#i don’t care what fob cd i get i just want one

[ra3theemo]

how i look begging my parents for fall out boy shit

[permanentcrossfics]

Intentional // h.s.

Gently, you hooked your fingers into the thin gold chains dangling around his neck. They were dim under the shadow of his chin and his eyes flickered down briefly as you slowly pulled the crosses out from underneath his t-shirt. You ran your fingers back and forth, moving the pendants along the chains as if they were on a zipline.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

Then, you stopped. Almost in tandem with your fist closing around the chains, Harry tipped his cap back before ducking down to kiss you. You swayed, senses overwhelmed -- his skin was under your nose, his mouth was over yours, his groan was in your ears, and his hands were slinking behind you, shielding your back as he pressed you into the shelving. Right then, he was the world. Everything and everyone outside of this aisle was muted and shunned into total darkness. Tentatively, you wrapped your hand tighter in his necklaces and tugged, and all but immediately he dug his fingers into your back without so much as taking a breath. You whimpered and, hand still tangled, you slid it up his neck. You’d just gotten your forearm around his neck when he pulled away.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

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Transitions were… tricky.

Before you and Harry had joined hands and taken the leap, you were convinced there was nothing worse than the agonizing tickle of did he or didn’t he, would you or wouldn’t you. There was nothing worse than your racing heart when he let his hand linger in more than friendly ways -- in the dip of your lower back, across your shoulder, anywhere he could get that wasn’t copping a feel. Nothing worse than resting your face in the crook of his neck, nose brushing his skin, and listening to him talk through his chest, voice somehow deeper that way. Nothing worse than watching his face fall when you said no, you couldn’t get dinner with him. Why? You had a dinner date with someone else.

Even now you remembered the pang of his confusion and how his easy smile had slipped from his face.

Not long after that he’d cornered you in his visibly nervous resolve. It ended with you perched on top of your kitchen counter, legs spread and him between them as you made out in sweet relief.

How’d you not known? How’d you not have any idea? You’d teased that you were blinded by your pining, but it was bad for him, too, he’d insisted. Awful wondering how to go about it without fucking up a friendship if friendship was all you wanted. All those times of trying to initiate a shift -- first with a slow drawl of, “Is this ok?” while dragging his thumb across the backs of your knuckles in more than the quick passes he’d done in the past. Then, the “All right?” he’d rumbled in your ear when he’d kept you in a hug longer than either of you usually did had you arching into him at the time. To his credit, he hadn’t laughed. If anything, he’d pulled you closer so all of you was stretched across all of him and he’d held on tight. He never let go if he could help it.

That was weeks ago -- three by now, give or take. Three weeks and the bliss of not dancing around suspicions or purposefully sidestepping signs was like a weight had been lifted from both your shoulders. Three weeks of staying in and coffees out and walking through the park after dark and in the rain because that was how privacy could be next to guaranteed. Three weeks, but no date.

“What’ve we been doing?” you’d asked when he’d made the observation over curry takeaway.

“Hanging out.” He shrugged. “Y’know? We haven’t--” sighing, shoulders slumping, he said, “I haven’t taken you anywhere, or….”

So, a date. A real date -- a first, devoid of the jitters and uncertainties that came with meeting someone new, but full of different ones. A date set with the intent of being a real date, not like anything else you’d do.

Just Harry. Just your friend, just your buddy, just someone who was no longer just anyone anymore. Harry, but your fingers shook and nearly spilled the contents of your purse when he rapped on your door.

“Coming!” you called, voice strained. Two twists of your lock later and your door was open. “Hey,” you said. Those off-white loafers he’d more than worn in, grey trousers, the cap stuffed over his hair, and the scooped neck of his tank top underneath his long wool coat assured you that you’d made the right choice with your outfit. His onceover of you was almost imperceptible -- another habit he’d sworn to you he was sure you’d noticed more than once despite himself, and one he’d thought secured him in your mind.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded, stepping out and pulling the door closed behind you.

“Where--?”

Could you ask that? As friends you’d have badgered him, but as friends he’d have told you beforehand instead of omitting the plan.

He grinned, key fob in hand. “Thought we’d go somewhere we both like….”

“Which is?”

His eyes slid to you and his cheek dimpled deeper. “Maybe go listen to some music.”

***

The record shop was an institution. For all intents and purposes, it was a hole in the wall -- decades of cigarette smoke permeated the walls by at least three inches, and the thick floorboards were warped and creaked with even the slightest step. What the aisles lacked in width they made up for in height, with row after row of albums loaded onto shelving units that nearly touched the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Some were wrapped in cellophane, but most were opened with handwritten pricemarks affixed to the front of them, colors distorted and worn from fingers and care throughout the years.

“This isn’t ‘hanging out’?” you asked quietly, scanning the shelves as you moved along them slowly.

“No,” came his answer from several steps behind you. “It’s something we like doing together.”

“Friends look at records,” you said. “Can you hand me that one?” you asked, pointing at a shelf that was just out of reach.

“Hmm?” Harry looked up from the back of a sleeve he was examining. “Oh, sure.”

“Thanks.” You took it from him and flipped it over. “Do you have this one?”

“I do,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard you play it?”

Harry shrugged and you huffed. “You have everything, don’t you?” you said, putting it back. He smirked, but otherwise didn’t react, and you bit your lip, deflating, and averted your eyes. When he’d parked the car out front, you had felt a certain level of ease with the familiarity. Now, though, you felt like… Jesus, you hated admitting it because it made you sound needy, but you felt like you had to vye for his attention. You were his date, but music was his wife, his children, his wife’s children from her first marriage, and more wrapped up into one. At least before, you would sometimes catch each other’s eye in a way that felt forbidden or you’d trade stories and ideas -- anything to have an excuse to talk or get close.

You’d never had this problem as friends.

Your shoes thudded along the floor as you walked through the narrow aisles, the rounding corners and twisting through crates that were stacked one on top of the other -- rescued vinyls, CDs, 8-tracks, and cassette tapes that would’ve met some other end if they hadn’t been sheltered here. It was like stepping through the wardrobe into a musical Narnia where time was lost and you could move seamlessly across it -- decade to decade, month to month, day to day. Twisting your purse so it was behind you and out of your way, you started thumbing through albums, stopping suddenly and pulling one out when it caught your eye.

“What’ve y’got there?”

You jumped, throat closing, and nearly dropped the album on your foot. “Oh my God, Harry!” you whispered. He grinned widely, obnoxiously and obviously pleased he’d startled you, and if it wouldn’t break, you’d hit him with the record. “You absolute--”

“Dunno how you didn’t hear me,” he said. “Floors are--” He leaned back and forth, the squeaking almost musical.

“Stop that,” you said, turning away from him. You were reading the back when he slipped his hand around your waist, palm splayed over your hip.

“What’s that?” he repeated his previous question close to your ear. Wordlessly, you flipped it around and he hummed. “That’s a good one. Don’t have that, actually.”

“No?”

He shook his head and the ends of his hair brushed your ear. Your pulse quickened. Having him this close and letting him so casually step into your bubble of personal space and linger was still so new and unfamiliar. Even now, questions about whether it meant anything cropped up, tickling your brain -- surely this had to be an accident, not anything intentional. Surely he had to not even realize what he was doing. Surely none of this could mean anything.

Surely.

“D’you think you’re gonna get it?”

You inhaled quickly and cleared your throat, slipping it back onto the shelf. “I-- don’t know.” Your mouth was dry and you coughed delicately, but when you made to spin to slip by him, he got his hand on your other hip and held you in place.

“Where’re you going?”

Straightening up, something pulled behind your navel. Electric -- the word made you roll your eyes, but it was the only one you could describe the intensity of the charge you felt. Almost nose to nose, you could see every detail on his face. You’d seen them countless times before without a thought, but they were somehow more now. Every crease of his eyelids, every slight variation in the shade of his eyes, the patches of his facial hair that were thicker and darker than others, the freckle on his lip and the other on his chin and the way his throat bobbed, and--

“Just looking,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” Harry asked. “M’lookin’, too.”

The bell above the door clanged at the front of the shop. It was muted, distant, and voices were muffled. Next to no one ever came back here -- that’s why he liked this place. It was so deep, no one would ever find him. He could duck in, disappear, find a gem or three, and quietly leave without anyone being the wiser.

It was Narnia. Safe, surrounded by mentors of times gone by, with no one to interrupt.

Gently, you hooked your fingers into the thin gold chains dangling around his neck. They were dim under the shadow of his chin and his eyes flickered down briefly as you slowly pulled the crosses out from underneath his t-shirt. You ran your fingers back and forth, moving the pendants along the chains as if they were on a zipline.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

Then, you stopped. Almost in tandem with your fist closing around the chains, Harry tipped his cap back before ducking down to kiss you. You swayed, senses overwhelmed -- his skin was under your nose, his mouth was over yours, his groan was in your ears, and his hands were slinking behind you, shielding your back as he pressed you into the shelving. Right then, he was the world. Everything and everyone outside of this aisle was muted and shunned into total darkness. Tentatively, you wrapped your hand tighter in his necklaces and tugged, and all but immediately he dug his fingers into your back without so much as taking a breath. You whimpered and, hand still tangled, you slid it up his neck. You’d just gotten your forearm around his neck when he pulled away.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

Already? You’d only just gotten there, and you thought maybe for all his talk of a date, he’d….

Harry tilted his head, green eyes unblinking and imploring you to understand something. His cheeks were pink and he opened his mouth before closing it quickly with a mumble of, “M’mean… we don’t have to-- if you’re not, then I don’t….”

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure,” you gasped. “Yeah.”

You’d no sooner gotten the words out than he’d unwound your hand from around his necklace to hold it in his and pull you with him back from Narnia to the front of the shop and into the real world.

***

The car ride was hell. Whatever tension had settled and relaxed on the way over had grown tenfold on the way back. You were pretty sure he broke at least three rules on the way that included saying, “No one ever comes down this road, anyway,” under his breath and flooring the gas in a way that had you gripping the door and seriously debating your answer when he asked if you were ok. But the click of his turn signal before he rolled into his driveway was like a ticking time bomb.

You were home. Your friend who was a bit more than friendly had invited you home with the clear and unmistakeable intention to have sex.

With him.

That was a little more different.

Harry turned the car off and twin pops of seatbelts unfastening followed in quick succession. Abandoning chivalry, he left you to your door in favor of racing to his front one to open it up and usher you both inside out of the light drizzle that’d started halfway there.

You were walking into his house to have sex with him.

It was warm and cozy inside. Decorated in all its eccentric ways, his home felt like it was still getting used to having him home more often. Your shoes scuffed and squeaked the hardwood and his loafers padded with purpose as he went around flicking lights on to brighten the rooms. His cap was gone, having carelessly tossed it somewhere on his way in, and he was shaking his coat off when you fumbled with your bag before dropping it on the sofa and kicking off your shoes.

Ready.

Set….

“I’m--”

Gonna go upstairs.

The rest of it, though, was lost when Harry spun you by the waist and you only just caught sight of his curls — disheveled from the hat he’d stuffed them under — before he reeled you in with a smashing kiss. Unrestrained, unrelenting, and unforgiving, he was off, and it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders for dear life as he backed you up in the practiced way someone who lived there and knew every quirk and oddity of his own house might. He was free to touch, and you were, too, and you did. You touched his back, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, the zipper on his trousers, and his thighs with greedy hands that were learning as fast as they could. As in the shop, again he pulled away and grabbed your hand to lead you up the steps, and your knees quaked so badly you nearly fell down more than once on the way up.

You felt naughty. The same frantic energy of two teenagers trying to beat the clock after school before Mum came home to make dinner pricked you, and judging by the permanent smile pulling his mouth and carving smile lines deeper, he felt it, too. Hurry up, quick, before anyone caught on that you were going to have sex with your friend Harry.

“Everyone probably thinks we’ve already--”

His barking laugh cut you off -- a little wheezy, but it was deep from his belly, and infectious -- and you followed him, giggling, into his bedroom.

It smelled like him. It was the whiff you got when you hugged him, or, more recently, kissed him, but even more, and it was so concentrated it made you woozy. The bed was made, if haphazardly -- like he’d decided on it while getting dressed because he thought he should, but he hadn’t wanted to spend the time on doing it right -- and clothes were visible through half-open drawers and draped onto the stuffed armchair in the corner of his room.

“Did you clean?” you teased. He exhaled sharply and shook his head, but his mouth quirked at the corners and his cheeks were pink. Biting your lip, you squeezed his hand and he stepped closer.

“Is this ok?” he asked. Nodding, you tilted your head up slightly to meet his mouth. Less hurried and violent than the one downstairs, this kiss reached deep, stirring up nerves and butterflies. Each time he broke it, you chased him for more, and he smiled into it, pressing his warm hand on your cheek. “Gonna take your clothes off now,” he mumbled between several smacking kisses.

“Ok….”

Your clothes and his were gradually removed -- button by button, snap after snap, and zippers, too, slowly and with careful intent despite the rush you were both in. Discovering him and having him discover you was nothing short of exhilarating. Harry drew his hand over your bare shoulder with almost curious possessiveness before ducking down and sponging kisses up and down it that had your eyes fluttering shut and your head rolling back. He groaned in the back of his throat and his teeth scraped your skin when he bit you gently, pulling a gasp from you and you yourself back to consciousness.

Dazed and lips parted with each gulping breath, you stared at him. His hair was dark and twisted, pulled this way and that by your hands and his, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, the same crosses you’d tugged earlier glinting in the streaks of soft grey light peeking through his curtains. Even the most faded ink on his torso and arms seemed to pop bright and black on his skin, and without thinking, you pressed your palms to it, absorbing the warmth as you skated over him before doing as he had and leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder.

How many times had you suppressed thoughts of kissing his skin? How many times more had you indulged in them feeling guilty and unsure, because he was your friend and things weren’t like that for either of you? How many times had you wondered when you’d get to do this since things had shifted? You kissed and pulled at the skin along his shoulders, chest, and arms, relishing his stuttered breaths, and you only paused when, glancing up, you caught the look on his face. With hooded eyes and a parted, bright red mouth, he looked like a man -- not a man who was your friend, but a man you wanted to rip into and who you wanted to rip into you. A man who could, and was perfectly capable of it, and who would without even having to be asked if you only said yes, please. It was feral, it was instinctual, and you clapped your hand behind his neck before smashing your mouth to his with a desperate whimper.

Harry turned you smoothly onto his bed and you squeaked when your back hit the mattress with a bounce and he went with you. You were covered by him from head to toe, and you ran your foot up his calf, hooking it around the back of his knee. “Ha--” muffled against his mouth, he groaned immediately.

“I know,” he said. “I know, I know….”

One bra strap and then the other snapped when he slipped them down your arms, but the sting barely made an impression when he let out a slow, hot breath against your chest and peppered kisses over the tops of your breast. Nose pressed to your skin, he took a deep breath, and the anxiety that had wound itself into tight little balls in you of unchecked energy gradually loosened and dissolved. He was nervous -- not enough to inhibit him, but enough to roll off him and onto you. You almost laughed. You’d been so focused on your own perspective, you’d lost sight of the fact that this was different for him, too.

His best friend was in his bed, nearly naked, and he was about to have sex with them.

“Is this ok?” you whispered over his head. Harry stopped and looked up at you.

“Is…?” He grinned, laughing, and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s great.”

Simple and silly, that one word sent you soaring. Great -- you were great. This was great. Pushing his chest, you sat up when he rolled off you as you wordlessly reached behind to unhook your bra. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped automatically when you shimmied it down your arms, and you smirked in a way you hoped was half as coy as you’d tried to make it.

“Go,” you murmured, pushing his chest again.

“Ah,” Harry said, doing as you asked and falling back onto his elbows. “They like to be in charge, then?”

Heat crept up through you when you straddled his thighs. “Sometimes.” You slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, noticing very briefly how soft his skin was against your knuckles before you pulled the elastic firmly. Harry lifted his hips so you could get them down, and just as his had, your eyes dropped despite yourself. Mostly hard, he rested against the crease of his thigh. Any number of adjectives ran through your head, and you only realized you were still looking, lost in thought, when you caught the cocky twist of his mouth.

“Go on, then,” he said quietly. Snorting, you rolled your eyes and fell forward, chest-to-chest with him, and he drew you up into a kiss. Smashed together, you stayed just like that, hands stroking, dipping, and exploring bare skin. You shivered when he slipped his hand into your underwear to knead your ass, and your wriggling made him grunt in a tortured way. “Condom’s in the drawer,” he mumbled. “Gonna… have to… wait… wait here.”

Harry gently eased you away by the waist before rolling across his bed and stood to open his bedside table. You dropped your head onto his pillow and watched him with a small smile. “Were you planning this?”

He tore a condom off the strip. “No. I mean….” Harry shrugged. “Had hope that… maybe eventually… y’know…” he said sheepishly. He looked at you as if gauging your reaction. “Is that…?”

Your smile widened and you held your arm out, inviting him back, and he let out a deep breath, taking it.

“Know how t’keep me on my toes,” he mumbled.

“Good,” you said just before kissing him, arm tight around his neck. He inhaled deeply and sheets rustled as you rolled in them, turning him onto his back and sending you with him. With your weight settled on top of him, you lay there comfortably, languidly kissing through soft, breathless moans. He, for his part, seemed content to let his hands wander the sides of your breasts, your back, your hips, over your ass, the crease along your thighs, and finally….

You stilled with a gasp when he slid the pads of his fingers over you -- up and down, up and down -- before he carefully parted you with just the tips. Gulping, you broke from his mouth and rested your forehead on his shoulder with a rattling breath, gripping his bicep and shifting to bring one of your knees up. Harry grunted and adjusted himself beneath you before pressing a kiss to your ear and sliding his fingers deeper. He curled them and your mouth fell open. Beneath you, he chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he pumped them in and out of you, each wet, slick stroke somehow louder than the last. God, could he hear that? Of course he could.

“Come on,” he whispered, gradually slowing his fingers. He pulled them out and drew them up your skin, leaving a sticky trail behind. “Come….” The wrapper crinkled when you tore into it, and he pinched the top while you smoothed the condom down to his base. Hands braced on his chest, you held your breath as you settled over him.

“Breathe,” he warned, jaw tight and eyes flickering between your face and where you were above him. “Breathe, yeah? Just--”

“I’m ok,” you assured him, drawing his head between your legs, sliding it until you found your entrance. “I’m….” You trailed off into a sigh when you opened around his head, and, swallowing hard, you eased down, down, down onto him until you were nearly seated on his thighs. “Oh my God,” you moaned under your breath.

“Breathe,” Harry said again. Eyes closed, you did as he said, taking slow, deep breaths in and out. He was… this was a stretch. Not painfully so, but one regardless. You pulsed, grimacing immediately, before rocking on top of him. There -- that wasn’t so bad. Not at all, even, that was good. Hands still on his chest, you braced yourself and pushed back and forth, slowly at first and then with more certainty. Beneath you, Harry grunted and clapped his hands over your hips as if caught off guard. “Shit,” he breathed.

Eyes stamped shut, he tilted his head back, drilling it into his pillow, and you marveled at the long column of his neck. You watched his throat bob several times and you followed the path up to his sharp jawline, his tight mouth, to where his nose was flaring harshly. He laughed breathlessly and opened his eyes, but there was an unfocused gleam to them. “Y-y’killin’... killin’ me,” he stuttered. “You….”

He trailed off when you hooked your fingertips into his chains again and tugged. His chin doubled when he lifted his head and when he locked eyes with you, you grinned impishly before easing down onto him. Clapping a firm hold on your ass, he brought you down hard and you groaned abruptly. That was deep -- that was in your belly -- and your face screwed up when he did it again and again, thrusting his hips sharply against yours.

“Oh my-- Harry-- fuck!”

The bands of his rings, warm from his body heat, pinched your skin when he tightened his hold. He practically shook beneath you with the effort he was using, every breath labored, but suddenly, he stopped. Before you could so much as whisper, the world spun around you and you were on your back, empty.

“Shit!” Harry spluttered, pushing his fingers through his now damp hair. It fell right back in front of his forehead and you let out a wheezy stream of giggles. “That-- that was not supposed to be that….”

You laughed louder and he kissed your jaw, grinning against it while kneading one of your breasts, thumb rolling back and forth over your nipple. Eyes closing, you sighed breathily when he ducked down and sucked with a low, reverent groan and incomprehensible mumbles. When he stretched out above you again to push in, you wrapped both your arms around his back as yours arched with a quiet moan.

“God, this feels good,” you said, candid and unprompted, sinking into the feeling as he sank into you.

“Feels amazing,” he said. “Feels so fucking….” Grunting, he shuddered and dropped nearly all his weight on top of you. “Bring your legs up,” he said. “Bring your legs--” You complied, locking your ankles just above his ass, thighs spread wide. “Good, good girl.”

“You like to… to be the boss?” you teased, echoing his earlier jab.

He thrust sharply, punching a shout from you.

“Yes.”

Again and again he drove into you, and it was all you could do to grab onto him. He’d been holding back! He’d been holding way back! You hiccuped a breath and pressed your mouth to his shoulder, face twisted as you grappled his back with shaking fingers. This was good sex -- this was the type of sex that elevated you and made your toes shake and curl while you gasped for breath. The type of sex where you were going and going until you lost your breath right on the edge and you had to pause and feel the tickles of an orgasm slip away because it was that or pass out cold. This was sex you kissed and bit your way through and would leave you sore from your scalp down through the balls of your feet. It was roll over, lift like this, deeper, there? There sex. This sex was….

You weren’t sure at first because it felt fast, but it was confirmed with the first contraction deep in your abdomen. “Oh my God,” you moaned in disbelief. One of your hands slipped against his back and he hissed, faltering for just a moment as you uttered a pitchy, “Sorry… sorry!” while finding your hold both in his firm upper back and the softer muscle close to his hips.

“Close?” he ground out, voice muffled, and you nodded against his shoulder, turning your face into his sweaty neck. The smell of cologne and sweat was strong, almost dizzyingly so, and each new contraction brought on by his pelvis grinding against yours made it worse.

Swallowing, mouth dry, you whispered, “I’m think I’m gonna cum,” in an almost confessional tone. “I think--”

“Ok!” he said under his breath. “Ok-- oh, shit….” He moaned, a long, loud, drawn out sound and his hips faltered. ‘Wait! Wait, fuck!” Breathless and keening he thrust roughly, like he was trying to beat a clock only he could hear, breathing raggedly under your ear. Panting, you locked your arms and legs around him. You’d never been particularly loud -- years of necessity had built a habit -- but you could hear yourself now, calling out things that didn’t even make sense, writhing underneath him like you were out of your mind. It was almost pornographic, and you almost laughed, but it got caught in your throat when your cunt pulsed and your whole body tightened.

“Oh, Harry, oh, God!”

Harry smashed a stubbly kiss to the corner of your mouth, and his chin hit yours so hard it hurt. Your eye watered, whether from pain or the intensity of him still grinding, but seconds later through sputtered pleases and increasingly frantic thrust, he groaned so deeply you felt it in you. You went entirely still as he trembled, cock throbbing, and in the next minute he’d collapsed full weight on top of you. You sucked soft, wheezy breaths in as best you could, but your lungs were crushed in your chest with the pressure he was putting on them. Just as you were about to ask him to… maybe… please, Harry… move… he pushed up and off you to the side just enough to relieve you.

“Shit!” he rasped, face planted against your shoulder. “Shit.”

Yeah. Shit. Did you say it out loud? You couldn’t tell -- you couldn’t tell much of anything anymore. Everything was somehow pleasantly hot and numb at the same time, and you were thirsty. Your head was ringing, too, and you couldn’t remember the last time sex had left you this finished. Totally and thoroughly finished.

You’d done it. You’d had sex with him, with intent, and it was incredible.

Harry slipped his hand around your bicep and squeezed, pressing kisses to your skin in silence. Your lips quirked, but any quip was half-formed, and each one died on your tongue. Gradually, your breathing settled and the roaring silence did, too. Outside, the clouds had passed, and raindrops clinging to the window panes were slowly drying up in the sun that’d deemed it safe enough to peek again. It was still early -- after the nerves, the jitters, the trip to the shop, dancing around each other, and flooring it back to his place, and the sex, there was still most of a day ahead of you.

