#i almost never listen to an entire album and just kind of pick and choose from random playlists i listen to

[daisies-on-a-cup]

deeply deeply sorry it took me 12 billion years to play the game, but here it is!!! my current top 5 no skip albums <33 @brutaliakhoa

151A, by Kishi Bashi- everything in this album is just soooo mesmerizing, truly ethereal. the first song i heard from this album was Manchester and i think it literally rewrote something in my brain... like come ON wdym my favorite part's when i die/ in your arms like a movie/ it's tragic but now the story has its proper end LIKE HELLO???????

Amir, by Tamino- thanks to @dandeeliion and @dustorange who got me into this man's music, he is literally sooo lyrical and such a great storyteller. Amir is my favorite album of his, although i love all of his songs, and i think Tummy and Sun May Shine are my favorites from that album

Landmark, by Hippo Campus- i dont remember where i first heard Monsoon but ohhh my goddd my world changed. it's comforting, it's slow, the album is nostalgic but also youthful and upbeat. Monsoon is esp so different from all the other songs in the album, and is my fav for that reason, but ough its just a very chill album to listen to, it would make a great addition to like a driving in a car in the summer playlist

Citrona, by flipturn- okay time to be like super honest but i havent listened to this whole album. i really liked August and it got me through some harder times in 2022 and it's just kind of become a comfort song to listen to when i need a pick-me-up, so the album gets an honorable mention here

All My Demons Greeting Me as a Friend, by AURORA- okay time to be honest again but this was like peak imagining my fav characters to all of these songs way back when the album came out in 2016. i havent had the album on repeat really since i got over that extreme phase but it's still one of the few albums i actually listened to in full and i really loved it. AURORA is ethereal and her voice is enchanting and she has such a vision with all of her songs- another amazing storyteller and i cant even pick a favorite song from that album because they were all so amazing

[artistic-killjoy]

"ᴛʜɪs ɢᴜʏ ᴅɪɢs ʙᴀᴅ ɢɪʀʟs" ʀᴏᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇғғʟᴇʏ x ғᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Genre: Fluff, Maybe angst

Warnings: Jealousy, Name-Calling

Summary: Reader is Heather Hills's friend. Reader believes that she doesn't have the slightest chance with Rodrick, because it seems like Rodrick likes Heather. Rodrick throws a party, blah blah blah, feelings are revealed.

Hi, I'm Y/N, probably one of the least popular girls at my school. Yeah, sure, I've been friends with Heather Hills since kindergarten, but she never seems to have time to hang out in public, so we're never seen together. I suppose my bad reputation doesn't help my lack of popularity, though.

I mean, who would wanna date and/or hang out with a girl who doesn't look or act her own gender?

I'm always wearing band tees, ripped jeans, and dirty Converse. Oh- And let's not forget that I'm Löded Diper's guitarist. Löded Diper is the loudest- and only- band in the neighborhood. Parents don't typically look at the only female in a band full of teenage boys, and think, "I would love to have my son/daughter bring her home for dinner!".

No.

At school, most people don't know me. But, a lot of the ones who do know me, refer to me as "Slut", and other rude nicknames that I don't even bother trying to remember.

I'm loud, probably seem annoying to most people, obsessed with rock and metal bands, and would choose a new sketchbook over a new friend.

I have two best friends- Rodrick Heffley, and Heather Hills.

Now, you're probably thinking, 'If Heather has so many friends, and you're friends with Heather, shouldn't you and Heather's friends get along?'.

Well, we don't. Heather's friends hate me, and I hate those bitches right back.

OH- I almost forgot to mention- I've got a FAT crush on Rodrick. But, I'm 99 percent sure he's only friends with me so he can become even the slightest bit closer to Heather. It's sad, yes, but what can I do?

Anyways, I was walking home from school, when Heather and her group of giggling girly-girls stopped me.

"Hey Y/N. Got any plans for tonight?" Heather asked me.

I nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah... I'm going to Rodrick's party tonight. Sorry." I apologized.

She smiled slightly. "Think you could ask him if he'd let me tag along with you?" she replied.

I wanted so bad to say, "No, I don't think I could." out of jealousy, but out of kindness, I said "Yes".

'She's going to ask him out. He's obviously going to say yes, because that boy is head-over-motherfucking-heels for that girl.'

And that's the only thing I could think, the entire way home.

-AT HOME-

'Time to get ready for the party, I suppose...'

And with that, I headed upstairs to my bedroom to get ready. And when I say, "Get ready," I mean, "Apply Eyeliner And Blast 'Let Go' By Avril Lavigne Until My Mom Says Turn It Down".

I turned my CD player on and put in 'Let Go' by Avril Lavigne, (AMAZING album- please go listen to it if you haven't already) hit play, and began applying eyeliner.

Before 'Losing Grip' had even ended, my mom was knocking on my door. "Y/N, could you turn that down?"

I sighed. "Yes ma'am.." I reached over and turned the music down. Once my eyeliner looked alright, I picked up my phone and called Rodrick. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hey! What's up?" he asked.

"Nothin' much. Heather Hills wants to know if she can come to the party." I replied. 

Silence.

"Hell yeah she can!" he finally exclaimed.

"Okay, cool!" I replied in the cheeriest voice I could manage. 'Probably a little too sugary-sweet, but whatever.'

I quickly hung up before things could get awkward. I stared at my phone for a good five minutes before finally calling Heather. The second she picked up, I blurted out a "You're invited" and hung up. I didn't feel like explaining why I sounded so pissed.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and went downstairs. I hugged my mom goodbye and explained that I was just heading over to Rodrick's to hang out, then left.

-AT THE HEFFLEY'S HOME-

I reached up to knock on the door, but before my hand could even make contact with the door, it swung open, revealing a very happy Rodrick.

"Y/N! S'glad you could make it! Food is...wherever you can find it. No alcoholic beverages, due to Greggy and Rowley." he told me. I nodded and gave him a small smile. I opened my mouth to ask where the drinks we could have were, when the sound of Heather and her Pink Ladies, as I like to call them, (Grease reference lmao) filled my ears. Rodrick saw them over my shoulder, and turned his attention over to Heather without a second thought.

I frowned as Rodrick quickly hugged me and rushed over to greet Heather. I scratched the back of my neck and stood there awkwardly as she waved at me and started talking to Rodrick. Finally deciding that I wanted nothing more than for my best friend to be happy, I sucked it up and walked inside.

I walked into the living room and stood there, looking for a familiar face. Suddenly, something much shorter than me slammed into me. I made a small noise of surprise and looked down to see what it was.

Rowley.

I smiled a bit as I gently patted his head. "Hey dude! How's it going?" I asked.

He looked up at me with a grin. "Its-" he started, but was quickly cut off by Greg, who rushed in to make sure Rowley wasn't about to do anything embarrassing.

"Rowley! What are you doing?! She's our ENEMY!" he hissed.

I reached out and grabbed Greg by the shoulder, pulling him into the hug. "Hey hey, bro! I bought ya somethin'." I told Greg as I pulled a new video game he's been wanting for a week now out of my bag. He gave me a look of clear suspicion as I handed him the cased disc.

"What's the catch?" he asked me.

"You gotta let me play a game o' that. Heard it was really freakin' awesome, so I gotta try it out." I told him.

A grin slowly spread across Greg's face. "Alright. Maybe you aren't so bad after all."

"Sweet. Can we go try it out after I get a drink?" I asked.

Greg raised an eyebrow. "What about Rodrick? I thought you two were- like- inseparable!"

I shrug, looking away and shoving my hands in my pockets. "I don't care what he does right now." I said quietly.

"Really? Why-" Rowley started.

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" Greg cut him off.

"Gosh, how'd you figure it out so fast?" I said sarcastically, before going to the kitchen. The first thing I saw when I walked in was Rodrick and Heather talking and laughing their asses off. I stopped walking and frowned. I could feel tears coming to my eyes as I realized how close they were. I quickly tried to make a run for it before I was spotted, but one of Rodrick's buddies saw me and called out to me.

"Yo! Y/N!" he yelled. My eyes widened and I slowly turned around.

"Y-Yeah?..." I asked meekly. Rodrick and Heather were staring straight at me.

"Y/N? You good?" Rodrick asks me, seeing that I'm about to cry. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, pulling myself together.

"Yeah, why?" I open my eyes and force a smile as I respond. He shrugs and turns back to Heather. Heather stares at me a few seconds longer, her eyebrow raised, before facing Rodrick again. They go back to talking. I'm seemingly forgotten, so I turn to leave the room. I make it to the living room, when Rodrick's friend gently grabs my shoulder.

"Come with me." I hear him say. And with that, he leads me outside. He sits on the steps of the porch and pats the spot next to him. I hesitantly sit next to him.

"What- What's up?" I ask, curious.

He looks at me with an expression that says 'You Know Exactly What I'm Talking About'.

I sigh. "Alright, alright. It's just that- that- I really really like Rodrick, but it hurts when all I want is for him to be happy and he's all heart-eyes for my best friend, and I don't want him to be with her because I want him to be with me, and I feel like I'm not good enough-" I tell Rodrick's friend. He cuts me off as soon as he hears "Not good enough".

"No. Y/N, listen to me. Look at me." he demands. I look at him, tears (yet again) threatening to spill.

"You are perfect. You are more than enough. Rodrick never shuts the fuck up about you when it's just us guys. And you know what? He likes you. As more than a friend. He told me so. Just, ah, don't tell him I told you that." he says. I giggle slightly at the last bit and nod.

"Thanks, dude... You're fuckin' awesome." I tell Rodrick's friend as I lean in, hugging him and possibly crying into his shoulder. These tears were tears of joy, though.

I pull back when I hear the sound of the door swinging open (and almost hitting me in the head), revealing a confused Rodrick. "Y/N? What's going on?"

I look over at Rodrick's buddy, who simply nods at me and stands up, walking back inside.

Rodrick watches as his friend walks inside, closing the door behind him. When he looks back at me, I pat the empty spot next to me on the steps. "Sit." I tell him.

He slowly sits next to me. "Seriously, are you okay?" he asks me.

I look down at my hands. "I'm gonna be honest with you. I'm not okay." (I promise- ILYSM IF YOU GOT THAT REFERENCE)

"Well, why not?" he questions.

"I like you. I don't want to be your friend. I wanna be your girlfriend, but I also want you to be happy, and it seems like making you happy means getting you and Heather together, or at least just letting you two be together." I say. After a few seconds of silence, I look over to see that Rodrick is simply staring at me with wide eyes.

"Look- I-I'm sorry-" I start as I begin to stand up. Suddenly, my hand is grabbed and I'm pull back down.

"I like you too, as more than a friend. I just never caught onto your hints, apparently. I've been hiding my feelings for you by pretending to like Heather. It seemed easy, but believe me- if I had a dollar for every time I wanted to tell you how I felt, I'd be fuckin' rich." Rodrick tells me.

I smile and quickly lean in, grabbing the sides of Rodrick's face and smashing my lips against his.

"Woo! Go Y/N! I knew you could do it, girl!" I hear Heather call from an open window of the living room.

"YO! RODRICK! CONGRATS, MAN!" Rodrick's band buddies call from the same window.

I turn to Rodrick, and we both just smile.

[luvaera]

☆ ﹙ TASK 001 ﹚ …　get to know CHLOÉ　!　੭

when’s your birthday? and what’s a significant memory you have about it?

save the date ! februray 14th ! a memory i have ? [ pauses ] oh ! apparently, when i was really tiny, i didn’t wait for the cake to be cut to get a slice. i took a bite directly out of the cake ! [ laughs ] my uncle never lets me live it down !

what’s a song you have on repeat recently?

mm. [ pauses ] boa by megan the stallion, probably ? i’ve been listening to that song and her entire album when i’m at the gym. i can’t spill my other most recent, that’s a surprise coming your way !

who is your role model?

is it weird for me to say that i don’t have one ? i don’t think i really believe in that sort of thing. it’s great that people can inspire you, but to put that kind of pressure on them ? don’t think i can get behind it. but the people who inspire me the most are my members.

do you believe in ghosts? if so, do you have any paranormal experiences?

believe in them ? sure, just as much as the next person. i don’t think i’ve had any experiences with them though ! that’s a good thing, right ?

what was your first kiss like? when was it?

[ laughs ] you really want to know ? [ small pause ] it was right before i moved back here, actually ! i was 12, i think ? it was super short, super sweet. it was someone in my dance academy. if you’re watching this, you know who you are. i haven’t forgotten about you. [ winks, gives an air kiss to the camera ]

what is something you get told all the time?

something i can’t repeat. just know that it isn’t nice, but probably warranted if you ask the right person.

do you have any regrets?

a few ! doesn’t everyone ? big or small. i don’t think i would want to go back and change anything though. everything happened for a reason, for me to end up where and who i am now.

how would you describe how you feel right now?

uh, a little exposed. not sure i like it, if i’m being honest.

what is something you do and don’t like about yourself?

is there anything not to like ? [ laughs ] ah, i’m joking. really, i am ! i can’t believe you don’t believe me. [ pouts ] mm. sometimes, i don’t like my mind. but it’s hard just to choose one thing i love about myself.

do you have any fears?

who doesn’t ? anyone who says they don’t is a liar ! but my biggest ? hm. listen close. this is the only fear i’m sharing ! are you listening ? my biggest fear is losing your love~ [ makes a kissing face with a finger heart ]

when was the last time you talked to your family?

i spoke with my younger sister right before doing this, actually ! i had to scold her to go to bed. she was up working on her art ! and rubbing in that she had cronuts earlier. so mean !

what city are you most looking forward to on the tour? what’s one city you want to visit the most on the next tour?

next tour ? i’d really want to perform at home ! i think my friends and family there would love it.

do you have any allergies?

i have seasonal allergies ! mainly in the spring, as pretty as it is. i don’t think i have any food ones.

what are some habits or mannerisms that you have? good or bad.

what’s some that i can say ? um. i twirl my hair when i’m bored ? or i mindlessly do it while reading. i’ve been told i use buffer words a lot ! i guess that’s true. [ laughs ] i dance almost anywhere if i hear a song. i think it embarrasses the girls sometimes and oh ! one more ! i play with my necklace when i’m nervous.

what are your hobbies?

dance, but i often consider that a lifestyle. reading. oh ! photography ! but i think a few of you knew that one already. i don’t think i qualify to pick gaming as another one, so would shopping count ?

how was your school life as a kid like?

definitely something else. i think interesting would be the best way to put it ! would i want to experience it again ? absolutely not !

do you have any pet peeves?

a few ! when people talk during a movie, especially one that i haven’t seen ! any other time, i don’t mind. people interrupting me when i speak or people trying to talk to me when my headphones are on — but mainly when they don’t try to signal me first.

do you consider what you’re doing right now your dream job? if not, what is it instead?

actually ? yeah, i would ! honestly, i’m lucky enough to be doing this and sharing this moment with all of you !

what motivates you?

i can’t answer this how i want or else i’ll get banned from doing these … again. [ rolls eyes ] that was god awful ! being apart from my precious valentines. [ shudders ] never again ! but all of you motivate me !

what’s something you can’t live without?

definitely my phone ! as pathetic as it sounds, my whole life is on this thing. it has the highest storage for a reason !

do you have a celebrity crush?

are you all going to do that thing where you like tag me under their instagram posts or vice versa ? [ pauses ] madison beer.

what is your go to karaoke song?

lend me your voice, the english version ! it’s from the movie belle. have you seen it ?

what type of drunk are you?

i think i’m a mix between being overly affectionate and happy when drunk.

do you collect anything?

i collect cameras, a few anime figurines, and those pretty editions of books ? you know, the hardcover ones ? yeah, those too.

when you’re sad, what do you do to cheer yourself up?

it depends on what made me sad. dance or watching a good comfort show helps. or belting it out during karaoke ! [ laughs ]

[lovelytsunoda]

tell me more // pierre gasly

summary: y/n takes pierre to a concert. he had no idea what he was getting himself into. im literally projecting so much here i want someone to dance at a pop punk show with

pairing: pierre gasly x pop punk ! gf

she was family friends with george russell, who, by all accounts, pierre assumed was a pretty normal person.

and logically, he thought that meant that y/n was fairly normal as well

“mate, you have no bloody idea what you’re getting yourself into” george had said when pierre first asked george’s blessings to ask y/n out

not like he had to ask in the first place, but he figured he'd be a decent guys and at least warn the mercedes driver that it was gonna happen one way or another

pierre had thought nothing of it at the time

he knew, from just little things, that her music taste was not something that would normally have been considered to be “normal”

little things gave it away, like the array of cd’s lined up alphabetically on the shelf on the landing of her little house that he never saw her play

or the oversized shirts with logos and album artwork for artists he had never heard of

or that one time they were driving to dinner and she remarked how much she hated one of the billboard 100 songs that was in his spotify playlist

but he’s never actually heard snippets of what she listens to, always choosing to listen with her headphones in

so when y/n suggests a night out, one that she planned entirely herself, pierre is like ‘why not’

poor guy gets himself all dressed up in a nice little button down shirt and some white pants

but when he picks up y/n, shes wearing bell-bottom jeans, a small black tube top and a vintage nascar jacket she had  thrifted

“you are waaaay too dressed up for where we’re going”

they pull up to the small concert venue, and pierre is so confused when he looks around and sees all the people gathered outside in ripped jeans and black t-shirts

“um, babe, what exactly are we doing tonight?” pierre asks nervously, linking his arm with hers as they walked towards the door

he kept expecting people to recognize him, but this was not the kind of crowd that was likely to know who he was

if he had played footy on the other hand . . . 

