when she tried to rise above louder songs she was out of tune. Even if not picture perfect, Tamko was not only happy to be there but left it all out on stage, performing album highlights like “Cleaning House” and “The Embers”.

The crowd watching Vagabon very intently

Hiss Golden Messenger

Hiss Golden Messenger’s brand of country rock may have fallen on deaf ears at a festival very slowly embracing genres previously maligned by the bleeding edge hip. But that’s not the fault of the band. Running through tracks from Haw, Lateness of Dancers, Heart Like a Levee, and an upcoming album, they may not have won any new fans but confirmed for the faithful why they belonged, their pleasant and easy going instrumentation and lead singer M.C. Taylor’s existential laments making for a reflective set. Their final song, a new one called “When the Wall Comes Down”, is about exactly what you think it’s about (wait six more months for an overabundance of released “wall”-related recordings), but it was none the less powerful and a statement of togetherness.

THE THEATRICAL

Kilo Kish

The set from frequent Vince Staples collaborator Kilo Kish started out with her sitting on a chair reading a copy of The New Yorker, pretending not to notice the audience. You can guess where it went from there. While her voice always sounded good, her interpretive dancing, props, and forced falls to the stage made me want to roll my eyes more than clap. With only a DJ to back her up with tracks--a strange mix of R&B, hip hop, and jazz beats--it made for one of the more disappointing fests of the festival.

PJ Harvey

The last two albums from PJ Harvey--2011′s instant classic Let England Shake and 2016′s mediocre The Hope Six Demolition Project--are both concept albums. When the first nine songs you play are from those albums, and in mixed order, it comes across like a Decemberists set on steroids. Entering with a marching band (her band consisted of both longtime collaborator John Parish and the very active ex-Bad Seed Mick Harvey) and a sax in her hand, Harvey came across as equally witchy and goofy. The jazzy “Let England Shake” went along with the black and white video of the performance, but it wasn’t until she performed three 90s favorites that the crowd went wild--“50ft Queenie”, “Down By The Water”, and “To Bring You My Love”. For how good those three sounded, the set was worth it.

[brooklyndrinksandgoeshome]

It’s embarrassing, the last three written entries on here have mostly been about people passing away as if I’m surrounded by the all-encompassing grim reaper everyday at every turn. I mean, this is what happens when you write about the past and naturally the people who are no longer with us will get a bit of extra space because all we have from them now are memories, but for fuck sake, I’m not mister doom and gloom all the time. If anything, it seems as if I’m surrounded by a self-contained bubble of early 90s Japanese wrestling, 70′s power-pop, Radio Garden, this Oliver Sacks book that I’m hoping to finish before the end of the week and curling. No really, curling. Seriously, curling rules.

I haven’t written that much about music in the last several years mostly because of burnout and if I’m not careful, it’ll start to feel like a job and I’ll want to put it off until my non-existent deadline creeps up on me which I can push back to infinity without any consequence (hell, it’s taken me a week and a half to finish this pointless exercise anyway). Besides, critiquing music as a serious profession, I’ve come to realize as the years have past is, well, kind of stupid; like if you don’t have anything nice to say, just ignore it and all the bad music will all hopefully vanish, right?  

That being said, I do wonder why a lot of bands from yonder past never never got the credit or recognition they deserved. Usually from a DIY perspective, I’m quick to blame poor distribution deals from a company run out of their mom’s basement, or a local band who never played beyond the same 20 people at the same club for their entire existence, (this plagued almost every Detroit band from the early-80s until the late-90s) or just plain old self-destruction that still bites people back, whether if it’s drug addiction or a fear of failure/success. My personal favorite --and I can’t find it on the internet to save my life right now, was when a jilted ex destroyed all but a hundred copies of her boyfriend’s first and only EP of his band, thus making it an instant collector’s item with their tracks being discovered fairly recently on a Killed By Death bootleg.

I also think my own opinions on music have always a been a bit left of center as I get bored way too easily and I quickly turn into a crotchety old man whenever Pitchfork creams their jeans over another Garageband produced dance track that sounds as boring and milk toast as any song put together from laptop bloops and bleeps.* Feeling this old out of touch makes one resort to the jazz or country section of any used record store, or when anyone asks me what I listen to these days, I usually say “podcasts.” But something about the aforementioned 70s power-pop obsession has arrived after a brief yet expensive summer of Northern Soul collecting that got put on hold as I have a hard time paying more than $20 for a 45; yeah, this phase didn’t last very long. Before that, it was Sun Ra who has literally hundreds of releases under his always spotty discography and after awhile, it became overwhelming search through scores of, I’m sorry, no disrespect, bin fillers, to eventually find a reissued gem like Sleeping Beauty or Lanquidity. Before that, it was electronic, sci-fi synth soundtrack sounding 70s prog made by the guy who use to drum for The Shadows. Did I mention that I get bored way too easily?