With a final squeeze, Harry kissed the top of your breast before rolling away, bed creaking beneath him. Shaking his head, he stood, and picked his trousers off the floor before patting them down and taking out his phone.

“S’get summat t’eat,” he mumbled, voice thick, as he passed it over to you. “Lemme buy.” He gestured to himself vaguely. “Gonna go… and maybe pick up that record you didn’t know I had.”

He stumbled, waving you off when you giggled. Just the same as before -- lunch in the afternoon with albums spinning until you couldn’t stand to get up to change them again -- but with a few crucial differences that made it so much better.

[earlgreytea68]

A Review of the Fall Out Boy Biography Inevitably Colored by Shippiness Oops But Really Mainly By My Love for Pete Wentz

I don’t even know who the audience is for this monstrosity of a review, nor do I know the audience for this biography, though, so, like, it’s fitting lololol: 

I am a new Fall Out Boy fan. I say that because, if anybody was in need of a Fall Out Boy biography, you would think it would be a new fan. AND YET. I’m not entirely sure who the market for this book is, because it isn’t really Fall Out Boy fans of any duration, because not only can everything in the book be easily located with the simplest of Google searches but also there’s so much he leaves out. And what he leaves out is just…so incredibly telling. It’s like, the facts he chooses to highlight are often pointless and random (although thanks for telling me that Pete Wentz’s jeans were so tight he had to perform without underwear, I’m going to think about that a lot now), whereas the facts he leaves out are the ones that lend both complexity and context. Like, this whole book could be Exhibit A in how malleable facts can be. Given the same set of facts, this man and I would tell two very different stories.

At least partly this is because he’s a music critic (I glean from the book) and I’m a creative writer. I believe he is a music critic because he takes care to dedicate a paragraph of musical analysis to every song on their earliest CDs (he loses interest in them over the hiatus, and more on that later). I appreciated this, because I know nothing about music, and I learned a lot about how talented Patrick Stump really is, like, not as a vocalist, because I knew that, or as a musician, because I also knew that, but as a smart, clever songwriter. I don’t know how to critique music, and I was happy this guy was full of praise for what Patrick does. He also pointed out musical hallmarks of theirs – like their tendency to drop the music suddenly for Patrick to sing an a cappella line – and that was the first time I’d ever really thought about them.

He was full of much less praise for Pete’s lyrics, though, and I think that’s because he’s a music person, not a word person. Not that he thought Pete’s lyrics were ever bad but he tended to stay very conventional about them: emo, confessional, dramatic, and ingeniously juxtaposed with Patrick’s clear-as-a-bell voice. He’s kind of obsessed with the contrast between Patrick’s voice and the lyrics he’s singing, whereas I’m much more obsessed with the contrast between Patrick himself in sweater-paws and glasses snarling, “I am your worst nightmare,” like, sweetheart, I doubt it. AND YET HE PULLS IT OFF. Like, that’s so interesting to me, how much Patrick can make himself embody Pete, that act of alchemy where he sings on his behalf, but this book talks less about that than I think it might, mostly because I don’t think this guy really wants to think too hard about how incredibly good Pete’s lyrics actually are. The thing about Pete’s lyrics – he does this, and it’s so clever, it’s killer clever – is you can read them so easily on one very obvious and expected layer, and then there’s always one or two additional meanings tucked underneath them, and you might never stop to think about them, especially if you’ve already written him off, but his lyrics reward careful study and a lot of thought, he specializes in triple entendres, a turn of phrase that spins out into so many meanings, that’s so hard to do and he makes it look so easy that it’s such a simple mistake to dismiss it, to not even see how dense his poetry is. The conventional story on Pete Wentz is he’s good at marketing – marketing the band, marketing himself – and so he spun in circles to keep the spotlight on him and away from Patrick, and that’s definitely one take, and another take would be to point out that the same whirligig sex-symbol tabloid-fodder act also had the side effect of undercutting any tendency to take Pete seriously from a literary point of view, like, so much easier to just say that, in keeping with his goth guyliner, he wept into his inkwell and scrawled messily over parchment. So anyway: criticism #1 of this book is that they should have complemented the music-critic-ness with an English major.

Criticism #2 is that I feel like people always get wrong what appeals to girls, to speak in the massive generalizations of this topic. Like, someone somewhere was like, “Hey, girls like this Fall Out Boy band, it must be because Pete Wentz is hot.” And they’re not wrong about that, exactly, but they always seem to miss how many entangled layers often come with attraction. Like, yeah, sometimes it’s just he’s got nice abs but often there’s a million other things happening there, and one thing I cannot forgive this guy for is not just his failure to engage with Pete’s lyrics on any real level, but how little he also truly examines Pete Wentz’s genuine marketing genius. He’s a music guy: His interest is clearly in Patrick, and also in Joe and Andy, because they’re musicians, and he can wax poetic about them. Pete gets his standard paragraphs: Oh, he chose the right management, the right record label, the right deal. He can pick out a good band, like Panic! or Gym Class Heroes. All of that is true, but none of it really grasps exactly how smart Pete really is. Like, the book hardly mentions at all how much Pete realized immediately the value of internet fandom. When I first fell for Pete Wentz – that first weekend I spent Googling him – what really was the death knell for me was stumbling upon the old FOB Q&As he used to run in the earliest days. And it wasn’t actually his constant leaning into the Peterick shipping with such dead-on unerring understanding of fandom that did it for me (although that was pretty charming, ngl). It was how often teenagers messaged Pete Wentz with their problems, and how patiently he took the time to respond. My boyfriend broke up with me. My grandma just died. I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. Again and again and again, Pete Wentz took these messages and wrote out detailed, laborious responses. And I know he was a guy angling hard to be famous but not all guys angling hard to be famous realized how important something like this is, this very personal connection, like, above and beyond the bantering and the smirks, and even if you’re doing it entirely for ulterior motives, that’s a ton of emotional labor he was performing. I finished reading those Q&As and thought, God, Pete Wentz must have been exhausted.

And I’m not sure that’s something the bio ever really wrestled with, because it never really talked about that aspect of him. I don’t actually think the bio read anything Pete Wentz has ever posted online, like, not even those basic Q&As that are the easiest thing in the universe to Google, never mind the secret blogs he still has scattered all over the internet with nuggets of lyricism buried in there for Patrick to mine. It’s just so easy to buy into the Peter-Pan, devil-may-care Pete Wentz picture, and for all I know that’s the truest of the pictures, but it’s also undeniable fact that the other side to that was either really cunning and savvy or just a nice guy, and either way it’s another layer to Pete Wentz that gets short shrift in the bio. Which isn’t surprising because although the author clearly appreciates Fall Out Boy the band, the author clearly isn’t fannish at all, whereas it’s pretty abundantly clear Pete Wentz is fannish. He’s unapologetically fannish. He speaks fan language with a fluency that is hard to fake. And he’s astonishingly well-versed in tropes. He’s instinctively good at creating a good story, not just in his lyrics (although he, like Taylor Swift, is adept at tropey lyrics, so it’s no surprise they have a mutual admiration society), but in his life. In addition to the Q&As, that first weekend was full of me being like, …How is this the tropiest thing I’ve ever read??? It’s unsurprising that the bio doesn’t point out all the tropes in the Pete Wentz / Patrick Stump / Fall Out Boy story, because the author isn’t versed in tropes, but Pete Wentz definitely is. He knows how to use words, well. And you wouldn’t necessarily know it to listen to him – he babbles and uses tons of filler phrases and never, ever ask him what his lyrics are about, it’s like trying to have a conversation in Wonderland – but that’s all part of the aw-shucks-sometimes-I-scribble-some-stuff-down-Patrick’s-the-real-genius brand.