“oh, i had tickets to see this band from liverpool with an old friend, but she bailed last minute, so i had an extra ticket”

band? what kind of band? pierre wondered, looking around at the crowd

he didn’t have time to ask, the door opening and throngs of people flooding in

just his luck that y/n had tickets closer to the front part of the arena with a good glimpse of the stage

he got a glimpse of the band’s name printed on the back banner, whipping out his phone so he could find out exactly what kind of band they were

a punk band from england, according to google.

the lights went down and the band began to play 

the guitars are loud and the singer has an interesting voice

pierre is so unprepared to be jostled around by the seas of bodies

even more unprepared to see y/n jumping with them, in a world of her own as she screams the words at the top of her lungs

it’s a side of her that pierre has never seen before

for a hot minute, he almost forgets how out of place he is.

hes just standing there awkwardly all the way through the entire first song, staring at y/n, who has just become five times more interesting

because she is quite literally the last person he expected to be in to this sort of thing.

almost gets himself kicked in the side of the head by a crowdsurfer

at first the other concertgoers are like ‘who the fuck is this wanker in a button down shirt and slacks’

and then it clicks that ‘oooh he’s here with someone who didn't tell him where they were going’

the first song ends, and pierre gets a glimpse of the look of absolute joy and wonder on y/n’s face

and he wants to be a part of it somehow

so when the next song starts playing, pierre grabs her hand and spins her around a few times, even though he has no idea if that’s what he’s supposed to do

y/n loops her arms around pierre’s neck while she’s bouncing around, and of course, pierre has to mirror what she’s doing, and he does, with a huge smile on his face

so when about halfway through the song, y/n finds herself dancing with her back in the general vicinity of pierre’s chest, the driver is just like ‘club dancing !?!?! this is something i actually know how to do’

he still feels super awkward as he moves to grab her hips, guiding her body towards his

once again, the other people in the crowd are like ‘what the fuck is this guy doing?’

but y/n loves it

pierre’s lips pepper soft kisses to her face while she watches the band onstage

he’ll jump when she jumps, dance when she dances

it ends up being one of the best nights of his life

“you should crowdsurf next time”

y/n offhandedly suggests it as they leave hand-in-hand 

pierre shuts it down immediately

he looks into the band, and actually finds that their music is a good thing to listen to before he gets in the car

it sort of becomes a ritual

let’s just say that there are many more concerts to come

[heliads]

How to Move On

Based on this request: “A ghost!Luke Patterson x alive!reader but she is older. Like in the 90s they were but then he died and she got older. An angst story please :)”

masterlist

When he was alive, Luke Patterson lived five houses down from one of the cutest girls he’d ever seen. It still surprises him that he has to tack on that first part to describe anything that happened in his life before, like if he shuts his eyes hard enough he’ll find himself back in the 90s, when he had a pulse and a heartbeat and people could see him if he walked out onto the street.

However, an unseen blade cuts a little too deep whenever he thinks about his current situation, so Luke allows himself to fall deeper into the memory instead of returning back to reality. She’d lived five houses down, right? Or was it four? Luke has hardly been brought back as a ghost for a few weeks before he’s started losing his grasp on the details that bound his life. They’re all slipping through his fingertips, gone now in recollection as well as his ability to return to them in person.

Yes, five houses down- he’s certain of it now. Whenever he wanted to sneak out of his house to go visit her, Luke had to climb out of his window and weave through two backyards before he could risk returning to the sidewalk for another three houses. Five houses down, that’s right. Luke curses himself mentally, not wanting to forget another detail. He’s already lost the girl, he doesn’t want to lose the few figments of her in his memory. A ghost of her for the ghost he already is.

If he managed to sneak out of his house and make it down five houses, as he so often did, Luke could then toss small pebbles at one moonlit window. It usually only took two or three of these interactions before the window would be hurriedly unlatched, a beaming face peering out at him. Luke would allow himself a second of staring, admiring the way the moonlight cast the girl in a bone-white halo, then haul himself up into the room.

From the second his feet touched down on the bedroom floor, Luke would be in safe territory. He still took precautions, of course, keeping his voice down and his movements quiet. However, Y/N L/N always seemed to have a secret oasis in the form of her room, and he was never once caught. They both made sure of it, and if he and Y/N worked together, they could achieve any goal so long as it was worth it.

Y/N L/N. She was the one he’d left behind, one of the aches that hurt the most. He’d been lucky enough to win her love, either through some complete misunderstanding or maybe the fact that he’d finally done something right in his life, but he had her nonetheless. Or, he’d had her until the day he’d died, leaving behind nothing in his wake but grieving parents and the girl he’d sworn to stay with for the rest of his life. Well, his promise had come true in one sense, although Luke can’t help but wish there was another way around it.

To be completely honest, even as Luke dreads forgetting any detail of his past girl, he might fear thinking about her even more. It’s not that he wants to lose the picture of her smile in his head, or the way she’d reach for him when she was cold, it’s just that to think of her in any sense is like a knife stabbing him through the ribs, reminding him that he’ll never get her back. If he tries to push her from his mind, he won’t remember the way she’ll never be with him again. Isn’t that better?

Luke already knows the answer: no, not at all. Even this one slip in his memory, the faltering knowledge of how far apart their houses were, sends a jolt of worry spiking through him. Luke wouldn’t consider himself forgetful, maybe just a little absentminded, but the fact that he’s already starting to forget his past life worries him. However, to keep Y/N’s picture cherished in his mind means reminding himself of everything that he’d lost, of finally confronting all the memories he’s been holding back for so long.

Eventually, Luke finds himself in the studio, searching through the boxes and crates of stuff that had eventually made its way into dusty corners and spiderwebbed cracks of the room. Julie’s mom had been kind enough to keep at least some of Sunset Curve’s possessions, and so Luke ransacks these sparse belongings now. At last, his hand emerges triumphant, carrying with it an old photo album. It’s thin, spine scarcely thicker than a small paperback, but for the way he looks at it its pages could be lined with gold.

Luke pauses a second, steeling himself before flipping open the front cover. Instantly, he’s hit with a wave of memories. These first few photos had been taken a year or so before he died, when he had first started dating Y/N and everything seemed like he was living a dream. There are Polaroids from their first few dates, snapshots of festivals and boardwalks and everything a couple of teenagers could afford when they were young and stupidly in love.

Luke studies these, then the next couple of pages, and then the next. He must have been more distracted than he’d first thought, because he doesn’t notice Julie Molina enter the studio until she’s practically standing on top of him. Julie clears his throat, and he startles, doing his best to quickly close the album. For some reason, it doesn’t feel quite right to so openly share his memories of Y/N to anyone within eyesight.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there. Are we practicing?” Luke asks. Julie laughs, her smile a tad incredulous. “Not yet, but I’m a little worried as to why you were so quick to hide that book. What, are you trying to keep secrets from me?” Her eyes assure him that this question is purely an excuse to tease him, but Luke can’t find it within himself to smile back. Instead, he sits back down on the floor of the studio, gesturing listlessly to the empty space next to him.

“Not entirely. It’s just- well, I found this old photo album, and it’s kind of hard to not regret leaving everything behind. The current day is good, don’t get me wrong, and I love the band, but-” Julie picks up on his train of thought even as Luke’s voice trails off. “It’s not what you’re used to, and you feel bad about everything you could have had. I get it. I’m surprised you’ve adjusted so well, to be honest. It can’t be easy to leave your entire life behind.”

Luke lets out a quiet sigh. “Exactly.” After a moment’s consideration, he picks up the photo album again, opening the cover and passing it to Julie. She accepts it, glancing at him one last time to make sure he’s alright with baring his soul to her. A soft smile traces its way onto her face as she sees the photos of him and Y/N, grins so bright they could practically light up the world. “Who is this?”

Her finger lingers over a photo Luke had taken of Y/N. She had been wearing a Sunset Curve shirt, one of their first attempts at a logo. They’d long since changed the design, but she had said something about how her boys were so official and taken the first draft t-shirt nonetheless. Y/N had worn it to many shows since then, until the design faded into nothingness and she’d been forced to get a new one. Luke’s voice softens. “That’s Y/N. She is- she was my girlfriend. Back in the 90s, at least.”

Luke hates the way he has to say that, like she’s died instead of him. She was his girlfriend, they had known each other, they are each utterly different now and there is no getting back what they’d once had. Julie glances over at him, sympathy radiating from her gaze, but then she turns back to the photo, frowning over it in something that almost looks like recognition. “Wait, you said her name was Y/N? Like Y/N L/N?”

Luke sits bolt upright, melancholy thoughts completely forgotten. “Yes! How did you know that? Do you know her?” Julie’s excitement starts to bleed away from her, as if she knows something that ruins the dream she had been so thrilled to share. “Well, yes, but she’s not Y/N L/N anymore. She has a different last name now.” Luke picks up on what Julie is unwilling to say, and his stomach sinks a little. She has a different last name because she’s married, because she’s moved on.

Even as he thinks this, Luke feels annoyed at himself. Of course she’s moved on- he died 25 years ago. There’s no reason she would never love again, and even if she did, Luke would never want that for her. She was so bright, so happy, that the thought of herself locked away in mournful grief like his parents seems so utterly wrong that if that happened she might as well have died with him. Still, Luke doesn’t like thinking that there’s someone else out there receiving her smiles, hearing her hopes and dreams late at night the way he had once listened to her.

Luke must have gone silent for too long, because Julie is looking over at him again, pity written in every line of her face. She thinks for a second longer, then stands up, holding out her hand to him. “She still lives near here, actually. A few streets down. Do you want to go see her?” Luke stares at her, then rushes to his feet. “You mean it? You know where she is?” Julie nods. “Only if you’re willing to see her.” She’s right to worry- seeing Y/N again will mean finally coming to terms with everything Luke had left behind when he’d died, a final piece of proof that Y/N will never be his again. Still, if he hides away from her again, Luke will spend the rest of his ghosthood wondering what she might have been like and who she may have become. So, he nods, and allows Julie to lead him from the studio and down the blocks to Y/N’s house.

Even without Julie’s directions, Luke would know their destination even before she points out Y/N’s front door. He sees her in every corner of the building, every flower and tree planted in the yard. She’d always wanted a brightly painted front door, tall trees in the backyard so she could have a little shade on the summer days. They’d once planned what their future houses would look like, always choosing one for the two of them. If Luke sees traces of his ideas in her house now, does that mean Y/N still thinks of him? Or that she’s already forgotten that it was his voice suggesting those changes and not her own, that he’s already faded into the last few corners of her memory?

His feet stall in the driveway, but at an encouraging look from Julie, Luke forces himself to walk up the final few feet to stop in front of the front door. He reaches forward and rings the doorbell himself, although he can do no more once the door swings open. This will be Julie’s part- Luke can do no more than watch the woman in front of him with wide eyes.

She still looks like her. Is that a strange thing to say? She’s taller now, her face more lined and weary as if she’s had a lifetime of problems to deal with ever since Luke left her days. It makes sense that she looks older- the last time Luke saw her was 25 years ago, so she’s probably in her forties now. Still, there are traces of the girl he’d known in every movement, every step. When she looks questioningly at Julie, Luke can see the way she’d looked at him to ask when and where Sunset Curve would be performing so she could make sure to arrive on time. The gesture is so truthfully her that it practically hurts to see.

Julie’s eyes dart to Luke, as if trying to gauge his reaction, then she focuses her gaze firmly on Y/N. “I, uh, was cleaning out my mom’s old studio. I found something from the band who used to practice there- they went by the name of Sunset Curve? Your name was on one of the photos.” It’s a duplicate photo strip from a photo booth on a long-since demolished boardwalk, an excuse for the visit. Still, it’s enough to make Y/N’s eyes widen, and she looks at Julie as if she’s punched a hole right through her chest.

She gestures for Julie to follow her inside. Luke drifts in after them, staring at the photos lining the walls, the backpacks flung in a corner of the room. So she has children, a family. How long had it taken her to move on from him? She smiles in every family portrait he sees, but did she ever think about the boy she’d left behind? Would it matter that much to him if she did?

Julie hands Y/N the photo strip now, and tears glisten in the woman’s eyes as she looks at herself and Luke, decades younger and what feels like centuries happier. Julie, thank everything, is unwilling to let Y/N leave without asking her about the boy she’d left behind. “Did you know him well? The boy in the photos?” Y/N glances up sharply at Julie, startling as if she’d forgotten there was a girl in front of her, too drowned in the memories of the past to remember reality. It’s a familiar feeling to Luke, and it stings to see it on this older Y/N too.

“Yes, I did. Very well, in fact. I loved him with all of my heart until he died along with his bandmates.” She laughs quietly, the sound broken through with utter misery. It twists Luke’s heart like a blade. “I almost didn’t make it through the funeral. I was sitting next to his parents, and we were sobbing like we’d never smile again. He was everything to me, and I had no idea what to do when he was gone. I wish you could have met him- he was always so quick to a smile or a laugh. I never told him how much I liked his smile. I wish I had.”