Even by record nerd standards, I know I have some unpopular opinions on popular unpopular music: Big Star weren’t going to be next Beatles ever and they probably have five good songs top. As much as I love The Jam, Style Council have a handful of tracks that blow away anything else Paul Weller’s ever done (oh snap, fighting words). With a few exceptions, The Yellow Pills comps are wildly overrated with a lot of tracks sound more like a second rate Rick Springfield --even if it was the point for a band to be the next Rick Springfield. Also, it still bothers me that The Fastbacks, mostly ignored for their entire 22 year career, got more recognition when they opened for The Presidents of The United States of America when “Peaches” was in heavy rotation. Seriously, I’ll take Answer The Phone Dummy over any 90s Sub Pop release any day.

The Keys: I Don’t Wanna Cry

Produced by Joe Jackson and still managed to have only found a recent audience from the depths of obscurity thanks to a Youtube hero. Not bad, but probably too nice and squeaky clean as The Buzzcocks and Undertones already did this way better and louder. Still, the singer hits those high notes with ease and could have easily been a hit if it was written for, I don’t know, Elvis Costello or someone else a bit more angsier. 

The Letters: Nobody Loves Me

Again, way too wussy and self-hating even by pop-punk standards, but I still love this track as it’s bouncy pogo energy and raw production more than make up for the shitty lyrics. One and done, never heard from again until a 2002 CD reissue of their mostly unreleased discography, or is it a reunion record? I don’t know.

The Tours: Language School

Another one and done from the UK who got plenty of hype from John Peel, signed to Virgin and imploded within a year never to be heard from until Cherry Red reissued their unreleased album a few years ago which is now also going for a steep price on Discogs. Nice short, poppy number here that if anything, makes you realize how much (again) the Buzzcocks influenced a generation of UK bands in the late 70s-early 80s.

20/20: Remember The Lightning

I first remember hearing about these guys from the well meaning Radio Heartbeat Records who reissued a single that quickly went out print along with the rest of the labels discography --some moved on to form Captured Tracks who eventually went on to re-release all of Milk ‘n Cookies output on a (sorry) completely unnecessary 2xLP box set, huge picture book included. 20/20’s first album got lost in the shuffle of another busted label (notice a trend here) that got swallowed up by Epic Records, which is a shame because we could have had a punkier younger brother of the Knack.

De Cylinders: I Wanna Get Married

Spontaneously heard a live set of these guys on the always fantastic, very missed Cherry Blossom Clinic on WFMU and rushed to see their record release/only American show ever in front of a dozen others at a random Brooklyn bar. The wonderful Sing Sing Records reissued this single and naturally, there’s a way out of print CD discography compilation  that’s only available in Japan for like $40 bucks on Discogs. Uh, I have to find a job first.

Nasty Facts: Drive My Car

God, I love the internet. This gem would have never been discovered if it wasn’t for some Youtube hero who posted a vinyl rip of a bootleg as the original pressing is long gone --cheapest one I found on Discogs going for $70 and it’s tough being a cheapskate and a record collector at the same time. Anyway, punky rocky from New York with a singer who sounds like less gruff but equally badass Joan Jett; America’s answer to the Rezillo’s! Get on it, weirdo!

Ail Symudiad: Garej Paradwys

Probably never made it farther out than Cardiff because everything’s in Welsh, but they put out a surprising number of singles that were all pretty consistent throughout the 80s --I’m pretty sure this is their third one. Full of energy despite the weird guitar effect pedals used throughout the song and if you’re curious, they’re called Second Movement and according to Google Translate, this songs about partying in their garage. I don’t know, I didn’t go farther than their “Paradise Garage” song title.

The Elevators: Your I’s Are Too Close Together

The least punky song on here, but it did make me laugh out loud the first time I heard it. I mean, of all the reasons why he won’t go out with her, and he lists everyone one on here, her facial structure was the final straw. Probably a wee mean spirited, but the lyrics go perfect with the chorus, high notes on the lead guitar and all.

The Records: Starry Eyes

Saving the best for last. There’s no excuse, this should have been a huge hit. I mean, it’s great that we have our own song to share with our closest friends --for example, a heartbreaker of an ex or whatever it was you want to call it when we had an on and off again thing in 2012 introduced me to this and well, all it did was prolong some coulda-woulda-shoulda feelings that lasted a bit longer than it should have. Anyway, this song’s a power-pop masterpiece that, unintentionally or not, sounds like an unreleased Big Star track and it makes me angry that these guys got swept under the rug for whatever reason.

I’m tired and I’ve run out of adjectives, just like how I use to back when I (barely) made a living writing about music, no benefits, no thesaurus. Will try to write more about something like Atsushi Onita or how much I love The Great British Bake Off or something. 

*Nothing made me feel more out of touch with underground/contemporary music when I had a hard time understanding what the big deal was with The Fiery Furnaces, but when I couldn’t get away from Animal Collective, that’s when I get up and settled into a WFMU k-hole. I can tell you the exact moment sometime around the end of 2007, on the 7 train heading into Long Island City for work, reading The Metro --I’m a sucker for free daily newspapers no matter how badly written, and came across their best album of the year list with Strawberry Jam being number four or something. “This album rules” the brief review started and once again, I just didn’t get it. I don’t always take part in any schadenfreude, but I’m glad significantly less people give a shit about them these days.