Now I am not qualified to write a Fall Out Boy biography and also I don’t know these people and also everything I do know comes from Google but that said, I feel like I do know for a fact some primary source materials that the writer just chose to leave out that really does display how malleable stories can be depending on what you highlight or not. Like, if he didn’t want to draw psychological conclusions based on the facts that’s fair enough. But he also pared back the narrative so drastically that it left off the true meat of it, like, if you read this book you would not necessarily think there was much interesting about these people, whereas if you really dig into everything they’ve got out there, well, you could start to think they’re super-interesting people. But I am a creative writer and this biographer was a music critic. He settles happily into the song analysis but I’m busy connecting dots into a narrative, and life is complicated, it is not a simple narrative, but that impulse underlies most biography, the idea that we can assemble the facts into something that has something to say about a human life. But that act really exists in how you assemble the facts.

 ~~~~~~~~TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE DISCUSSION~~~~~~~~~~~

A really good example of this is the way the biography deals with the Best Buy incident. Here are the bare facts: Pete Wentz, in a Best Buy parking lot listening to Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah,” took too many Ativan. In a phone call, his manager noticed he was slurring, called his parents, they rushed him to the hospital, he lived. These are the facts that the book gives you, and these are true facts.

If you want to expand slightly upon these bare facts, Pete has given many, many interviews about this incident because he is very open about mental health issues and his bipolar disorder and depressive episodes and anxiety. Pete has said that he’s not sure he was trying to kill himself so much as just make his head quiet for a little while. Pete has said he felt like he was too busy being Pete Wentz for everyone else and he just wanted to rest. These are also facts, although ones I don’t think the biographer truly believes. He does dutifully quote them but he also clearly has his own belief about how much Pete’s telling the truth. Because this is inevitable in any telling of the facts.  

If you want to expand slightly upon these facts, you could point out that Pete’s lyrics reflect how noisy his head is (“when this city goes silent, the ringing in my ears gets violent”), which might color how you understand him when he says he just wanted some peace and quiet. You might also point out that, as the bio has already said, Pete was the driving force behind the band’s strategy and it was about to culminate. You might remind the reader that Pete walked away from other possibly very successful careers to do this band (there is much made in the book of the theoretical ease with which Pete could have achieved a soccer career, which made me raise my eyebrows a bit but, you know, Patrick does say Pete’s really, really good at soccer). You might recall that Pete has these kids relying on him whose parents he literally had to persuade to trust him. You might say that so far everything had gone exactly as he planned and he just needed to stick the landing. You might mention the fact that they kept rewriting songs and rewriting songs and rewriting songs; that Pete was in such utter meltdown mode that he was sliding lyrics under Patrick’s door and then retreating, so that the rest of the band never even saw him; that they had scrapped half the album and were furiously writing new music right up until the deadline – all of which are facts not even mentioned. You might say all of those things, because they are indeed all true facts.

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

It is appropriate at this point to note that many of these things were simply not germane to the story this biographer was telling, which was a music-critic-focused story. But these things are all incredibly germane to the story *I* would tell, about these four people who found each other, lost each other, and found each other again, and the two people at the center whose creative alchemy was by turns either too dazzling or too explosive and in both incarnations needed to find a way to balance to keep the band afloat. This is the story I would tell, but, to be totally honest, Pete and Patrick’s creative partnership doesn’t really seem to interest the writer of this book. He mentions it vaguely, in passing, once or twice, fairly standard surface proclamations about Pete handling lyrics and Patrick handling music, and Pete drawing the spotlight away from Patrick who didn’t want it. Or he’ll say that the true secret to the band’s success is Patrick’s voice and Pete’s lyrics, like Patrick could be any pretty-enough voice, which I think just isn’t true, there’s so much more to the way they clicked together. I read this great New Yorker article once about how, through history, genius exists in pairs, that often two people need to find each other to push each other to be better than they would ever be apart.

It’s fine to not want to get into that too intensely, it’s just that that means that half the story of Folie goes away, if you’re not focused on how the band was creating. Like, there’s so much about the lead-up to Folie to talk about: Patrick’s control over the music to the exclusion of everyone else, Pete’s worsening prescription pill thing, and the way that their creative partnership seemed to disintegrate while simultaneously leaving no room for Joe or Andy in the band. The book mentions really none of this – nothing about the fact that at one point they had descended into physical altercations over chord progressions; nothing about the story the producer tells that Patrick would get so frustrated after phone calls with Pete that he’d throw things around the studio; nothing about the story that Patrick once told Pete, “I don’t care, I’m going to write a song and call it ‘I Don’t Care,’” such a telling little tale when later Patrick comes to hate the song “I Don’t Care” – so the hiatus feels like it descends out of nowhere, with a paragraph about the fans not liking the album. Which, again, is a true fact, but without the other true facts of the way the entire creative process was crumbling around them, around all of them, it sounds less compelling. The bio does get into Joe wanting to flex his creative muscles more but doesn’t connect it back to the Folie era of being shut-out. The hiatus becomes entirely about Patrick not liking being booed.

Even worse to me is the book devotes a lot of time to each of their music videos, which is awesome, because their videos are important and great, but it devotes exactly zero time to the video for “What a Catch, Donnie.” And I’m so bewildered by that, you can have a field day with the symbolism in that video, even if you want to just make a true factual statement about its plot: Patrick collects all of the detritus of Fall Out Boy and all of their friends come and party with him, while Pete goes down with a sinking ship all alone, to a medley of the words he’s leaving behind. Like. That is literally what happens in this video. And then the hiatus starts. To me this is one of the most ridiculously angsty things ever, that they would go out to their own triumphs echoing back at them and the literal death of captain!Pete Wentz. To the story I would tell, this is the most germane. It merits not a single mention in the bio (other than praising the song itself for being one of the strongest on the album, and talking about the Elvis Costello cameo).

Because he’s much more interested in them musically than as people or relationships, he seems to lose interest in them post-hiatus. He details each of their hiatus-era projects with his typical attention to the music criticism side. And then he spends, like, eight pages talking about the guy who wrote the article that triggered Patrick’s “We Liked You Better When You Were Fat” blog post. I’m not even exaggerating. It’s an entire chapter dedicated to the article and the guy who wrote it. Patrick’s response is described and quoted and even praised, but not in nearly as much as detail as the original article, and Pete’s reaction to Patrick’s blog post gets literally zero attention. Which is fascinating since, in some tellings of the story, that’s the entire reason the hiatus ended. Pete has said on multiple occasions that he read the blog post and was upset Patrick was so upset and called him up and asked him to try writing with him again. But if you’re not actually interested in that creative relationship as a relationship, then you don’t see a reason to explain the motivation behind trying again.

You also don’t really see a reason to tackle why they initially struggled to get back into it. Like, truly grappling with the Pete/Patrick relationship leads to more depth than the surface “Patrick doesn’t like the spotlight, so Pete takes it for him.” That’s too simplistic a formulation, as Pete himself has said. It also discounts Patrick’s obvious dedication to Pete, his complete willingness to step in and publicly defend him on many occasions, like, Patrick’s no shy, retiring wallflower when it comes to Pete, Patrick can let loose viciously on behalf of Pete. Their protectiveness is mutual, although the public narrative often glosses over that. (In one of those “why leave that out” details, the biographer notes that Hemingway was Pete and Ashlee’s ring bearer but not that Patrick was Pete’s best man, Idk.) At any rate, I point that out because the struggle they had to find their groove writing together after the hiatus mirrored their initial struggles, to find their way into trusting each other’s strengths, but the book is just kind of like, “The first session wasn’t successful but the next session was. They were out of practice.” They weren’t out of practice with songwriting, not really, especially not Patrick – they were out of practice with each other. And that wasn’t just a hiatus-era souvenir, that went back to Folie, but we didn’t get that part of Folie.  

The biographer also, annoyingly in my view, loses all interest in them at this point. He devotes almost no time to the post-hiatus era, which is fascinating to me, since their ability to launch a comeback as successfully and relevantly as they did is striking, and to do it not by relying on nostalgia but by generating genuinely new hits with a genuinely new audience, and he’s not interested in that at all. Even worse than not being interested in this is the fact that he fails to close the Folie loop, like, he devotes lots of time to Patrick coming to hate Folie because of how much the fans hated it. Then he makes a little note, like, “Maybe someday Patrick will come to love Folie again,” or something, and the thing is, I know the book was written a few years ago now, but there was definitely stuff available about how much Folie had become a fan favorite in the hiatus years. Patrick gave an interview somewhere where he talked about the reunion show and how he read fan reviews of it and the fans were like, “They should have played more songs from Folie!” I always think at that point And then Patrick looked into the camera like he’s on The Office. But, at any rate, Patrick got to see Folie become beloved and that loop could have been closed better and he just leaves it dangling. (I’m almost like, Did he really write most of this book while they were on hiatus and then when they came back he was like, …Goddamn it?)

He doesn’t at all get into the shock of the immediate level of success of their comeback, like, that’s another thing that’s documented, that they were unsure anyone would care and they were so startled by the response that they had to actually add larger venues onto their tour because they’d thought no one would want to come to their shows. He could have talked about how people waited hours outside in the Chicago cold to get into the comeback show, how they started the show with “Thriller” and Patrick says the response was electric and it must have been amazing and he’s just not really interested in it, you can tell that he’s bored. He doesn’t talk about how Patrick hadn’t really thought about having to perform the new songs live because he didn’t think anyone would really care about the new album, so they had to really think about how they were going to make it work, and how he almost permanently damaged his voice having to sing “Alone Together” live and that’s what finally finally drove him to pursue actual voice lessons, like, he mentions none of this, he’s just like, “They wrote Save Rock & Roll, and then they wrote American Beauty / American Pyscho.” He’s just clearly, at that point, bored. Whereas in the story I would tell, that is the most satisfying part, the happy ending beyond their wildest dreams.

Okay, omg, this is SO LONG, but here are some other random thoughts:

·       He never – not once – goes back to source Pete’s lyrics to their original blog entries, which can be very interesting. This is because he’s not interested in the lyrics really, but it’s very frustrating to me because, like, SOMEBODY TAKE THESE LYRICS SERIOUSLY, PLEASE, THEY’RE SO GOOD. It also means that he misses things like “Miss Missing You” and the way it echoes Pete’s poem with the line “I miss you missing me,” like, that’s just a fact ::shrug:: He also says “Hum Hallelujah” is about teenage romance, and that is the most straightforward, surface-level reading, like, “Oh, it says ‘teenage vow in a parking lot,’ that’s what it’s about.” This pains me only because “Hum Hallelujah” might be the most perfect lyrically constructed song Fall Out Boy has, every line is golden and stuffed with meaning and emotion, and he’s just like, “teenage romance,” so dismissively, and I wince, like, “I could write it better than you ever felt it” is a line that deserves more than that. Not to mention “I love you in the same way there’s a chapel in a hospital,” god, or “One day we’ll get nostalgic for disaster,” ugh, do not read this book for lyrical analysis. He also terms the best lyrical line on Cork Tree as “To the ‘love’ I left my conscience pressed / Between the pages of the Bible in the drawer” and, while there’s nothing wrong with that line, I don’t even think that’s the best line in XO (I mean, leaving off the follow-up of “What did it ever do for me? I say” undercuts those lines immediately, imo). (He does at least point out that “Keep quiet, nothing comes as easy as you / Can I lay in your bed all day?” is a devastatingly sexy couplet.)

·       Can I just say, the entire debacle with Hey Chris gets precious little time in this book, which in a way is fine but in a way is like, just by Googling I got way more information on what went down and the weird, weird words that were being flung back and forth (at one point the term “heterolifemates” is used which makes zero sense at all in this context), but this book does spend a lot of time with Chris and Pete pre-Patrick (fascinating, right???) and there’s this weird part where Chris says he hated Pete before he met him and is like, “He should wear pants that fit,” which is just…such an interesting reason to hate Pete Wentz, like, Idk, Chris, coupled with your heterolifemates thing and weird thing about “whose name do you say every night???” which is also weirdly sexual phrasing and also being like “no one knows how to break a heart like he does,” like, everything about this entire situation has so much queer subtext but the book doesn’t touch any of that, ever, in any circumstance, with a ten-foot pole.

·       EVERYONE, THE BORDERS WHERE JOE AND PATRICK MEET IS LOCATED IN EDEN PLAZA AND I AM SO UPSET I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WHEN I WROTE THE DEVIL FIC.

·       I did not know that the producer wanted them to change the “We’re falling apart to halftime” line in Dance, Dance because he thought it was too incomprehensible and I’m just like, That’s the lyric where you thought you were going to lose people??

·       From the bio, describing the Live in Phoenix performance: a strange moment where Wentz inexplicably gets changed onstage. A strange moment? Inexplicably? Okay, like, germane to my telling of the story is how much those dick pics affected Pete Wentz’s public persona, how much he knew exactly what he was there to sell and he sold it with gusto, and how much of a spiral that ultimately sent him on. Instead, this biographer finds it inexplicable that Pete Wentz would take his shirt off onstage, and his analysis of the music video for “This Ain’t a Scene” gives the dick pic storyline only an offhand reference, calling it “making light” of the scandal, instead of really digging into the obvious pain there, like, that’s not a joyful lark there. (Later, much later, years later, Brendon Urie will manage to actually make light of the dick pic saga, both in the Drunk History and also in the joke of the dick pic being the photo that comes up when Pete calls him, as seen in the promos for the tour they did together, and that feels much more genuine. But that bit in “Arms Race” is kind of heartbreaking.)

·       Pete says of their failed attempt to get the Guinness record of the first band to perform on all seven continents that it was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in Fall Out Boy, and the biographer is like, “Really, Pete? Really?” and I kind of want to shake him because Pete Wentz is obviously a dramatic person and he feels disappointments keenly and he made that statement literally just as they were finding out they wouldn’t be able to do it, like, of course it’s just hyperbole! The biographer is weird through that whole section of the book because he never once mentions that, as a consolation to Pete, Patrick stayed up all night with him so they could get the record of most interviews by a duo in a twenty-four-hour period, like, that’s what I would have said about that story instead of trying to get way more out of Pete’s off-the-cuff self-pity (which is just so Pete Wentz, it’s like this writer hasn’t just spend a hundred pages writing about him…).

·       Whenever I read about how many songs Patrick shows up with when it’s time to record an album, I always feel this little twinge of solidarity with him, like, sometimes that’s just how it is in your chosen creative medium, you’re just always endlessly writing.

·       I had never thought before about the fact that Pete says all the time that he was too selfish pre-hiatus, all the time, a lot, that’s how he describes his problem – and the fact that there’s an entire song on Truant Wave called “Love, Selfish Love” with the line “God bless the sad and selfish” and I’m just going to…sit here and think about who in Patrick’s life could be described as sad and selfish.

·       From the bio re: Soul Punk: It’s disarming to hear this garrulous boy-next-door sing so candidly about sex. Yeah, I don’t think you were paying attention to the way Patrick smirks at the camera in the music videos, buddy.

·       Detail I knew but had never really thought about before: that Pete got Patrick to really click into songwriting with him again by giving him a puzzle. Patrick says that sometimes Pete gives him homework assignments, “I want a song that sounds like x, y, and z,” and Patrick will be like, “That’s impossible,” but also so intrigued that he ends up sitting and writing the thing. The fact that Pete knew, after a few mediocre songs neither of them liked, like, “You know how I snag him? This way,” is adorable. Also, the fact that it was Pete who adored the song to come out of it, “Where Did the Party Go?,” and that it was his excitement over the song that made Patrick think, Okay, maybe we can do this, like, it was Pete’s joy that drove Patrick’s optimism, they’re so creatively linked, these two.

·       He does include the detail that Pete was worried he’d fallen behind during the hiatus because he didn’t spend much time playing music and so he committed himself to practicing and improving with metronome work, like, Pete Wentz ugh <3. In a very recent interview that I cannot blame the bio for not including, Pete said that Patrick helps him with the bass because he’s so musically talented and everything about that offhand statement just kills me.

·       I did not know that one of the leaks of their reunion was on a blog that wrote “You can stop refreshing for a journal update,” and I’m in love with that, sorry.  

·       Ugh, can I just say, the fact that Patrick sang all of his vocals for Pax AM Days live with the band is just so unbelievable, he kills me.

·       From the bio: “We were fireworks that went off too soon / And I miss you in the June gloom, too,” Stump sings here, and you can’t help but wonder if the words refer to his public but brief marriage. …I have indeed helped the wondering of that because I have never once thought that about this song lolololol

[ladyartemisia28]

Say Amen (Saturday Night)Chapter 4

Pairings: Prinxiety, side Logicality, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic/Family Logince.

Warnings: Cursing?

Words:4179

Summary: Sanders Sides Human College AU

Chapter 4- Nine in the Afternoon

~

Author’s Note- Very advised to get a hold of the song Welcome to the Black Parade- by My Chemical Romance.

~

After they finished gathering their things, Roman led Virgil out to the parking lot.

He slowly shuffled his feet as he caught up to Roman who walked up to open the trunk of a very nice red car. The symbol on the front of the car was a large L.

Virgil raised his eyes up from the ground to look at the vehicle with wide eyes.

“This is your car?” he roughly tossed his bag in the back set

“Yeah, I was hoping for a Lamborghini.” Roman joked with a wink as gently placed his bag in the trunk.

Virgil attempted silence small bitter voice in his head.

“When I was 14 and my cousin, Adora, got her Quiñceanera. She chose me to be her chambelán de honor or chosen escort. I was SOOOOOO JEALOUS!” He dramatically flourished with his hands as he grabbed the trunk lid and closed it shut. “So to bribe me my parents told me that they'd get me a car a year early.”

“Sorry but I have to ask, but I...I'm not sure what it is?” Virgil asked

“Oh uh, sorry” Roman apologized with a smile.

Virgil hummed as a response.

“It's the big birthday that Cis Latina girls get when they turn into 'women'. Silly and patriarchal, I know!” Roman added with a open palms gesture when he saw the eyebrow raise that Virgil gave. “But it was so fun, so fancy and beautiful!”

Roman pushed the key fob to unlock the car and they got themselves settled in.

“It's fucked up that other genders don't get anything like that.”

“Yeah I even stole the catalogue that she picked her dress out of. I cut out my favourites and glued my face on them. Put them all up and down my mirror.” Roman said with a proud smile remembering the happy memories.

Images of Roman in slinky cocktail dresses rushed into Virgil's mind. His face dropped to a small frown as he struggled to stop that particular train of thought.

Roman was unsure if he had said something that upset Virgil to make him clam up again.

"Uh you can pick the music if you'd like?” Roman offered as a break in the sudden silence. “CD's are in the middle.”

He waited for Virgil to buckle himself in before he pulled his car out of the parking lot. Virgil went through all the preset radio stations before opening the middle console.

“CD's? I would have thought that you would have your car set up with Spotify or Pandora or something like that?” he said as he opened opened the console and looked through the collection

“Eh, CD's are great. No commercials for long car trips. ”

All of the Cds were for musicals, a few that he had heard of like Phantom of the Opera, Wicked, and Guys and Dolls. And some that Virgil didn't know, Dear Evan Hanson, Six the Musical, and...Legally Blonde? He did not know that that was a musical.

Then he spotted one that Roman had mentioned.

“Um, any suggestions from Heathers? You said that I might like this the 7/11 song?”  

“I usually go through the whole thing in order....but I suggest for you, Track number 4.”

“Could I get some context?” Virgil asked as he pressed the button for the track number.

“The uh, 7/11 scene in the movie...But in song.” Roman offered with a bit of a smug smile.

“I probably should have guessed that.” he admitted with a grumble.

Virgil closed his eyes as he listened to the song and imagined the scene in his head.

Just like in the Heathers movie JD was recounting to Veronica how he travelled all over the place because of his father. And because of that he didn't feel like he was able to connect to the people and places. No place felt like home, except for 7/11.

It was always a weird scene in Virgil's opinion. Like JD is just opening up to this person he just met and telling her his very strong feelings about a convenience store and Slushies.

Even though it was strange Virgil had to admit, it was a good song. Parts of the song were a little to close to home, like “When the voice in your head says you're better off dead”.

“So what do you think? ”

“Yeah I get it. Its good.”

“That's all?”  Roman asked exasperatedly

“I guess I was expecting something different???”

“Like what?”

“I just thought that JD was going to be a little more intense. Like crazy sounding or something?”

“Ah what YOU are searching for is 'Meant to Be Yours' number 17.”

He pressed the button until he reached the number and sat back in his seat to listen.

~

“So is that was you were expecting?” Roman asked as they exited the car after arriving at the store.

“Yeah, it was” Virgil smiled “Real Intense.”

The pair stopped after they reached to threshold to get their bearings.

“I get so lost in here.” Roman complained with a slight whine to his voice. “I don't usually do the grocery shopping.

Before Virgil could comment Roman continued.

“Lo likes to go to make sure that the budget is kept tight, but he's been so busy with his job. He just got his a new taker for his math tutoring.”

“So Logan's your brother?” Virgil

“My brother, well Step brother. My Mama married his Papa. When I was old enough to remember that I was getting a new family, but young enough that it's no longer weird.” Roman offered a little bit more information than necessary.

Roman briefly considered mentioning that he was at the party and Virgil had briefly seen him, but he didn't want to bring up the previous night.

At lest he didn't want to bring it up first.

They were getting along so well that he didn't want to make Virgil uncomfortable.

“Really, I grew up with him so he is my brother. Soooooo do you have any siblings?” Roman began to play with the sleeves of his jacket as he attempted a more personal question.

“Uh yeah, a older sister” he muttered.

“And her name is...?”

“Melantha,” he responded with little inflection “she prefers to be called Missy.”

“Melantha?! WOW, huh! Did your parents just grab a baby name book and open a page at random for ALL their kids!” Roman teased with a mocking laugh as they arrived at the Dairy and Juice section.  

“Yeah haha, Virgil's got a weird name. I've NEVER heard that before.” Virgil rolled his eyes as his tone changed from frosty to salty. “You know Roman isn't really the most common name either.”

“I am far from COMMON! Besides I wasn't saying your name was BAD! It is 'strange and usual like you'.” Roman winked as he tried to steer their conversation back to more friendly waters.

“Quoting Beetljuice at me? You'll have to do better than that.” Virgil grinned in spite of himself as he grabbed a six pack of orange drink and placed it in the cart.

“Come on you gotta give a guy some credit for remembering what your interests are right?”

“Yeah I guess” he said with a reluctantly happier tone.

“Hey do you see the Almond Milk?” Roman asked after he finished his scan bottles and cartons.

“Uh no, I think that might be over in the Organic or like Vegan section. Why does your brother have you on a specialized diet as well as his, what was it? His extremist water agenda? What does that even mean?” Virgil chuckled as he took the cart from Roman and led him toward the other end of the store.

“It's just what I call his super weird thing about getting enough water everyday. And yeah he does keep our kitchen stocked with a lot of green veggies. Also he checks to sure I kept up a sleep schedule”

Virgil's eyebrows rose in surprise at hearing all things.

“Yikes, he sounds like a bit of a control freak...”

“Yeah he is sometimes. Like I have hide my Butterfinger stash from him.” Roman complained. “He's not as bad I make him sound...NEVER tell him I told you that.”  

Roman went over to the shelf and looked over the choices, Soy, Almond, Lactose- Free lined the shelves.

“Oh and to answer why the special milk, I'm THINKING of starting the Paleo diet right now. My brother has no influence on this though, just want to try and see what works. I might try Keto if this one doesn't work for me.

“ah right.” Virgil nodded eyes slightly widened hoping that the look on his face didn't betrayal the fact that he did NOT know what the heck a Paleo or a Keto diet meant.

~

Virgil felt heard a chime from his pocket so he pulled out his phone.

“Hey I'm going to get this.” he shook his phone up to show Roman before he stepped away from the cold of the meat section.

Roman nodded in return as he turned to look at the selection of skinless chicken.

Virgil got a message from Green_Tea_Gay on his Instagram account, Anxious_On_Main.

'Hey so that “Study Partner” is a hot piece!'

'Remy do you have a point' Virgil replied

'Gurl do you know? have you seen his pics? HOW is he Single!!'

After the three little dots disappeared in their place were several pictures

His face reddened as he looked at the pictures of the previously mentioned selfies. Roman wearing tight jeans in front of a mirror with his backside captured on the camera. Another with him laying on his stomach caught at an angle getting his short clad behind in shot.

He quickly glanced over to Roman, who was still distracted.

He looked back at him phone and quickly texted back.

'Don't send me those!'

'They are posted to the public! I didn't hack his phone'

'I don't care, no more pics of his butt'

'K'

Just about the time he was going to put his phone back into his pocket another chime stopped him.

The next series of pictures were of Roman exercising posing with a dumbbell doing a curl, stretching, and other gym activities,  

And the last was Roman in swimwear that exposed more skin than he thought was allowed outside of certain websites.

His body felt instant heat and he looked and took a few calming breaths before returning to message Remy.

'I said no more pics!'

'Sis you told me no pics of his ass'

'DO NOT SEND PICTURES OF ROMAN SANDERSON!'

'Easy there Baby! No need to get your knickers in a twist. I'm just trying to help. Look at what you will be missing if you don't Snatch. That. Up!'

'What the hell Rem! We are NOT getting together! He is not into me.'

'Nah sweetie, you should have been paying more attention. That is totally a smitten kitten'

'You are the worst'

'No I am literally the best and you two are soooo getting together. Don't worry I know I made my point.'

'You asshole'

'Enjoy the pictures ;)'

~

Roman noticed that after he returned from his handling of his phone business Virgil had gotten quiet again and seemed to shift his gaze away from Roman.

'Did I spent too much time with the chicken?'

They walked down to the breakfast aisle.

As Virgil picked up some a box of Count Chocula cereal Roman slowed the cart to a stop behind him.

“You can only get this one around this time of year” he looked at it with a fondness that made Roman's stomach flip.

“So what are you planning on making?” Roman asked as he leaned his arms on the handle bar of the cart.

“Making? Uh, nothing, just like a bowl of cereal.... like with milk...from a cow” Virgil tilted his head to one side.

Confusion on his face as he held up the box and gave it a shake.

Roman could feel heat creep over his face, he was very caught off guard by the unexpected softness on Virgil's face.