Luke stumbles as if he’s been punched. Tears are pricking at his eyes, and he swipes at them angrily with his shirt sleeve. Why should he have to cry now, mourn everything he’d lost? Hasn’t he been through enough? Y/N swallows harshly. “It’s easy to get lost in the past. I graduated high school without him, went to college without him. I didn’t think I’d ever have to live a day without him, and suddenly I had an entire future completely empty of anyone like him. There are days when I almost think I see him in a crowd, and days when it gets easier. In the end, I think he’d want me to move forward, even as hard as that may be.”

Julie glances over at Luke once more, scarcely a second away from tears herself. “Yeah, I think he’d want you to be happy. That above all else.” Y/N sighs, the sound cutting through Luke and almost sending him to the floor. “Thank you for the photos, Julie. You take care of yourself.” Julie smiles. “I will. Thank you too.” Luke, sensing the imminent goodbye, takes one last furtive glance around the house. What if he had been there, present in every family photo and every line in her journals? He wishes nothing more than to have that option, to be able to go back, but he can’t.

So, he allows himself to follow Julie back out into the sunshine of the afternoon, and when the door closes softly behind him, he doesn’t look back. Julie is silent on the walk back, as is he. Luke heads for the studio, and he stops before the photo album before glancing up at the walls around him. If he tries hard enough, Luke thinks he can see her in every corner of the studio. There she is on the couch, laughing as she pretends to smack him with a pillow. There she is next to him on the piano, listening to his latest song. There are hundreds of her in the studio, hundreds of memories. That’s all he has left of her. Just memories and nothing more.

Julie returns to find him later, and it doesn’t take long for her eyes to cut across the room, landing on the photo newly pinned to the wall. There are two figures in it, a boy and a girl grinning madly as they reach for each other in a dusky night. Both of them are long gone now, dead and aged even as their photo-selves smile on. If Luke looks back at the photo now, keeping that image burned into his mind, he never speaks of it again.

requested by @charliegillespiewife​

jatp tag list: someone who i would not leave behind if i died in the 90s @underc0vercryptid​

[luvlyrv]

Our Songs | Extra | Wendy x F!Reader SM!AU

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: So happy to say this series is completely finished now!! Enjoy!! I'm moving onto more projects and hopefully can wrap up some one shots I've been working on. This is a different style from what I usually do since it is an extra, warning that the post looks really long because it's in bulleted style lol

Date: 9/1/21

Series Masterlist

after your confession with wendy you were stuck with an enormous burst of energy

you were on cloud nine, a seemingly never-ending high

you decided not to text wendy the day right after

you didn't want her to think you regretted anything but you also didn't want to seem too clingy

also it didn't help that just thinking about her was enough to throw you into cardiac arrest

you didn't receive any notifications from wendy either

it was a bit disappointing, but you assumed she was also trying to take in the shock of it all

trying to take your mind off of wendy you spend an entire day running around your house

you pick up your instruments and have the jam of your life

emotional highs are very good for your creativity it seems

you decide to record some things and save some drafts

who knows if it'll be useful in the future?

you worked till you felt dead tired and like you couldn't have another thought in your brain

even after you spent an entire day trying to exert your nervous and elated energy you were still hesitating on texting wendy when you woke up

but you missed her so much already

so you send a text asking her how she feels

she says she feels okay, and then asks about you

'yeah, i'm okay too'

your conversation was rocky

things weren't going as smooth as before

and it was evident that it was because the both of you had no idea how to behave

you took a deep breath before texting her your question

'so, can i take you on that first date?'

you see a bubble showing that she was texting

and then it disappeared

before showing up again

and disappearing

and- ugh! your heart was racing waiting for her answer

i mean, she liked you back right? so why would she say no?

'yeah, of course! :)'

whew, okay, looked like you almost made a big deal out of nothing

little did you know wendy was freaking out

she was a bit embarrassed at herself, acting as if she was a high school kid in love or something

it took wayyy too much concentration for her to type out something sensible

but she was excited for you to finally ask

you were also excited for her to say yes

your first date is at the downtown center

there was a festival and you were hoping to enjoy all the effort the artisans put into their work with wendy

you're walking with her through the numerous stalls set up

as the both of you admire the beautiful crafts set on display your hand reaches for hers

you feel the pressure of her hand squeezing back and you look at her

she looks at you and giggles

you didn't even realize what you were doing

'oh, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to do that suddenly.' you freak out and let go of her hand

you're worried that she was laughing at you and that she didn't want to hold hands

'it's okay! i thought it was cute'

she reaches out for you and you don't let go this time

instead you enjoy how happy she seems to be sharing this moment with you

and out in public too

later on you both go to the square where there were musicians

the sun was beginning to set, allowing for beautiful lighting and you appreciated songs you've never listened to before

wendy tugs at your arm while still staring at the performers

'i hope we can perform up there someday. together.'

you smile at her as she still looks on

'i think we will.' you assure her

finally night hits and you both call it a day

you walk her to her car and stop her

you kiss her forehead

'so, will there be a second?' you ask with a smile

you feel like you already know the answer

'i think that sounds great.'

life with wendy in it became easy

you guys seldom fought

and even when you did at least one of you would make something for the other

dropping it off at the doorstep and leaving an apology note

and after enough time of cooling down you would always come back to each other, talking out your problems from before

you personally felt like your work improved as well

wendy had become your muse

you sought to create tracks that would impress her

or that would be worthy of having her voice in it

and you felt like it was easier to write lyrics

because every experience with wendy created new feelings

feelings that you could hardly describe sometimes

when you guys decided to finally start working on your second collaboration you busted out the drafts you created long ago

wendy was impressed after sitting down and listening to your drafts

'woah, how many hidden gems do you have on your computer?'

'well, these ones in particular i made on the same day. the day after i confessed to you.'

you're both flustered

because it's easy to tell the kind of state you were in by the songs

wendy takes your hand and kisses it gently as your music continued to play

'you must think of me pretty highly, if the thought of me compelled you to make something so incredible'

you heat up at her cheesiness

'oh stop it.'

the two of you end up choosing a refreshing feeling/sound for the album

'cause you recharge me every time i see you!' she says

when you guys are almost done producing the album, that was when you went on the dinner date with wendy

the one where you guys would finally confess to the world

after recording and uploading the announcement video the both of you decided to turn off your notifications and avoid reading people's reactions

instead you guys opted to spend the rest of the day baking and then watching a movie together

the both of you decided that it would be stressful to engage with your audience right away, and that's why it took a full day for you both to check your phones again

both seulgi and yeri already knew about your relationship but they both flooded you guys with congratulations anyways

they just wanted you to know they were proud of your bravery!

besides them, both of your families already knew and didn't comment much

they'd already stated how they think you're good for each other when you guys had visited together

especially your younger cousin

cause apparently she's a big fan of wendy and is definitely not using you as a way to get close to her idol

and is definitely not bragging about her how cousin is 'super super cool and famous and is dating another famous person and i think they'll be rich someday!!! so get on my nice side!'

you're happy to see that a lot of fans are happy for your relationship

wendy just keeps telling you 'of course they are, who wouldn't for a cute ass couple like us?'

it was at that point that you guys had decided to save up and move into a nice place together

you guys had talked about future plans before

not only that, but you had been practically living together already

between all the dates that lead to seemingly indefinite sleepovers

and the recent collaboration that made you guys be stuck together

it was really you guys living at each other's place weeks at a time

when you guys move in you're grateful

because you get to experience all the little things from her even more

some nights when you're stressed she rubs circles on your back to help you sleep

when you guys shower together she takes her time to carefully wash your hair

it was those deeply intimate moments that made you the happiest

both of your careers were doing really well due to the reception of your second collab and all the media fuss that happened with your dating annoucement

you both still have solo careers and interact with other musicians

but along with moving in, you guys decided to become a duo and consistently create music together

in the morning when you share breakfast you always remind her how good life is and how thankful you are

[ditttiii]

Enchanted To Meet You || 5.5 || JK’s Interlude.

Banner by: @thebannershop​

◈ Summary: No one ever told you that you had a soulmate or—soulmates, for that matter. Humans don't have soulmates, but shapeshifters do. What are you supposed to do when the seven members of the worlds biggest boy band turn out to be your soulmates—only for you to realise that they aren't even human

BTS is on a hiatus and ARMY thinks they are completing their mandatory military service. You believe that too, at least you did until you realised that you had adopted them and that one way or another they were gonna live with you—as Hybrids because apparently, you all are soulmates. 

◈ (Hybrid AU // Soulmate AU) (Fluff // humour // smut // angst  // eventually NSFW) (NC-18) (Ot7 x Reader) (slow burn)

◈  series master-list

◈ Word Count: 2051

◈ Warnings: Maybe one curse word? PG-13 (sfw)

You're the debt that brought me back to my life 너는 내 삶에 다시 뜬 햇빚 The Second Coming of My Dreams as a Child 어린 시절 내 꿈들의 재림 I don't know what this feeling is 모르겠어 이 감정이 뭔지 Is this a deceitful dream? 혹시 여기도 꿈 속인건지

Jungkook hates quite a few things in his life at the moment—hates having to hide from his soulmate, hates that he has to pretend like he was just a rabbit and not a living, breathing human too, however more than anything else he hates himself. 

God, he despises himself now more than ever. He had hurt you, made you cry, made you fear your own home. He was supposed to be someone you felt safe with, and yet he almost gave you a heart attack today.

Jungkook at the moment feels like a fraud, a sham as he gazes at you—looks at your peaceful, sleeping face. Small, warm puffs of breath hits his head and he feels his fur move under the soft force. 

‘Tingles’, He thinks.

He feels your warm presence cocoon him as his body heat mingles with yours. Here, curled beside your sleeping figure like this, he can't help but curse himself. His self-loathing at an all-time high, as he thinks back to what had happened a few hours ago. 

He knew it was a possibility, knew that it could happen.

The chance of you coming home suddenly and catching him in his human form wasn't an improbable one.

Jungkook, though, couldn't stand it anymore. It wasn't like he would have died if he hadn't shifted, but being a rabbit all the time wasn't the most comfortable feeling ever either. 

His bones ached, and his muscles were sore because of the prolonged shifted state. 

He also wasn't used to being in his animal form for an extended duration of time. He'd usually shift back after a few hours, and so this wasn't a problem he had been aware of before. 

The feeling of staying shifted for days on end had him feeling claustrophobic. It was the kind of claustrophobia he thinks he would experience if he was locked inside a too tiny box with his limbs wrapped awkwardly and uncomfortably close to his body. 

Suffice to say it wasn't the most comfortable state of being. 

His plan was to make use of the few minutes while you were out shopping to shift back to his human form and just stretch. He hadn't planned on staying like that for longer than maybe ten minutes. But when he had shifted-back the relief—oh god, the relief was almost intoxicating.

It's potency so concentrated, he had ended up groaning out loud as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

The numbing, constant aching of his bones and muscles, more than anything else, had left him feeling exhausted for the last few days. The pins and needles feeling when he had shifted back was enough to send him tumbling down onto the floor, as his unsteady feet refused to hold his weight. 

Jungkook had been practising boxing with his trainer before all of this had happened. He also had a black belt in Taekwondo—the very principle of which was to harness an indomitable spirit. He was fit, active, athletic and buff. Staying shifted for extended periods into a form so much smaller than his human one, was borderline torturous at times. 

Jungkook simply did not know how he was supposed to hold back. 

He had many qualities that he was admired for, but iron like self-restraint wasn't exactly one of them. Maybe, more like the lack, thereof the aforementioned, self-restraint would be more appropriate. 

Jungkook wasn't born talented. Not like the rest of the band members. As a student, he wasn't really the brightest pea in the pod either, his math skills are still nothing to boast about. 

What most people saw was the end product, the final result that would come out after Jungkook would spend hours, days—months, perfecting it. He had said it before, but in reality, he wasn't as perfect as his stage persona portrayed him to be. While BTS's Jungkook was perfection personified, with his precise dance timings and on-point vocal notes, Jeon Jeongukk struggled.

When Jeongukk had first joined BTS, he had been more of a dancer than he was a singer. He had never, ever had the assumption or even the hope, that he would be chosen as the main vocalist. When he was rejected during the auditions for Superstar K, the talent show, Jeongkook was heartbroken.

It wasn't something he had ever talked in-depth about to ARMY, but his confidence in his vocal skills had taken a hit that day. He had chosen his then idol, IU Noona's song, and had sung it for weeks, perfected every single note until the feel of that vibration, the beat of that rhythm had synced to his very pulse. 

But he was rejected, cast out before his audition could even be broadcasted. 

He till date can't fully understand why bighit, let alone seven fucking agencies, had thought he was worth their time. Maybe it was fate playing its card and bringing him together with his soulmates, or it was just a coincidence—he didn't know why and probably never would. 

He knows that it wasn't exactly a necessity for all of his soulmates to be idols, you clearly weren't. He knew precisely how lucky he was, and was therefore so utterly thankful that he could share his passion and love with all of his soulmates. 

Yes, All of his soulmates, you included.

Jungkook isn't a snooper, not really. Sure, he has always been curious by nature, and his maknae persona only fuelled that image, thus overtime making him seem more like the baby in the group—but no he wasn't a snooper. 

He knows how much he values his personal space and, so would never deliberately try to breach upon someone else's but you—god you, made him do things he would never choose to do before. 

He hadn't wanted to, or well maybe he did want to, but he definitely didn't mean to. It wasn't like he had been planning to check your laptop folders. 

No, because when just stretching hadn't quite fully loosened his body, he had thought he'd do a quick dance routine and get the blood flowing. How was he supposed to know that he would find BTS songs, their songs, his songs on there?

He shouldn't have been surprised, but he still was. Their fandom was pretty big, and the chances of a college girl listening to their music were pretty high. You were part of the demographic that they aimed and catered most towards, so it was to be expected, but it still caught him by surprise. 

Dressed in one of your loose hoodies and a pair of loose pyjamas, he looks at the screen. 

His breath still hitched in his throat as his eyes widened, glossy, doe-like large and oh so so curious.

His grip on the back of your chair slips, as he stumbles before getting a hold, and slowly sinks down onto the empty seat. Thinks about how you have probably spent hours pouring over your medical texts in the same exact chair, and that makes him feel closer to you. 

He has been curled around you, has slept with his face literally pushed into your cleavage, but somehow the simple act of sharing a space that you spent a lot of your time in, sends his heart racing as a small smile overtakes his lips and he bites them to stop it from spreading entirely.

He fails, of course, he does. 

He clicks on the folder titled 'BTS' and watches a list of sub-folders pop up on his screen. His heartbeat rises—thuds and beats strong enough that he feels it in his ears, in the back of his throat, in the wrist that touches the table as he glides the mouse across the surface. 

His palms feel sweaty, and he feels this anxious feeling pool somewhere deep in his stomach, as his gut squeezes. It feels like his conscience is telling him something. That he shouldn't be doing this. This feels like something dangerous, but something he desires. The folder the screen displays the apple to his Adam. 

You? his forbidden fruit.

His breaths grow shorter, as he unconsciously tries to be as quiet as he can be and leans forward to look at the vast array of songs you had. As his eyes rake over the meticulously named albums with their years after them written in brackets, he almost chuckles. 

He isn't surprised to see that you were anal about categorizing your songs too. From what he had observed of you in the last few days, he would be more surprised if you weren't.

His finger glides over the scroll wheel of the mouse, as he reads the titles of the songs. Every single song they had released was on there—Official and covers. 

Every. Single. One.

Whether you were just a really dedicated ARMY or it was because of the soulmate bond, he didn't know, but it doesn't matter to him what the reason was. 