'Shit!...now he thinks I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to eat cereal!'

~

Virgil turned around and did not see Roman's flushed face as he hide his own.

Basic cereal... I guess I could be making something with it like a cereal bar or something? A cake? Maybe? It isnt very impressive...and it's probably not on the platleo diet or whatever it was...

They stood in awkward silence until Virgil turned back around.

“I guess that cereal isn't something that YOU would be eating.” he looked at the cart. “From what I see here, you eat like you are going to be in the next Avengers movie or something.”

“Thanks, I mean I try.” Roman said with his eyes downwards as his body did an uncharacteristic shy sway.

“Yeah, I gues if you workout half as much as you take all those pictures, you could get away with more than the occasional  Butterfinger.” Virgil's eyes widened as he realized what he had said.

'.. shut up! shut up! shut up!'

Roman's head snapped up to look at Virgil.

“You've seen my gyms pictures?” Roman asked in a whisper.

“Ah Yeah that's like all over your Instagram page,” he attempted to sound super casual

He did not sound casual.

Like at all

They felt a charged moment between them and the longer it went on the longer they were unsure of who was going to break the silence.

Roman took it upon himself to interrupt the quiet as he tool the box of chocolate cereal in hand.

“I like the marshmallow bats.” he said with sheepish smile.

~

When they returned to the car they loaded Roman's groceries into the trunk and Virgil's bags into the back seat. Then they got themselves settled in their seats.

“SO where am I uh dropping you off?” Roman asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“I live in the dorms," Virgil asked as he started his usual habit of checking all the radio stations. “You don't?”

He found a song that he seemed to like on one of stations, Roman recognized it as a song by Imagine Dragons.

“I live in a apartment a little bit away from the college, with Logan.”

“Um, I live in the north dorms.” Virgil said as he a small bit of nervousness as took his thumbnail between his teeth. “With Patton, my best friend.”

After that song ended, a G piano note began the next song. Roman vaguely recognized it from somewhere he couldn't place. He figured when it got to the singing part he would be able to identify it.

~

Virgil tensed out of both excitement and fear.

He was about to embarrassed himself in front of Roman.  At lest Roman was driving so he wouldn't be stared at. So he took a breath and let himself focus on the lyrics.  

“When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city” Virgil sang out beautifully. “To see a marching band”

Roman's jaw dropped and his breath stilled. He felt like he was going to swoon.

He was so very grateful that they were at a red stoplight.

“He said, son, when you grow up Would you be the saviour of the broken The beaten, and the damned? He said, will you defeat them Your demons and all the non-believers?”

Virgil sang with closed eyes losing himself in the song. While Roman's heart thumped hard in his chest and he felt an assortment of warring emotions.

“The plans that they have made? Because one day I'll leave you A phantom to lead you in the summer To join the black parade”

As the song picked up in tempo Roman realized where he had heard this song before. He remembered that he had a few friends who were into My Chemical Romance, it was 'Welcome to the Black Parade'.

“When I was a young boy My father took me into the city To see a marching band He said, son, when you grow up Will you be the savior of the broken The beaten, and the damned?”

Virgil continued a little more intensely. As the song got more upbeat Roman joined Virgil in singing and continued his drive toward the dorm.  

“Sometimes I get the feeling She's watching over me And other times I feel like I should go”

Virgil eyes popped wide open and he smiled.

“And through it all The rise and fall The bodies in the streets And when you're gone, we want you all to know

We'll carry on, we'll carry on And though you're dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on We'll carry on And in my heart I can't contain it The anthem won't explain it”

As Roman turned a corner they continued to sing together

“A world that sends you reeling From decimated dreams Your misery and hate will kill us all So paint it black And take it back Let's shout it loud and clear Defiant to the end We hear the call”

Roman followed the music with dramatic hand gestures as he continued driving with his left hand. Even Virgil joined in with less dramatic the hand motions.  

“To carry on We'll carry on And though you're dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on We'll carry on And though you're broken and defeated Your weary widow marches”

Virgil sang with a full grinning face, his relief at Roman joining him in singing the song had caused him to relax and he was able to sing louder with more feeling.

“On and on, we carry through the fears (Oh, oh, oh) Disappointed faces of your peers (Oh, oh, oh)”  

Take a look at me 'Cause I could not care at all”

Roman held onto the note at the end for a bit. Virgil continued on with the lyrics

Do or die, you'll never make me Because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you'll never break me We want it all, we wanna play this part I won't explain or say I'm sorry I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scar Give a cheer for all the broken Listen here, because it's who we are I'm just a man, I'm not a hero Just a boy, who had to sing this song I'm just a man, I'm not a hero I don't care

They arrived at the dorms parking lot and Roman parked.

We'll carry on We'll carry on And though you're dead and gone believe me Your memory will carry on You'll carry on

And though you're broken and defeated Your weary widow marches on

Roman contuined his singing the longer held notes as they song concluded.

Do or die, you'll never make me Because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you'll never break me We want it all, we wanna play this part (We'll carry on) Do or die, you'll never make me (We'll carry on) Because the world will never take my heart (We'll carry on) Go and try, you'll never break me (We'll carry) We want it all, we wanna play this part (We'll carry on)

“We'll carry on!”

They both sang as the song ended to the sounds of drums.

At the conclusion of the song both Virgil and Roman were out of breath and grinning.

~

Roman felt his heart race.

He had thought that he had experienced maximum attraction that morning toward Virgil. But he was very wrong.

'Damnit Virgil why does your voice have to sound like sexy melted chocolate!'

He fought every instinct to just lean over and initiate a vehicular makeout session.        

Roman caught a brief glimpse of Virgil's eyes peak out from underneath his bangs and he gave him a very full smile.

~

Virgil nervously took a glance at Roman from underneath his dark hair.

Roman had the brightest and most authentic smile that Virgil thought he ever saw on his face.

It wasn't like Virgil thought that Roman faked his other smiles, the feelings of joy and friendliness were not false. But it seemed a lot of the other smiles that Roman gave seemed too perfect, Virgil guessed he practised his expressions in front of a mirror.      

This smile was of shear amazement, it was pointed in Virgil's direction. Like he could not believe what he heard, it caused Virgil to feel an annoying sensation in his chest.

“I didn't know you could sing” Roman spoke softly breaking the silence.

~

“Uh sure I guess I can sing a tune here or there.” Virgil shrugged with a dismissive sigh.

“I think its more than that!” Roman attempted to offer him a very sincere compliment.

“Yeah I'm not about to sell out stadiums anytime.” Virgil chuckled at the thought.

'I wish you were in a band. I'd buy all your albums. Be front row in your concerts, I'd....shit I can't tell him any of this!'

“So My Chemical Romance huh?” Roman said with a wide smirk.

“What about it?!”

“They are like the most cliché Emo band ever.” Roman snickered.

“Ah cliche? Really YOU want to go there do you?!” Virgil said

“Whatever do you mean by that?” Roman asked with a raised eyebrow.

“For a theatre kid you would think you'd dress a bit more stylish or something?” Virgil attempted to say with an indifferent air.

“What like take the costume from Hot Mikado out around the quad?”

“Absolute no clue what that is.” Virgil laughed as he exited the vehicle.

“It's....never mind that. I have only dressed subtly to spare those around me. ” Roman responded as he walked to back of the car. “How would anyone be able to concentrate on their schooling if I were to show up in full regalia?!”

“Full Regalia, huh, you sure think highly of yourself don't you? I'm not sure you should be bragging quite so much.”

“Is that a formal challenge?” Roman felt his racing heart in his chest in the midst of their back and forth.

“Not sure how impressive you'll actually be, but I'll keep an open mind, I guess.” Virgil shrugged with a small smirk as he began to take out the bags.

'I'll show him'

Roman noticed a few heavier bags that he could chivalrously offer to help him with.

“I can help you carry some of your groceries to your dorm?”

“Ah you just want an excuse to come to my room.” Virgil teased in a deep low voice  as he waited for Roman to banter back.

“YES YOU BET I DO!!!!....play it cool, Roman play it cool!'

“N...no...! I uh... as a gentleman I ... have to help anyone I see that is in need...” Roman sputtered out before he took ahold of small package of bagels “You ...you have... you have to carry..lots there.”

~

Virgil read his flustering as a rejection of his flirtation.

“No thanks! I got it! ” he quickly and loudly shouted in a panic as he took the bag out of Roman's hands.

Virgil thought that he and Roman had just shared a moment together.

'You just were imaging it! You shouldn't have believed Remy, you complete moron! ' He sling his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Then he draped the loops of the several other bags onto each elbow crook. And then took another bag into his left hand.

As he struggled to stuff the bagel bag into an already full bag, Roman again attempted to offer help.

“It's not a problem!” Roman gestured to the bagels.

“NO! I got it” Virgil just wanted to disappear as quickly as he could. He then placed the plastic of the bag in between his teeth.

“Cee Ou ENESAH.” Virgil shouted through clenched teeth as he retreated.

“Uh yeah.” Roman spoke to an empty damp parking lot. “see you”

~

Author's Note

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE SO SORRY for the long wait!

The long pause was due to new job and lack of constant access to a working computer.

I think I will still have a job later after the situation clears, but I am unsure....

I

ANYWAYS!

What do people think of me backtracking and converting all of the mentions of DEE to JAE? It won't be too much trouble as he has not even appeared yet.

~

Taglist: (PS YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!)

@tatesinclairr

@love-is-the-fear-of-loss

@misslilidelaney

@ishoulddyemyhairthatcolour

@dwbh888

@violetshovel

@sadgayisme​

[eldritchsurveys]

1135.

by ausmuh

1. What's one TV episode that makes you laugh out loud every time you watch it? >> There’s an episode of Person of Interest -- “Number Crunch”, I want to say the episode’s name is? -- where an antagonist slips MDMA into Harold Finch’s drink and then pops something explosive in the microwave and leaves him to his fate. And here’s Finch, dopey and smiling, thinking it’s popcorn in the microwave and sway-dancing happily as he waits for it to be finished (meanwhile, one of his companions has broken into the place to rescue him and is just like “are you fkn kiddin me” lmao). He’s just so adorable in his impending doom, haha. Sigh... I love that show so much.

2. Who's one person you'd like to see a biopic made about? >> I don’t care.

3. Is plot an important aspect of books and movies to you, or do you care more about things like character development, themes, etc.? >> I really can’t imagine a plot that doesn’t include extensive and intricate character development. I guess I just don’t read plot-driven books, or something? I don’t know what a “plot-driven” book is. All the stories I enjoy are character-driven and the characters drive the story along... that’s just how it works for me. I guess I’d need an example of a different kind of story to understand.

4. What song hit you so hard that you remember where you were the first time you heard it? >> Awake O Sleeper by The Brothers Bright was like that. I was living with Hallie at the time. I wish I’d awakened to the bullshit I was dealing with, lmao. Regardless, that song hit me like a ton of bricks the first time I heard it sitting on the couch in the office in that house.

5. What's your "brand" of fictional character, the type you always get attached to (ex., "perky girls with deep-seated mental health issues," "guys who you would want as an older brother," etc.)? >> A few of my brands are “grumpy old magic man”, “probably a trickster god”, and “queer-coded villain”.

6. Are there any conspiracy theories that you kind of believe in? >> Nope.

7. What's the best "fake" song (one that exists only in the world of a TV show or movie)? >> I would name Dethklok songs but those songs are pretty real, lol. They used to have concerts and everything. I can’t think of any fake songs.

8. If you use Spotify, share your 2020 Wrapped! What are your overall feelings about it? Is it what you expected? >> Here’s the playlist link. And yeah, it’s what I expected -- the car playlist skewed a lot of the results, which is why there’s far more MCR and FOB and shit on there than seems logical. But You Ain’t Coming Back by Zeal & Ardor being the number one song is absolutely on point, lmao. I put that song on repeat on several occasions, which is novel for me because I don’t usually do that.

9. What's a film you watched recently that you can't stop thinking about? >> Possessor was wild. Fuckin Cronenbergs.

10. If you’ve been in lockdown/quarantine for most of the year, describe the different “phases” of quarantine you’ve gone through (whether defining them by an obsession you had, what you were doing most at the time, how you felt, etc.) >> I didn’t really have phases. Being forced to stay inside all the time was only different from my normal life in that I couldn’t choose to do anything different, which is the main frustration -- I didn’t exactly go out a lot before, but at least I knew I could if I wanted to (and sometimes I did). But in practice my life didn’t really change all that much, so I didn’t feel as disrupted as most people did. I kept doing the same shit I’d already been doing.

11. The last TV show you watched is now getting a crossover with the last video game you played: what is the unholy abomination that has just been created? >> It’d be fairly easy to recreate Bridgerton in The Sims 4, I’d think, particularly if you have some custom content installed.

12. What's an invention you’ve spent a lot of time wondering about the creation of (ex., "how did hourglass makers decide how much sand was needed and how thin the waist had to be???")? >> I think about that kind of thing randomly, but not extensively enough to warrant notice.

13. If you’re a ~gamer~, what are your top 3 all-time favorite games? >> FFXIV, Journey, and Hades are my current faves.

14. If the pandemic had happened just a year earlier, how different would your life be? >> Well, the wedding would have been cancelled. I might not have gotten to see Phantom of the Opera. 2019 was a good year and I’m really glad it wasn’t ruined by a pandemic.

15. Post a screenshot you particularly like from your favorite film without mentioning the film’s title. >> Nah.

16. Name the movie, book, TV show, etc. that you were most out of step with this year (meaning both the reviews and overall discourse was the opposite of how you felt about it). >> Hmm... I’m not sure.

17. What’s the biggest red flag you’ve ever ignored? >> Oof, just... Hallie’s whole fucking thing, lmao. But at that point I was so used to being treated any old way without care or consideration that I guess it must have seemed more normal than abnormal. Which really sucks. Because the stuff I went through with him is definitely abnormal and when I see other people going through similar things with their partners it’s really eye-opening.

18. What are some albums that “molded your brain” during middle and/or high school? >> My Own Prison by Creed, Something Like Human by Fuel, just... mainly those two. And my various mixed CDs recorded from the radio.

19. Without saying your age, post your favorite film that was released the year you turned 18. >> Hmm... The Jacket was good... Walk the Line too.... oh, Constantine! Fuck yeah! That’s the one.

20. What’s something extremely bizarre you believed as a very young child? >> I’m not sure, but I always think of this one story that this kid tried to convince me of when I was in second grade. He was light-skinned and he said that he used to be dark like me, but he started picking at his cuticles one day and peeled a piece of skin back and it kept going until he peeled all of his skin off and his current complexion was what was underneath. Kids, man... lol

[tiefling-queer]

★★★★★★ *whispers* tell me about all your ocsssssssss :D

:D

Allen Krueger - he’s the Chosen One and he’s just trying his best. Allen would rather be spending his time playing Overwatch with his discord pals or longboarding around listening to music than taking on these dangerous missions where people die or trying to figure out this weird axe that makes his head overload or some destiny and Choice-with-a-capital-c that he has to make. This was cool for about a day before it got incredibly overwhelming. Allen’s mixed race - his father is middle eastern, his mother is white. He’s 16 at the start of all this (which begins in 2016) and a sophomore in high school and he doesn’t deserve what we put him through lol. Allen’s big into emo, pop punk, punk, and basically anything you can find on a warped tour comp cd (since his mom was big into the offspring and green day back in the day, and his uncle is big into alt rock, so as a kid he latched onto fob and mcr and was just like ‘these. these are good’). Allen loves animals, especially marine mammals (ESPECIALLY WHALES), and was defo one of those kids who just kinda sits around and if prompted gives you their entire encyclopedic knowledge of wildlife. Allen often has difficulty putting his thoughts to words, and so he’ll trail off, try to use hand gestures to symbolize the word he’s looking for, use vague language like ‘the thing’ or ‘stuff’. That said, Allen also has problems filtering his words, and often says things as they come to mind. A double-edged sword because Talking is Hard. This boy is also just a terrible, terrible liar. He doesn’t like lying, he’s not good at it, Allen’s quick to draw conclusions about situations, things, and people, but also open-minded and quick to reconsider. He thrives on praise and a well-defined set of instructions or plan - he likes to know that he’s doing the right thing and on the right track.Allen was originally a Monster of the Week character, but is currently one of the characters in a webcomic i’m cowriting with @i-want-it-on-fire​. his personality is based on a combination of some of my brother’s personality with some of my own (so instead of a sarcastic wallflower stoner or an edgy emo theater kid, Allen is a sarcastic edgy emo wallflower)

Tam es Eleutherios - he’s a minotaur. he’s a sailor. he’s a scottish highland cow who talks like barbosa. he’s a little over a century old. he’s deadly with a long sword or a trident. he’s the last of his name and told his fiance he was getting some wine and purposefully got himself shanghaied to a pirate ship. Tam’s the equivalent of about 60 in human years, has a long, long list of vessels he’s sailed on over the past century (about half of those are pirate vessels) and he took the mission sailing on this expedition past the Ghostly Isles in the Undersea to die.For Tam, the idea of dying on an uncharted and untamed ocean is, well, exactly what he’s always dreamed of (frankly he’s surprised he lived this long). While he went through a minor crisis at first with how dauntingly still and unmoving and dead the Undersea appears to be, he’s back to his original goal after they’ve slowly discovered currents and life in the black waters. Tam’s afraid of commitment, and doesn’t like facing consequences of his actions or mistakes. He really just kind of goes with the flow, and does what needs to get done, and doesn’t put a lot of thought into what he’s doing.

Baylock Craft stole his name, coat, and boots off a dead man. He’s been in prison for 5 years, since he was left behind by his thieves’ guild to take the fall for a job that went bad. He’s lied about his identity to get a group of rebels breaking out prisoners to believe he’s also a rebel fighter. Baylock’s a bit in over his head now, and has only recently had a couple close-enough calls to realize just how fucked he is, and how dangerous the missions the rebel fighters go on are. His goal is to get back to his home town and get revenge on his former friends.Baylock is, despite his raspberry pink skin and lavender hair, more suited to life in the shadows. His strange arcane powers come from being born during a solar eclipse, and his personality is that of someone who’s reserved and a bit shy - content to observe. He errs to the side of caution, but is kind of a bad judge of character. The betrayal and years in prison kind of twisted that original nature - he’s now mistrusting, abrasive, and guarded.

Sydel Anastol - As a younger man, Sydel had… noble intentions. Lofty goals. A sense of duty and a desire to right wrongs and protect innocents. These were the parts of him that contributed to his becoming a blood hunter as a teenager. But over the years of self-mutilating and watching the people around him lose themselves to their obsessive quests, he began to become unhinged. Hunting wasn’t about killing monsters and protecting innocents anymore - it was about the hunt. It was about the rush. It was about any distraction he could get from the pain of the hunter’s bane, even if that was more immediate pain. Those lofty ideals, they don’t make you a better fighter, a better hunter. They don’t make you heal faster or hit harder. He drifted from the order, turned to bounty hunting.Sydel hasn’t felt a human emotion in years. He spends most of his time drunk, partly to distract from the chronic pain caused by the hunter’s bane, and partly to keep from thinking about his time with the order. Sydel is eccentric, a little unhinged, will lick anything he doesn’t recognize, and is seeking the rush of a hunt or battle in order to feel something and keep himself distracted. If he can keep himself in a constant state of intoxication and adrenaline high, he can feel good. Sydel is impulsive, reckless, callous, and doesn’t think ahead or care who gets hurt as a result of his actions (though it’s usually just him so it’s fine). He’s also a masochist. All in all he’s just a garbage bastard man, trying to keep the part of himself that was trained to be an obsessive monster hunter from taking over again - ‘because that’s how you go crazy.’

Tsuruchi Natsumi just wants peace in her life, but she hasn’t had any since some asshole Matsu dropped out of the sky and demons destroyed her village. As the eldest child of the current Wasp clan leader, she’s technically pretty damn important. Too bad she wants nothing to do with it. She planned to run away at a young age, citing being ‘fed up with clan politics’ and not enjoying her training with anything other than a bow - she didn’t want to learn court niceties, she didn’t want to learn bushido, she just wanted to shoot her bow and wear comfortable clothes. However, being a child, and with things at work in the world she was unaware of, she found herself literally spirited away, dropped in the spirit world and left there, a world apart from her family. She was taken in by a seaside village she was drawn to because of her sea-spirit folk heritage on her mother’s side (originally of the Mantis Clan), where she continued to do what she does best - shoot a bow and mind her own business. As she grew older, she eventually became the village’s protector and primary watch, and things were pretty good - just her, her village, her bow, and the red panda she took in as a pet - for a little over a decade. Until the Matsu and that Phoenix clan idiot dropped from the sky and upset the balance of the worlds, leading to a disastrous string of events that landed her back in the mortal world, having her ancestral bow thrust upon her, getting sucked back into clan politics, and dealing with a brother she barely remembers telling her that she’s got, like, some kind of duty to protect the city her family founded, or some kind of destiny as the person currently wielding Tsuruchi’s Yumi.Natsumi, while she claims to not want to be involved in clan politics, still follows Wasp Code, and still holds clan grudges and prejudices. While she is compassionate and (with some exceptions) quick to make friends and form bonds with the people around her, she’s ultimately a self-oriented person - Natsumi is very in tune with herself, what she wants, and her own beliefs, but isn’t likely to pick up on the wants and beliefs of those around her. She doesn’t even attempt to anticipate the desires and goals of other people, unless she suspects they’re up to no good, and as such comes off as a self-absorbed. Her pride is easily wounded (but don’t tell her that), she’s no-nonsense in the field, and she’ll shoot her way out of any problem she can’t talk her way out of. Her experiences in the last 5 years have left her paranoid and slow to trust her surroundings once weird spirit shit starts happening.

Ainsley grew up in Mesnia, a country where magic is a capital offense, on the streets of the central trade city of Kerrys, following their older brother and cousins in attempts to become a thief. They weren’t very good at it. One day, while their brother was giving them the slip, they were enthralled by a street musician and jumped on the offer this man gave them for apprenticeship. Growing up, they split their time between shenanigans and schemes with their cousin Brynn and learning this instrument, as well as, unbeknownst to them, bardic magic. After their mentor was tried, found guilty of, and hanged for illegal use of magic, they put their time into simple cons with Brynn - or rather, Brynn would get them into trouble, Ainsley would talk them out of it, and the ferret would manage to steal some coin.Ainsley is curious, naive, quick to make friends, compassionate towards strangers, genuinely wants to do good and right the things that are wrong, and primarily trusts their eyes. They spent most of their life not believing in gods, and only decided to do so after they saw one. They’re also mostly illiterate, stubborn, and they don’t think things through very well. They drank a potion that they were warned caused ‘random mutations and death through madness’ in desperation after an enemy killed one of their party members, hoping to gain some kind of power that could destroy him (now they can breathe fire). While eventually on their travels they found out and accepted that what their bardic abilities did was magic, they were in denial about it for quite a while.

Kip - Joffric ‘Kip’ Ravenhall was born to the head priest at a temple to the Raven Queen, with a proud lineage of Ghostwise Halfling Raven Queen worshipers - funeral preparers and Grave Clerics. As a child, he and his older sister Hattie were well on their training for priesthood themselves (though Hattie would eventually leave to find her own way to follow their goddess). However, when Kip’s father fell ill while he was still young (about 18 - Halflings reach maturity around 20), Kip began desperately searching for ways to cure his disease, or at least extend his father’s life until they could get him to a priest who could help. His father, being at peace with death and believing that the dying aren’t to be pitied, disapproved of Kip’s studies and attempts to heal him, and Kip, becoming more and more desperate to save his father, eventually sought the aid of a necromancer he and his father had dealt with several years before, agreeing to bail him out of jail in exchange for training in the necromantic arts - particularly those involved with extending life. His father found out, there was a big fight and falling out, Kip abandoned his priesthood training and tensions were high when his father died. But Kip was already too curious and too far gone, and so he continued studying, occasionally seeking help from the necromancer he bailed out. Kip’s primary area of study was reviving the dead, and extending the life of the living. His belief was that if it were possible to choose when one dies, or ensure everyone died only after living a full and fruitful life, after they’ve accomplished whatever they set out to do, society could flourish. He didn’t think it was fair that study of resurrection apparently stopped once people found out that diamonds could serve as a conduit for the spells - it limited resurrection to only the rich, the powerful, and the truly desperate. If only he could, say, find a cheaper solution? A more plentiful component?His family found out about his studies. He was disgraced, accused of necromancy, and has been on the run under the alias of ‘Geoffric Greenbough’ ever since.Kip is deeply conflicted about his studies, as he believes that undead - creatures brought back without agency or souls - are affronts to nature, and those creating and using them are particularly morally bankrupt for desecrating and enslaving the dead. While he’s abandoned his religion, he still finds himself following his old ways, and often feels directionless without the peace that worship once gave him. That said, Kip is truly driven by a morbid curiosity, a desire to see and feel and know - that’s what keeps him going through failed experiments and terrible mistakes and feeling sick to his stomach. Although Kip tries to hide his true colors to keep people from getting close enough to find him out, those who travel with him will find that his humorless and cold personality is a facade, and that under that he’s a pretty playful and friendly person. The exception to this is when he’s in a situation that requires spell casting, which is a personality quirk that even predates his necromantic studies - he’s always been taught that magic is a serious thing that requires full attention and focus, and he doesn’t have time for nonsense then. Kip is incredibly loyal and very quick to become ride-or-die for those around him. Above all, he wants to help people, and he wants to make people happy. (Ironically, while his sister was more devoted to the Raven Queen than he was, Kip was always more suited to being a cleric, and if Hattie had been around to keep him level during their father’s sickness, he probably would have finished his training and become a cleric.)

These are just a few, and mostly rp characters since it’s been 3 billion years since I’ve thought about my other ocs.

As characters, they’ve all got really fun aspects to them. Allen is probably the most ‘real’ character to me, and honestly probably has the most of me in him. Sydel is my first attempt to play someone who’s just, objectively, not a good person, and it is challenging (he’s officially done damage to every member of the party except the kobold and the rogue). Ainsley is a very simple character who I honestly slip into like a glove. Kip has the most fleshed out backstory of any RP character I’ve ever had I think, and I love the internal conflict between his need to sate his curiosity and help people and his questioning about whether what he’s doing will do more harm than good.

[shark-myths]