Because there they were, he and his hyungs splayed all over your computer screen. Their photoshoots all lined meticulously year after year, their random pictures that you had probably picked up from twitter or weverse grouped by year and then there were screenshots. 

Screenshots of tweets, weverse, certain parts of interviews of theirs, that you had ever liked were all there. It was fascinating, surreal, insane to be able to see himself and the hyungs through your eyes, the eyes of their soulmate. 

Somewhere, between finding you in that shelter, to now living with you, he had stopped thinking of you as human, as someone different. 

Yes, you weren't quite the same as he was, but he didn't care anymore. Because you loved him, you cried for him, you laughed with him and more than anything else you completed him. Filled his aching, longing soul with love until it overflowed and he felt full, content—sated. His thirst for your presence quenched, for once in all his life. 

However, the realisation that he had found his last soulmate hadn't fully sunk in yet. He couldn't even imagine what the others must be feeling right now, he was sleeping curled around you and, yet all he wanted to be was closer, it was this all-consuming feeling that kept pulling him under, dunking him in its depths. 

The crazy part was he didn't even mind it anymore, he would drown in the deepest depths if he could feel your hand pulling him closer in there, your lips locking with his as you breathe air into him, save him, make him yours.

Kami, he wanted you to make him yours, mate him, mark him.

He knew it wouldn't happen anytime soon, you didn't even know they were your soulmates. Sure, you liked them as artists, but what teenage or college girl didn't have a favourite band? They could very well just be a passing fascination for you at this point, a fleeting interest, a secret guilty pleasure before you move on with your life. 

Wasn't that how fame usually worked? It was eager, intense, loud until it suddenly wasn't and one was left with a gaping hole in their heart, that they aren't ever able to fill after. 

Jungkook didn't want that, he didn't want that for his hyungs either. It was something he had figured out years ago. He wasn't about to let this fickle, fleeting fame catch him in its lusty claws. 

He would give this life his all, pour literal sweat, blood and tears into it, but once his extended contract ends, he will step back. 

He will bow down low as the curtains close for the stage of 'The Golden Maknae' and, the path paves for Jeon Jeongkook. The boy who had come from Busan with a heart full of hopes and dreams and had ended up achieving and getting more than he had ever even imagined or hoped for. 

He would be thankful to his fans, to his company, to his Hyungs, to this industry, for taking care of him and letting him fly under their warm protection, but he would be done. As the curtains fall close, the mask will slip, and he'll turn, and you will be there. 

You with your bright grin and glimmering eyes would look on at him proudly, and he'd kiss you, hold you and know that he didn't want fame because he had you. 

And you were all he had wanted for as long as he can remember. 

After all, you are the cause of his euphoria, a home with you his utopia. 

Filling in the plot, adding it the finer details. 

Since the taglist is pretty long now and I can’t continue to keep them all in my comments, I will be putting the taglist up here from next chapters onwards. Tumblr is glitchy and some of you might not be notified so I am sorry about that. However, if you are a regular reader and have left me feedback time and time again, whether it was a comment or an ask with your thoughts on this story, I’ll tag you down in the comments since I know you definitely do read the work and appreciate it and I am so grateful for your support.

Thank you for reading  💖

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: “It’s a New Day”: THR Drama Actress Roundtable

THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER: Gillian Anderson had been dreading this. A tripod had arrived at her home in the U.K., along with a mess of lights and, really, just the thought of having to sit through an hour-plus on Zoom had her practically reeling. But then the woman who stuns as Margaret Thatcher in the most recent season of Netflix’s The Crown got talking — about pigeonholing and pay equity, about grieving and giving oneself over — and soon she didn’t want to stop talking. And neither did anyone else — The Queen’s Gambit‘s Anya Taylor-Joy, Pose‘s Mj Rodriguez, Genius: Aretha‘s Cynthia Erivo, WandaVision’s Elizabeth Olsen and Ratched‘s Sarah Paulson — at THR’s annual (virtual) Drama Actress Roundtable.

Let’s start easy. Complete this sentence: On set, I’m the one who is most likely to be …

GILLIAN ANDERSON Hiding in a corner. (Laughter.)

ANYA TAYLOR-JOY Pacing whilst moving my hands like this (waving above) trying to figure out what it is that I’m doing.

SARAH PAULSON Bossing everyone around.

ELIZABETH OLSEN Probably trying to make the crew laugh.

At the same time, you’re also inhabiting characters for long stretches and often they require you to go to dark or heavy places. What happens when a director yells, “Cut”? Do they come home with you?

MJ RODRIGUEZ I try to separate myself from Blanca as much as possible, especially [because we’re] dealing with immense trauma. So, when I go home, it’s Michaela Jaé going home, and I bring Blanca to the set. It’s easier that way because it can weigh on you otherwise and wash off on your family.

TAYLOR-JOY I wish I had as much control over it. For me, there are some characters that you can very easily snap in and out of and then there are other ones like Beth in The Queen’s Gambit. I’d worked back-to-back on two projects with one day off in between, so by the time I got to filming the show, I was exhausted and there was no energy to create a barrier. And that was potentially the toughest thing about the show, because it was a wonderful experience as an actor to be able to not have to reach for any emotion, but then you also have to go through the psychological warfare of figuring out, “Why do I feel so awful in the morning?” Like, “What is happening?” And then you go, “Oh, it’s not my feelings,” but I have to sit in them all day and I have to be aware enough to go, “You are not depressed, the character is depressed, and at some point that will leave you.” But I do think a bath every single night — being able to have the visual representation of washing yourself clean of something — helps.

OLSEN Regardless of what exactly the day requires of you, emotionally, you’re just tired. And so you try to be patient and professional and kind, and then when you go home, that’s when your fuse is just … smaller. (Laughter.)

TAYLOR-JOY You should date us, we’re fabulous.

CYNTHIA ERIVO I did, it was a real ugly cry. After playing [Harriet Tubman in the 2019 film], I went straight to see my mother in London and I don’t know what happened, but I just broke. You know the visual representation of shattering glass? That was what was happening to me. All the stuff I had to dig through to play her, all that heartbreaking stuff didn’t leave me when I finished, and it took time to just dissipate. And it was the same with Aretha — unfortunately, the pandemic hit when we were in the middle of shooting, so I couldn’t completely get rid of her during the six-month hiatus, and then I had to go right back into playing her. And it’s little things, like mannerisms, that stick with you. The lilt in her voice when she’s speaking to people. Like, that’s not me but I was stuck with that for a bit. And I was recording an album at the same time, so there was no space between one and the other. It took me a while before I could listen to an Aretha song again.

ANDERSON I certainly had that experience doing X-Files for nine seasons. I had a good couple of mini breakdowns during that, and at the end, could not talk about it, could not see it, could not see pictures, could not. I needed to immerse immediately in theater in another country. And then after a while, I was able to embrace it again, but when I started to embrace it, it was almost like I separated myself so much that I was looking at the image as if it was another person. When you immerse yourself so entirely as we can and we do for such long periods of time, there’s not going to be no consequence to that. Of course, there’s going to be consequence to that.

TAYLOR-JOY May I pose a question to the group?

Please do.

TAYLOR-JOY It’s so wonderful hearing you two talk about this, because I’ve always felt really crazy for the depressions that you go into after you leave a character and not being able to necessarily connect with yourself. And I’m really curious to hear what your relationship is with something being seen. Because when I first started working, I convinced myself that filmmaking was a very private practice with a private group of people and that no one was ever going to see it. And I thought I’d grow out of that, and I haven’t. Every project I have to sit myself down about two months after it’s finished and go, “People are going to see this and have access to it whenever they want.” How do you guys work [handle that]? Because for Queen’s Gambit, I had to go through a grieving period. It was grief, genuinely, to think, “Oh goodness, this thing that I loved so much is not mine anymore.”

ANDERSON I had that experience after doing Blanche in Streetcar [Named Desire] here in the U.K. and then in New York.

OLSEN I saw your last performance in New York. You were fabulous.

PAULSON Fucking phenomenal.

ANDERSON I felt like I’d lost my best friend. I was grieving. Some friends of mine in New York had a brunch for me the weekend after [I finished my run], and I arrived like a complete wreck. It was so profound. I also knew it was unlikely I was going to do it again because I knew that I’d probably lose my mind. I got really close. Like, I’d survived by the skin of my teeth and if I did it again out of ego or attachment or not wanting to let her go, there would be consequences. So I knew it was the end, and it was so sad.

ERIVO Do you know what’s so crazy? I listen to you and I’m like, “Oh my God, that’s what was happening to me during The Color Purple.” It was the last show and I started grieving in the show, knowing that it was coming to an end. There’s one last song and I couldn’t get through it. And then the show ends and I buckled under the sadness of it. But there was no way I could have continued playing Celie on that stage. It [had been] 14 months and I had to let her go. The line between me and her had disappeared. But to answer your question, Anya, I’ve never had an issue with people seeing things. I usually have an issue seeing it after it’s done.

PAULSON This happened when I did Marcia Clark [for The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story]. I felt a profound connection to her and I felt protective of her, and the experience had been so tectonic plate-shifting for me, both as a performer and as a human, and I thought, “If I watch it, I’m going to pick apart everything.” She was left-handed, so every time I use my right hand, I’m going to think, “God damn it, why did they use that?” So, the only way to protect myself from that is to detach from what the world will experience with it. And I’ve maintained that for a long time now — I really don’t watch [things I’m in] because I don’t have the strength, first of all, to bear the sight of my face and, also, I find it really confronting. The preciousness of the thing you were creating with these other people is what I want to be the indelible thing for me and not how it was edited.

TAYLOR-JOY Mm-hmm.

PAULSON All that does is make me furious because I don’t have the power to go in and go, “Hi, um, could you choose take six? It’s infinitely better.” (Laughter.) And when you don’t have that ability and you’re at the mercy of someone else’s opinion of what is the finest work that you’ve done, which doesn’t always line up with what you feel, it’s really jarring and you feel so powerless to do anything about it. So, I have to just sage it all out and let my experience be the only thing that governs the way I feel about it.

RODRIGUEZ When the first two seasons of Pose came out, I didn’t watch them at first because I was just so nervous about how the world would receive it. It was a story that a lot of people haven’t gotten to see, and it was a whole bunch of trans women of color finally getting their shot. It’s a lot of responsibility. And on top of that, it’s a story that’s filled with trauma and things that a lot of us trans women have gone through, so it was hard for me to watch all of those things back.

Gillian, in your career you’ve also been a champion for pay equity. But even as you were promoting a book you co-authored on female empowerment a few years ago, you acknowledged that you were nervous speaking up about being paid less than your male co-star. What do you think you were scared of, and how have the conversations for you changed since?

ANDERSON I just need to point out that I first fought for pay equity way back when it was audacious by anybody’s standards, because I was a nobody when we started to do that series. But when I really spoke up about it was when it happened again, four or five years ago, after the career I’d already had post-X-Files. We were going back to do another season and Fox came to me to offer, I don’t know, a 10th of what my co-star [David Duchovny] was being offered. That was the point where I was like, “Fuck this. I’m actually going to talk about this [publicly].” And since then, it hasn’t really come up. I mean, I haven’t worked with a lot of men, so that hasn’t been an issue. (Laughs.) I’m certainly tuned to it, and were it something now, I’d address it. But I have so much admiration for anyone who stands up for their right either to be paid or to be hired, period. And look, they weren’t going to fire me on The X-Files. The stakes weren’t that high. I put my foot down, not because the stakes weren’t high, but if they were going to fire me, some people were going to have some things to say about that. It’s very different for a young woman going into a job situation with a boss who’s overbearing and asking for a pay raise.

Sure, you had leverage.

ANDERSON Yeah.

For the rest of you, when have you spoken up in your careers?

ERIVO I mean, the obvious is I’m a Black woman, and that has a lot to do with how you’re paid, how you’re hired, if you’re hired, the way you’re hired — it affects everything. I’m lucky enough to have a team behind me that is brave enough to ask the questions I’d like asked: What I’m being paid compared to the leading man in the show, or if I’m being paid a lot less, whether or not they are willing to come up so it becomes equal. And about little things in my contract that just make it easier to exist on a set. For me, it’s about having the guts to stick with it and to keep asking and keep fighting. And there are definitely times where you’re like, “I am so exhausted from asking the same thing.” Like, if we could please have this makeup artist with me because usually there are no Black makeup artists on a set and you’re the only one who needs one, and I’ve had to have that fight every single time I’ve gone onto a set: “I need to hire these two people because they are the only people that understand how to do my face or my hair.” It isn’t about vanity, it’s about making sure that whoever I’m playing is represented in the right way because they understand how to work with my skin tone and my hair. But you keep sticking with it because it’s not just me having my way, it’s me being able to employ two other people. And then maybe I’m asking, “Can we have a DP who understands lighting that works on my skin tone?” So it’s constantly being OK with asking the questions. And there is a bit of fear, like, “Am I going to be seen as difficult?” And yes, there are times where I’ve had someone say they’ve heard I was difficult, but usually, it’s because I’ve asked a question that will make for a better surrounding or a better show. And if I keep asking the questions and if other ladies like myself keep asking the questions, and we keep trying to better our spaces, it just becomes the norm — because at some point it has to just become the norm.

Elizabeth, I believe you had a saying in your house growing up, “No is a full sentence.” When do you find you use it?

OLSEN I use it a lot. (Laughs.) I use it when I’m on set. I mean, I want to be a part of every department when I’m on set. I want to understand the schedule. I want to understand everything. I produced a TV show [Sorry for Your Loss] that didn’t get too much light of day because it was on Facebook, which, whatever … but as a producer on it, it was really important for me to be a voice of everything you’re saying, Cynthia, and have heads of departments feel like and look like the freakin’ world. And just from having a taste of that for two seasons, I can’t [go back]. So when I go to do Dr. Strange 2 in England, I guess I use it when I just can’t shake it even though [the production is] so much bigger than me. I don’t know, my opinions are vast and everyone hears them, from the first AD to the EP. I think I’m like a representative of anyone having a hard time on set. … (Laughs.)

PAULSON You’re the Equity rep, I love it.

OLSEN Oh my God. (Laughter.)

When you think about your careers, is there someone else’s that you look at and go, “Ooh, yeah, I’d love that”?

OLSEN Gillian’s, Sarah’s …

ERIVO Yeah, Sarah, you’re that for me. You’re fucking incredible.

PAULSON You saying that to me makes me want to cry because sometimes you feel like you’re doing this in a bubble and you don’t even know if anything you’re doing ever has any meaning or impact to anyone.

ERIVO It does. From my heart, it does. And I hope I get to work with you one day.

PAULSON I’d give my eyeteeth. (Laughs.) For me, it’s Gillian — somebody being on a TV program for a long time that’s wildly successful and then retreats to another country to be onstage, to reconnect yourself to the very things that inspired you and made you want to be a part of this. It all gets very confusing in terms of how to navigate [this business]because you do want to make a living, but you also want to follow your heart. And there does come a time where you can become quite depleted from the constant output without any input. And if you’re a woman of a certain age, which I certainly am, I feel like I’ve got one foot on one window frame and I’ve got the other one over here and I’m just trying to insist that they stay open for as long as possible. And some of that is beyond my control, but when I look at Gillian’s career I just go, “Well, I want that.”

ANDERSON Thank you for saying that. On the one hand, I feel like there is some degree of design, but I’ve also never really gone after things. And when I finished with X-Files, I didn’t know if I wanted to be on a set again ever. So aside from having grown up in the U.K. and wanting to go back, I knew it would take time before I could, if I was going to. And in London, you could move between theater and TV, and that was always my dream. But every actor has the thing that they’d want more than the thing that they have, and I’m a cinephile, and so I [wonder], “Why do I keep doing TV? All I want to do is do film.” And I’m still doing TV. (Laughs.) But I’ve had such amazing opportunities that, coming from Scully, I even questioned people, like, “Why are you offering this to me? What makes you think that I can do this?” I’ll also say that as soon as you have kids, kids are the priority. So, I say to people, “I’m gonna be such a pain in the ass for you to hire. But if you think I’m this person, I’m gonna need to work during this period of time and then have time with my kids. And it’s going to be expensive for you. If you are willing to do that, then I’m your girl, and if you’re not, you need to find somebody else.”

Anya, Queen’s Gambit became a global juggernaut. How have your opportunities and choices changed? Is there pressure to strike while the iron is hot?

TAYLOR-JOY I think I’ve always followed character and only recently did I start following directors as well, but it’s always been about, “Do I feel like I’m the right person to tell this story? Do I think I can tell this story correctly?” And if you look at something like Queen’s Gambit, it was not supposed to be the white-hot show; it’s a show about a girl that plays chess for seven hours, but I felt so compelled to tell that story. So, it sounds cheesy, but I really just keep following my heart. OK, wait, I take that back. Something I’m also learning is that you give yourself to this person for three to six months, and I never used to think about this before, but now I start thinking, “Am I ready to give up my life for this person? Do I need to tell this story so badly that I’m going to do that?” I try not to think about what other people will think, because it’s your life at the end of the day. And as we all know, you’re that [character] every hour of the day, and when you go home it’s difficult to let go of them, so you have to really love them.

Mj, you’ve talked about how significant this show was for you and for the visibility of the trans community. How have the opportunities being presented to you post-Pose changed?

RODRIGUEZ In the middle of the third season, I started figuring out my worth, and it’s scary. I was nervous. I didn’t expect to actually book my next job after Pose.

ERIVO I did.

PAULSON We all did.

RODRIGUEZ And see, that’s my insecurity and that’s something I have to fix. I didn’t think it was possible. To get an opportunity like Pose and have myself centered in the story and to end it with hope, and then to get another opportunity with an iconic actress [an Apple TV+ comedy co-starring Maya Rudolph] was surreal. But if I’m still feeling the need for protection as far as my Blackness, my Latina-ness and my trans-ness go, that means there is more work to be done.

Are there doors still not open to the rest of you? Parts you’d love to play if only Hollywood would see you that way?

PAULSON No one has asked me to do a comedy, and I’m a little frustrated about that.

ERIVO And you’re funny as fuck.

PAULSON I spend a lot of time in these worlds where I’m either running or crying or screaming or playing a real person and trying to get their physicality, and I’d really like to do a nice road picture with me and a couple of chicks.

ANDERSON Ooh, I’ll go with you!

PAULSON How about all of us just in a road movie — like, get a Winnebago and let’s go?

ERIVO I’m down.

RODRIGUEZ Yeah, count me in.

ANDERSON I’m 53, Sarah, and I’ve really only been offered comedy in the last three years of my life, and I don’t think that’s because I’m any funnier than I used to be. I think a lot of it is that people just couldn’t fathom it, whether it was that Scully was still in their minds or it was someone else, because I’ve played a lot of dark characters, too. And so they just weren’t coming. And then came [Netflix comedy] Sex Education — and I passed when it first came to me because I didn’t think it was right. It was my partner who proverbially dug it out of the trash.

ERIVO I’ve yet to see a Call Me by Your Name for a Black woman, I have yet to see a piece that allows a woman of color to be sensual and soft and loving and be loved. I’ve just not seen it, and I desperately want to experience that, just because I want to be able to be in that space of vulnerability and lilt. I really want to do that. And that hasn’t come my way. A comedy hasn’t come my way either.

RODRIGUEZ Same. It’s been so hard when it comes to trans women being loved in a sensual way, and I’d love to do something like that.

Elizabeth and Anya, to Sarah’s point, Hollywood likes to keep actors in a lane. How have you avoided that kind of pigeonholing in your careers to date?

TAYLOR-JOY I’ve been saved from a lot of things in my life from pure innocence and naivete, genuinely. My first movie was called The Witch, I got a script immediately afterward that was about, you guessed it, a witch, and I figured, “Wow, why do they want to see me do this again?” So, I was immediately like, “Can I not do anymore witch movies, please?” And my agent was like, “OK. Sure, whatever you say.” I wonder how many people agree with me here because I certainly want to please, but in order to please, I don’t have to give up myself, and actually it’s more important to please myself than it is to please anybody else. I’m giving my heart, my body, my soul, everything to this character, I’m not going to do something because somebody wants me to do it. That doesn’t make any sense and, also, it makes me miserable and then I can’t do my best work. And so if I feel the opportunities that are being given to me aren’t the right ones, then I have to stick my neck out and go, “Hey, I think I could maybe do this, if you’ll give me the opportunity to try.”

How about you, Elizabeth?

OLSEN [In the beginning,] I was just trying so hard to not be put in a box that that’s what was guiding my choices. I knew that I didn’t want to be an actor who was thought of as “youthful and beautiful” and whatever that attachment people like to put onto young women, and so I did everything in my power not [to be seen as] that. But I didn’t have my own pillars of why I wanted to do things beyond just the character. That started to solidify only in the last five years. So I made a lot of odd decisions [after theater school at NYU] because I didn’t know enough about film and the machine of it. Right, Sarah? You were there for that time. We were in Martha Marcy May Marlene, and I remember someone asked me, “You had Sarah Paulson with you, didn’t you know it could be a film people saw?” And I was like …

PAULSON You were like, “Who the fuck is Sarah Paulson?” (Laughter.)

OLSEN No, but independent cinema to me was just, like, going to Quad Cinema in New York and seeing a movie. The theater world is all I understood. So I feel like a moron for going back to theater only once in 10 years. And this conversation with Gillian right now is inspiring.

In light of Elizabeth’s concern about the trap of being perceived as “youthful and beautiful,” how would you all complete this sentence: I wish our male counterparts also had to …

OLSEN Deal with lighting and hair and makeup before doing press. I don’t know what I’m doing.

ERIVO Deal with people believing that you’ve lost your sexuality after the age of 30.

TAYLOR-JOY Had an understanding of what it was like to walk into a room and sometimes have to enforce yourself for people to take you seriously. That ability to just walk into a room and go, “I am valid, I own my space and everybody respects me” — it would be good if they knew what it was like to not have that.

ERIVO And on the flip side, to not have to deal with walking into the room and trying to make sure people aren’t scared of you when you get there.

What do you all know now that you wish you could have told yourself at the beginning of your career?

PAULSON I would like to have told myself that I didn’t need to excise myself from the experience. I was very focused on looking at other actors who had careers that I admired when I was first starting out and wondering what it was about them that made it possible for them to be chosen or employed and I’d often try, in an audition or a social setting, to mimic what I imagined was the desired effect, taking me out of the scenario. And there’s this beautiful Martha Graham-to-Agnes de Mille letter that I used to keep in a dressing room any time I was doing a play, about how there is only one you in all of time and space and that what you see and how you experience things is unique to you. And if you block it, the world will not have it. And as a young person, I thought, “Mute me, mute my opinions, my thoughts, my assessments and try to fill it with other things,” and now I think it’s the exact opposite, so I wish I had known that earlier. But I’ll take knowing it now [over] never knowing it at all.

RODRIGUEZ I would have told my younger self that my existence is worth it. When I was younger, I tried to fit into this mold of what a woman should do — you know, keep your legs crossed, always bow down to a man. But we don’t have to live in that world anymore. It’s a new day.

It is, and that’s a good place to end. Thank you all for sharing your time and your stories.

ERIVO I know we’re supposed to finish, but do you know what’s occurred to me as I’ve listened to every one of you? I remember where I was when I watched every single one of you — and I remember what I was dealing with or going through. I was watching you, Sarah, when I was shooting Aretha. I was watching you, Elizabeth, when I was in London on my own, and you, Anya, when I was in Atlanta. Mj, I remember watching a season of Pose while I was shooting The Outsider. And Gillian, I watched you when I was in a hotel with my partner outside of London. And I remember what happened. And so your performances aren’t just brilliant, your performances get to be Post-its in all of our lives, and so I thank you for that.

PAULSON That’s a very beautiful way to put it …

ANDERSON It also brings us back full circle to what Anya said at the beginning, which is, “Oh my God, I have to keep reminding myself that people are going to watch this.” But actually, thank God that people are watching it, because we’ve touched each other’s lives and numerous other people’s lives just by focusing on the thing that we love most.

TAYLOR-JOY And the importance of these conversations is the honesty, because it’s very easy for us to get locked into our own heads of this as an individual experience — “There’s something wrong with me,” or “Everybody else is doing really great and nobody else grieves their characters,” or whatever your version of that is in whatever industry you’re in. But having honest conversations with people who are willing to be vulnerable just makes me feel so much less alone.

PAULSON The next time you feel that way, text me. I’ll remind you. I’d also like to say that there’s this [perception] of women being pitted against one another and not being there for one another, and this conversation is diametrically opposed, in that what we are actually saying is that each of us has been buoyed by and inspired by the work of everyone here. So, I may not watch anything I do, but I sure as hell am watching all of you.

Press: “It’s a New Day”: THR Drama Actress Roundtable was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Artistic Differences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have known each other all their lives. They've loved each other almost as long. But as Blaine uses his love for Kurt as inspiration for his music, Kurt has yet to reciprocate. And since painting is Kurt's entire world, Blaine is worried about what that might mean for the two of them. (2703 words)

Notes: I had been writing this for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'opinion'. I finally finished it. Wee! XD

Read on AO3.

Baby, you're not alone...

'Cause you're here with me...

And nothing's ever gonna bring us down...

'Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you...

And you know it's true...

It don't matter what'll come to be...

Our love is all we need to make it through...

Blaine stops singing when he notices an echo haunting his lyrics, lingering on the high notes for longer than written. He listens with eyes closed, smiling at his keyboard. 

His boyfriend Kurt, humming behind the melody. 

Blaine has been ironing this song out for the past three hours now but Kurt hasn't complained once about the constant stopping and starting.

He never does. 

Blaine peeks over his shoulder as he continues to play with the harmonies and watches Kurt, focused on the canvas in front of him, swaying to the rhythm of the music, happily sandwiched between his two passions - art and music.

It's a mild and sunny Saturday - a whole day devoted to cleaning up commissions and tying loose ends on weekly projects before their one day off together. Blaine and Kurt share a studio space - normally unheard of for an artist and a musician, but they make it work. It helps that they've known one another for so long that being alone together is the same as being alone with themselves. That also means they get the inside scoop on what the other is working on long before the public does.

And what they're not working on, which has begun to bother Blaine.

Blaine adores everything his talented boyfriend comes up with. Even regarding his more controversial works, there isn't a thing Kurt has painted that Blaine finds objectionable. Kurt puts his heart and soul into every painting, no matter who it's for, and no matter the subject. A writer from Artforum once wrote: "Kurt Hummel goes beyond the veil to showcase not just the external, but the core of every subject - their drives and motivations. It pairs nicely with the transparency of his own soul, which shines through the gouache and the gesso to leave the viewer with a tangible piece."

And therein lies the root of Blaine's problem.

A glance at one of Kurt's canvasses and the world knows everything it needs to about what he loves.

But one subject in particular has gone wholly unrepresented.

“How come you've never painted a portrait of me?” Blaine asks.

"Hmm... what's that, love?" Kurt mutters, switching out brushes, then moving from a blob of Titanium White to a smear of Winsor Blue.

"How come you've never painted a portrait of me?" Blaine rises off his piano bench and relocates to the wooden folding chair behind Kurt's easel in the hopes of pulling his attention a bit. "You've been an artist for as long as I've known you, and I've known you your entire life. But not once have you ever painted a portrait of me."

“Why do I need to? I have you right here," Kurt says, pretending to bop the tip of Blaine's nose with his brush. "Besides, these aren’t personal." His gaze bounces between the three canvases set on easels in an arc in front of him. "They’re bought and paid for.”

"But what about your private stuff? You've shown me your sketchbooks and your digital art files. Unless you have some hidden folder marked 'secret boyfriend art' that I've yet to come across, there's not a single piece of me in any of your work."

Kurt doesn't steer his gaze away from the apple he's adding highlights to to acknowledge his pouty boyfriend, but the corner of his mouth hitches. "If you say so, dear."

"I know so," Blaine grumps, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back in the chair so hard he nearly topples it over.

"That's your opinion."

"You're evading."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"Yes! It would be nice to be immortalized by my artist boyfriend!"

Kurt snickers. "Are you that much of a narcissist?"

"Your art is important to you! More than that - it's your life! You paint everything that you love! You've made dozens of paintings of Finn, your father, your mother, your Navigator... "

"My Navigator is my baby. It deserves love. I don't get to drive it much living in the city," Kurt defends. "Besides, those paintings I posted on Instagram landed me a huge contract with Lincoln, and that paid for our month-long tryst to Bali. You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful... " Blaine pauses, the smile on his face a souvenir from thirty straight days of overindulgence in sex and alcohol. "I think I more than proved that on that private beach? Under the moonlight?"

"Yeah, you did," Kurt growls, silently hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

"But... " Blaine picks up and Kurt's heart sinks.

No luck.

"... nowhere am I present in your work. Not that I've seen. Not even in the abstract. And that makes me think... " 

"Think what?" Kurt mutters, his playful attitude fading the longer this conversation drags on.

Blaine sighs, realizing how much like a spoiled toddler he sounds. But he's in too deep to stop now. "That you don't expect me to be around long."

Kurt's snicker turns into a full-blown chortle. "We've been together forever! You staked a claim on me in kindergarten! Are you suddenly going somewhere?"

"Can't you take this seriously?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

Blaine huffs. "Great. So my feelings are ridiculous."

"No, Blaine, your feelings are valid. This argument is ridiculous. Believe it or don't, you don't know everything about me. Or my work. What does it matter what I put on a canvas? I told you that I love you! That I would always love you! I tell you over and over and over! Those are my words! My truth! Listen to my truth!"

"B-but what if you change your mind?" Blaine grimaces when that toddler inside him begins throwing an all-out tantrum.

"Then I change my mind!" Kurt groans, slamming his free hand down on an open tube of Dandelion Green, sending a thick ribbon of paint a good four feet. "I'm allowed to change my mind! And so are you! But I don't see that happening!"

"Then why won't you marry me?"

Kurt pulls a face, probably without thinking about it. "Because I'm not very fond of marriage."

"Why not? Your parents had a great marriage! And your father has a wonderful second marriage!"

"But your parents don't have a very good marriage, do they? Nor your older brother, who's been divorced twice already! " Kurt argues, frustration causing him to forget himself and clean his stained hand on the untucked hem of his shirt instead of a rag. That should be a huge red-flag for Blaine to back down, yet he doesn't. Common sense? Sorry, don't know her. "And the national average isn't that great, either. Doesn't it mean more that I choose to stay with you instead of feeling obligated to?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer for that, even though the answer is obviously yes. Of course, it does. And in high school, that would have been enough to shut Blaine up. But admitting to that feels too much like conceding, and this one time, this is an argument he wants to win. "Did you hear that song I've been working on?" Blaine asks, switching gears so quickly, it puts Kurt on edge.