Folie A Deux

I promised to write FAD meta like, forever ago. It took longer than I planned. Here it is, at last.

Folie is anthemic, artistic; it’s cynicism and heartbreak all layered up in failing hope. It’s Pete saying goodbye to his band and embarking on a new life as a husband and a father. It’s Patrick finding his confidence as a showman just in time for it to turn to ash on his tongue and prompt him to remake himself utterly. It’s Joe finally feeling like he has a role in FOB and creative ownership of his own band. It’s Andy, um, drumming. Super well. Without any particular emotional interpretation on my part because Andy’s, you know, pretty content to just play with his friends.

Without further blathering, allow me to present, at long last: a rambling, tear-filled, official Tryst Theory ™ interpretation of FOB’s fourth-and-almost-final studio album.

I am always struck most by the quality of obstruction in the albums produced during the Commercial Success/’Sell Out’ era. Pete begins obscuring himself for the first time during Infinity on High and especially Folie A Deux: the lyrics become increasingly senseless, more about cleverness and sound that saying things plainly. But he’s so honest during this era too. He tells us exactly what it feels like to be him, to be so pulled apart and scrutinized and sad, to be sick on his own hope. To be sick and fuzzy, made of stuffing, and far away on way-too-many anxiety meds. We get lines that don’t make much sense on the surface, like ‘I’m not a chance, put a heat wave in your pants,’ and we get the self-aware aggression of bops like I Don’t Care.

In the previous era, Pete didn’t really know what it meant, yet—being Pete Wentz. Being so public. Being the face of the band, being the bad guy and the heel. What it would cost. Now he understands that anything he touches, or looks at, or says at loud is going to change. Once he does it, says it, thinks it, feels it, it’s out of his control. It’s owned by someone else. Even his private body, his private phone. Even his decision to defend his friend from an aggressive bouncer onstage. The brand of phone he carries, the girls he texts, who he stands next to in photos, the cities where he plays shows and the cities he does not. Now he understands that his life is not his, but something the public will use to hurt him if we get bored. This is drugstore cowboy Pete. This is a Pete grown so heavy under the weight of his own misery and bullshit that he can barely go on. This is a Pete preparing to say goodbye.

Which is a long way of saying: Folie A Deux fucks me up.

 A little history (sourced heavily from Wikipedia):

The album was recorded from July-September 2008, beginning two months after Pete and Ashlee were married, and released in December 2008, shortly after Bronx was born. They started recording ahead of schedule, without telling the label, and deliberately limited their studio time. They wanted to recapture what they had felt during Grave, when they were racing against their drained back accounts to get the album set down. They wanted that simplicity and rawness, the feeling of being mixed-up kids half living out of a van and making music that felt vibrant and essential. Patrick told AP, “There was something really interesting about that creative process when we were starting out. The more time you have, the more potential you have for excess.” (He thought he dominated Infinity and wanted to pare himself back, reign himself in, for Folir.) They tried to emulate the process and feeling of Grave as much as possible: “first-thought, best-thought.” Joe pushed to be included more in collaboration and felt like he “owned the songs a lot more. It made me really excited about contributing to Fall Out Boy and made me find my role in the band.” Pete made an effort (this is him making an effort, okay) to keep his personal life more sequestered from the writing and use more metaphor and the conceit characters speaking lines, more like a stage musical. And, perhaps true to the feeling of Grave, Pete and Patrick fought painfully and violently over the record. It was personal and artistic for everyone. They felt it was their best work.

Fans tore them apart, of course. Booing anytime they played anything off the new record. The album undersold and public reception did not match the glowing critical reviews. They tried to say something important, to talk about society and convey real messages in their music. They were publicly rebuffed. Joe told Rolling Stone, “Some of us were miserable on stage. Others were just drunk.” The reception, the struggle, cemented what Pete had already decided to do: leave the band.

(Let’s not talk about the last song of what he thought would be their last show ever during which, instead of playing Saturday with his best friends and his me-and-Pat, he had the man who named the band in the first place shave off his signature Pete Wentz hair in a symbolic ritual of fucking morning, let’s not let’s not)

(but in case you want to)

 A little cover art:

I just want you to know that Pete Wentz has the original painting of that cover in his home. IN CASE YOU THINK THAT’S RELEVANT.

This image. With Pete’s furry history. With the costumes and feeling like a zoo animal and playing the role of the heel, with the way he said in the Folie Making Of video that being perceived in media is “like wearing a costume, you’re not who you are.” With his interest especially in bears, the talk of stitches and stuffing and seams, with the Lullabye track and ‘honey is for bees silly bear’ (and Black Cards’ ‘you’re my best friend, honeycomb head’) and the whole Winnie the Pooh vibe. With the devoted companionship and singular love exhibited by Winnie the Pooh and the way he turns back into inert, lifeless stuffing when you grow too old and you forget what he really is and see him as just a toy, empty and pliable, and the way only childhood wonder and innocence can return him to life. How the cover has not just one person on it, but a bear-boy plus one: a madness shared by two. A real bear, and someone who’s just pretending, or just trying to be. What a match, what a catch.

WHAT A PETERICK MASTERPIECE THIS FUCKING ALBUM IS

The liner notes are empty, by the way. For the physical CD. The liner notes are just pictures and names of band members, then production information and thanks to ‘fans, friends, and loves.’ Nothing else. No lyrics. No record. If that’s not foreshadowing—

 And now said masterpiece itself:

1. Disloyal Order of the Water Buffaloes

Okay, so let’s take a step back and imagine for a second the decision-making process that went into writing a magnum fucking opus Peterick anthem to open the album with. Are we all on the same page here? WHAT THE FUCK, were they TRYING to kill me

This album is the fucking Holy Grail of the drug use = Patrick metaphor, and we dive right into it with this one. Boycott love. Detox just to retox. DRAW YOUR OWN HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T PARALLELS. #trysttheory

For all that Pete tried to move away from autobiographical lyrics on this album, his view of himself is plain in this song: ‘perfect boys with their perfect lives, no one wants to hear you sing about tragedy.’

The line ‘fell out of bed, butterfly bandage, but don’t worry’ brings up my theories about what dreams mean. Falling out of bed and getting hurt is a clear consequence of dreaming so hard you forgot it was just a dream (or trysting with your best friend and forgetting there could be consequences, real people you can hurt and yourself included). ‘You’ll never remember, your head is far too blurry’ ties into w.a.m.s as well as Cooperstown and the idea of being blurry-headed, impaired because you’re fucked up on love or some other drug, and making choices you’d regret, if you could remember them. Making mistakes you’ll have to live with whether you remember them or not.

(Romantically speaking, water buffaloes are disloyal: Google suggests a single male water buffalo can sire as many as 100 baby buffs in a single mating season. It seems pretty obvious throughout this album that issues of infidelity were large in Pete’s mind while writing these lyrics.)

2. I Don’t Care

This song makes me think of Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) so much. Starting over again in Mexico, friends who don’t care about you, the blues-pop bounce to it and repeating riff? Sonically, they have a lot in common.

Pete may be playing on his previous reference to Closer (‘he tastes like you only sweeter’) with the opening line here—‘say my name and his in the same breath, I dare you to say they taste the same’—which is the saddest and most painful movie about heterosexuals you will ever watch, but writing that line and putting it on Patrick’s tongue? That may be the gayest thing that happens to me all night, guys, and I’m a queer girl with a bottle of wine and a long, long Friday evening ahead of me.

This song is so much a conversation Pete is having with the world about his fame and notoriety, imo. He calls it a narcissist’s anthem but I don’t think that’s it, exactly. I think—and the music video backs me up on this—it’s a coy wink at their own reputation, all the shit people are slinging about them and Pete specifically. We get a drug reference here, too: ‘take a chance, let your body get a tolerance.’

Also, Patrick is a nun in the video. Pete put Patrick in a literal fucking habit. What more do you need to me to say to prove definitely that Pete is desperately in love with him? This. Kid. In. A. Nun’s. Habit.

3. She’s My Winona

IF THIS SONG ISN’T A DISCUSSION OF HOW PETE HAD TO REVISE HIS PETERICK AMBITIONS WHEN HE FOUND OUT ASHLEE WAS PREGNANT

(There are so many suicide references in this song I want to join Pete and the band’s manager in cheering and celebrating all over again that our boy lived to 28. You can physically feel him resigning himself to living a long life in these verses.)

‘Hell or glory, I don’t want anything in between.’ I take this line as pretty directly about him and Patrick: he doesn’t care if they go to hell and it ruins the band, he wants to take the risk, because he thinks together they could be—glory. He wants to roll the dice. (Take a chance—I’m not a chance.) And ‘then came a baby boy with long eyelashes, and daddy said “you gotta show the world the thunder.”’ In other words, he wanted hell or glory, ruination or Patrick, but then along came his son. And his priorities changed. Of course they did. True love is one thing; raising your child is another.

‘We had a good run, even I have to admit.’

(And—here’s the thing—people ask me sometimes, what I think about Pete marrying Ashlee. “Do you think he married her just because it was the right thing to do?” No. I think he believed in love and family and forever. I think Pete believed it would work. I think he wanted it to. I think that’s why the trysting, and eventually the band, stopped: because Pete tried his fucking best. I think he loved her and loved the idea of a future for himself—the first time he’s ever really imagined that. The idea of somewhere to belong, a real family, one that he felt part of. I think he wanted more than anything for it to work precisely because it was so different from what he, or anyone else, ever expected for him. He said ‘I want to marry this girl’ and he meant it. He really did intend to love her forever, as best he could, and not love anyone else if he could help it.

But those aren’t good reasons to build a whole relationship on, a marriage on. And he was a mess, and in love with Patrick too, and hated and famous and fucked. He had no privacy, limited emotional maturity, a burgeoning substance problem and no sense of himself that wasn’t dependent on what the culture and the media and his fans and his friends reflected back to him and said was true. There was no way they could be happy together under those circumstances, and he’d have stayed forever anyway, I think. His interviews about that time—when he stopped shaving, then stopped showering; when he was a drugstore cowboy stay-at-home dad, depressed and giving up—he doesn’t blame Ashlee for wanting to leave. He hated himself enough to be miserable forever, but she didn’t. So of course it fell apart.)

4. America’s Suitehearts

This commercial headfuck of a song. Jerry christ, guys, someone throw me an anchor so I can drown myself. This caricature, the monstrosity and performance of celebrity, the way the band is reduced to wrestling alter egos, painted and pretend. No one’s being subtle with this song, this video. They are showing us exactly what they mean.

‘I must confess, I’m in love with my own sins.’

DO YOU MEAN LIKE BEING IN GAY LOVE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND

DO YOU MEAN THAT SIN?

And this verse, though ostensibly about the vagaries of fame, sounds so much like him falling in love with Patrick while Patrick is oblivious:

‘You can bow and pretend you don’t know you’re a legend. Time just hasn’t told anyone else yet. I’m sorry, I just let my love loose again.’

For so many years, Pete believed his love was something he had to apologize for. 😭 😭 😭 😭

5. Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet

Okay, fuck this, I’m done

This fucking

This

UGH

Remember the paternity rumors at the time of Ashlee’s pregnancy? Look at this whole complicated, tangled-up song about infidelity and paternity and the idea of Ashlee cheating while Pete’s cheating too. ‘Keep a calendar, this way you will always know’ [who impregnated you]. ‘I will never end up like him. behind my back, I already am.’ I literally cannot

‘Does he know the way I worship our love’

6. The (Shipped) Gold Standard

do I even need to keep writing this or is the album now, itself, independently writing the tryst theory

my notes for this song just say ‘come the fuck on’

This song is about: living in LA and missing Chicago (and what it felt like in Chicago, who you were and who you were with); taking accountability for your own actions even when it does not satisfy your hedonistic urges (e.g., marrying your pregnant girlfriend and breaking off your illicit love affair with Patrick Stump), trying to remake your identity and change yourself like those are the same thing and you can get a new heart as easily as a new name; losing your luck and breaking up (‘tell that boy I’ll leave you alone now, like a stove, I’ll turn my love down); horseshoe crabs; and of course, that good ol’ famous-in-the-closet feel:

‘I wanna scream I love you from the top of my lungs, but I’m afraid that someone else will hear me.’

7. Coffee’s For Closers

I’m just crying by now I can’t type anymore

He’s using this whole album to break up with Patrick, to explain, to say goodbye

‘I want everything to change and stay the same. Time doesn’t care about anyone or anything. Come together, come apart.’

‘We will never believe again’

And: ‘kick drum beating in my chest again’ and that feeling, the one we’ve all felt in the pit at any show, any good one with that golden-vibe in the air, the one that makes your heart feel connected to the hearts of everyone around you, like you could be lifted on light and floating around the room, like the love is pouring out of you and rising like heat and linking up to the network of love flowing into and out of everyone else, when you feel it and know they do too and your whole body vibrates with the impossible imperceptible hum of your very atoms, your constituent fucking molecules lit up and stitched together by this, this, this. The feeling like you don’t need lungs because singing in breath and bellows enough, the feeling like the only reason you ever had a heart was so the drummer could pump it with their sticks. ‘Preach electric to the microphone stand,’ Patrick the conductor, Patrick the evangelist, Patrick the gospel of his fucking love. Pete’s saying goodbye to that feeling. Pete knows, he knows already, what he is planning to do.

Pete’s lying. Pete’s saying ‘I love the mayhem more than the love’ like all he’s really been out to do is make a mess, break hearts, take names. Like he is no more and no less than what all the tabloids say about him. (Never watch the Fresh Only Bakery videos on youtube. They are boring, for one, and also the saddest fucking Pete you will ever see.) Pete’s saying ‘I will never believe in anything again’ and he’s making Patrick say it too, because true-blue love was supposed to last forever, and then Pete got married to someone else.

‘Oh, change will come.’

8. What A Catch, Donnie

NO. NO

how the fuck dare this song even exist

So this is it. This is the goodbye. Pete has talked about how he wrote this song from Patrick’s perspective, and he recruited some of Patrick’s favorite artists and friends of the band to sing different lines in a medley of the band’s hits up to this point. This is like, the FOB song equivalent of a suicide note. (To follow this with a greatest hits album—! G O D)

The reference to Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway—their collaboration, his ultimate suicide, and the way Miss Flack looked on all his destruction and said ‘I still want you back’ is absolutely a testament to the way Patrick, and the rest of the band, forgave him and took him back in after the notorious Best Buy Incident. The gratitude for the whole band and what the band has done for Pete is tied up in this song. ‘You’ll never catch us’ smacks of trysting, and there’s something to the line ‘I’m the one who charmed the one who gave up on you,’ as the speaker in the sentence in meant to be Patrick and the ‘you’ is presumed to be Pete.

‘They say the captain goes down with the ship, so when the world ends, will God go down with it?’ is both Pete’s intention to go down with the band (which he’s planning to sink, or sees unraveling already in the painful writing process—we don’t know at what point he made his decision to destroy yet another thing he loved in penance for some deep, unknowable conviction of sin) and his gesture of setting them free. The Video of Which We Will Not Speak shows this pretty clearly. Pete saves everyone and everything he’s ever loved at the bargain price of drowning himself. He does it without ever even appearing in the aired version of the video. *broken sobbing*

(The links for the full version are not currently on Youtube, but you can read about it here: http://www.mtv.com/news/1618609/fall-out-boy-release-wrong-version-of-what-a-catch-donnie-video/)

What a match, what a catch. If I say anything else about this song, and how basically everyone who heard it knew it meant the band was going to break up, I will absolutely fall apart

9. 27

OH GOOD A SONG I CAN MAKE IT THROUGH WITHOUT CHOKING ON MY OWN TEARS

NOT

So here’s a lovely little ditty about how Pete Wentz did not kill himself and die at age 27 as he always thought he would! Hahahahahaha I’m fine it’s fine I’m so glad this album exists I’m so glad I’m TALKING ABOUT IT

‘If home is where the heart is, then we’re all just fucked.’ All three of them: Pete, Patrick, and Ashlee. And every FOB fan out there. Ahahaha. GUYS I’M NOT OKAY

We’ve got Peterick drug metaphors to rival the punch of Hold Me Tight Or Don’t: ‘I want it so bad, I’d shoot the sunshine into my veins… Doing lines of dust and sweat off of last’s night stage just to feel like you. Milligrams in my head, burning tobacco in my wind, chasing the direction you went.’

We’ve got desperation about growing and changing and losing that which they so valued in their sound and collaboration on Grave: ‘I can’t remember the good old days. Are all the good times getting gone? They come and go and come and go.’

We’ve got the pressure of keeping your love affair with your lead singer a secret lest you risk your fame, label representation, and fortune: ‘My mind is a safe, and if I keep it in we all get rich’ right next to the dirty, hollow feeling of having images of your body stolen and used to drag your name and reputation like you had no more heart than any other empty doll and losing the value of yourself in that process: ‘My body is an orphanage, we take everyone in.’

We’ve got the romantic comparison to cosmic entities, just like in Real Ones: ‘you’re a bottled star, the planets align. You’re just like Mars, you shine in the sky.’ And that tinge of disparagement and lonesomeness: ‘I’ve got a lot of friends who are stars but some are just black holes.’

10. Tiffany Blews

This song plays with a lot of fun moth/flame metaphors that I really enjoy, while also really amplifying the isolation and quick-burning nature of fame. I think that Pete gets a sick satisfaction from having Patrick sing out the worst things he thinks about himself, that he thinks everyone else thinks about him. (Pete, I think, is the little black dress that will be faded soon.)

Interestingly, we have ‘a roman candle heart keeps us far apart,’ which is a pretty direct link to the later Fourth of July. A heart that flares, explodes, and then burns out quickly certainly would be an obstacle to building a lasting relationship, no matter how much you loved someone…

‘Hate me, baby. Maybe I’m a piece of art.’

‘Dear gravity, you held me down in this starless city’ makes me think of the Moonrise Kingdom quote in Wilson (Expensive Mistakes): ‘I hope the roof flies off and we all get sucked into space.’ It’s the opposite, basically. Hoping to fall in love and get thrown up among the glittering cosmos rather than anchored someplace dark and starless. (Aside: I love how susceptible Pete is to grand, cheesy quotes? Like when, a few days after the release of The Last Jedi, he tweeted the heavy-handed noir line ‘I want to put my fist through this whole lousy, beautiful town.’ Like, look for that in a FOB song someday.)

11. w.a.m.s.

For the curious, Andy confirmed on Twitter that the title stands for waitress/actress/model/singer, a reference to the stereotype of people who run away to Hollywood to make it big but end up washing out and struggling as the starving artist/waitstaff type. If this idea of our boys citing bankrupt ambition does not make you emotional, you may not have a heart.

This song is incredibly relevant to the dreams meta linked earlier—‘when all the others were just stirring awake, I’m trying to trick myself to fall asleep again’ is very evocative of being in denial over the jarring reality of the end of the tryst. I think this song is about one of the last times Pete and Patrick slept together before breaking up.

‘My head’s in heaven, my soles are in hell’ again highlights that Pete’s wildest Patrick dreams are very different than where he actually finds himself; ‘let’s meet in the purgatory of my hips and get well’ is a pretty transparent request, isn’t it? Especially since pre-hiatus Pete really loved to use ‘hips’ as a signifier for sexual desire/activity. Let’s just fuck and pretend it’s all okay. Let’s lose ourselves in each other and pretend we can have it. Tell me I’m the only one, even if it’s not true. Let me get high on this memory one last time.

‘Hurry, hurry. You put my head in such a flurry, flurry’ is the urgency and compromised judgment of the tryst. ‘Oh freckle freckle’ can be read as Patrick’s forehead mole. ‘What makes you so special? I’m gonna leave you’ tells us what makes the last time so good: Pete knows it’s the last time. Pete knows he has to end it. But he’s so addicted-sick, ((stray-dog sick,)) he can’t stop. ‘I’m gonna teach you how we’re all alone’ doesn’t really sound like something a newlywed and soon-to-be-dad should be saying, does it? But there it is. How can he let go when he knows ‘how heartwarming it is inside your skin’?

The final nail in my coffin: ‘I’m a sunshine machine. I want to get stuck and be golden in your memory.’

We’ve talked about how Patrick = sunshine = gold, right. r i g h t

12. 20 Dollar Nose Bleed

Fun fact: this song is basically erotica to me ever since I wrote that recording booth smut about it! I can’t even listen to it without blushing and becoming uncomfortable. So there’s something you didn’t need to know about me that you… now know about me.

‘Permanent jet lag, please take me back. I’m stray dog sick, please let me in. The mad key’s tripping, singing vows before we exchange smoke rings.’ It is OBVIOUSLY my prerogative to interpret this as slightly depraved sexual longing, but I especially like the bit about singing vows without ever exchanging anything lasting or visible that implies commitment—this can be heard as a comment on the fickleness of commitment, or it can be heard as a comment about how deeply he is/was committed to Patrick even though they never had anything to show for it. Anything they could show for it. Even to each other.

Benzedrine is, of course, the very first pharmaceutical amphetamine (read about it here!). Many great artists and thinkers were influenced by the impossible energy it gives you, which is obviously relatable to someone who experiences natural mania, peddling his own prescription like a ‘medicine man’ (Wilson lyrics). I think the verse about Benzedrine and not letting the doctor in not-so-obliquely references the issue with medication compliance that Pete experienced and many people diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder also do: the meds for this disorder are really unpleasant. They dull you out, they give you tremors, they have really strong side effects, and they take away that amazing manic spark that so many artists credit with their success. Don’t let the doctor in. They’ll take away the only thing he really likes about being himself.

‘Have you ever wanted to disappear?’ is, I think, a glimpse of the unadorned real.

The spoken word bit at the end of this song really hammers together a lot of the themes of the whole album, the whole band, personal and political both. ‘You said you’re not listening and I said I’m wishing…’, only we don’t ever find out what’s really being said.

13. West Coast Smoker

I love the hell out of this song because there are few things in life that are hotter than Patrick singing the chorus. And fuck. Patrick saying curse words. I die every time. I think this is a kink I share with Pete Wentz. I think one day Pete Wentz and I will share a circle of hell. It will be called the ‘Underage Stump Mouth Rotunda,’ and we will all be very ashamed.

We’ve got a lot of the same themes: the ease of suicide and the conviction to live, the way shows feel and how it was when they were kids, drug use and overmedicated ennui. Pete was once the son, is becoming the father, is resolving not to become the holy ghost.

‘I’m the last of my kind’ and ‘when they made me they broke the mold’ and the finality of it all. (Contrasted with the modern era: ‘you’re the last of a dying breed.’ Pete has grown up and away from his recursive self-obsession, from his own myth. Pete learning to look inside others and stop dismissing himself, and everyone else, as fool’s gold.)

‘Your eyes are blocking my starlight’ to me really speaks to the person who is keeping him from Patrick, or the people—the fans, the Public, with their eyes on his every action.

14. Pavlove

I LOVE THIS SONG

Once again, we have a drug use metaphor: ‘she’s back to the bathroom for one more,’ ‘get addicted to this,’ and of course, the endless seeking for something to make ‘my chest stir/my head blur.’ And: ‘I’m not ready for a handshake with death, I’m just such a happy mess’ shows us, for once, what Pete has to live for—not just that he’s resigned to life, but the reason for it. This song is all tied up with the heady swell of live music and self-medication, and there’s no line more representative of my experience as a bisexual person than ‘I’m the invisible man who can’t stop staring at the mirror.’

‘I want to make you as lonely as me so you can get addicted to this’ seems very directed at Patrick, doesn’t it? Because this is a Pete who needs Patrick too much, thinks Patrick doesn’t need him back, is terrified. Doesn’t know how to solve his problems except to flee them. So: he flees them.

 I MADE IT. I BARELY FUCKING MADE IT BUT I DID.

To sum up: Folie is an incredible, sweeping, beautiful album about the glory of Peterick and the band’s impending end, and it will break your heart. Hit me up with questions and requests, and as always, thank you for reading!

shark-myths out *mic drop*

[hereissomestuffiwrote]

2020 Hyundai Elantra

Rental cars are so great- it’s like getting to sidestep your daily driver for a car mistress, or car gigolo. Not that I have any desire to do such a thing, as I’m in a perfectly healthy relationship with an older Volkswagen. But she needed a few days off, and with this virus business I didn’t wanna Uber, so a rental it would have to be. Wanting to save money to put towards the Jetta’s possible costly maintenance, I first checked Turo, which was crazy cheap, but all they had available were a bunch of 2012 Fiat 500s. Fun fact- when my Honda got stolen in 2012 I tried to rent a car from a company through my insurance- all they had available was a then brand new Fiat 500, but they couldn’t let me rent it they said, because it kept breaking down on them. Back in 2012. So no thanks on the same car eight year later. I moved on to Enterprise, and I decided to go with the lowest-priced deal possible, which promised a Mitsubishi Mirage or similar. I’m furloughed at the moment, so this thing would just have to get me home from and then back to my mechanic’s. I could deal with an economy car just for that. 

The plan was to meet the rental agent at the repair shop where I was leaving my car, sign some stuff, and then take off in the Mirage or similar. Wanting to socially isolate as much as possible, I decided to wait in my car until the rental agent and the employee who was driving them back to their office both showed up. First, I saw a brand new Hyundai Elantra with out of state plates and a barcode on the windshield pull into a spot. I figured that was the shuttle back, so I got out of my car, figuring my rental was right behind the Hyundai. And sure enough, moments later a Chevy Sonic pulled up. A Sonic is similar to a Mirage, right? I immediately noticed that the Sonic was absolutely filthy and kinda dented up, which, whatever, I’m renting from the bottom shelf, but also that the driver was an elderly man with no face mask. Huh. Well, okay. “Is that mine?” I cheerfully asked the man, who looked back at me completely bewildered. “No” he said gruffly, and then started taking some boxes out of his back seat. Oh man, should I have upgraded to Compact or Standard? Could Economy really be this bad? But just then- “Excuse me, sir?”, I heard from the direction of the Hyundai, “I’m with Enterprise! We have your car right over here!” It turns out they upgraded me two full vehicle classes- score! So the Elantra was mine, the rental agent’s shuttle was a Chrysler Pacifica that rolled up a few minutes later, and that dirty Sonic was a parts delivery guy. Oops.  

Even though I have a perfectly valid credit card and a perfectly legitimate checking account, when I signed the Enterprise agent’s iPad iFelt like Preston in Blank Check pulling off one of his many bullshit “Mr. Macintosh” transactions. Like, handing over a piece of plastic and scribbling incoherently with my finger on a tablet screen = unlimited access to a brand new motor vehicle? Whaaaat? But it seriously was that easy! Plus, COVID-19 precautions meant my agent just straight up left the keys in the ignition with the car running- one less point of contagion. He was super nice though, and wiped down everything before leaving the car to me. Of course, I pretended that we were both criminals and he was cleaning his fingerprints off a getaway car before handing it over to me for disposal. I also kept thinking about the rental car scene in the awesome buddy-comedy My Fellow Americans in which a little Hyundai is used as a punchline-

Spoiler alert- things go really, really well with the Lexus-

Jesus, what was it with abusing rental cars in 80′s and 90′s comedies? The poor things got less than no respect. 

Insane that twenty-four years later, the two brands really aren’t a whole lot different anymore. Side by side, my brand new Elantra and a Lexus IS don’t even look particularly dissimilar from one another, save for the latter one’s more pronounced gaping O face. Even with a more staid design, the Hyundai certainly doesn’t at all appear notably goofier or cheaper in comparison.

Once inside, the Elantra seemed like a nice enough place. I went to grab a CD out of the Jetta (Yes, like a grandpa I still listen to compact discs in the car, don’t judge) and then realized upon closer inspection that the Elantra didn’t even have a CD slot. Since I couldn’t understand the deal with the satellite radio- it seemed to me like the previous renter had only activated five stations, and they were all Catholic talk radio stations- I just defaulted to my favorite local FM channel. Whenever I’ve been given a rental car in the past, I compulsively have to see how loud the volume on the stereo will go before it starts hurting my ears. And I’m happy to report that the Elantra was capable of boosting “High” by The Cure to an acceptably window-shaking volume. With that important business out of the way, I could see what else was up with this car. It had a sportshift kinda gear box, I guess Hyundai’s is called SHIFTRONIC®. 

I messed around with it, it seemed responsive. Downshifts really did slow the car considerably, and upshifts seemed to make it go faster, but I don’t know, my foot was also on the gas, so maybe it was just a placebo effect? Either way, I’m a big fan of manumatics- it’s always good to look down and see the little S and the plus/minus. It’s a welcome bonus touch, like when a deli sandwich comes with a pickle. Even if you’re never going to want or use that pickle, it’s just nice someone made the effort.

Next, I needed to push this “Drive Mode” button and see what that did. Sadly, hitting it did not cause toothpicks to dispense from the sun visor and “Nightcall” by Kavinsky to boom over the sound system, lame. But, instead, it pulled up this dope TRON-esque graphic of the Elantra on the touch screen-

I just love it when digital renderings of cars appear on their dash screens. Second only to visual equalizers, they’re my favorite completely unnecessary yet supremely cool thing that a display can offer me. The fun cartoon in the Elantra explained that I had the choice of three modes- Smart, Normal and Sport. The Catholic talk radio renter had been driving it in Normal, no surprise there. I was on the highway at this point, so I decided to get crazy and punch it into Sport. And believe it or not, it made a huge difference! I once drove a Mini Cooper S with a manual, and while Elantra Sport Mode certainly wasn’t that vivacious, it was much, much more fun than Elantra Normal or Elantra Smart. Okay, full disclosure- I didn’t even bother to check out Elantra Smart- I spent too many years driving a Prius to care to see what the “nerd setting” felt like- I can imagine vividly, thanks. 

It wasn’t until I arrived home that I even bothered to see what the key situation was. Like I said, they were theoretically in it, as the engine was on, but not until pulling up near my house did I think to make sure that they were actually in the car. They were though, dangling from an ignition cylinder the way car keys are supposed to. I myself hate proximity fobs, push starts and such- they make me feel too disconnected. I have too many years of the muscle memory of my fingers gripping a physical car key, turning it, and feeling the vibration of the engine starting to ever get used to anything else. To me, that sensation also turns a key in my brain, and once that’s turned, it is like “Okay, we’re operating a car now, pay attention”. Without that ritual, I can’t focus on my driving quite the same way. I would imagine it would be similarly disorienting if suddenly all cigarettes just came magically lit right out of the pack, long time smokers would say “What the hell? I enjoy the act of flicking my Zippo, that’s part of the whole thing!” You know? Lucky for me, the Hyundai had keys-keys, albeit surprisingly budget looking ones-

My friend’s mom had a 2004 Elantra that he’d borrow and I’m fairly certain the keys for that thing looked almost identical. A quick Google search proved me right.

C’mon Hyundai! This thing was a two-thousand and twenty! And it wasn’t even the base model. Not even a switchblade? Or a buttons-built-into-the-top-of-the-key type deal? Nope. Key and separate fob, 1995 style. Oh well. Since I’m on furlough at the moment, I didn’t really have anywhere I needed to go, so I just left the Hyundai to sit until the Jetta was ready. When I got word that the VW was all put back together, I headed back into the countryside in the Elantra.  

Enhance! It’s hard to tell, but that’s a genuine Passat W8 all-wheel-drive wagon in front of me. 

When I got closer, I noticed that it was full of yard work equipment, and getting pretty beat looking. Sitting behind it at a red light, I noticed the two young guys in it were rocking out to music. It was warm out that day, so since we both had our windows down I could immediately recognize Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” slapping through the Passat’s Monsoon speakers. The two guys nodded along with it enthusiastically for a few moments before starting to laugh and changing tracks on either a mix CD or a Spotify playlist or whatever. Ohhhh, they were rocking out to it ironically. The plot thickened. If it was a mix CD, were they driving a borrowed car and laughing at someone’s taste, as my friends and I did when we commandeered a dad’s Lincoln LS and found “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins deep within the trunk mounted CD changer? Or were they a couple of Gen Zs cycling archaeologically through a Woodstock ‘99 playlist on a streaming device of some sort? I’ll never know. Anyway, bawitda-back to my story about the Elantra. I had to put a bank-busting $3.12 worth of gas into it so that it would have a full tank before dumping the keys into my mechanic’s after hours slot and happily reclaiming the Jetta. Not that there was anything wrong with the Elantra- as has been stated endlessly elsewhere, it’s truly amazing how far Hyundai has come over the last twenty or so years. I guess the rental company wasn’t as enthusiastic about the little car’s innovations or maybe they were just used to them, as I got a call from my mechanic a few days later telling me it still hadn’t been picked up. I called the rental people who assured me they would be coming to grab it, they had just been busy. Since my mechanic has plenty of land, and since my credit card had stopped being charged, I left the situation at that. I’ve heard nothing further, so for all I know the car either got collected or it’s still just sitting out there in the fields, now in use as the nicest chicken coop in all of the Amish Country. If that’s the case, those chickens are in for a real treat! Hopefully they’ll have more luck figuring out the satellite radio than I did.  

[kathleenpo]

Not Scared

My life is not nearly as dramatic as it sounds in these essays. It's a lot of work making this stuff seem exciting, I hope whoever reads this can appreciate that.

I was looking forward to a long holiday weekend of absolutely nothing. Really, nothing was going to happen. I would have supper with my family on Thursday, come home for a nice bath, and that was it. No plans. No responsibilities. Zero drama. Maybe a little closet cleaning to get the blood moving, that's it.

Thanksgiving started out great. All the food I needed to bring was ready, my hair was washed and looked normal, and the weather forecast promised a glorious day. I had a brand new North Face hoodie for the chill, with a light layer underneath for later in the day.

My son even showed up on time. I said 0900, he rolled in at 0908. He picked up the bag of food and put his hand out for the keys.

“You're driving my truck?”

“Yeah Mom. My rear end is about to take a dump.”

Cool, I thought as I grabbed a bottle of the Beaujolais. Designated driver means Mellow Mom.

He hit the key fob and opened the door. There was shit strewn all over the backseat.

“What the hell? When did you turn into such a pig, Mom?”

I’m not. There may be a stray straw wrapper in the door compartment, but I am usually really good about cleaning out the truck at the end of the day. I looked in the seat, and everything I saw came out of the console hatch. The insurance card. Two scent sticks. Some convex mirrors I bought and need to put on the side views. A box of Altoids.

I’m good about cleaning out the truck, but I’m bad about locking it. And someone had pawed through my stuff, looking for who knows what. Seems like they were disappointed at what old women keep in their 4 Runners, they didn’t even take the Bruce Springsteen CD. All the stuff was there, just moved around. Even the yoga mat still had the scarf tied around it.

This makes me sad, because I’ve never worried much about locking up, and now I guess I have to. Garrett came by yesterday morning with a copy of the key to the porch door, and reminded me that I need to lock up the house whenever I go out.

OK, I will, just because you asked me to. I know you will come by at random times to check and then yell at me if I don’t. But I don't like it, either one, the yelling or the locking.

I had that key in the pocket of my new North Face hoodie this morning when I had the Great Bike Wreck. It didn’t even fall out when I crashed.

But by the time I got home, my elbow sure hurt. And my hand was kind of feeling tingly and numb. And my legs were shaking, my butt was starting to get sore, and the place where I hit my head…well, I decided to do the grownup thing and go to Doc in the Box. Just to make sure I hadn’t really hurt the elbow, my bones are kind of old.

I hate going to the doctor, so I was feeling proud of myself sitting there filling out the papers on the clipboard, being an adult and all. And there was no one else in chairs, so I figured I could get checked out and be home in maybe an hour.

Then a man came in with a lady in a wheelchair. He was confused and upset. She was drooling and leaning to the left.

Stroke. That was the first thing that popped into my head. He should be at the ER, not here.

The receptionist didn’t think so; she thought she needed to get him to work on the clipboard papers and give her the insurance cards. She went to make copies and he went to fill out forms.

His wife just sat there drooling.

Of course I butted in. Have you met me?

I’ll bet he wasn’t planning to start out his day at the Minor Emergency Clinic, and he sure wasn’t expecting a woman with a bloody North Face hoodie to come up and ask him if he needed any help. But still, he seemed happy to talk. So I asked him questions. Lots of questions. Like how was his wife last night, had she talked to him this morning…and his answers painted a very clear picture. She had been making him scrambled eggs and she dropped the spatula, sat down at the table and drooled.

What about the wheelchair? He said it was in the corner from when he had broken his hip.

OK. All I need to know. What I should have done was told him to follow me and ran that chair back out the door and fifty feet across the parking lot to the ER, but I was being an adult, so I reached over the counter and pushed the red button that opens the doors to the back of the clinic and found a clerk sitting at a computer terminal charting.

I told him what to do. He ignored me and called 911.

An ambulance came (from the porte cochere at ER) and loaded them up. Before they made the left turn across traffic to get to the clinic, I got the number of their son, called him and told him to get to the hospital. He was there before the gurney was in the bus.

That’s it. I don’t know how she is, I don’t even know their names, but dammit, even clerks should get some basic triage training if they are going to work in medical offices. I guess it’s a liability thing. Or maybe a stupidity thing.

I really hope the helicopter I heard taking off a little while later wasn’t her.

Eventually the excitement died down, and the doctor came in to see me. He had to help me take off the hoodie, and the thermal under it, so he could look at my elbow. He was embarrassed because all I had on was the hoodie and the thermal, and he offered a paper sheet to cover the rest of me, but I don’t really care about that. You're supposed to be looking at my elbow. It was bleeding again from taking off the thermal, and my fingers were a little puffy. Time for X Rays.

They have a little portable unit that rolls into the room, and the images are digital now, so I have no idea why they made me wait so long after the cart rolled away. But eventually he came back in and found me sitting at the counter looking at the pictures on the desk monitor. No breaks, just a big contusion and maybe a slight sprain.

I had my shirt back on, so he relaxed a little and asked me what happened. I told him, and I was still pretty amped from the lady who needed tPA STAT, so I gave him the story in great detail, with hand motions for emphasis.

He said he’d seen me riding my bike around town before, but didn’t even know Seguin had a bike trail. I told him not to bother looking for it.

Then he asked me how I knew about strokes, and I told him I just did, I know a lot of shit, you’d be surprised.

He laughed and said I told great stories, I should write a blog.

That’s the second person this week that’s told me that, making a grand total of four people so far. I don’t know this guy, and he doesn’t know me, so I told him I have one started, sort of, and gave him the Tumblr account link.

So maybe he will be my first “like” or “follow” on that thing. Maybe I'll noodle around with the day's events and post that, I don't know yet.

The doctor prescribed the usual: Rest. Ice. Elevation. I asked him about the C, could it be cocktails?  He said not until after four in the afternoon. Go home and take some Advil, maybe have a nap. He cleaned up the blood and put a big Band Aid on my elbow.

I was an adult and followed the doctor’s orders.  I went to the grocery store and almost bought myself flowers, but I got a paperback instead. Another surrogate boyfriend; Dr. Alex Delaware, the murder solving psychologist. He’s not as cool as Virgil Flowers, but then, few men are. I read for a little while and took a nap, with the ice pack on my elbow. I only had two glasses of wine with my leftover turkey sandwich. In a minute I'll go take a bath with some Epsom salts and probably fall asleep reading.

But tomorrow, all bets are off.

I’m riding that bike again. Not on the Trail to Hell, somewhere else, but I’m riding it. And I’m going to get a better bike, one that will go faster and not be so hard to control. I’m going to do that really soon, but tomorrow I’m going to ride that same bike. I’m not scared, maybe clumsy, but not scared.

And then, I’m going to get in my truck and go drive across the creek at the place where I floated a perfectly good Cadillac once.

It hasn’t rained for a while, and now I have a high clearance vehicle. So I’m just going to do it, then I can mark it off the list. I’ll go say hi to my Uncle Nelson if he’s home and maybe he will want to go have breakfast.

Because, you know what?

If I ever end up in a wheelchair with someone not knowing what to do when I’m having a stroke, I want to know I wasn’t afraid to live while I had the chance. 

That's the shitty thing about strokes, you're still in there, but you're stuck.

I don't want to go to Doc in the Box. Just let the chair roll off the rocks, the ocean will take care of me.

I'm not scared.

[futctvevo]

Infinity On “Hi, There”

Summary: A girl walks into a record store, where she finds a confident and sly stranger, and they strike up a convo over Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 1,168

A/N: thanks for 500 followers!! a few days ago, i wrote a cute lil story that happened to mention FOB, and i thought i might as well share it with you guys! it’s also one of my goals to practice writing this summer, so i worked hard on this one. constructive criticism is welcome, i hope you guys enjoy it!

The vintage smell of old cardboard and vinyls surrounded me, but I didn’t recoil. The scent was familiar; I frequented this record store at least once a week. “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers buzzed softly from overhead speakers as a couple of teens milled through the vinyl section, stuck with the tedious task of reorganizing records just so they could get cluttered again hours later. As I walked deeper into the store, I realized there was only one other customer in the entire shop. The near solitude created an increased intimacy between the music and I as I swept my eyes fondly over the CDs, which were arranged in disorganized rows, stretching from one end of the shop to the other in a long line of shelves.

Everything from pop, to indie, to metal was laid out on those shelves, but all of my favorites resided in one section - punk. I loved the complicated guitar and heavy drums that smashed together with beautiful harmonies and lyrics that mattered. It was a wall of sound, something meant to be blasted with the car windows down, or through earbuds late at night. It was intensely personal, yet it had the power to connect so many people together. It turned outsiders into members of a community that just got you. Punk rock was the type of music that listened to you without you saying a word. It voiced everything you couldn’t admit to anyone else, or even yourself.

It was there that I was pondering the importance of punk (go figure) while blankly staring at the cover art of Fall Out Boy’s Infinity On High, when I felt someone's presence behind me. Before I could turn around, a guy my age stepped beside me and asked, “You like Fall Out Boy?” The way he spoke made it seem more like a statement, and less of a question. His voice was rough and a bit higher pitched, but it wasn’t unpleasant. When I spun to look at him, I met pale blue eyes and a small smirk on a confident face. His hair flopped carelessly on his head - light, curly and thick with closely shaved sides. He had a tall frame, which made him seem thinner than he already was.

I rested my hand on one of the shelves and leaned. “Yeah, they’re one of my favorites.” I couldn’t decide if I should maintain eye contact or not, so I just glanced down at my grey converses. They had definitely seen better days, but I was determined to wear them until they were completely spent - these babies had been with me since freshman year. It’d be easier for me to part with a first-born child.

“Same here,” he replied, glancing to the album I was staring at earlier, then bringing his icy eyes back to mine, practically forcing them up from my shoes. It made me want to see if I could melt them a little. “Infinity On High was such a game-changer for them.”

“I know, right?” My heart lept at the opportunity to have an educated discussion about music. “I suppose it was kind of risky for them to step away from the Take This To Your Grave sound, but I think it really paved the way for the rest of their music.” I really couldn’t help but spill everything my friends didn’t care enough to hear about; when else would I get a chance to discuss one of the best bands ever with someone who just got it? “It was kind of the first big push for their style experimentation, in my opinion.” I was standing upright now so I could use my hands while I spoke. “Plus, there’s some really good jams in there.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” The boy’s eyes lit up, wide and excited, and the corners of his lips turned up minutely. His pupils seemed to dilate, but maybe I was just imagining things. “Hearing them play ‘Hum Hallelujah’ live is such a cool experience. It gets me dancing every single time.” He chuckled a bit, almost seeming embarrassed, like he didn’t mean to share that. A couple beats passed before either of us said anything. He broke the silence by finally asking, “So, uh, do you have a name?”

“Yes,” I laughed, breathy and light. “Most people do. It’s Alex.” I offered my hand out to him, not caring if it seemed a tad old-fashioned. It wouldn’t have been the strangest thing to happen today. “What about you? Are you nameless?”

The boy shook his head at the ground, a small smile daring to glance across his face for a fraction of a second. “Jamie,” he responded, taking my hand in a solid shake, holding his head high, and letting go after an extended moment. “Cool to meet you, Alex. May I?” Jamie offered, as he reached over my arm, causing my hair to stand on end. He plucked Infinity On High off of the shelf, and glanced towards the register.

My stomach flipped, and my cheeks flushed with pink. “Are you sure?”

Jamie smiled wide. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he countered, taking steps towards the front of the store. His strides were long and even, and hard for me to match.

“Thank you,” I said to the back of his Boyz of Zummer tour shirt, following behind him. The garment stretched across his surprisingly broad shoulders, which I definitely didn’t notice. Strong. It made me wonder if he lifted boxes for a living or something. “I really appreciate it; it’s the only album I don’t own.”

“Glad to complete your collection,” he winked. He paused, and with a smidge of hesitation in his voice, he asked, “Can we grab a coffee sometime?”

“Maybe-” It was my turn to smirk. I could play this game too, you know? “-if I can get your number.”

That was definitely the right thing to say. Once we reached the register, he set the CD down on the counter, and he held out his hand expectantly. I reached into my back pocket and handed him my old iPhone 4S, but he (thankfully) didn’t mention how lame it was. He punched in his number and handed it back to me, purposefully grazing my hand for a brief second.

My cheeks were on fire.

The cashier finished ringing up the purchase, handing it to Jamie, who offered it out to me. I accepted it gratefully. He held my eyes for a moment, and I was forced to stare in wonder at the sincerity in them. He seemed serious, but hopeful, too. “You’ll text me, right?”

I was surprised to see this side of him; was he actually a bit nervous? I smiled, looking down at the ground. “Yeah, of course. How could I not?”

He looked relieved, a smile practically cracking his face in two. “So, I’ll see you around?”

I looked back up into his eager face, and promised, “Yeah. This won’t be the last you see of me.”

[aspiestvmusings]

SCORPION/QUINTIS S4 WISH LIST:

Here is a list of thing I want to see happen on Scorpion in s4: 

Things I want to see/know/hear about in S4: 

QUINTIS/TOBY-HAPPY RELATED:

Quintis talking about the events of past year and/or talking about “when is the right time” aka proper conclusion to the Cd-baby plot with them talking about..things. And deciding when the right time would be, and what option they will choose (bio kid, adoption)

Quintis pregnancy plot or adoption plot (I would prefer a pregnancy plot...after the events of 3x07, but I’d also love an adoption story, which is still very fitting for them)* #ep403getstheballrollingkinda

If there is a Quintis pregnancy, I hope we don’t jump from “month 1″ to “month 9″ fast, but instead get to see the whole, or at least most of the, journey. because this plot gives opportunity for some pretty great comedy (grumpy, tough mechanic with a big belly putting everyone in their places who think a pregnant lady cannot work. a’la Brennan/Bones style + using Toby as an errands boy) + some sweet Quintis moments (Toby will go all out and do all that "sweet/annoying” stuff like talking to the belly, and reading to the baby, and so on...) And we’d get emotional plot...with her worrying that something could happen during childbirth (like it did with her mom), and worry about the genius/normal possibility, plus worrying about becoming parents... even if that was addressed already during the s3 Cd-baby plot... 

If there is a Quintis baby, then I personally hope he/she will be a genius (even if they won’t know for a little while). Though two geniuses raising a “normal” would also make an interesting story, I’d love to see Quintis & The Team raising a genius & teaching him/her... their skills (like they’re doing with Ralph, though they started with him only at age 9...now we could start with age 9 days...)

If there is a Quintis baby, then unless they name him/her Marcus or Grace, they better come up with a great name. Also.. my vote still goes to baby girl, because the team needs more girls-power, and the team’s already growing a boy-genius (Ralph), so they need a girl-genius (Baby Quintis), too. 

NEW! Since we know there will be a Quintis family plot (pregnancy or adoption...is the question...) and we know there have been several mentions of Toby’s gambling past, and since Happy’s emotional storyline lead to the Quintis wedding, then it’s only logical that it’ll be Toby’s emotional storyline thatll lead to a Quintis baby. And I hope that they’ll use of of these “dramatic” scenarious: a) have Collins be the threat (to pregnant Happy, to their newborn baby or their adopted kid); b)  Have Collins play some more mind games and “drive” Toby to gambling/almost gambling...and we’d explore the addict storyline this way; c) have “Bruno” or someone from Toby’s past be a threat...demanding payment...now that both Quintis & TeamScorpion are extra broke + Quintis is planning to have a child. Making him just stressed or actually gamble.; d) Have there be some fertility issues or Quintis thinking this isn’t happening for them, but then happening for real  (opposite of S3 Cd-baby plot: in s3 they were excited aboiut a baby that never was...in s they would then be unhappy (worried, anxious) about not having a baby, when there actually would be one... That’s as far as I want them to go with “fertility issues” for these two. Drama is loved by tv writers, and it looks great on screen, but 100% “no” is in my books not an option for these two. If I have one wish...it’s that the show would let them have also a bio kid...

If there is a Quintis baby... Allie could be the first “nanny”...until Patrick is out/back again. Or they could bring back Ray...again. ETA: Or expand Patty’s (Sly’s team-mate for his other job...as the Alderman) job description.  Or Ada, who will be cured by then. (Ada could replace Happy in the field til she’s on maternity leave/stuck in the garage and/or be the babysitter for a while) Or someone else from the past.. Or the team could just stay in the Garage, to babysit the littlest genius, one member at a time (different team member in each ep/during each case...they’ve used this option a lot in s2 & s3 already...) Basically... if they wanted to..they could make it work storyline wise (and production wise...with working with small humans on set) The logistics, both for the fictional characters and the real world production team might be a lot to handle, but it can be done! 

The Quintis place (that we will finally see Happy’s place/... now Quintis place/home) - that set has to be built for S4, and I want to see it...how they’ve combined their stuff, and what their home looks like after they’ve settled in. I just want to see Toby’s hat hanging on a coat-hook in the hallway, and their things “mixed” (Happy & her tools, Toby & his books) - their two personal styles combined, creating a new...”their” place... I cannot wait to see the set for their house/apartment. 

Quintis “domestic” scene - not a “bedroom” scene as some mean it, but them just being home, casually - watching cop shows on tv together, reading books, playing board-games, building something, teaching each-other each others skill sets, just talking or bickering or “fighting” about little things (”no the picture goes on that wall” ...”no, it goes on THAT wall...”), waking up together (we gotta get confirmation if Happy is the little spoon or not...after 2x13 we gotta know)... 

Toby carrying Happy to bed (or to the sofa), and covering her up with a blanket, after she’s fallen asleep 

Happy taking care of a sick Toby/Toby taking care of a sick Happy 

Quintis movie-nights (it’s been hinted that they’re both movie fans, and love watching tv shows, so...) - seeing them watch a movie/tv marathon...

Happy wearing Toby’s clothes (his Harvard-Tee, his hoodies... works both for pregnant Happy...whose clothes don’t fit her anymore, and for non-pregnant Happy ...who just likes “to feel him close” that way)

Quintis "You can leave your hat on” scene...where this song plays and/or Happy says this to Toby...before we cut to black (end of scene/ep). We know she secretly loves the hat, and we know they (both!) love to dress up for “alone time”, so... this is in character.  #weneedaconfirmationabouthowHappyreallyfeelsaboutthehat #iloveyourhat #icanseehistupidhat 

Quintis dancing to “Shiny Happy People” at their home/in the extra baby room/in the Garage/on the rooftop... recreating the 2x13 Patrick & Grace Quinn - Happy’s parents - scene from the VHS tape Happy watched. Bonus points if Happy is pregnant during this dance scene. 

Quintis team-work during cases! Happy getting to show off her mechanic skills & Toby getting to show off his doctor skills. And vice versa/in reverse - Toby showing off what he’s learned from her & Happy showing off what shes learned from him. #ep405 #ep410

Quintis teaching each other their skills (a’la 1x13 deleted end scene style: Toby teaching Happy about noticing human behaviour -- like he did in 3x22 with that hand placement comment and medicine & Happy teaching Toby mechanics, buildings stuff, etc...)

The return of significant little things/presents - the dollhouse from 2x04 (that they worked on together in season 2), the rocking chair (from 3x06 that Toby “built” for Happy and their kid), the “attaboy” key-fob (that Happy gave Toby as a present in 3x11), the “Sparking Mike ” toy robot (that Toby gave Happy as a present), the “Toby Dick” framed picture (from 3x22)...among other things. I want to see all those items in the Quintis home...and their places in their home... Several can be used as decorating the “extra room” aka future baby Grace/Marcus Quinn-Curtis room. #ep407

Married Quintis being the same two adorable genius dorks, bickering, and being simply themselves... (confirming that simply signing some papers doesn’t mean that a person’s personality changes completely, and they still remain themselves, even if they do change, and adapt to each other more and more...) #everysingleepisode

Quintis still adapting to living together & being married. Fun storylines and scenes about them getting used to the “changes” in their lives. (They moved in together, officially, in ep 322, and got to cohabitate only for a month til their wedding day & the 3-week “deserted island” adventure aka their “honeymoon”... so it’s still kinda new for them...

Quintis honeymoon... a proper one. Not really seeing their honeymoon (they, and the whole team, really need a long vacation after the year of crazy events they’ve had...so 6 weeks off is a must...and good reason for a timejump on the show...) but seeing them leave for their vacation, and returning after... #idontthinkthiswillhappenforthem

Quintis duet! Quintis singing....together. Or one of them playing the piano/an intrument, and the other one singing... #kinda

Quintis high5-s, Quintis fist-bumps, Quintis foreheard/top-of-the-head kisses, Quintis hugs, Quintis kisses #LittleSweetQuintisMoments#401 #402 

Quintis nicknames! More nicknames from Toby. But also from Happy! #getcreativewithnicknames #401 #402 

Quintis Garage Rooftop scenes! Quintis/Team at Kovelsky’s scenes

Flashback to 2x13 rooftop cuddling in the tent (what happened after the ep ended)

Flashback to the moment when Quintis became official - the when, how... revealed in detail (either shown visually as a flashback, or revealed in words/by someone telling the story)

Quintis planting an oak tree (their tree, “a mighty love oak”) and/or tend to one they planted on their wedding day/during/after the honeymoon  PS. If it’s not a topic in S3 finale/wedding ep, then definitely in s4, please

Toby’s “new” car! After his old blue convertible was blown up in last seasons premiere... did Happy fix it up, or did Toby already got a new car (or have they just carpooled/both drove Happy’s truck), or will he be getting a new car... will they be getting a new car (a “family car”) soon? 