"Yes," Kurt replies, his voice becoming tight quickly. "It's lovely."

"I wrote it for you."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Another huge hit in the making."

"It's the 15th song I've written in your honor."

"Wow," Kurt says dryly, predicting the direction this is heading. "That many?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's an incredibly kind and loving gesture, one that I didn't know required reciprocation."

"It doesn't require reciprocation. But it would be nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine's agenda. Tit for tat. Is that how this is supposed to work? "From what I remember, those songs made you a pretty penny."

"So?"

"So, it's not like you wrote them for me and kept them between us. Most of those songs are chart-toppers."

"But I didn't release them for the money! I wouldn't care if they didn't make me a dime! I put them on the albums because I'm not afraid to let the world know how I feel about you!"

Kurt's brow furrows as he fights through a blooming headache to decode that declaration. Once he gets it, he gasps. "I'm not hiding you away if that's what you're implying! You go with me EVERYWHERE! Every gallery opening, every art show! There have been articles written about our relationship! You're no dirty little secret!"

"I never said I was."

"No?" Kurt chuckles bitterly. "You're sure implying it a great deal!"

"That's not what this is about."

"You're right. It's not. Blaine!" Kurt tosses his brush into a mug of water and starts pacing the floor. "I am a gay artist walking a very fine line."

"I'm a gay artist, too!" Blaine says, offended.

"But you're a musician. And a songwriter. Musicians are supposed to use love as their muse. Writing about your relationship is expected... unless you're Taylor Swift, apparently."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. The point is that the second I make a piece of art about our relationship in any way, shape, or form, I'm afraid that's all it will be about, no matter what I intend."

"Isn't art supposed to be subject to interpretation?"

"That's just it! If I hint that my art has anything to do with you, that will become the only interpretation. Because too many straight people see the homosexual experience as solely about the right to fuck who we want to fuck and nothing else. I make a portrait about you or dedicated to you, and after that... " Kurt's eyes leave Blaine's face, scanning the room and his canvasses all around for help making his argument. He finds a painting of a forest they hiked through in Bali and stops there "... a tree that I paint will no longer be just a tree. It will become a symbol. In a forest of evergreens, if one needle is slightly browner than the rest because the paint oxidizes weirdly or whatever, then it'll be about you and me on the skids and nothing else. And I don't want that to happen."

Blaine turns in his chair to find the painting Kurt is staring at. On the surface, it's trees, dirt, and sky, but underneath, it's much more than that. That painting of their beloved paradise is perfection - so much so that he can feel the sun on his face, the breeze kissing his cheek, smell the sunscreen on his skin. "I understand what you're saying, but... "

"But?" Kurt grinds out between his teeth. This is the frustrating thing about arguing with Blaine. Even when he says he sees Kurt's point of view, he doesn't seem to really.

And when he's not winning, he gets dismissive.

"... I think you're overthinking things a little."

"And you're not?"

"Another evade," Blaine says, pointing at him in a way reminiscent of his brother's only acting technique.

Kurt grabs the hair at his temple and pulls to keep from flinging the palette in his hand like a frisbee at Blaine's head. "Isn't it more important that you know how I feel about you? You inspire me every day! Your love, your support, your music - they feed my soul! But do I have to plaster it on a wall to make it real?"

"That's kind of an empty question because you don't! There are no paintings of me! Not even in our apartment! And I'm sorry, but I think that's very telling!"

Kurt nods, his lips pulled taut. "You're right, Blaine. Not one. And it is very telling." He drops his palette on his work table and circles the room, grabbing finished canvases and carrying them over. He positions them purposefully, placing some under UV lights he has mounted to runners on the ceiling. 

"What... what are you doing?" Blaine asks with worry, wondering if Kurt is about to do something hasty, something that will ruin his paintings, waste all those hours of work, jeopardize the money he has yet to collect for them. 

Kurt doesn't answer. 

He doesn't even look at him. 

He works silently, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps heavy as he collects paintings Blaine forgot about, paintings that had made Blaine bristle because they were of places they had been to together, things they had made a point to see only with each other, but not a one included him. Those Kurt flips upside down.

He swipes a squeeze bottle of clear liquid from his army of supplies. It could be water. It could be paint thinner. Blaine doesn't know, but he's not certain he wants to find out. He's about to leap off his seat to stop him, but Kurt switches off the overhead lights, turns on the UVs, and Blaine stops. He watches in horror as Kurt douses the flipped canvases in fluid, but the paint doesn't run. Whatever is in that bottle, it sticks, but only in certain areas, and before it dries completely, Kurt dusts the paintings with a fine powder, one that brings hidden images to life beneath the lights.

“Oh my God,” Blaine mutters, stepping back to get a better look.

Every painting, in one way or another, is of him. Of them. And not just recently. There are images of them from college, high school... middle school. There are profiles of Blaine in the negative space between flowers of one painting, and in the clouds of another. A fluorescent image of teenaged him playing guitar to a silhouette of Kurt sitting beside him. There are shadows of them dancing, singing, even a daring one of them making love up against a wall. 

And the flipped landscapes? Their vacation pictures, as it were? The glowing dust reveals portraits hiding in plain sight, painted upside down and invisible to the naked eye. All of these images, Kurt painted in ways where no one would detect them if they weren't looking for them. If they didn't know they were there.

And they are in every. single. one.

Now that he's seen this, it's safe to assume all of Kurt's works carry similar Easter eggs, even paintings long gone.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" Blaine asks, too stuck on stupid to move, walk from painting to painting and examine them properly.

"Why did I need to? I love you. I've told you. What else did I need to prove?"

Blaine shakes his head slowly, ashamed of himself. What an imbecile he is! Kurt is absolutely right. He loves him! He didn't need to prove it! The hurt Blaine felt - that was on him. It wasn't Kurt's responsibility to fix it. There isn't a day that goes by where Kurt doesn't show his love to Blaine in one way or another. Blaine didn't need this. He really didn't.

And right now, he doesn't feel he deserves it.

On a side note, how wrapped up in his own crap has he been that here, in this space that they share, where proximity has forced Kurt to memorize every song Blaine has been writing for his latest album while he paints, that he never realized just how frickin' talented his boyfriend is!?

"Kurt... " Blaine finally finds the strength to take a step forward, drawn to that ghostly image of them making love. It's a simple shadow of the moment, but it evokes a powerful memory "... these are incredible. How did you... ?" Blaine expects an answer before he can finish. Kurt is rarely shy about discussing his work.

Though Blaine should use this opening to his advantage - apologize since those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

But he gets nothing.

"Kurt?" Blaine looks over his shoulder in search of his boyfriend, ready to make amends. 

But Kurt is gone.

[oneweekoneband]

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages.  (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time. 

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. 

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift,  she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

[itubainaretro]

In a parallel universe everything’s the same as in this one, except coronavirus isn’t a thing and everything is just as it was supposed to be all along. Without the madness that a pandemic can cause going to concerts is still a thing, Love On Tour is still happening and Sander is just as excited as Robbe to be waiting in line for Harry Styles’ concert.

Sander used to tease Robbe for liking Harry until the day he asked Robbe why he liked Harry so much and the younger boy answered him by saying he loved the way Harry wasn’t afraid of being exactly who he was and how the way he was so unapologetically himself inspired Robbe to be proud of who he was too, not to mention he was really talented and his songs were great, and also that Treat People With Kindness were both Harry and Robbe’s moto in life. Sander was sold, he understood exactly what Robbe was saying because he felt the same way towards Bowie.

That’s why he decided to give it a go and listen to his music. In all seriousness Sander wasn’t even surprised when found out he loved most of his songs, both from his self titled album and his lastest one, Fine Line, because the guy really was good. Sander loved his lyrics and their meaning, and how he could see many of them in his and Robbe’s life, especially Fine Line. When he heard those lyrics his heart broke and was sewn back in the span of 6 minutes and 20 seconds and all he could think about while listening to it was that day back in December when Robbe found him at the Academy and how he kept saying that it was okay, that Robbe was right there with him, and wasn’t that what Robbe was trying to say all along? That they’d be alright? As soon as the song finished Sander had made his mind up and he was determined to get them tickets for his concert in Antwerp.

And he did, by some kind of miracle he found out there were still some tickets available so he got them. When Robbe found out about Sander’s surprise he couldn’t believe it and he had the biggest smile Sander has ever seen plastered on his face for about two weeks straight.

So fast foward to the 25th of May and here’s where they are now: waiting in line at the Sportpaleis to see Harry Styles’ Love On Tour.

They’ve been buzzing with energy the whole day, that good type of anxiousness before a concert flowing through their veins while they wait, finding everything amusing and loving every second of it.

As soon as the gate opens and they get inside the venue, Sander makes sure to lead them first to the place where they’re selling Harry’s merch because he wants Robbe to have a souvenir from the concert, whichever it may be.

When they get there Robbe lifts an eyebrow and looks questioningly at Sander.

“You can choose whatever you want”, Sander smiles.

Robbe looks incredulely at him, “No I can’t, they’re too expensive.”

“Nothing’s too expensive for you, cutie”, Sander winks and gives Robbe a kiss on his cheek.

When Robbe still hasn’t moved, Sander tells him once again to go pick something and he can’t really say he’s surprised when Robbe choses the yellow Treat People With Kindness t-shirt, so he happily pays for it and they go find their seats.

The wait for the concert to finally begin is filled with conversation, music, laughter and excitement, especially those last minutes before the start, when the lights go out and they wait for Harry to show up at any moment now.

When the first chords of Golden start playing the whole place erupts in screams and Sander doesn’t think he’s ever seen Robbe this happy in his life. Hell, he doesn’t think he himself has ever been this happy in his life. The atmosphere is insanely good and they’re already having the best time and Harry hasn’t even finished the first song of the night yet.

It goes on like this for the rest of night - they have fun, sing, dance and laugh because Harry is ridiculous sometimes and so are they, especially when they’re dancing, and it feels so good to let go like this, forget that the world exists even if it’s only for a couple of hours, and live in the moment being themselves. They particularly love when Harry makes a little speech and talks about love and how every form of love is valid and that this is a place for them to be who they are, love who they want to love and to be proud.

They almost lose their voices singing to Sunflower vol. 6, Robbe’s favourite, and Kiwi, which Harry sings two times just for good measure. Canyon Moon lifts everybody's moods after his slower songs are played and by the end of the concert everybody goes insane during Lights Up. When this particular song comes up Sander can’t take his eyes off of Robbe while he sings to every word of the song, feeling proud of his boyfriend for knowing exactly who he is and being out and proud about it. He can’t stop himself from kissing the life out of his smiley lips as soon as Harry finishes singing the last verse of the song and Robbe has this really sweet and dopey smile on his face. And if during She Robbe and Sander kinda forget that they’re in the middle of a concert with thousands of people around them and make out a little more than they should in public, well, Mitch’s solo is too good to go to waste.

The first chords of the last song starts playing and as soon as Sander recognizes it’s Fine Line he hugs Robbe from behind and Robbe immediately intertwines his fingers with Sander’s and holds their hands above his heart. When Sander first heard the song and thought about that day in December he told Robbe about it and mentioned how this was probably his favourite song of Harry’s, so it kinda became their song. They move slowly to it while they sing the lyrics almost to themselves only, with hushed voices and soft tones, and it’s the most beautiful thing either of them has ever experienced. When the song crescends while Harry sings the chorus Sander feels emotional and he knows he’s not the only one, he can feel Robbe’s heart beating faster, and he can’t help himself when tears fall down his face when the outro comes up and Harry finally sings we’ll be alright. He buries his face on Robbe’s neck and he feels like he’s never felt happier and safer in his entire life.

Right there in the middle of thousands of screaming fans, when Robbe turns around and hugs him properly, by the end of the song, Sander feels like that moment is just for them.

After holding each other for a little bit longer, Robbe kisses Sander and thanks him for the millionth time for doing this for him.

“I did this for you as much as I did it for me, love. I kinda love the guy now too, you know?” Sander smiles at Robbe and gives him a kiss on the nose.

While they wait for things to get a little less chaotic so they can leave safely, they go through the photos they took during the concert and show each other their favourites.

“I think I’ll post this one”, Robbe shows Sander the photo he took of the crowd holding their pride flags while Harry sang on the background.

Sander nods and shows Robbe his phone, “I like mine better.”

Robbe rolls his eyes but can’t help a smile from coming up on his face, “Sap.”

Sander hugs him once again and Robbe kisses whatever part of Sander’s body is closest to him in the moment, which ends up being his neck, “I love you, baby”, his voice is muffled on his boyfriend’s skin.

“I love you too”, Sander says after pressing a kiss to his head.

-

their ig’s posts:

-

i hope you liked it! keep in mind that english is not my first language and no one proof read this so all mistakes are mine.

dedicated to my baby @lightinthed4rk

treat people with kindness, lovelies

[wri0thesley]

number 11 with Melone?

“So…do you want your underwear back?”

warnings for: obsessive behaviour, stalking. neutral reader and pronouns although reader DOES wear sexy underwear. 

It's the third pair of underwear that's gone missing this week - and you really liked this pair, dammit! You're tired of going out to the cheapest clothes store you can get to with a shit assassin's wage (what kind of asshole pays their assassins this badly? Your boss, apparently), and having to choose ugly pieces that are on sale and not at all your personal style.

And, unfortunately, you know exactly what's happening to them.

You avoid Melone as much as possible. The rest of the team have not been at all coy about telling you you're doing the right thing; making vague references about how Melone treats possible lovers, or about how he can't be trusted, or about how he's just creepy. You've never been assigned to work with him on a mission - by all accounts, Melone works well alone, and Risotto is glad of that. But this is getting ridiculous.

You know it's none of the other guys. For one thing, they don't seem the type - and for another, most of them have shrugged and admitted they're keeping lovers on the side in safehouses and the like. Trying to keep their loved ones safe in the only ways they can. But Melone . . .

Well.

He's got nobody to come home to, if the boys in the squad are right. And from the hungry way he's always looking at you, eyes travelling the length of your body, hunger radiating off every lithe, panther-like inch of him, he's not particularly interested in keeping a lover off-base. He wants his lover somewhere a little closer to home.

It's not that he isn't handsome - he is handsome. It's just that he's so . . . intense. His eyes focused on you, gloved fingers flying over keyboard keys, low hum of acknowledgement in the back of his throat when somebody speaks to him. Utter focus. The cold, clinical way you've heard him talk about both his marks and his Baby Face mothers. Something about him just gives you shivers and shakes. Sorbet and Gelato are terrifying, sure, but they're terrifying in a way where you know what you're getting if you get on their bad side. Melone seems like he could snap at any moment.

You're not doing any good pontificating. You get up from your bed, slamming the drawer shut - your favourite pair of pale blue satin underwear with lacy rose appliques isn't going to retrieve itself from Melone's room on its own, you guess - and neither are all of the other nice pairs you've had to replace with sale rack rejects in leopard print and hot pink. You're sure Melone would appreciate them - he seems like the kind of guy who'd appreciate that kind of performance - but they're not very you.

You try and be quiet as you pad along the hallway. Melone's out on a mark, so you know he's not going to be around to catch you (the schedules of La Squadra members are easy to pick up on if you listen, or if you sweet-talk Illuso and bring him some of that hair conditioner he likes), but you still don't want anyone reporting back to Melone that you've been snooping about his room. Ugh. You wrinkle your nose, stopping outside his door. You can't believe you're going to go in there out of choice.