Perfect Quintis Christmas! 

Quintis book-club! Toby reading two books at once (and Happy admiring the sight) and Happy reading a book and/or Toby/Happy both reading a book... #bookreadingdate #quietnightathomeorinthegarage 

Quintis as the support team in the Garage (a la 3x08) - both Toby & Happy staying behind during a case, and being together in the Garage, communicating via comms with the others. 

Toby’s new computer and mobile phone backgrounds/wallpapers to be shown. The old/usual “playing cards decks wallpaper” replaced with something else, possibly Happy/Quintis/team related. 

A Valentine’s day episode! Quintis Valentines day! 

Quintis anniversary! Quintis 1st wedding anniversary (May 2018....a year after their May 2017 wedding), Quintis 1st date/get together anniversary... 

Happy (and the team) having to save Toby’s life during a case (kind of like Toby did in 2x13 in the South Pole, and/or the team did in 2x12 at the dam...but not like 2x06...where she kinda did already...)

Toby and his gambling past - Bruno & his debts (payment plan) story line brought back/continued and finished. Learn to identity of Bruno, and learn more about Toby’s debts etc.  PS. If it’s not a topic in S3 finale/wedding ep, then definitely in s4, please

NEW! (added after s4 premiere) Quintis/TeamScorpion Vs Collins. He’ll be back...we all know it. And while I think he’ll go after Walt/Paige/Ralph...I kinda wish that maybe he’ll go after Happy (pregnant Happy) or Quintis kid... so we’d get a great emotional storyline. And see again the fierce Happy. Cause they’re all scared of Queen Happy...also Collins. She is a worthy opponent to him, and after 224 she would so extra scary if the bearded trickster tried to hurt her/her gamily again. 

TEAM/OTHER CHARACTERS RELATED:

Sly and “Megan Dodd Pediatric Care Unit/Ward” - that plot was dropped too fast (no explanation given why & no mention of this plot or why it was “forgotten” in any of the interviews or dvd extras...or anywhere), with no resolution at the end of s2. One way to bring it back (after so much time, and make it seem natural) is simply to have it be related to Quintis baby - they visit the place when the baby is born (it’s obvious Quintis baby is gonna be born “in the middle of nowhere, during a mission”..but after that they will go to the hospital for a checkup, and it’d be a great time to “casually” mention MDPCW, and give “closure” to that “dropped” plot, with just one little scene)

Storyline for Sly! #ep401 #ep402 #ep403

Storyline for Cabe! #ep402 #ep403

Ada (Happy’s mechanic friend, Ada Pearce, from 3x18) to be mentioned or returning. Either we hear how Walt’s search for a donor match goes and how her life in the bubble/after getting out of the bubble has gone OR we actually get to see her again. Ada would be a perfect “replacement” on the team on the field while Happy is stuck in the Garage. As in: for the Happy/Quintis pregnancy plot (that is coming..in the future) Cause while Toby and others (as seen in 3x16, 3x14, etc) have picked up things from Happy’s skillset, it would be better to have a “mechanic” on the team during missions. Or just extra member of the team (like Tim was for a while - two federal agents instead of one) Or...she could be the nanny/babysitter. 

More (mentions, at least) of the Mechan-Chicks! website and the mechanchiks and their fun adventures/teamwork. They helped fix Ada’s house after the 3x18 case/events. They must do similar projects..more often..now... 

The return of old “fan fave” characters: Collins as the teams main opponent and the shows main villain, Ray #Ray-turn, Allie, Ada, Maya, Megan (in flashbacks...somehow), Patrick (Happy’s dad), Drew (Ralph’s dad), Walt’s parents, Patty (3x15) etc... #Patty403 #Allie403 #Ray405 #Richard405 

Allie returning (since she obviously isn’t really a fan of working for Patel, then she might enjoy another job change), and she cold become the Scorpion “office assistant” or the (Quintis baby) nanny/babysitter while others are on missions. 

The return of Mark Collins. Collins vs Cyclone (in whatever form, please) #ep401 #ep402 #

Team Scorpion VS Team Anti-Scorpion. The Team facing an enemy, who are geniuses & like them, only with bad intentions. Two teams of geniuses going against each other. The team meeting their match(es).

Grandpa/Dad Cabe & his kiddos (the team) scenes/moments/storylines.... 

More Ralph/Team, Ralph/Quintis, Ralph/Sly, Ralph/Walt...scenes and storylines.

Ferret Bueller - seen again, or his fate mentioned. #

A team origins episode (story) - how everyone met (in detail) We’ve gotten glimpses of the backstory and “how I met everyone” in past episodes - 1x02, 1x03, 1x10, 1x22, 3x23... but we don’t know all the details and haven’t really seen the “flashbacks” to the first meetings or the early days of the team...when they were still “building the company”

A case involving a baby/toddler/child that the team has to protect & take care of (babysit, take custody of during the case), and Quintis is tasked with looking after the kid. (a la Peraltiago in 4x16 with Terry’s kids) And this leads to them having the “babies” talk and/or be a test-run for their future (if it’s already conformed they’re going to be parents)

Cases with animals/living creatures (deer in 4x03 already confirmed). Unless they’re saving the case with scorpions for the shows series finale/last season, I hope to see also a case involving a scorpion...soon. 

Happy building stuff! Happy making more presents to her family members (like she’s built stuff for Sly & “Megan” & Toby - Birdroni, photo phrames, comics humidifier, wedding band, keychain) & Toby “building” stuff... #ep402

The Curtis Clan - an episode/storyline focused on Toby and his family/parents - finally meeting his dad/mom/parents/family. He’s the last team members whose parent(s) we haven’t met. Or heard much about at all. PS. If it’s not a topic in S3 finale/wedding ep, then definitely in s4, please

The story behind Toby’s fedora/hat - when did it become his signature look, and the reasons behind it...etc

The story behind Toby’s “bracelet” - what’s the significance of it?

*Here’s one scenario for the Quintis pregnancy/baby plot (reveal) IN A SEPARATE POST 

This is the first, very initial list. More things will be added to the list...with time. 

PS. This list does not include anything about the shows lead ship/main couple... on purpose. Not because I don’t have thoughts on them (the Ralph, Walt, Paige family & dynamic... because I do), but because I’ve decided not to blog about this ship, hence leaving out anything related to their storylines. Also from this list.

Post created/Last update: April 25th, 2017/Oct 6th, 2017

[softpink]

FOB Question Tag

patrick: are you shy? It depends.  I can be if I am having a bad anxiety day,  but on my best days I am pretty forward person.

pete: what advice would you give to your younger self? I would tell my younger self to not be so panicked about my future, there’s so much time left.

andy: what is one thing you'll always fight for? I have a lot of passion for reform of mental health care, especially long term mental health care facilities for the severely mentally ill

joe: are you an optimist or a pessimist? I am dangerously optimistic.

eowyg: say something nasty about your ex. Trains.  That’s all that needs to be said.

ttyyg: what are 5 things that make you angry? 1. My friends being treated poorly, especially by their S/O 2. Being accused of lying when I’m telling the truth 3. Invasions of privacy 4. When people cannot see that their actions are clearly, blatantly wrong/corrupt 5. Republicans

futct: what was your first major success? First?  Oh geez, I don’t know.  I remember feeling VERY accomplished when I taught myself cursive in the first grade, but if we’re talking about successes that matter....I would say becoming a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.

ioh: what is your sexuality? Bisexual bby

fad: are you mentally ill? Is water wet?

srar: what was your greatest triumph? Finding peace with the trauma I endured in my early teen years

ab/ap: are you missing anyone? I miss Mike every single fucking day.  I am always thinking of him, wishing he was still here.

release the bats: what's the most reckless thing you've ever done? OH GOD.  Fall semester 2015 was one bad decision after another.  I’m going to say house hop night.  “Dating” a drug dealer when I was uhhhh fourteen was pretty bad too lmao.

bedussey: what's your favorite high? Doing well on tests, because I’m a fucking teacher’s pet at my core and I work very hard in school

if you don't do drugs, which would you be willing to try? I’ve smoked a couple of times, but other than that I don’t particularly want to do any “real” drugs.  My body already is barely functioning, I don’t need to be adding insult to injury.  I’m also just realizing now that the last question was probably about highs from substance abuse, not just like.....getting high on life. Why am I like this

saturday: who is your best friend? Kathryn, going on eighteen years strong

grand theft autumn: do you have a secret crush? Nah, it’s no secret that I’m in love with Michael

sugar, we're goin' down: have you ever been in a physical fight? did you win? I’ve never been in a physical fight, unless y’all count sparring matches, which I don’t

dance, dance: when you go to parties, are you more of a wallflower, or the center of attention? Something in between?  The only parties I go to are ones with my close friends, where I am comfortable with everyone.

16 candles: do you believe in the paranormal? Oh hell yeah

thnks fr th mmrs: what's your favorite animal? I love bichons and otters

this ain't a scene, it's an arms race: who intimidates you the most? Master A. Chong, that man is so intimidating

what a catch, donnie: what is your greatest insecurity? My skin

i don't care: what's the craziest thing you've ever seen in public? A whole shelving unit of cd’s at my library fall over on a toddler (the child was okay)

america's suitehearts: create an alter ego for yourself Curly red hair, living in Manhattan and working as a curator at The Frick Collection.  I would have a lifestyle blog, and would be going to Columbia for my PhD.

the youngblood chronicles: what's the worst injury you've ever had? The sub ovarian hematoma I had in January, I never want to feel that kind of pain ever again

uma thurman: can you dance? I am very bad at dancing, but I don’t let it stop me

american beauty/american psycho: what's your favorite movie? Silver Linings Playbook

irresistible: what are you most addicted to? Putting way too much on my plate.  I love having shit to do, and I get such a rush when I get all of those things done.

soul punk: do you play instruments? how many? which ones? I played marimba and flute in high school!

the black cards: how many people have you slept with? if you're uncomfortable answering, how many have you kissed? I’m going to go with kissed and the answer is a lot because I love kisses

the damned things: how diverse is your music taste? It’s all over the place.  My spotify daily mixes usually cover a wide spectrum.

clandestine: if you were a cartoon character, what outfit would you be drawn in? Black leggings, over sized tshirt or a long tunic type top, knee high lace up boots, hair always in a top knot or ponytail

gray: have you ever been suicidal? :-)

fall out toy works: are you an artist? I love to write and draw, but I wouldn’t say I’m an artist

chicago: what is your hometown? Lockport, NY!!

I tag @helloyddam @alextrebekofficial @lookingfor-theupsides !

[galactic-mermaid]

18 Music questions

18 Music Questions

I was tagged by my bro @bandpants. Thanks man!

1. Which bands/artist do you own the most albums by? It’s probably a tie between Fall Out Boy and AFI

2. What was the last song you listened to? Judas Priest - Jawbreaker

3. What’s in your CD/Record player right now? I haven’t had one in years, but I’m pretty sure it was Fall out boy’s Folie a deux

4. What was the last show you attended? I don’t get to go to show’s often, But I saw FOB on their save rock and roll tour in 2013

5. What was the greatest show you’ve been to? SAVE ROCK AND ROLL TOUR. 

6. What was the worst show you’ve ever been to? Twenty one pilots opened for FOB on save rock and roll, and I didn’t really care for them. I tried listening to their music and I only care for one song by them, and even that one gets on my nerves after awhile.

7. What is the most musically involved you have ever been? I was in choir in 5th grade. I actually sang pretty good when I was younger- NOT ANYMORE.

8. What show are you looking forward to?

I REALLY wanna see Depeche Mode!! But I don’t have enough money for tickets qoq

9. What is your favorite band shirt? It’s an FOB shirt with a sphynx head on the front. @bandpants got it for my birthday in 2015 <3 

10. What musician would you like to hang out with for a day? Aw man... I wanna say Joe Trohman. He seems so laid back and chill and seems like he’d be down for anything, even just sitting on the couch playing video games and watching movies. I wonder if he likes Mario Party....

11. Who is one musician or group you wish would make a comeback?

Cobre Starship or Them Crooked Vultures :(((

12. Who is one band/ artist you’ve never seen live but always wanted to? AFI, Muse, Depeche Mode, Green Day- so, so many dude.

13. Name four or more flawless albums: Fall Out Boy’s discography Take This to your Grave to Save Rock and Roll. I really didn’t care for American Beauty/American Psycho. It’s like they were trying too hard to push out a record.

14. How many concerts have you been to, total? The Used, Scorpions- twice and Fall Out boy,

15. Who have you seen the most live? The Scorpions B)))

16. What is your favorite movie soundtrack? Not a big movie soundtrack listener, unless you count Daft Punk’s Interstella 5555 AKA their Discovery album

17. What was your last musical ‘phase’ before you wisened up?

Fuuuuuck... Backstreet Boys. Not even joking.

18. What is your ‘guilty pleasure’ that you hate to admit liking? I hate the fuck out of Megan Trainor (Gag), but she has like one song I like... I didn’t even realize it was her at first and by then it was too late. (But seriously, fuck her gross misandry bullshit).

I tag: @caluvvio @whistlethistle @mentallybrokengay @lunae-lumen @mrmastadon @marvelingmissselina

[emptyperspectiv]

Playlist of my life explanation (I’m gonna probably blog over this and just bookmark it for the list.)

I did this because I can’t sleep, also thank finding those teen vogue videos of this shit. The list itself is about 50 songs that I can sum up pretty quickly without having a huge long list since I sorted them out more or less as I was making it. So, let’s start!

My song picks: 

All The Small Things- blink-182

Initially, I had no idea who blink-182 was until I found this discarded CD one day outside when I was waiting for my bus to come pick me up. I was in middle school and I had this CD player and this was one of the songs on the CD. It was also in the end credits for Charlie’s Angels Full Throttle too.  

Cry Baby- Man Overboard 

One of the best underrated Pop-Punk bands I ever have listened to. A friend of mine introduced me to their music, this song I found on my own and the lyrics and just the tone of this song made me love it more. 

SING- MCR

MCR was introduced to me by a good friend of mine at the end of my 8th-grade year as we got into high school. Sing’s lyrics are something I connected with off the bat when listening to it. I love singing and I find it helpful for when I’m anxious and feel like it’s something everyone should try, even if you’re bad at it. 

crushcrushcrush- Paramore

While this wasn’t the first Paramore song I listened to, this is my favorite one to this day. It’s such a good song, and this was also the first album of theirs I bought at Hot Topic when I was younger. 

White Noise- PVRIS

Probably the one song I’ll go back to time after time for this band. Lynn has such an amazing voice, the band as a whole is just amazing. All their music and their videos are incredibly unique and paint this very ghost-like image that’s haunting, but also incredibly creative. This song specifically is one I connect with because of the lyrics. Sometimes communication between two people can be difficult, it’s also really hard when you are putting in the effort to talk to someone and they don’t listen. Especially in romantic relationships. Sometimes it’s that lack of communication and affection, as well as day to day life noise that you get drowned out by and the connection gets lost. Eventually, things break off and you feel almost like a ghost shouting into an empty void while the other person moves on. At least that’s how I see the song. 

Fight Club- Lights

This is just a fun song. Lights is an incredibly talented artist that I adore to bits. She’s worked so hard on her music and it really has grown over the years. It was a hard choice because all the songs on Skin & Earth are so good, but this just makes me wanna get up and kick ass. 

mother tongue- BMTH

After watching the Genious video explaining the lyrics it wasn’t hard for this to grow on me. BMTH has always been a deep favorite of mine, even when they made “heavy” songs. I just love the meaning of this song and it’s something I can relate to. 

Out Time to Go- State Champs

The visuals for the video that goes to this is so cool! State Champs is probably in my top favorites when it comes to pop-punk bands that I still listen to religiously. The lyrics are so good, they paint a very beautiful image of being under a dark starry sky. Aside from all the pretty visuals the lyrics paint, I think the lyrics connect with me about moving forward in life and not letting things in life hold you back from doing what you want to do in your life. It’s a very empowering message. 

Piece Of Your Heart- Mayday Parade

There isn’t a single Mayday Parade song that makes me feel emotional. They’re such a great band! I got to see them at Warped back in 2012 and took this really cool photo on my super shitty smartphone while I was up against the barrier hanging out with this group of girls who I eventually lost. This specific song makes me think about all my friends in a way, especially the starting lyrics of “Give me your misery, all of it give it to me I can hold on it for you it’s not a problem.” I know this song can be interpreted in so many different ways and the main message the band was trying to send as well. For me, this song is really about wanting to take on someone’s problems that you love because you love them so much that you want them to be happy. I think my favorite lyric would have to be “ You are the fire in my sleep, you are the reason I dream And just for when we’re apart I’ve got a piece of your heart.”

Strangers Again- Against The Current

This song really got to me after a while, the video for this is really good too. The message in the song itself is another one I connect with as well with things in my life that I’ve gone through where I’ve lost good friendships with people, as well as losing touch with friends and now when we talk sometimes they feel like complete strangers from when I knew them.  

From The Outside- Real Friends 

Real Friends are amazing too, again another personal favorite pop-punk band. This song’s message I think can relate a lot to the stigma of faking being fine when in reality we’re all dealing with our own internal battles, which they address in their lyrics. 

Help Us To Love- Tori Kelly

This song I feel relates a lot to how people treat each other today. We’re all full of this anger, we’re upset and frustrated and sometimes we tend to take it out on each other online with our words and other settings. This song tells us that we should try to be more accepting of those around us instead of being full of those negative emotions. Vocally, this song is so beautiful and sad at the same time and I just really love the way the song sounds. 

8- Billie Elish

This has to be one of my favorite songs by her, which is strange. I get it, but I love the lyrics so much because again it’s something I can relate to with how I am as a person. I tend to wear my heart out on my sleeve openly and try to be accepting of everyone, which leads to me getting hurt because I never really know what someone’s true intentions are. 

MOOO!- Doja Cat

This is just a fun song that I really love. Doja Cat puts the fun, sexy, and badass attitude in her music and I absolutely love it. Music doesn't have to be serious all the time and that’s why I love this song. 

S.L.U.T.- Bea Miller

Bea Miller is such a talented bean. I adore her music and her as a whole. This song when it came out just screamed at me to love myself and to just have fun. I remember first hearing it and just dancing to it and just feelin the vibes and myself. 

X-Phenomenon- Monsta X

Another good feel-good dance song. These boys really do know how to make some good ass songs that make you wanna just dance and not care. I also really love the switch up in the song too, it’s different and I love it!

Orange Juice- Melanie Martinez

I cried after seeing K-12 and the story that went along to this. I struggle so much to love myself, I have for years. The song itself talks a lot about an eating disorder, which is something a lot of people shy away from. I think what really did it for me was hearing the message at the end of the song in the movie. Crybaby, the character Melanie based this around, tells her new friend that she made that our bodies are just temporary and don’t define who we are. She goes on to explain that there’s more to us than just the surface beauty that our bodies have and that we should be more accepting and kinder to ourselves without having to hold our own image up to unrealistic standards. The best message she gives at the end is that “We all have to learn how to love ourselves without the approval of others.” This is followed by the friend saying that it’s hard to love yourself when people make you feel so shitty about who you are that you believe it yourself. 

Highlights from Kiki’s Delivery Service- Joe Hisaishi

I just love the music for this movie, it’s very relaxing to listen to. 

Since U Been Gone- Kelly Clarkson

This was the first song that I ever publically sang in middle school. We had a karaoke day in my music class and I got up to sing this in front of everyone who was there and after that, I never sang in front of anyone for years. 

Come Away With Me- Norah Jones

It’s just a beautiful song that helps me relax and unwind.  

(Sittin’ on) The Dock of the Bay- Sarah Bareilles

I really recommend the one from the live performance because it sounds so much better. I love how she sings this song and I love how it painted this really beautiful landscape image of sitting down near an ocean or a lake and just watching the water. It’s another song that really helps me relax. 

Sugar, We’re Goin Down- FOB

I remember first hearing this song when I was about 6 or7 in the car with my Mom on the radio in our silver little Ford car. I was living in Germany at the time and this was also my first time listening to something that was considered “rock” or “alternative.” Years later I remembered hearing it somewhere and finding out who sang it and listened to FOB’s other songs and quickly fell in love with them. They hold a very dear and special place in my heart and always will. 

Picks For my Parents:

La Isla Bonita- Madonna

My Mom loved listening to Madonna with me as a kid, it was almost all she would play. I’m sure she owned almost all her CDs, and it was also music I grew up with thanks to her. I picked this one because I love how it sounds and every time it comes on I’m reminded of those days when I was little and would listen to this with her. 

Underneath It All- No Doubt

Another song that I was introduced to by my Mom. She owns the CD that this song is on, I also have it downloaded on an old iPod touch because I love that album so much. No Doubt was another one of the alternative bands I was introduced to as a kid because of her. This song was also used in 50 First Dates, which is my favorite movie with Drew Barrymore and it’s my favorite Rom-Com. 

Wide Open Spaces- Dixie Chicks

My Mom and I both listened to them when I was younger in the car as well. She would play their music in the house sometimes and sing along to it and so would I. I’m not sure what happened to the CDs we had for them but I think at one point she owned the CD this song was on. the other reason this one still sticks with me is that when I hear this song, all I can think about is just being out taking pictures in the wide-open spaces where I’m free to just make mistakes and be my most authentic self. 

A Girl Like You- Edwyn Collins

A song I heard through the Charlie’s Angel movie that I watched with my Mom growing up. It’s also a song that my Dad really loves,. It just makes me smile when I hear it because it’s a good song, but also it reminds me a lot of my parents. 

Lucky- Britney Spears

Both my Mom and I are Britney fans. Her first official album with Hit Me Baby One More Time was the first album my Mom every bought me when I was younger and we lived in San Antonio. I remember that Britney was the reason I wanted to get my belly button pierced, I never could shut up about it even as a teenager. Specifically, this is a song my Mom loves by her that she always puts on when we’re out so it makes me really happy to hear this song and reminds me how lucky I really am to share stuff like this with her. 

One, Two Step- Ciara, Missy Elliot 

Growing up my brother would play a lot fo rap, hip-hop, and other stuff that my Mom and I grew to like and this was one of them. Mostly it was because of a family dog that we had a long time ago that loved my brother's music. 

Party in the U.S.A- Miley Cyrus

Almost everyone in my family loves this song. My brother was the more shocking one to hear it from. One day it came on and he told my Mom that it was his favorite song and we would always play it for him. Mind you, he’s about 3 years older than me, so you can imagine how surprised I was. 

Some Hearts- Carrie Underwood

I think I talked about this before, but Carrie Underwood was another artist I grew up listening to that my Mom loved a lot. I think Carnival Ride was either the 2nd or 3rd album my Mom bought me. The song this album is from really was amazing. The lyrics are just wholesome and it’s just a good country song. My Mom really loved this song and one of the more popular ones from the album. 

Hollaback Girl- Gwen Stephani 

This song taught me how to spell bananas and I don’t think that will ever leave me. I have to sing it too in order to remember the spelling too. It’s my Mom’s favorite song by Gwen Stephani, and she owns the CD for this too and I also have it on my little old iPod touch. I still go back and listen to this to hype myself up sometimes. 

Never Gonna Give You Up- Rick Astley 

This is gonna sound completely stupid why I picked this. My Dad, when he was younger and had hair, would get mistaken for this guy all the fucking time. He also loves the song too and while I’d love to tell all the amazing stories he’s told me about that I think I wanna just keep it to that. Get Rick Rolled. 

Living Dead Girl- Rob Zombie

Another artist my parents loved listening to, mostly my Mom, was Rob Zombie. As I got older I looked more into his work and watched a lot of his films. They’re really good too. This song specifically stuck out because I remember my parents listening to it all the time in the car with me. I don’t think I should have been listening to this as a kid but it was good music. 

Don’t Tread On Me- Metallica

The stories I could tell you that my Mom has told me about when she was younger. My Mom was really cool when she was younger, let’s put it that way. Metallica has been a band that she holds close to her because their music is so good and it’s also a song I grew up listening to in the car. 

You Give Love A Bad Name- Bon Jovi

My Dad has some really good taste in music, well both my parents do. This song is another one they both love and it just makes me really happy when I hear it. 

Love Shack- B52′s

I remember hearing this in a Joe’s Crabshack growing up and my Dad singing it. It was totally embarrassing for me, but now I just join him in doing it now because it’s more fun. This has to be his favorite song of all time and it’s just a really good dance song to just goof off too. 

Learnin’ the Blues- Frank Sinatra

My Dad loves Sinatra’s music. Every time I put on something by him he always sings along to it and it just gives me a warm fuzzy feeling.

Fly Me To The Moon (In Other Words)- Frank Sinatra, Count Basie

It’s the same as the one before this. Actually, to add on to this, when he heard me put on some of Sinatra’s music my Dad was shocked and asked me why I was listening to it and was even more surprised when I told him I just liked it and wanted something different to listen to and I found it through a Fallout game Radio station that someone made on Spotify. 

[theliterateape]

Muffled in German Luxury

By Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming novel Call Me Z by Paul Teodo and Tom Myers.

I HAD NOTHING TO REPORT, AND NO ONE TO REPORT IT TO. It was barely noon. I lived alone. I hadn’t spoken to my ex in twelve years. My two boys were gone, one in Fiji teaching yoga and meditation, the other living in the city at a job he’d just started. They didn’t need my grief. My dog loved me, but lately I bored him. Most likely when I got home I’d find a pile on the floor to welcome me.

I’d clean out the office later. I found my car in the visitor lot where I always parked. I pressed my fob. Nothing, not a twitch or honk or anything. Again. Nothing. Dead. Just like me. I stabbed the key into the door and twisted the lock open. I slid into the seat. My soggy suit stuck to my chilled skin.

And yes, Rebecca was gone. After four years she left the ring on the nightstand and shut the door. She had pushed for that ring. But we never set the date. Never called me her fiancé. Walked out with a sad look on her face, but not enough sadness to get her to stay. Maybe we weren’t a good fit either. I don’t think it was the drinking. I kept that from her pretty good. And the few times I didn’t she joined in. Her reasons were just as clear as Greta’s. “We’re going nowhere. We don’t communicate. You’re far away and we have no future.” Stuff I knew was more true than not. So instead of fighting for us, I let us drift away.

A triple Dewar’s White Label with a splash of water would go good right now, but I almost had a year. The last time I had that drink I woke up in Mexico, lying on a cot embracing a bearded goat. Turns out I’m not a farm animal kind of guy.  So I wouldn’t let Rebecca’s rejection and the evisceration by Greta with all its accompanying humiliation drive me to the bottle.

I could hear Tommy telling me, “Cunning, baffling, powerful.” He talked like that. He worried too much. He was my sponsor.  

I should call him. I always felt better when I did. He’d chew my ass. But I was sixty, not a kid. And I just got fired.

I started the car. Cold air blasted my legs. I was jumpy, rubbing my hands together, waiting for the warmth. Some idiot was barking on sports talk radio. I didn’t need his big mouth yelling at me. He was trying to make everything sound important or profound, but like he was from the neighborhood. He probably was a media-wise shill from an Ivy League school knocking down a couple hundred K a year selling Viagra to guys who didn’t have anything better to do in the middle of the day. Now I was one of them. How long before I started calling in?

I’ll call Tommy instead. He’d give me his crap, and I’d listen, then feel better, and then he’d throw in, “Let’s go to a meeting.” A meeting was his answer for everything. Sometimes, you know, it’s not. Sometimes, you have to hit the problem between the eyes. He’d always say, “Pause, pray, proceed.” Sometimes, it was just too much. I threw on Puccini’ instead. Tosca. Depressing as hell, full of torture, murder, and suicide, but the music was beautiful.

I backed up my Audi. The white Crown Vic patrol car I signed a requisition for just a few months ago edged closer. For Christ sake, what did Greta think? I was going to go nuts? Randy, the old guy, sat behind the wheel, Brylcreemed hair and weird handlebar mustache. Junior, his sidekick, a steroid pumped, over-caffeinated, blonde kid coiled next to him, ready to jump out of the car. Both carefully watching to make sure I left without incident. Security. Highlands’ finest.

I threw it into gear. Randy and Junior in pursuit. What the hell, give them something to do, I’d liven up their day, and make them earn their money. I drove slowly around the campus heading towards Greta’s office. Would they just follow me or flip on their lights? Training would indicate caution, but no lights. I shouldn’t be doing this. One was old, near retirement, and the other’s juice-strained mind was totally unpredictable. As I exited the campus they looked relieved, staring between the wipers on the Crown Vic. With a nod they each saluted, acknowledging my final departure. I was touched by their deference and disappointed in my behavior.

My phone buzzed. It was stuck inside my wet pants. I yanked it out, ripping my pocket. I flipped it open. “Boss, Joe. What the hell happened?”

“Just wasn’t working out, Joe.”

“You get canned?”

“Did you talk to Jenna?” Joe and Jenna got along. He said he had a daughter that reminded him of her. Gullible and kind of quiet. She and her three kids lived with Joe and his wife. The kids were all under seven. Joe joked that he’d take any overtime he could get just to stay away from the nut-house.

I took a deep breath. Why make it worse for Joe? I was his guy and his misplaced loyalty could screw up his job. He only had three years left to retirement.  “Mutual understanding, Joe. Not my kinda place and Greta agreed. I’ll land on my feet, and things will keep going at The Highlands.”

Joe cleared his throat hard and coughed. He quit smoking years ago but he was still paying for his vice.

“Okay boss, wish you well. Keep in touch. You always had my back.”

“Joe.”

“Yeah?“

“Get that temp down in the OR for our good friend.”

He hacked again. I could see his neck turning red. “Fuck him, boss. And fuck his cold dead wife.”

“Take care, buddy.”

“Keep in touch.”

Nobody keeps in touch.

“I will.”

✶

I DROVE AROUND AIMLESSLY, THE SCOTCH CREEPING BACK INTO MY HEAD. I was done with Puccini. I put “Sona Andati,” the death aria from LaBoheme, into the CD player, trying to distract myself. It didn’t work. I shut it off before I looked for an oven to stick my head in. No real taverns in this town. I needed to call Tommy before I settled on a cocktail lounge attached to a sushi bar. It was noon and the streets were jammed with stylized fashionistas in hybrid SUVs driving their car-seated darlings who’d been born in our Taj Mahal Birthing Center to ballet, voice, or parent-toddler yoga. Having taken advantage of our Women’s Self Improvement Center, they wore their expensive yoga pants with great pride, bejeweled hands wrapped around a caramel low-fat macchiato, designer water bottle at the ready.

I couldn’t drive and dial. Even with this damn flip phone. I pulled into the parking lot of a dog groomer. An eight inch miniature something or other, tethered to a blue spring-loaded leash with a black satin harness, led its mistress towards an Audi A-8.

I pecked at the buttons like a hooded hawk. I could never remember his number. I had it stored in my phone but any attempt at technology made me sweat. First attempt got me a bakery, the next a Chinese woman, and the third an old guy who wanted to talk and didn’t care if it was the wrong number. Finally Tommy picked up. ”State your business.” His usual greeting.

“Tommy.”

“What’s up?”

“You got a minute?”

“You drinkin’?” Every time. Every single time.

“No.”

“Good.”

“It’s not just about drinking.”

“It is with us. We drink. We got no chance. So it’s all about drinking or not drinking. What’s up?”

I felt like throwing the phone out the window. Aiming at the miniature mutt whose shrill bark penetrated like a police whistle.

“What’s that?”

“Dog. Sort of. One of those squawkers.”

“Sounds like it’s being tortured.”

“I wish.” Its mistress lifted the horrible creature into her Audi. It spun in circles on the back seat. She closed the door on its high pitched yap, muffling it in German luxury.

“What happened? Did you shoot it?”

“I got fired.”

“Good. You didn’t belong there. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

Asshole. He didn’t even take a breath.

“Okay meet me at the 2 p.m. meeting at the firehouse.”

“No.”

“Really, what you got better to do?”

“No meeting.”

“I’ll meet you at Nina’s Coffee Shop at two.”

“That’s in the city.”

“That’s where you belong.”

Tommy clicked off his phone never giving me a chance to respond to his invite. It wasn’t an invite, it was an order. That’s how he operated. I hated it, and it was good for me. I was soaked. I should change. But if I went home and put on dry clothes I’d never make it by two. It was miles of busted up black top, potholes, trucks, smoke, and congestion. Two hours travel time, minimum. What the hell. I felt like a bum, just getting fired, might as well look like one. I’d fit in fine at Nina’s.

People snaking along this God-forsaken, cruelly misnamed expressway looked like zombies propped up behind the wheel in their seats. How the fuck did they do this every day?

For once the weather-guessers had been right. It had gotten colder and the drizzle turned to sleet. My teeth chattered. I banged on the vent, no evidence of warmth appeared. And my swollen prostate needed a place to piss.

I drove east. The gorilla inside me calling Tommy every vile name it could conjure. Traffic was surprisingly clear when I caught the 355 extension towards the Stevenson. You never let yourself think that in Chicago.  The hell started as the ramp merged. First with the orange signs. Construction. Down to one lane. Forty-five miles-per-hour speed limit. And nobody, not one goddamn person around. Not a hard hat or yellow vest.  Everything blocked off and not a soul carrying out construction.

A bearded, leather-jacketed asshole on a Harley, replete in red bandanna, shades and cigar swept by on the left claiming that all-important extra six feet of travel time, forcing me to jam on my brakes, skid and miss him by only inches. He raised his leather-gloved middle finger as I regained control.

Only thirty miles left.

We crawled through the deserted construction zone never topping fifteen miles-per-hour. My windows fogged. My suit grew musty. Forty minutes later traffic cleared slightly and we reached the breakneck speed of twenty-five miles-per-hour. People snaking along this God-forsaken, cruelly misnamed expressway looked like zombies propped up behind the wheel in their seats. How the fuck did they do this every day?

Eventually the construction cleared, I gunned it and shot between two semis belching smoke. As I passed the Harley, he saluted again. I didn’t wave goodbye. Then a jolt rattled the right side of my car, the vibration like an electrical shock through my hands. Pothole. Shit. The front end continued to shake. The steering wheel danced like it had a mind of its own and was happy with what just happened.

Pull off? Here, in the middle of semi-hell? The shoulders on this road were invitations for death. All I could do was slow down, and proceed. At best I’d wobble into Nina’s with a bent rim and malfunctioning suspension.

I exited at California near the Cook County Jail and immediately came to a stop behind a dirty green articulated bus. Four miles left. Inside the car was now a steam room. Droplets of foul smelling sweat dampened my seat. My disfigured vehicle no longer moved in a straight line, I relaxed my hands on the steering wheel, and tried to catch my breath. I unhinged my jaw which had been locked shut for the past ninety minutes. Just miles from my destination, I was trapped behind the world’s slowest moving vehicle and flanked by a continuous parade of broken cars dragging bumpers, tailpipes, and trailers overflowing with decrepit furniture, soon to be delivered to a home instead of the dumpster where it belonged. I loved this city despite its infamous traffic.

Thank you, Tommy, yeah, this is exactly what I needed.

The bus was a permanent fixture. It wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was housing for the homeless. It was definitely a stretch to call it transportation.

I saw an opening, snapped the steering wheel to the left and shot around the bus. The car responded angrily shaking and shimmying as if the front wheels were pointed in different directions.

Proud of myself, I looked in the rear view mirror to see how much distance I had put between me and the bus. My eyes were distracted by blue swirling lights following me. I didn’t need this crap. “Pull over, sir.” The cop’s loudspeaker blared. At least he gave me due respect. It’d been a long time since I’d been called sir by anyone.

I needed a drink. In a real tavern with a sticky stinking bar, dirt on the floor, and people who served you by just nodding their head. I could pull over, slide in, and drift away for days talking with construction workers, the homeless, and hangers on. Or I could be left alone. Those places knew how to leave you the fuck alone.

I momentarily thought of making a run for it. But with a wobbly front end, a foggy windshield, and congested streets I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. I put the bar on hold and adhered to the cop’s order. I slowly guided my damaged car into a lot that serviced a small strip mall containing a currency exchange, a cigarette store, and a beauty salon featuring nails, weaves, and extensions.  A crowd of about a dozen young punks dressed in black, saggy pants defying gravity, some with braided hair, but mostly bald, shuffled about, music blaring, passing joints and bottles in brown paper bags.

Now I was grateful that the squad followed me in.

A freckle-faced redheaded cop exited his vehicle, hand at his side gripping his pistol. The crowd taunting, pointing back and forth between the two of us. The cop’s eyes constantly shifted between me and the group. I rolled down my window “License, registration, and insurance,” he said, eyes on the kids. “Slowly,” he emphasized as I rummaged through my glove box.

Methodically, I pulled the documents from the box and placed each, one by one, into the redhead’s hand. He didn’t belong here, nor did I. His eyes kept a constant scan on the parking lot. The music pounded louder. The wind chilled my still damp body through the open window. “Wait here.” He turned and walked back to his car.

Fucking Tommy. He drags me forty miles from home to a parking lot full of gangbangers. What the hell was I doing?

The young cop returned after running my stuff. He handed me an orange and white citation.  “You can show up in court, or…” both our backs stiffened as the blaring music somehow grew more threatening, “or pay direct. Your choice.”

“Thanks.” I said. My window swiftly rising, providing a false sense of security.

He began to leave. He turned, “and your front end is out of whack. If you’re gonna be driving around here, you need a car that works.”

No shit. I acknowledged his advice with a wave through my closed window.

I studied the ticket. Improper lane use. $125. Do not send cash. Lucky me.

I eased slowly through the lot to return to the street.  The kids didn’t move. My car wobbled even more. “Better get that fixed.” One of them laughed and kicked at the front end. I hit the gas and sped out of the lot.

Finally I pulled up to Nina’s. Soaked from the elements and my own fear. I exited my damaged vehicle spotting Tommy through the dirty window sitting alone at a table, his starched white collar peeking from under his gray hooded sweat shirt, his foot tapping to the beat of Wilson Pickett. He was fidgeting with the menu, his gnarled hands scarred from years in the ring.

I rushed in, the bell above the door jingling, my prostate screaming for a bathroom. I made a bee-line for the toilet. He looked up. “Any trouble getting here?”

[redsoapbox]

IN CONVERSATION WITH SANDRA’S WEDDING

Jonny, Joe, Luke and Tom

At the beginning of February, I embarked on an ambitious new music guide for this blog entitled 28 Bands in 28 Days. The idea was to scour the world (well, as best as you can from the couch potato position!) for new and exciting music. With two days of the project to run, all was going well - I had reviewed and recommended bands / singers from Canada, America, France, Sweden as well as the U.K. Having set aside the last two days of the month for New Zealand’s Marlon Williams and Finland’s Those Forgotten Tapes, I was feeling quite pleased with myself when my best laid plans were thrown into turmoil - I had chanced upon the stellar music of Sandra’s Wedding! I knew had to include them in the project, yet I wasn’t prepared to elbow out Marlon or TFT at the last minute. The solution that I came up with was simply to pretend that 2018 was a leap year (believe me, I’ve kidded myself about a lot worse that that down the years) and that there was, therefore, a 29th day and a 29th band. Sandra’s Wedding were in!

If you still haven’t heard the band’s remarkable debut album Northern Powerhouse and the brand new E.P. Good Morning, Bad Blood, then you’re in for one hell of a treat. Described, accurately, as a meeting of The Smiths and The Beautiful South (I know, I know, it can’t possibly be true, but it is, folks, it is!) and here is the evidence -

“Death by Hanging” - Sandra’s Wedding

It was a tremendous thrill, then, to interview the band. My thanks for their cooperation.

Northern Powerhouse, your stand-out debut album, arrived like a bolt out of the blue in February of 2017. How long, though, has the band been together?

Luke: Since sometime in the early months of 2016. Joe and myself had done a couple of little gigs together previously, as had he and Jonny, but the band became official around then. 

Joe: I’d stopped playing guitar for a while before then whilst I was living in Leeds. I’d gotten really into poetry and wanted to be the next Simon Armitage or Thom Gunn for a while. I wrote a lot and posted little bits and pieces online but was always frustrated with how ‘slow’ the poetry process is in the sense that you’d get people saying, “I enjoyed your poem” but you hadn’t been able to see their reaction as they read it, or you felt like they could just be fobbing you off a bit. That period was good because I really got into crafting lyrics and working on atmosphere through language – more so than if I’d just been writing songs as a whole. I did stand-up as well and went to Edinburgh Fringe… I had enough and left early, decided music was what I was probably best at and bought a new acoustic. That’s when I started putting the songs that would become the album together. I started writing like crazy and felt like a light had been switched on after having spent so long in a different headspace. If I weren’t shit at poetry or stand-up there wouldn’t be a band is the crux of this answer. 

There is a real sense of time and place running through each of the songs that make up Northern Powerhouse. Where did you all grow up and which local musicians would you count amongst your earliest and most important influences?

Luke: We all grew up within a thirty-mile radius of each other in and around Goole, except Jonny who is from Castleford.

Joe: A lot of people have influenced me, but not necessarily ‘music’ people. I’m not someone who idolises artists, I feel like it’s more a grudging respect in a way. I listen to albums, songs, certain lyrics and get a bit mad wishing I’d written that. That’s not to say I don’t find inspiration from others, I do just like anyone else. Growing up, my parents always had Magic-FM or Neil Diamond cassettes on in the car so I suppose I was exposed to a lot of easy listening. I wish I had a cool answer; that my parents were into 20s Jazz records and Finnish folk music but my mum loves Elvis and my dad doesn’t own a single CD.  

I once asked Peter Hook what he thought his music would have sounded like if he'd grown up in Skegness or Shrewsbury, rather than Salford, to which he succinctly replied 'shit'! Are northern bands any different to southern bands?

Luke: Of course, but only in the same way that American bands are different from German bands for example. You can’t help but be shaped by your upbringings, and that comes out in the music that we (as in northerners) make. 

Joe: I’m always wary of tribalism. I don’t ever want to swing my dick around and make out I’m better than someone else just because they were born in a different postcode. It’s going to colour your outlook and how you express yourself, obviously, but that’s just human nature. I’m proud of being from a small place hardly anyone has heard of, I sometimes look at it as being a non-league club trying to gain a few promotions and have a taste of some success; a good cup run. 

Northern Powerhouse is a snapshot of life in post-Brexit Britain. To what extent, if any, does the social commentary, expressed through songs such as "Death by Hanging" and "The Spark", reflect your own views, or is the record a character study of the great British public?  

Joe: Everyone’s terrified. People are terrified of change, people are terrified of everything staying the same. I think most of the fuel for the songs comes from how everything gets served up to us. The press in this country are honestly pathetic. Not in a Trumpian “Fake-News” sense, but in a “Let’s tap into people’s anxiety about this topic” sense. The whole Brexit Referendum debate was embarrassing. Grown adults standing on national television arguing about the colour of passports and what Winston Churchill would say if he were still around. Remember when the Panama Papers came out and everyone just did an Alan Partridge shrug and carried on arguing about how we can dig our own vegetables after Brexit? You couldn’t make it up. Billions of pounds being withheld from public services and we’re all arguing about the most inane stuff. The songs are vignettes where all these feelings are present, I can understand why people feel the way they do for the most part. I suppose when I look back on that album I’ll remember that year where everyone went fucking apeshit.

Even though you're tackling some heavy themes on the album, from unemployment to spousal abuse to capital punishment, there is a humorous touch in evidence right throughout the record. You're following in the footsteps of Ray Davies, Chris Difford, Paul Heaton and just about every other leading British songwriter in that respect. What is it that makes you all take such a tragicomic approach to your craft?

Luke: If you didn’t laugh you’d cry! I think there’s a long tradition of finding humour in tragedy in this country, and it brings us all together in trying times. Jonny: Absolutely. I think finding beauty in the dark moments of life is a real art form - I like to think of Joe’s lyrics being in the same vein as Edward Hopper’s paintings – just capturing those little moments of sadness in life and creating a little vignette around it. Imagine the painting Nighthawks but set in a Working Men’s Club in a small mining town and you’re on the right lines. 

Joe: Nobody cares about happiness. Imagine having a happy friend. Hell. 

How do you approach the discipline of lyric writing? Do you spend a  lot of time in cafes and pubs observing people, notebook at the ready?  

Joe: I have done that in the past. I like to remember little scenes and turns of phrase. I think Alan Bennett is a bit of an influence in that respect. Bennett can take the most mundane exchange and turn it into something beautiful. I take a lot of artistic license, create little worlds and characters. The Day Before You Came by Abba is a song I think about a lot – it’s so dull it’s genius. 

There's a definite air of nostalgia that hangs over the album, with Old Spice aftershave, The Yorkshire Ripper, Bernard Manning, Northern Soul and the Chelsea v Leeds 70's football rivalry all namechecked. It permeates the new EP, too, with "Saturday Night Television" guaranteed to remind us of a bygone era. Lou Reed said that "I don't like nostalgia, unless it's mine", but I get the sense that you're more interested in a form of communal nostalgia? Luke: I think the fact that we’re all just about the same age means we find it remarkably easy to fire off each other’s nostalgia glands. One mention of a shiny Charizard or finding a Tazo in your crisps sends all of us into a nice, warm, fuzzy place, and the fact that a lot of our fans and listeners are in the same sort of age bracket means that they all wear the same rose tinted, 90s flavoured goggles. I think Joe writes from an age older than his years though from time-to-time, and has a natural ability to relate to people of just about any generation.  

Joe: That comes from being taken to the pub a lot as a kid. My dad played pub football and the pub was where people held events so pub-coke was something I spent a lot of time nursing. I often wonder about what pubs will look like in 20/30 years  - young people don’t seem to go out anymore. I digress slightly but read “Church Going” by Philip Larkin and imagine it being about pubs instead. Depressing. 

Which songwriters have had the biggest impact on your own work?

Joe: As I said earlier, I don’t have any HUGE idols. But in terms of wishing I could have produced anything as good as they have; Adam & The Ants, Beautiful South, Chumbawamba, Deacon Blue, Eels, Five, Gerry & The Pacemakers, Housemartins, Iris Dement, John Prine, Kool & The Gang, Lisa Stansfield, Mike & The Mechanics, Nick Lowe, Orbison (Roy), Paul Young, Queen, Richard Hawley, Super Furry Animals, Talking Heads, Uzbekistan National Choir, Val Doonican, Wham, X?, Yann Tiersen, Zombies. 

Joe's lyrics rightly attract a lot of attention - they'd be on the National curriculum if it was up to me - but your tunes are incredibly infectious too. Do you all have a hand in writing the music?

Luke: It’s a very communal process.

Jonny: Yeah, Joe generally brings the song in as a chord structure and we work on and around it. I’m a strong believer in the idea that the song is all that matters, so if it needs a wall of guitars layering up to make it work then so be it, but I’m equally as happy playing something sparse or even nothing at all if the song needs space to breathe. We’re not averse to picking up other instruments like a mandolin or a keyboard if it fits the feel of what we’re looking for. Who inspired you to take up your particular instruments? Was it another musician, a parent, or a teacher, for instance?   Luke: My dad plays drums, and so they’ve just been a part of my life since birth. I’ll never forget playing my first ‘1-2-3-4’ in a back room in the now sadly closed Electro Music in Doncaster, getting the bug and never turning back. 

Jonny: I initially found it hard to connect to the guitar – or at least what I thought the guitar was - because I thought it had to be shredding and metal which was what everyone I knew was into playing – and that’s fine, but just not my cup of tea. For me to discover the playing of Johnny Marr, Peter Buck, Tom Verlaine, John Frusciante and Roger McGuinn was a game changer because suddenly I found people using a vocabulary on the instrument that I’d never heard before – a little like hearing French for the first time if you’d grown up only thinking the entire world spoke English I guess! 

Tom: When I was fifteen all my friends where picking up an instrument and forming bands and naturally I wanted to be part of that. My parents bought me my own bass and after spending a somewhat wasted year at Goole Sixth form in which I mostly skipped lessons to jam in my parents garage, but I eventually started studying music at a college in Hull.

Who is Sandra? Does she exist, or is she a composite character? 

Luke: Sandra is a wife, a mother, a daughter, a lover, a timid wallflower, a destroyer of worlds, a maneater, a vegan, a shoulder to cry on, a dinnerlady, a career-woman, a homemaker, a manager, a band-leader, a figurehead, a feather, a sledgehammer, a Friday night out, a Saturday night in, she’s whatever you want her to be, and she’s the best at it. 

Joe: She gets on my wick.

It was Jericho Keys, of BBC Introducing North Yorks, who first piqued my interest in the band with his tantalising description of the group as 'a cross between The Smiths and The Beautiful South'. However, I've subsequently seen that quote amended to The Coral and The Housemartins. Which is the correct quote and which bands would you happily compare yourselves to? 

Jonny: I think The Coral comparison was one he said when he played our first single, and then the other comparison was after we subsequently did a BBC Introducing session on his show. He’s a great guy and we’ve had fun on the show when we did a session with him. Luke: The Smiths and The Housemartins are the two that we tend to hear most often. Comparisons to The Housemartins aren’t too much of a surprise, being from the same (sort of) area their influence is bound to rub off, and I think it’s clear the influence Paul Heaton has had on Joe in particular. The Smiths isn’t a bad shout either, our Jonny is influenced in a big way by their Johnny and his mesmerising arpeggiated playing. 

I have to put my cards on the table and say that Northern Powerhouse is one of the best debut albums of the past decade. As you look back on the studio experience, are there things that you would have done differently, other songs that you might have included for example? Tom:  It was an unusual experience when it came to recording as at that time the four of us had never been in the same room before and had only ever rehearsed as a three piece band with Jonny writing the lead guitar parts to homemade demos and then dubbing them over in the studio. I don’t think any of us are really happy with the overall sound of Powerhouse but I think that’s because we’re by far our own worst critics. The positive response it has had since though has been beyond our expectations and helped us to be less self critical of it. Luke: I guess the first album is always a learning curve, so it’s hard to say if there’s anything we’d have done differently. I think the track list is solid, and although there are demos of other songs kicking around from the time I think the strongest ended up on there. 

It's an album choc full of brilliant pop songs, but the bittersweet ballad "Hollywood" has taken on the form of an all-time classic.  Do you know straight away when a song sounds like the real deal? 

Luke: Personally, no. I can’t speak for the others but, although I always enjoy it when a song comes together, there’s no way of knowing if it’s going to be ‘the real deal’ without putting it out there and seeing what other people think of it. Hollywood is a case in point. We all, obviously, love the song as any parent loves their own child, but the reaction it got since we released it has been phenomenal and has surprised all of us. You know you’ve done something right when strangers stop you in town to tell you they ‘love that one about Goole!’ 

Jonny: When Joe sent me the acoustic demo for that track I was a little blown away by it. I sat with a twelve string guitar trying to encapsulate exactly what the lyrics made me feel, which is why I tried to find some weird chords that are heartbreakingly sad and also weirdly optimistic. It does seem to have connected with people from the area – someone made a fan made video to it with a bunch of nostalgic images of Goole in it, and it ended up with something like 30,000 views in a week on social media which was weird. 

Does it give you pause for thought that even though a song of the stature of "Hollywood" or the album opener "This Heart" can mean an immense amount to a fan of the band, that around 99% of the British population are unlikely to ever hear the song? Is that discouraging for you as artists? 

Luke: Not at all. Like any band, the main reason you do it is for the sheer love of it. I’d rather put out a song that means the world to one person than pump out generic pop that means nothing, but just makes for pleasant background noise in offices, hairdressers and building sites. 

Tom: I’d agree with Luke, especially considering how people listen to and discover music now. There is an almost overwhelming amount of music that would be physically impossible to listen to in a human lifetime. We have a small but ever growing fan base that seem to love what we’re doing and as long as someone still enjoys it, well keep doing it. That said a few more monthly listeners on Spotify wouldn’t go a miss. 

In a different era, punk, post-punk, and Britpop, perhaps, you would have been able to reach a far larger audience. Do you feel like a band out of step with the times? 

Jonny: I don’t think many bands out there sound like us at this moment in time – for better or worse! I love lots of new music and there are great bands doing great things at the moment – but my initial influences were all older bands and I guess I gravitate to playing my instrument a certain way. We’re not trying to create a sound that is fashionable or trendy – you’ve only to look at our band photos to realise we are neither of those things – but we make music that is a genuine reflection of us and what we’re about. We’re fully aware that we’re not reinventing the wheel or coming up with a pioneering new sound, but hopefully people enjoy what we do. Luke: Although the music sometimes feels a bit of a throwback, I don’t think we feel out of step. It’s true that audiences are more disparate now, but that just means that people who seek you out are doing it because they REALLY want to listen to you. In times gone by we may have signed a little deal and got into some shops around the country, but now we’re available on the top of Mt. Everest via a device that everyone carries with them every day. The fact that we can be heard all over the world as a result of uploading some files from my front room is fascinating to me.

You have an excellent new EP, "Good Morning, Bad Blood", out now. There's some interesting additional instrumentation on tracks like "Titanic" and "Run, Rabbit Run", does that signpost something of a new direction for the band?

Luke: We’ve always wanted strings and brass, and if we could’ve afforded it I’m sure they’d have been there on Powerhouse too. It’s just nice to be in a place where we can bring in other excellent musicians to help us flesh out our sound.  

Jonny: Yeah, we’re really lucky to know some talented people – David and Anthony who played are great. Anthony’s CV is amazing, he played for the Pope and on the last Gorillaz album, so it was a thrill that he agreed to play for us. But we’re all big fans of The Beatles and the whole “using the studio as an instrument” thing they did. So that could be a trumpet or cello part, but sometimes it’s just those little subtle additions on records that you really connect with and we try to do that. There is a really small dulcimer part I stuck on ‘Good Morning, Bad Blood’ to add that sort of 90s version of the 60s psychedelia that seemed prevalent back then, and hopefully it just adds something to the track even though we’ll never do it live.  We see the recordings as being a separate entity to gigging.  

What are your plans for the remainder of 2018? Is there any chance of an impromptu gig in my hometown of Pontypridd. After all, Mercury Prize winners Wolf Alice rocked up here for a gig in the local Municipal Hall last year! 

Luke: I’m a quarter Welsh and embarrassingly I’ve never been! We have spoken before about a tour of the nations, four gigs in four days, one in each country. I’d be well up for nipping to Pontypridd if I can convince the rest. 

Following on from the release of the excellent "Spite Christmas" last year, can we expect another tilt at the highly prestigious Christmas No. 1 spot this year?

Luke: Watch this space…

“Hollywood” - simply one of the best pop songs ever written!

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