You hope it's not going to be like a weird fetish porn studio. You can barely look at the way Melone dresses without flushing red - most of La Squadra dress like they're in an erotic movie, but Melone is the utter worst for it. You pause, and take a deep breath. Alright. You can do this.

You push his door open--

And it's normal.

A perfectly ordinary, serviceable bedroom, much like how yours had looked when you'd first moved into the hideout. Yours is possibly a little more lived-in - you have nice coloured blankets and knick-knacks. Melone's bedroom is bare; a laptop on his desk, some biology and astrology books on a shelf, a tarot deck (you shouldn't be surprised about it, based on how much store he puts in where the planets where on nights people were born) - one decorative throw pillow. It's almost sad, how quickly Melone could probably pack his things up and just leave the squad entirely.

You almost feel bad for him, before you remember why it is you're in his room in the first place.

You're pretty sure Melone is stealing your underwear. Your used underwear, to make it even worse! Right out of your laundry hamper! (Melone, coincidentally, doesn't seem to have a laundry hamper. You wonder if his wardrobe is just full of the exact same suit and snort to yourself before you lean down by his bed and open a drawer).

Boring clothes. Civvies; plain shirts and jeans, that Melone almost never wears because his stand means he can work remotely. Clicking your tongue, you rifle through them - and your fingers catch on a hard edge. You push the fabric to one side and pull out . . . a photo album?

Is he secretly soft-hearted? Sentimental in private? There's a small smile on your face as you flick open the photo album, that falters when you realise the polaroids slipped within the clear casings all have one thing in common.

All of them are of you.

You, smiling as you talk to Formaggio. Your head thrown back in laughter on the sofa downstairs in the living room. Concentrating on a mark on a mission you'd been sent on with Prosciutto - your face falls as you rifle through them.

Not just you as a member of La Squadra. 

You as a civilian. 

A picture of you before you'd gotten caught up in this business. A picture of you and your family. Your graduating class--

Your heart begins to beat hard in your chest, as you drop the photo album and wrench open the second drawer.

A half-empty bottle of your perfume, that you thought you'd accidentally thrown away. Post, addressed to your old apartment before you'd moved in here. A napkin with a kiss mark pressed against it, lipstick in a colour you haven't worn for over a year.

Your guts feel like they're dropping through the floor as your shaking hands pull open the bottom drawer. This time, Melone's made no attempt to hide things from you.

Your underwear, neatly laid out beside one another, gussets showing. They're stained with something you know isn't from you. A sex toy that you'd bought and only used once because Pesci had knocked on your door whilst you were using it to check you were okay, and you'd bundled it away in your own bottom drawer so you didn't have to look at it and remember the sheer embarrassment of Pesci maybe overhearing you touching yourself--

Three more polaroids. You, undressing in the shower, bent over to fold your clothes. You, hands buried inside your shorts on your bed. You, getting dressed in a morning, bare in the light filtering through the curtains--

Your face burns at how open and vulnerable your naked body is in them. 

How did he get these?

Your hands are shaking, your mouth dry. You want to take your underwear back, but also - what might Melone do if he finds out you've found his creepy little shrine?

"Enjoying yourself?"

The voice is soft, the cadences gentle - but you still start, falling to one side, your head turning to stare at Melone through wide, frightened deer in the headlight eyes. He sees the fear on your face and smiles, cold and clinical, and you wonder if perhaps he's just going to kill you right here. He shrugs his elegant shoulders.

"I've been watching you for a while," he says, unhurried as he crosses the room, kneeling beside you on the floor like you aren't trembling viciously. He drags a gloved finger over your face in one of the polaroids, his small smile not faltering for a moment. "I had to bide my time, didn't I? But once you find such a perfect match, you don't want to let them go so easily . . ."

"Y-you're sick," you manage to spit out, heart beating like a drum. Melone tips his head to one side, considering.

"Healthy as a horse," he says, after a moment. He winks at you. "Hung like one too, if you want to find out."

Your fingers cling at his stupid, plain, characterless bedspread as you pull yourself onto your shaking legs.

"I'll tell Risotto," you whisper, your heart seizing in your chest. Your voice is coming out so dry.

"And who do you think he'd prefer to lose, cara?"  Melone says. He doesn't sound mean, or patronising, or smug - he sounds like it's a fact of life. "The new recruit, or me? Someone who's never failed on a mission? Who doesn't need a babysitter on jobs?"

"I--" your voice peters away. He's right.

"Besides," he says, motioning at the array of items he's collected. "Do you think I got these myself? Do you think nobody noticed? You're not the only one who can bribe Illuso with hair care products, you know." That same curious, simple smile on his face, he continues; "We share the same favourite brand."

"I . . . This is . . ."

Melone reaches over and he touches your face, griping your cheekbone in his fingers so you can't pull away. Your flesh feels like angry fire every place he skims, sickness rolling in your stomach.

"Oh, you're so pretty," he says, sing-song tone leaking into his voice. "You're going to be so perfect, tesoro."

The spell breaks, and you wrench yourself away. Fuck your underwear. Fuck all of your stuff. You stumble away from him, across the room, heading out of his door on unsteady legs that are at least managing to be fast. You hear Melone's voice, an echoing laugh as you head towards your own room to pack immediately and get the fuck out of here--

"So I'll take it you don't want your underwear back?"

[kinnporsche]

one year later.

in lieu of everyone finally discussing how much the time-stamp in the last episode of 2gether truly sucked (specifically @bbrightwin​, thank you faiza for your service), i decided to write a little something about how it really went down. like, genuinely that last scene (besides the shot of their hands and matching bracelets) was just pure shit and for that reason i choose to ignore it. like that’s not my canon, no sir. now, let’s talk about the ideal final scene:

As the new head of the music club now that p’Dim and p’Air have both graduated, Earn has issued another one of those “post a video” challenges that p’Dim was known for. The new year has started and she wants the incoming club members to practice, and what’s a better incentive than public humiliation? Literally nothing – aside from trying to get the guy you might or might not think is cute to be your fake boyfriend, but that’s another point entirely.

Of course, Sarawat and Tine want to post a video of them playing guitar together. They’ve become almost gruesomely sweet and domestic during the past year and just straight up refuse to work on it separately. And, while Earn may tease them for it, she’s no better when it comes to her own girlfriend – Pear is always her partner in these videos and that’s the way she likes it. 

Tine obviously wants to learn how to play another Scrubb song, because even though he’s never been as passionate about playing the guitar as his boyfriend, Tine’s determined to learn every single Scrubb song if it’s the last thing he does. He’s got almost an entire album down, so far, and he’s not giving up.

After the two of them finally decide on what song they should play, Sarawat transcribes the chords for them both. The first chord? C major.

Listen, Tine knows how to play a C chord. He’s been playing the guitar for over a year, now. He’s got all of the basic chords down pat, as well as several of the more difficult ones. However, he likes to drive Sarawat crazy, sometimes. What can he say? It’s kind of his favorite hobby – some might even say his duty as a boyfriend. So, once Sarawat finishes showing Tine the strumming pattern on the first chord, he gives Tine a chance to copy him to see if they’re on the same page. Tine plays an F minor, instead.

Sarawat glances at him for a second, then looks back down at his notes. “No, it’s a C. You played an F minor. Here,” he slides the sheet of paper closer to Tine, “try again.”

This time, Tine plays a G major.

Sarawat looks at him warily, “Tine, I just said it’s a C.”

Tine looks at his fingers on the strings, then back to Sarawat. “I forgot?”

If Sarawat arches his eyebrow any farther it’s going to fly right off his head. “What do you mean, you forgot?”

“I mean I forgot how to play a C chord.”

Sarawat blinks at him in confusion, “Babe, that’s, like, the first chord you ever learned,” his face suddenly scrunches up, “wait, you played it earlier during music club!”

“Saraleo, can you just show it to me again?”

“Oh my god,” Sarawat says, shaking his head incredulously, “okay, scoot over here.”

And then Sarawat’s arm is draping over Tine’s shoulders, his hand coming down to tangle with Tine’s, soft and familiar. The pads of his fingertips – rougher from his years of playing the guitar – tickle Tine’s palm as Sarawat maneuvers their fingers into the correct position. 

“First finger on the first fret, second string,” Sarawat’s voice has taken on the gentle tone he regularly uses when instructing Tine during these impromptu guitar lessons. “Middle finger on the second fret, fourth string,” he guides Tine’s finger into place, the halved guitar pick on each of their bracelets clicking against itself slightly, “and then put your ring finger on the third fret, fifth string.” Sarawat lifts his hand from Tine’s, leaving his arm around Tine’s shoulders, always reluctant to break their embrace. 

“Okay, now show me.”

All the while, Tine has been looking at his boyfriend’s profile with the softest, most loving expression on his face, eyes warm and fond, lips curling up at the edges. 

Noticing the lack of reaction, Sarawat looks back up from the guitar at his unusually quiet boyfriend, sighing when he catches the distracted look on Tine’s face. “Tine, are you even paying attention?”

Tine leans forward and places a careful kiss on the high point of Sarawat’s cheek, leaving his lips in place for another moment to feel the rush of blood as it blooms on Sarawat’s skin, flushing his face. “I know how to play a C chord, Wat,” Tine dips his head to kiss the underside of Sarawat’s jaw, “I don’t have to pay attention.”

Sarawat’s mouth drops slightly open, expression dazed, “Then, why did you—”

“I just like having your arms around me,” Tine presses into the skin of Sarawat’s throat. “They belong there.”

Even after being together for a full year, Tine still manages to steal Sarawat’s breath with a handful of words and a few chaste kisses on the cheek. It’s infuriating. Sarawat really loves this boy so much, it’s borderline ridiculous. 

“Tua woon wai,” Sarawat breathes, “I really love you. So fucking much.”

Tine peers up at him from beneath his lashes, cheek resting in the crook of Sarawat’s neck.

“It’s a good thing, then,” Tine whispers, raising up in order to finally brush their lips together in a tender kiss, “that I really love you, too.”

[totaltozier]

Obviously Richie is bi and Eddie is gay but because of his mother mentally abusing him his entire life until he’s 11/13 especially about the aids crisis and her repetition that queer people are dirty specifically the men, she had drilled the idea that being gay means sick and sick means the end of the world. Eddie lived his entire life either being “sick” or doing whatever he could to not get “sick” in fear of his mother. Even if he’s able to push through his mothers abuse and brainwashing then maybe he’ll believe that he can’t get sick from everything so easily but obviously he’ll still have that fear of aids especially because it does not have a cure and he’s heard about all these people DYING because they’re having GAY SEX. Like he’s gonna be terrified of that, whether he’s okay with being gay or not. So Eddie is gonna push away the idea of him liking boys because he’s not a dirty queer, he’s not going to die because he’s gay no way.

Richie is bi and it takes him a while to even think of the idea. He’s in love with Eddie, has been since his soul was created but he’s still unsure of it all just like Eddie. He listens to Eddie ramble so he’s also aware of aids and that eddies scared of it and when he tells Richie that there’s no cure and they have to amputate arms and how do you amputate a waist he gets nervous too and doesn’t want to like boys if it means having your waist amputated. richie’s not deaf, he also hears the things bowers yells at him and he knows what those words mean, he’s not stupid. so the idea of liking boys is still fuzzy in richie’s mind. He knows he’s not gay though, even though he thinks eddies shorts are sweet and his jokes are clever, and his hair looks extra fluffy after he showers, because he’s looked at beverly before and he notices nice things about her too. He likes how brave she is, he likes her fiery red hair, and he likes it when her freckles gain more depth in the summer sun. at first he just thinks its himself admiring his friends but he notices that he doesn’t think these things about bill or ben or Stan or mike no matter how he tried. He can name their best qualities but he can’t count the different colours that appear in their eyes in the morning light. Richie figures out that he’s bisexual when he’s 16 but doesn’t tell anyone until he’s 18 and they’re about to graduate high school in 3 months. Mostly out of fear that they won’t want to be his friends anymore because he’s technically half gay and thats almost as “bad” as full gay so if his friends decide to ditch him at least he only has 3 months left at derry high and he figures he could survive on his own for that long. (He doesn’t have to though because all of his friends accept him and Stan says that he’s never heard of bisexual before but that it fit Richie right and he thought that he was cool because of it)

Richie coming out and saying that he likes boys and that he’s proud to not hide himself and that he deserves to be happy makes Eddie think a lot. He thinks mostly about Richie and how brave he thinks he is but he also thinks about richie’s, hair, his glasses, the way he likes to wear shirts with stupid quotes more often than not, and how his freckles bounce on his cheeks when he laughs. Eddie thinks about Richie a lot. But he also thinks about himself. Who Eddie is. Who Eddie wants to be. Who Eddie deserves to be. He’s packing his room to move away to college and he’s pulling photos out of his album to take to school to hang on his walls and he catches a glimpse of one when he’s 5, he’s just gotten off the bus from his first day at school and Richie is standing next to him, arm linked with his and they’re smiling bright while Eddie holds a picture of a sunflower that he made with his hands. eddie remembers that his dad took the photo before he passed away. And Eddie starts crying. he stares at the photo and the tears come instantly. He’s not sure why he’s crying. Not sure if its because he moves away from his childhood home and town and friends in less than 48 hours or if its because he’s so far away from that day, being six without a care in the world, thrilled that he had made a friend on his own, crying because his dad took the photo before everything changed. Crying because he’s in love with this same boy with big glasses and curly black hair and a loud mouth and a smile even louder. Crying because he’s so scared to be in love with his best friend.

Richie calls Eddie that night, his voice still scratchy from crying and tells him that he’s gay and that he’s scared. Richie tells him that he understands and that he’s proud of him and that he will always be his friend no matter what.

Eddie doesn’t tell anyone other than Richie that he’s gay. They go off to school to California together. Richie has a single room (lucky bastard) and Eddie gets to room with a guy named Andrew who is very nice and likes to chat with Eddie and thinks its cool that he’s on the track team. Andrew likes to watch late night talk shows and he reminds Eddie of Richie but there’s just something special about Richie that Andrew doesn’t have.

Eddie realises he likes, loves, richie around November of first semester. He doesn’t dare tell him, still terrified of everything. Of richie choosing someone else instead of him (“Richie’s bi, he’s got more people to choose from, more options to pick over me” he thinks as he walks to his psychology lecture one cold morning).

It’s December 15 when Eddie tells him. The two are sitting in Richie’s dorm, Eddie trying to study while richie messes around with his yoyo while a new record is crackling in the background. somehow Eddie admits that he’s considering signing up to stay in the dorms over Christmas break because he doesn’t want to go home to his mother. He had accidentally came out to her over the phone just after thanksgiving and she hung up on him. When he called her a week later she didn’t answer. After the third week he stopped trying. He saw no point in travelling all the way back home to derry just to be ignored or possibly kicked out of his own house.

“I guess I’ll just stay here, might as well.” He shrugged. “At least there’s no snow, no chance at frostbite.”

“Sounds good to me.” Richie agreed. “We can get a tiny tree and haul it into here and stick it in the corner. Drink hot chocolate and exchange gifts. Have our own California Christmas.”

“Rich, what are you talking about?” Eddie was confused.

“If you’re staying then I’m staying with you. No one should be alone on Christmas, especially someone as kind as you are.”

Eddie practically threw himself at Richie and hugged him. He told Richie he loved him and when richie said he did too Eddie said no I LOVE YOU and richie told him he knew what he meant and that he felt the same way too. And thats how they get together yowZA.

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Aesthetic Approach

I watch as my girlfriend Ella cuts out intricate patterns into folded over newspaper. Her long, curly, dark brown hair held back in a ponytail slides back and forth against her shoulder as her head nods along to the beat of the music we put on in the background. We act like it’s background music while we talk about almost nothing but music.

Like right now, we’re discussing exactly who we’re listening to.

“No one is questioning if Eddie Vedder is a beautiful man,” I say with an amused shake of my head. I stretch across the bed and pretend that I don’t have photographic evidence open in the Pinterest app on my phone.

Music is our constant. It’s smack in the middle of the overlapping Venn diagram of us, and if we wanted to be a little extra, we could create a web from that one theme, “music,” where we’re even further connected. Right now that main point from “music” that’s connecting us is the band Pearl Jam.

My favorite member is, ironically, not even in the band anymore – Jack Irons. He was their drummer from 1995-1998, but what he contributed to the band was, to me, more interesting than what anyone else in the band added, though that doesn’t count the more permanent, original members. I still say that Jack is my favorite.

Ella’s favorite is Jeff Ament. When she first told me that, I thought it was kind of funny because he’s such a stereotypical, athletic male, and I guess I figured she might align herself more with one of the less-stereotypically-masculine members…until I remembered that Jeff’s an artist.

Ella is actually a brilliant artist, able to create these bizarre multimedia sculptures with themes from seemingly unconnected objects. (Like right now she’s making something with cut-shaped newspaper, plastic water bottles, and necklace chains.) She’s also rather analytical, so I love to observe how her art is created from several different angles as she tries to take into account the different ways people see things. You might say her art is, therefore, easily accessible, but if you saw it, I’m not sure you would think so. I say that as her girlfriend – someone she trusts to survey her before, during, and after process  – and as someone who doesn’t know a thing about art. So, I’m being honest.

“Well, I don’t think people would think he’s a work of art the way I do, A,” she retorts, her tongue tucked between her lips as she snips away corners of paper.

I roll my eyes. “Everyone is a work of art if you look at them on a deeper level than just what’s on the surface.”

“Exactly!” she says as she drops a few tiny triangles of paper. I watch them flutter to the floor. “But not everyone does. I mean, I don’t think any of us are completely capable of considering everyone on a deeper level. But trying is a good start.”

I nod and look toward the window where the sunlight is dimming. The sky is a pastel shade of blue, and cloudless. The sunset won’t be as remarkable as it is when the sky is covered with a smattering of clouds. I only know that because the best sunsets I’ve seen with Ella have been on days where the sky was streaked with cirrus clouds.

“Okay,” I begin, thinking of a challenge for her suddenly. “What’s your favorite PJ album based on its album art?”

I watch as she opens her mouth quickly to reply, then closes it and begins to stare off. Her thinking face. Her deep thinking face. It’s a beautiful sight; her dark brown eyes stare off into space that always feels like a million miles away from me, and the dimple embedded into her brown cheek relaxes as her mouth straightens. It’s one of my favorite sights on the entire fucking planet. But I haven’t been able to tell her that. I’m afraid it’ll make her self-conscious and she’ll never want to think deeply around me again. What a loss that would be. Also, she’d probably call me gay, which I already know I am.

“All I can think is that everyone would say No Code or some shit just because it’s made up of a bunch of Polaroids.”

“Ouch!” I say, feigning hurt as I place my hand over my heart. No Code is my favorite Pearl Jam album. “What about Riot Act, though? A shitload of people have tattoos of the skeletons, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves a dismissive hand, then pauses. “I don’t know if I’d call them posers or legit dedicated fans.”

I know she’s referring to the fact that the band got the most flack during their Riot Act tour because it was the first time, per “Bu$hleaguer,” that they’d been so transparently political. Probably only the most dedicated fans could stand them through that little show. But undoubtedly, the band’s been political since the very beginning, hence: posers.

“No, no,” I say quickly, moving on as I try to resist laughing. “It’s DEFINITELY Avocado.” Never mind that I asked her the question in the first place; I figure that when you have a good idea, it’s better to just blurt it out than risk forgetting it.

She shrugs, and I’m only slightly disappointed that she doesn’t laugh.

“Hey, at least it’s more interesting than The Beatles’ White Album.”

Oh, Ella. Making comparisons between Pearl Jam and The Beatles, like going from 0 to 100 in two seconds. That’s so like her.

“Still, why did they choose a fucking avocado? Why not, I don’t know, a clam? Or the stickman? Since it’s their self-titled album?”

“Because they’re Pearl Jam and they can do whatever the fuck they want,” she asserts. I relax. She’s got a good point.

“Okay… But really. Answer?”

Now she giggles. “What is…” she starts as though she’s on Jeopardy. This makes me laugh, even though it’s apparent she’s still thinking and most contestants on Jeopardy who look like that after ringing in don’t end up answering in enough time. I look away from her to the clock, and almost immediately my stomach growls like Pavlov’s dog. I wonder if it’s possible to be conditioned based on something you read.

“I’m going to say Yield,” she concludes after a minute. I hum in a mix of interest and approval and roll off the bed, determined to start cooking dinner.

“Be thinking of your answer why while I make dinner,” I say as I leave the room.

“Sure,” she says in a way I know she’s not thinking about it anymore. “Don’t add pepper to my fucking food!” she calls after me, and I roll my eyes and sigh, but make the mental note for the fiftieth time that I always manage to forget anyway.

As I walk into the kitchen, I put my Pearl Jam playlist on my phone on shuffle and hit the play button. I smile at the light guitar picking that indicates the beginning of “Present Tense.” Coincidentally, it’s the only song on No Code that Ella likes. That alone makes me think how much sense it does make to live in the present tense.

[shibereshu]

Hello there, I hope you're well :)) I was wondering if I could request a story with RAVN, an AU where the reader is an idol who debuted in another group. They were close friends from a previous company they trained in, parted ways, and have reunited again to perform a special stage with Trouble Maker (by Troublemaker) :O I hope that's alright with you, thank you! :))

Thank you for requesting!! I rewrote this a few times since I wasn’t entirely satisfied with how it was turning out *sighs* but I finally managed to write something that I thought you might enjoy, so I hope you do! I tried to make it gender neutral so that any reader can feel comfortable reading it !! (Also, watching the Trouble Maker stage again brought me great memories, so thank you for that

We’ve received many great requests lately that we’re working on, so if you requested something, thank you very much! As always our requests are still open! the groups we write for are in our bio and here are some prompt lists that can help you come up with a request!

Troublemaker - Kim Youngjo

“And six, seven, eight. Give me one, two, and three and four...”

Sweat dripped from your forehead, but you gave your best and followed the voice of your group leader while focusing on making your moves as wide and precise as possible. The fast beat of the song made your adrenaline rush, but the moment the song ended you couldn’t help but let your body fall on the floor, just like your fellow group mates did, and sigh in relief. You were so tired; you didn’t think you could have lasted much longer on your feet.

  “Okay guys! Great job today!” You all clapped and cheered, and your leader brought two boxes full of ramyeon cups and ice cream so that you could eat something and regain some energy before leaving to the dorm.

“Woah… we looked so cool right now. I wish we could come back right now… I don’t understand why we must wait any longer, we could do the whole choreography with our eyes closed! We’ve been practicing for so long…” One of your peers complained while waiting for the food to cool down.

“I guess they are planning to release something else before our comeback, so they don’t want that to sift the focus away from our new album. I’m sure it’s for our sake, so don’t worry about it.” The leader answered.

All of you nodded in response, agreeing with those words and feeling much more relieved.

"Also! Have you guys heard about that new show where they-“

Your friend was interrupted by your manager, who suddenly entered the training room with a huge smile filling his face.

 “Hello! Did practice go well?” All of the members, including you, stretched your backs and sat properly while greeting him, “Ohh, you are eating! Please, continue doing so and don’t mind me. I just wanted to say that we have big news, so, if you could come to my office when you are done so that we can discuss that, it would be great. Now, enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you, mister.” You quickly finished the food and followed the rest of the members to the manager’s office, where he was sitting down between the main producer of the company and the CEO, who immediately stood up to greet you as he saw you coming into the room.

“Oh, you are here already, hello, hello.” He gestured towards the chairs they’d prepared for you, and all of you nervously sat down, glancing between the manager and the CEO, not knowing what to expect.

The CEO cleared his throat and kept speaking, “So… I heard the preparation for your next come back is going great! I’m proud of all of you. I’m sure by now you must be wondering why we have delayed the release of the new songs so much… That’s the reason we told you to come here. We have something to announce.” He shifted his sight to your manager, who took the floor from there.

 “Well… the thing is, we are organizing a concert where you will be able to premiere your new song, kind of like a huge live spoiler, with a special stage that will hopefully increase your popularity while arousing great expectation and buzz about the new album.”

You looked and the rest of your members, who all shared bright smiles and sights filled with hope and excitement.

“A special stage! But… what will it be like?” One of your friends asked, clapping with joy.

“We cannot tell you the details yet… But one of you will collaborate with a member from a popular boy group. This time, we can only choose one member, but we hope that does not lead no any time of jealousy or hatred between members. We promise to bring you more opportunities like this one in the future, so that every one of you can have their own special stage.”

The members all nodded and smiled, not giving much importance to it, “It’s okay, we are grateful for the opportunity, no matter who goes on the stage, we will all be cheering for them.”

“But, which boy group is it?”

This time, it was the general producer who spoke, “we can’t say it yet, since we will sign the papers tomorrow morning, but I have worked with them before, and I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”

The manager smiled and spoke up as well, “We will also announce the person who will go on the stage tomorrow, after lunch. That was everything we wanted to tell you, so please go and rest now, and we will see each other tomorrow.”

Your friends kept trying to guess which boy group it would be on your way to the dorm, but you didn’t think much about it, although… you couldn’t help but wonder… what if the group was…? No, there’s no way… You thought, shaking your head and trying to think about something else.

Finally home, you threw yourself on your bed and picked up a box of snacks to munch on while you waited for your mates to take a shower before you could do so yourself. You were reading a news article on your phone when it buzzed on your hand, signaling that you’d received a new message.

Kim Youngjo [23:14]: hey (y/n), home already?

It was Kim Youngjo, also known as Ravn, his stage name. Ravn and you knew each other for more than six years, since you had been trainees at the same company before. He changed companies and debuted with a boy group called Oneus, which was popular all over the country, and you also changed companies less than a month after he did and managed to debut with your own group. Sadly, you didn’t hang out together anymore, due to your busy schedules and fear of the nasty comments some people might make. Still, you texted each other pretty often, and you considered him one of your closest friends.

You sent him a picture of yourself, holding a snack in front of the camera and delivering him a wink. You knew he would still be in his company building, and you liked to tease him showing how comfortable you were on your bed, enjoying snacks while he still had to train. You would never do that to anyone else, but with him, it was kind of a private joke by now. He would always respond with another picture of himself, and this time it was him showing off his recently dyed greenish hair, drenched in sweat. He looked as if he was trying to frown, to show how annoying your picture was, but his smile proved he was not mad at all.

Kim Youngjo [23:16]: We are almost done for today… I’m craving snacks now!!

You kept chatting for a bit longer, until you heard your friends calling you and had to say goodbye to him. You were really happy for him, and obviously also for yourself, since you had been able to debut in a wonderful group which was loved by many incredible people. But still, some part of you wished you had more freedom, and could meet your friend and spend as much time with him as you used to…

You took the shower you needed after a long day of hard work, and while the warm drops of water ran down your skin and soothed your sore muscles, a wild thought came to your mind. It would be wonderful… if someday I had the opportunity to share the stage with him…

The next day started just like any other. You went to the main building, where you trained for hours until you had your lunch break and then went back to training. However, as you were on your way back to the dancing room, you heard your manager calling out your name.

“(y/n)! Did you eat already?” He rushed towards you, and you stopped walking and bowed at him politely.

“Yes sir! I was on my way back to practice.”

“Great! Follow me, please, I need to talk to you.” He turned his back at you and walked into his office, and you followed his instructions.

You felt your insides turn, even though you couldn’t think of anything that you’d done wrong. But if it wasn’t because of that, why would he be calling you to his office? Did he want you to advise him on which member to choose for the special stage? That might be it… If he asks me, I should go for our leader, shouldn’t I? they have worked so hard for this comeback… but what about our main dancer? I should ask him first if he’s looking for a dancer or a singer… Or could it be our rapper?

“…so after he comes you will have to start practicing the song together, but I know you will learn the choreography very fast, so it won’t be a problem. Ehm… (y/n)? Are you listening to me?”

You had zoomed out, so you had no idea what he was talking about, “Sorry, mister! I zoomed out for a moment… Could you… repeat that?”

He sighed and shook his head, rolling his eyes as he did so, “I swear young people nowadays never have their head where it should be. I said you were chosen for the stage, so take your things and wait for the other idol so that you can go to the practice room together.”

“I was… what? The special stage? Wait…” You kept stuttering and mumbling, trying to make sense of what he’d told you.

A knock was heard on the door, and a producer from the company came in, “Mister, could I talk to you for a moment? We need your opinion on this new idea…”

“Yeah, sure! We just finished here. (y/n), thank you for your time, he will be here very soon, so don’t worry, you have a lot of time to practice together. Okay sir, let me hear that idea…”

You left the room, confused about what just happened, and decided to head to the restroom before doing anything else. Once you’d finished there and had splashed cold water on your face, which made you feel a bit more confident about the whole thing, you went back to the lobby, where you ran into a familiar person.

You froze, looking at the boy who stood in front of you, taking in his dark brown eyes and the green spikes that covered his bangs.

“Young… Youngjo? What the hell are you doing here?!” Your old friend expression changed into a surprised one and his huge smile made him squint his eyes.

“(y/n)! I wanted to give you a surprise, that’s what I didn’t tell you I was coming to your company!” He laughed and pulled you into his arms, “It’s so good to see you again!”

You let your hands rest on his back and let yourself enjoy his embrace for a moment, “I missed you, Ravn”

He laughed, not used to you calling him by his stage name.

“So, which one’s the way to the practice room?”

“The… the practice room?”

“Of course! We have a stage to prepare for, don’t we?”

A thousand thoughts crossed your mind at that moment. You pushed him away with shock and looked straight into his eyes, “Are you… are we doing the stage together?”

“What? You don’t want to? I already practiced my part of the choreography… and I feel confident to say anyone would like to take your spot.” He smirked and rested his hands on your hips, “But I want you to be the one. Let’s make trouble together.”

You both ran into the practice room, laughing and dancing around. You flashed your hips at him while he showed you his part and sang the chorus of the song. And at that moment, you realized, that was all you’d ever wanted.

The day of the performance, the crowd went crazy. You had great chemistry, and it showed. Youngjo and you danced in perfect synchronization, his hands resting on your boding as if that was where they belonged. Every time his face was in front of yours, he would wink at you, and there was no trace of awkwardness, since you felt the most comfortable around each other. The fans went crazy when your hands travelled down his torso, and then again when he had his solo dance break, which you observed with pride. The song came to an end, and Youngjo took your hands into his and gave you the most heart-warming smile you’d ever seen. It had been a total success, and everyone loved it so much, they kept asking for more.

You’d thought you would never be able to go on the stage with him. But there you were, and, you had to admit, you were a killing duo.